#If they call me about this instead of emailing back I WILL cry

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — MIYA OSAMU x FEM READER

On a bad day, Onigiri Miya becomes your new comfort restaurant. Not only is the food good, but the man who takes your orders is always kind. You think the Miya you’ve been venting to on the phone is the same Miya who shows up at your door to deliver all of your orders.

It’s too bad you don’t know there’s two of them.

wc — 2k

tags — fluff, romcom, miscommunication, miserable corporate girl x small business owner who teaches her joy

The email doesn’t even do you the courtesy of being short. They make you read through two whole paragraphs before you get to the point of it all in the final sentence. 

Your termination is effectively immediately. 

You sit back in your chair to allow yourself a moment to take it in. It’s…not terrible, all things considered. 

You get to leave this job that you hate. They’ll pay you severance. You have enough savings to be comfortable for the next few months. 

It might even a blessing.

But it still doesn’t feel good. You worked hard to land this, and now you’ll have to start all over again. Change is always hard, especially when you haven’t asked for it. 

You look at the clock. It’s currently 8:30 in the morning. You’re giving yourself exactly twenty four hours to wallow, and then it’s back to business. 

First things first - a good meal. Food always make everything better, and you really deserve something special today. For a moment, you entertain the idea of calling your friends over to get breakfast somewhere fancy, but then you remember - 

They’re all at work. 

Where you would be, if you hadn’t just been let go. 

That does sting a little, so maybe you’re not as okay as you thought you were. Hurriedly pushing those thoughts to the side in favor of scrolling through your options, a plain blue banner catches your eye. 

Onigiri Miya, it reads. 

Japanese comfort food. Family owned. 

When you click on the link, it takes you to a page that’s as simple as it’s name. It’s just a menu and a series of pictures, but it’s what you need right now. Your head hurts. You don’t have the capacity to deal with anything more. 

You want something straightforward and easy to digest. Onigiri Miya it is, then. 

“‘Miya speakin’. What can I get ya?” 

It’s a pleasantly accented voice. When you rattle off your order, you suddenly find it a little less pleasant after he says, “Er. Ya sure?”

This is some shoddy customer service. 

“I’m placing the order, aren’t I?”

“Those two don’t normally go together,” he says. “I’d suggest number nine and number thirteen instead. Trust me.” 

You don’t trust him, actually. This is probably just an upselling tactic he tries on every customer, but you’re not in the mood to argue. You had thought when you called a family owned restaurant, you’d be speaking to some kindly old grandma who might let you cry and vent into the receiver for just a little while, not whoever this is. 

At least the delivery is quick. 

A series of sharp raps on your door alerts you to the arrival. You pull it open to a man in a baseball cap and a uniform with onigiris on both. Their merch is cute. You’d wear it unironically. 

Underneath the cap, yellow blonde hair peeks out. On his shirt, a name tag reads Miya. 

Instantly, you feel a little worse for thinking poorly of him. Your bad attitude from work is no reason to take it out on this hardworking entrepreneur who’s running a one man show by himself. 

“Here ya go,” he says, thrusting a paper bag at you. “Eat it while it’s hot!” 

And then he’s off, scampering back down the stairs instead of taking the elevator even though you’re several floors up. You suppose there’s a reason he has those thighs. 

That the food is good is an understatement. 

Your former coworker Aiko used to work in food advertising before she pivoted. She loved to talk about how fake the industry was during lunch, both in terms of people and actual product. It’s through her that you know that half of the food in commercials aren’t actually food, but styrofoam and plastic painted to look appetizing. 

Onigiri Miya, in contrast, doesn’t look perfect. Appetizing, certainly, but not like a work of art. It just looks like what it is - a ball of rice with special ingredients for flavor.

So why are you crying as you finish your first onigiri and reach for the next? 

It’s been so long since you had a home cooked meal. You’re trying not to be maudlin, but you can almost taste the love that went into everything you’re eating. Imagining Miya carefully packing each triangular ball of rice by hand with a smile has you reaching for another, then another, until eventually the entire order is gone before you know it. 

Exhausted from crying and eating, you sink into your couch with a satisfied sigh and fall asleep. 

It’s 1:30 P.M. by the time you rise again, feeling a little better. Sleep really was the cure to all evils. Now you have 20 hours left to indulge yourself as much as possible. 

You’re not in the mood to turn off your brain by binge watching a show. You want to do something. You want to use your hands to craft something from scratch. 

Learning how to make onigiri could be a start. A quick run to the grocery store and the first recipe that popped up on Google later, you have a half formed, crumbling mound of rice with pickled radish shoved inside. If you squint, it looks almost like what you got from Onigiri Miya this morning. 

Who are you kidding?

That’s an insult to Miya’s craft. He put so much care into each dish - you can hardly compare your shoddy workmanship to his. There’s only one thing to do. You have to taste the real thing again to see where you went wrong. 

“Miya. What d'ya want to order?” 

“I’d like-“

“Hold up. Didn’t ya call this morning?” 

Flustered, you nearly fumble your phone. You’re breathless as you clutch is tighter and bring it back to your ear. “Yeah,” you admit sheepishly. “Is that bad?” 

“I mean, yeah, a little,” Miya says. “I appreciate the business but ya shouldn’t be eatin’ onigiri for two meals a day. Yer going to make yerself sick.” 

“It’s a special day,” you tell him. “I got laid off.” 

In the resounding silence that follows, you have ample time to berate yourself for sharing that. What is wrong with you? Why would you say that? He’s a stranger that you’ve randomly dumped your misery onto and you’re sure he’s -

“Ouch,” he says. “‘Kay, I’ll make an exception just for today. What’s yer order?” 

Miya shows up at your door promptly. He’s ditched the cap so his yellow hair is on full display. It looks like he’s run his hands through it. It sticks up at odd angles. 

“Here ya go,” he says, almost distractedly as he hands you your bag. “Enjoy.” 

You bring the bag inside and start rummaging through it immediately, excited to try new flavors you hadn’t gotten the first time around. Out comes the four onigiri you had ordered, a cup of miso soup, and…

A little takeout container of sushi with a cat’s face drawn on it. A speech bubble next to its head reads, “You can do it, meow!” 

Laughter echoes around your apartment. To your surprise, the world feels less daunting already. You hadn’t realized how quiet you had been the entire morning. Miya’s the only person you’ve spoken to the entire day, and even that was a quick and whispered thank you. Your throat almost hurts with the force of your giggles after disuse all morning, but it’s a good kind of pain. 

Onigiri Miya, family owned. You can almost feel the warmth of an embrace around you as you bite into your steaming onigiri, still a little too hot. 

All too soon, it becomes a tradition for you to order Onigiri Miya as your comfort meal. It doesn’t even have to be a bad day - you actively try to avoid associating things you like with painful feelings by using them as treats for hard days. Instead, Onigiri Miya is anything from a reward for getting to the second round of interviews or a celebration for successfully starting a new hobby. 

Onigiri has become your favorite food, and the person on the other line who takes your orders and even spares a few minutes to chat with you when it’s not too busy has quickly become someone irreplaceable in your life. 

You think you might need to redownload Tinder if you’re this attached to the man who fulfills your onigiri orders. 

Even though you know it’s strange, you can’t bring yourself to sever your connection. Miya is warm and kind, and you’ve quickly come to think of him as a friend. It’s a culmination of lots of little moments piling up over time. 

When you had forced yourself to go on your first date after a while, determined to get back out there, it had crashed and burned catastrophically. Onigiri Miya had been there to pick you back up. Miya had even recognized the sniffles in your voice that you were fighting and drawn you another little cat. 

The next time you had ordered, before you could even tell him what onigiri you wanted, Miya had asked you what happened last week. Maybe that’s just how family owned businesses are. They actually care about their customers. Enough so to play therapist to the girl that orders from you every week. 

Then there was the time you had gotten your first call back for a job application, and you had called Miya to celebrate. 

Well, not Miya. You didn’t have his personal number, but you had called Onigiri Miya, which is more or less the same thing at the moment. This time, he had been the one to be interrupted as you blurred out your good news. 

You can almost hear the smile in his voice when he says, “What’d I tell ya? I knew ya could do it.” 

There’s no container of sushi with a hand drawn cat this time, but there is a little note written on a napkin. It’s accompanied by an origami star. 

You don’t cry, exactly, but your eyes water up as you read the note. He’s proud of you. The star is to wish you luck on your continued journey. The knowledge that he’s proud - his own words - fuels you as you keep applying and interviewing, never letting rejection stop you. 

He’s just the guy that takes your onigiri order, but at some point, he’s become someone special to you. 

He cares. He spends an extra two minutes on the phone with you to ask about your day even when you can hear the sounds of a busy environment in the background. He remembers your accomplishments and failures. Whether you fall or rise, he’s there with you every step of the way. 

Sometimes, you get a fluttery feeling in your stomach when he laughs at you, calling you silly for whatever mistake you’re relying to him. You miss his voice when you don’t have an occasion to call, and when something happens, your first thought is always to tell him about it. 

Maybe he feels the same way, because the next time he comes to deliver your order, he tells you, “We’ve known each other long enough, ya order every week. I don’t like being called Miya. My name’s Atsumu.” 

Or maybe not, because he never treats you in person the way he does on the phone. There’s no spark of connection, no bright laughter, no willingness to linger, to stay, to listen. 

Perhaps he’s just shy. In that case, you’re willing to take what he’s offered you and make the first move.

The next time you order, you end the call with, “Thanks, Atsumu. I’ll talk to-“ 

There’s an abrupt interruption from the other end immediately. 

“What’d ya call me?” His voice sounds funny. 

“…Atsumu?”

Even when you’re confused, the sound of his belly deep laughter makes you feel all shivery from your toes to your head. It makes your joints feel weak, like they can’t support you, and you ease into the dining chair as you wait patiently for whatever laughing fit that’s gripped him to pass. 

“Atsumu,” he repeats, with another snort of laughter. “Atsumu, really?”

“What?”

“Ya know Onigiri Miya’s a five minute walk from yer place, right?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Come here,” he says, and hangs up. 

When you enter Onigiri Miya, you get instant whiplash. There’s two of them! 

You’re just wondering if you should get your eyes checked when you start seeing the subtle differences. They have different hair colors, and their eyes are just the subtlest shades apart. 

The most discerning difference is the way the one with grey hair is looking at you. 

“There’s the girl of the hour,” Atsumu says. “I’ll leave ya to it.” 

When Atsumu leaves, Miya gestures for you to sit at the bar in front of him. He’s still packing onigiri. 

“I’m a little hurt, ya know. Can’t believe ya mistook me for my twin.” 

“It was an accident!” You protest. “How was I supposed to know?” 

“I’m teasin’ ya,” he says, laughing. “Yer so easy to rile up. Remember this, okay? I’m Osamu. The nicer brother.” 

“I heard that,” Atsumu yells from the back. 

“Atsumu’s just the delivery guy,” he says. There’s a twinkle in his eye. You don’t think it’s that funny, but you like seeing him mirthful. “I’d rather make the food than deal with the people, so he does it.”

“Am I part of the people?” 

He gives you a look. 

“Stop fishing for compliments,” he says, and your cheeks grow warm with delight. “Ya know ya aren’t.” 

“Here,” he says, sliding you a napkin with a series of numbers and a hand drawn picture of a cat. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.” 

By the cat’s head, the speech bubble reads, “Miya Osamu’s personal number.” The cat is winking at you. 

“Is this…?” 

He smiles at you. “Stop clogging up the line cause ya miss me-“

“I don’t-“

He ignores you. “I got a business to run, ya know? Just call me next time.”

Then, he leans over the bar. He’s too close. Your cheeks feel warm under his attention as he whispers to you, “I’ll make something just for ya, compliments of the chef.” 

Trying to recover, you swallow to bring moisture to your dry mouth. You’re trying to be playful when you say, “It’s a date, then?”

He looks at you with a hint of a smile. “It is.” 

#sera writes #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya osamu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 32 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is used to feeling comfortable around you, so when he arrives home and things feel strained, he wants to understand why. The more you tell him about what has you so upset, the more he wants to try to fix everything. But you don't know if he can do anything to mend your confidence.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 5600 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Nat called and texted the next day to check in with you and Noah. It didn't matter how many times you lied and told her that you were just fine, she said she wanted to be sure. But you knew you were barely holding on, and the next two days without Bradley were going to be really hard. 

Because now it wasn't just the USB drive. It was also your hand. And the broken glass. And the way Noah cried. You were currently curled up in Bradley's bed with Noah sound asleep in your arms, and you didn't even want to go to work tomorrow. Your hand was aching, and the gash looked terrible. Even though you had done your best with it, you knew you should have gone for stitches. But you also knew it was too late for that now.

After a moment of contemplation, you decided to keep Noah in bed with you for the night. You opened up your email one more time with the arrival instructions from Bradley even though you had them memorized. But you didn't want to mess this up. 

When you got to work the next morning, while you were still trying to decide if you should report the break in, another layer of embarrassment was added. Dr. Kelly pulled you aside and glanced down at your hand as she said, "Would you like me to take a look at that?" 

You'd done a pretty terrible job of bandaging it up on your own. "Sure," you said softly, and she unwrapped it and winced.

"This didn't happen at work, did it?"

"No," you replied quickly. "At home."

She met your eyes with startled ones. "This is a nasty, irregular cut. You live with your boyfriend, correct?" When you nodded, she added, "If there's any sort of issue with... violence at home, please know that you can always come to me."

Your jaw dropped open, and you gasped. "No! He's not even here, he's deployed! It was an accident!"

"Okay," she said right away. "I believe you. Let me get it cleaned up. It's looking angry, and you should have probably gone somewhere for stitches over the weekend."

Instead of responding, you silently followed her to one of the exam rooms where she carefully disinfected your palm and applied an adhesive that would work on your skin. "I can reapply it later this week for you."

"Thanks." As you got back to work, you were starting to think you should have reported the incident with the police. Panic rose inside you as you were instructed to prepare some vaccination syringes for the ten year old in exam room five. 

Should you wait until Bradley got home on Wednesday? Should you call the police after work today? Your cut up hand was bad enough, but Noah could have been the one who got hurt. And you'd honestly never be able to forgive yourself if something happened to him. You had protected him from Meredith in the park, so why was this any different?

You rushed back to Bradley's house after work and ran inside, completely exasperated by his old man tendencies. You had to search for the list of phone numbers he gave you which would have been much better if he just saved them to your contacts in your phone.

Noah needed to be picked up in the next forty minutes, and you didn't know how long she would be in her office, but you tried to reach Tracy anyway. When you gave your name to her receptionist, you were shocked that he put you right through to Bradley's lawyer.

"I hope Bradley thanked you for me. The Red Bulls were very sweet of you."

You laughed at Tracy in spite of the fact that you felt like crying. "It's the least I could do." Then you took a deep breath and said, "I was wondering if there is any way you can help me? I don't want to end up with Bradley having to pay you if you give me advice over the phone or anything like that. But I think I need some help right now even though he should be back on Wednesday."

"Your boyfriend basically has me on retainer for you. What do you need?" Tracy asked.

"Retainer?" you asked. No, that couldn't be right.

"I was given explicit instructions to help you with anything you might call about. We're not going to worry about any billing, because he certainly wasn't worried, okay? What can I do for you?"

You sucked in a deep breath as you paced around the kitchen. You felt defeated. That damn USB drive was on top of the refrigerator. The coffee machine you could barely figure out how to use was on the counter. The list of phone numbers in Bradley's handwriting was on the table. So you walked out back and forced yourself to say, "I think Meredith broke into my rental which I had already moved out of. And I saw her at a gas station before that."

There was a long enough pause that you were about to repeat yourself, but then she said, "I think that if she did break into your rental, it was purely out of spite. Because I actually have some news about Meredith that I was waiting to tell Bradley. But I think you and I should have a conversation first, and then you should decide if you want to call the police."

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

Bradley just wanted to get off this aircraft carrier. He had one night left in this fucking bunk with Carl, and then he could go home to his cozy house and sweet son and your warm, welcoming body. Maybe you'd let him snuggle with you and Noah on the couch, and then after Noah's bedtime, he could take you to bed. He couldn't stop thinking about every single way he wanted to have you. And then he could fall asleep with you wrapped up in his arms and your soft breath on his skin.

He was almost getting hard just thinking about it. It had been a long time since he had someone to come home to, someone who was waiting just for him. He felt like he wanted to reward you for it. God, he wanted to give you everything. He had to tuck his hands up behind his head in his bunk and force himself to try to go to sleep. But he dreamed about your voice and your fingertips on his face.

The following day went quickly as they docked in the afternoon. Once he was able to text you, Bradley was pleased to see that you were more responsive.

I'm docked, Princess. We got in a little early, but I haven't deboarded yet. I know you're at work, but I can't wait to see you whenever you can come pick me up.

My Princess: I'll be there by four with Noah. We missed you so much!

When he was able to finally collect his things and start down the ramp, Bradley's heart was thudding in his ears. It wasn't four o'clock yet, and he knew he might have to wait for you to get there, but then he was pleasantly surprised. As he started walking along the fence to the parking lot, he spotted his Bronco in the last aisle. You had parked it away from everything and everything else, and that brought a smile to his face. 

And then he saw you, carrying Noah and hurrying toward him in your new work scrubs that he hadn't even seen yet. A smile broke out on his face as he rushed to close the distance. "Noah! Princess!"

"Daddy!" Noah squealed with delight, practically jumping from your arms to his. Bradley wrapped Noah up in his right arm and kissed him all over his face, reaching for you at the same time with his free hand. "I love you, Bub. Did you have fun with Princess?"

But you hesitated. And when Bradley met your eyes, he was still reaching for you, but you were only very slowly stepping toward him. "Come here," he rasped, slipping his arm around your waist until you were snug at his side. "I love you." Those words seemed to do the trick as you melted against him, and your chin tipped up as you looked at him.

"I missed you so much," you told him, your voice soft and maybe a little sad? And Bradley kissed you hard and heady in front of everyone including Noah, letting his hand rest on the swell of your butt. He didn't care. You belonged with him. He wanted you there forever. 

But even though you were clinging to his uniform shirt now and returning his kisses with a soft moan, he could tell you were holding back. He trailed a few kisses along your jaw back toward your ear and whispered, "I love you, Baby," and you shivered for him. But when he reached for your hand, he found it was bandaged up. And you looked at him with barely concealed frustration. He could just tell something was wrong. 

"What happened?" he asked, repositioning Noah in his arm and letting his son's cheek rest on his shoulder. He kissed your fingers and ran his thumb along the bandage. "What's wrong with your hand?"

You tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let you. "Can we talk about it later? Tonight?"

"Yeah," he agreed, suddenly even more apprehensive. "We can."

"Great," you replied, leading the way to the Bronco with your fingers loosely tangled with his. And while Bradley walked with his lips pressed to his son's forehead and his duffle bag on his back, he was worried about you. 

You were still quiet when the three of you pulled into the driveway and headed inside. "I have a lasagna ready to go in the oven," you told Bradley when he followed you into the kitchen. "Should we start doing your laundry?"

He laughed softly as he put Noah down in one of the chairs and dropped his bag to the floor. "Princess," he whispered, reaching for your soft cheek. "Baby, I don't care about my laundry. I don't even really care about dinner, but I love that you have something ready to go. I just want you to tell me what's bothering you."

He watched you swallow hard, and he thought he saw your eyes dart toward the top of the refrigerator. "Bradley," you muttered.

"You know I thought about you nonstop, right?" he whispered, remembering how it felt to have his fist connect with Carl's face as he made sure he got his polaroid back. "On repeat. I just wanted to be home." He kissed your lips over and over again, stroking your soft skin with his thumb. "So I'll take care of whatever has you upset. You know I will."

You just nodded and let your eyes flutter closed. And all you offered him was one word. "Later."

After dinner was eaten and cleaned up, Bradley spent some extra time giving Noah a bath. The tub was absolutely filled with toys, and Bradley ended up removing his soaking wet undershirt, kneeling on the floor in just his underwear and service khakis. "I missed you so much," he said, kissing his son over and over again. "But I know you had fun with Princess."

Noah held out a green duckie for Bradley to take before he said, "I want Princess to be my mommy." 

Bradley met brown eyes that matched his, and he easily said, "I do too, Bub. She would be really good at it." You already were good at it. But something was wrong, and he needed to figure it out. The two of you weren't acting the way he had hoped you would after being apart for weeks. And now he was questioning whether or not you'd actually want to marry him someday.

It was late. Definitely after Noah's usual bedtime. He was yawning now, but Bradley had been so excited to see him, he let him stay up. With one more big yawn, Bradley scooped his son out of the tub with a towel and drained the water. Then he stopped in the living room where you were sitting on the couch, and he let Noah give you a goodnight kiss. And he leaned down and kissed your cheek as well. "I'll be back out in a minute. We'll talk."

"Okay," you said softly, and then Bradley was thankful that Noah was already falling asleep as soon as he was in bed. On his way back out to the living room, he stopped in the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of merlot and a bag of Skittles he had stashed away. 

After he opened the bottle and took a sip, he met you in the living room. Your gaze took in his naked torso as you bit your lip, and when he handed you the wine with no glass, you took a sip from the bottle as well. 

"Let's talk?" he asked, settling down next to you. He opened the bag of candy and patted his thigh. "And snuggle? I've been saving the wine and Skittles for our reunion, but you'll have to remind me which color goes best with merlot."

He could tell you were trying not to smile as you scooted across the couch and onto his lap while you sipped the wine. "Red, Daddy. Red Skittles pair with merlot."

"Yes," he rasped, kissing the side of your neck. "That's right. Now that I'm all yours again, just like I'm supposed to be, why don't you tell me what's bothering you?"

You handed him the bottle in favor of the candy, and you crunched on a few pieces before you said, "I moved all of my stuff in. And I used your address for my new hire paperwork."

Bradley had to hold back a moan. That sounded so fucking perfect to him, he wanted to take you on the floor right now, right in the middle of the area rug. But instead he just tightened his arm around your waist. "Mmhmm, you know just want to say to make me happy. And you did so great with Noah. I knew you would be perfect, Princess."

But then you met his eyes and held up your bandaged hand. "I had to call Tracy on Monday," you said, and Bradley's heart dropped. 

"Why?"

You pressed your lips together and looked down at the bottle of wine before taking it from his hand and drinking some more. "I saw Meredith at the gas station near Noah's daycare," you whispered, your voice soft and harsh. 

"She broke the restraining order?" he growled. "What the fuck?"

"It was just a gas station," you replied quietly. "And I think she was already there when I pulled in." Bradley was about to rage, but then you kept going. "But then someone broke into my rental, and I cut my hand when Noah was with me. And it must have been Meredith, so I called Tracy, because you weren't here, and I wasn't sure what to do." When you took a deep breath there was a little sob with it that made Bradley clench with the need to protect you. 

"Shit! I wish you didn't have to do this by yourself," he replied, heart skipping faster. "But I'm proud of you. What did Tracy say about Meredith?"

"She helped me file a police report, and they said they are looking for evidence, but my landlord is pissed off that the window is broken. He was supposed to have a new renter move in this week, and he's threatening me about paying for another month. He told me to fix the glass, but the police won't even let me. And you and I are supposed to go meet up with Tracy tomorrow." You hiccupped when you finished talking. 

"Shh," Bradley said, setting the bottle down on the end table and pulling you to his body so your cheek came to rest on his chest. "Baby, I'll take care of it. But back up, and go slow. Did Meredith threaten you or Noah?"

You shrugged against his body, and Bradley focused on every single word you had to say about the gas station and your broken windowpane and the note that was left. And how the police and Tracy both agreed that there's probably not enough evidence to prove anything one way or the other. And then you seemed wrung out as a tear slid down your cheek when you said, "Tracy did tell me that Meredith was on trial for the fraud charges I brought up against her during the custody hearing. When I saw her at the gas station, she told me I ruined her life. And then my window was smashed, probably just because she's such a horrible bitch."

"Make sense," he mumbled against your hair. No wonder he had several unread emails from Tracy that he knew he still needed to go through. Shit. You'd dealt with an awful lot in his absence. He wondered if that meant Meredith was being sentenced. "And we have an appointment with Tracy tomorrow?"

"Yes," you whispered, curling up tighter against his body. "During my lunch break."

"Okay." He kissed your forehead and ran his hands up and down your back. "I'm still off tomorrow. I'll drop you off at work in the morning, and then I'll come back for you whenever you want. And we'll go talk to Tracy, and I promise you, I will take care of everything." You were practically shaking as he added, "Because you take care of us."

You were nodding as you finally looked up at him, and as angry as Bradley was about more bullshit from Meredith, you and Noah were safe. And Tracy would probably have more information for him tomorrow. But right now, you needed someone to take care of you for a minute. "I love you," he promised, considering how exhausted you looked. "Let's take a shower and get in bed?"

Whether you were nodding in agreement or because you were still shaky, Bradley wasn't sure. But he carried you into the bathroom and set you down gently as he turned the shower on. Once you were undressed he helped you in and carefully unwrapped the bandage on your hand. There was a jagged cut on your palm that made his heart lurch. "I'll clean it and rebandage it, Princess," he said, trying to hide the anger in his voice. You didn't deserve any of the shit you'd repeatedly gone through since you met him.

"Okay," you whispered, and as soon as he was out of his khakis and underwear, you were pulling him in with you. Bradley was helpless in his feelings for you. Very carefully, he took his time and washed you so you didn't irritate your cut further. And he let himself just enjoy the feel of your body against his as he gently held your hand.

When he turned the shower off, he wrapped you in a towel and carried you to the bedroom. Everything looked exactly as it should: your purple crown was on his bedpost, everything was tidy, and the bed looked inviting. But you still didn't look relaxed as he helped you into his gray sweatpants and a soft undershirt before bandaging your hand again.

"What will make you feel better?" he asked, pulling on clean underwear as you climbed into bed. "Tell me, and I'll do it. I just want you to know how much I missed you and how happy I am that you moved all your stuff in while I was away."

You peeled the blanket back on his side of the bed and whispered, "Snuggle with me?" 

You looked so perfect and innocent, and Bradley slid in bed with you and collected you in his arms. "Come here, Baby. Let me tell you how much I love you."

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

You started to fall asleep in Bradley's arms while he rubbed small circles on your back through his undershirt which you were wearing. You had been on the brink of erupting into tears all night, and you hadn't even mentioned the USB drive. And now that he was home, you didn't know if you were strong enough to bring it up at all. 

If he knew it was in that box in the attic, then you were going to make a fool of yourself. And if he forgot about its existence, he was going to think you were snooping through his things even though he gave you permission to use the attic. Either way, you weren't going to mention it, at least not yet. 

There were too many other things to think about anyway. Like whether or not the police found anything in your rental. And how you were going to fix the window. And if Meredith was actually going to attempt something with you or Noah, or if she was just bitter that she might be facing jail time. 

"Daddy," you whispered, and Bradley's arm tightened around you as he kissed the top of your head.

"Just sleep, Baby. I'll be right here."

As you dozed off, you realized you didn't have to be on full alert at the moment. For the first night in so long, you could just sleep and know he was with you and Noah. And then you were out. 

Next thing you knew, it was light inside the bedroom, and Bradley was waking you up with gentle kisses on your face. You reached for him, and then his body weight was on top of you as he chuckled. "Baby, we'll be late."

"Good, I want to stay in bed all day," you whined, but soon you were dressed in your scrubs and making breakfast while Bradley got Noah ready for daycare. You hated the way you felt like you were holding back being as physical as you wanted to be with your boyfriend. 

And then a flash of panic shot through you. He must have been expecting you to have sex with him last night, when instead you fell asleep as a bundle of nerves. You were still a bundle of nerves, but now you felt like crying as well. But he was acting so normal when he brought Noah into the kitchen to eat pancakes. "Just leave the mess in the sink, and I'll take care of it later," he said casually, reaching for your good hand to give you another kiss. 

But you were thinking about the USB drive, and your meeting with Tracy and your job. And you barely kissed him back this time. "Okay," you agreed before picking at your breakfast. 

Bradley looked concerned now, and he continued to look concerned a little later as he pulled into Noah's daycare parking lot. "I can take him in," you muttered, but he had already turned off the Bronco's engine. 

"Let's go together," he replied, eyeing you skeptically as he climbed out to get Noah. And when you were walking in, side by side, Bradley asked, "Will you tell me what else is on your mind?"

You just shook your head, because you didn't want to get into this right now. But he took your hand anyway.  And of course the same girl was working at the front desk with her clipboard. 

"Lieutenant Bradshaw! Good morning!"

"Hi, Casey," he replied smoothly, his fingers laced with yours. 

"How was your deployment? We really missed you here." She gave you some serious side eye, and you just knew she wished you weren't even around.

"It was fine," he replied, setting Noah down and kissing him. And then Noah turned to you for a hug before he walked back to the playroom. Then Bradley tugged you a little closer to him and wrapped his arm around you before signing the clipboard with the back of your body snug up against the front of his. He kissed your neck while Casey watched. "Let's go before you're late for work, Princess," he whispered next to your ear. 

He handed the clipboard to Casey without even looking at her, and you were so mixed up inside, you wanted to scream. Five minutes ago, you were dreading the idea of being intimate with Bradley without showing him the USB drive first, and now you wanted to fuck him in the front seat of the Bronco.

"Listen," he said, voice stern as he pulled out into traffic and headed toward your medical complex. "Something is bugging you. I want you to be honest with me. After we talk to Tracy together, you and I are having a conversation later today. And by the end of that conversation, I want you and I to feel the way we are supposed to feel again. Because you moved all your stuff into the house, which I think is us officially taking the next step in our relationship. And I'm used to feeling comfortable when I'm with you. Okay?"

You pressed your lips together. There was no getting around it now. "Yes."

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

"I really like Tracy and all, but I was hoping I'd never have to come here again," Bradley said as you and he rode the elevator up to her office. 

"I'm sorry," you whispered, running your hands down the front of your now wrinkly scrubs. "It's probably my fault."

Bradley did a double take. "Your fault? How would this possibly be your fault, Baby?"

You sighed and exited the elevator, and Bradley just wanted you to look happy again. "Because I'm the one who mentioned all of Meredith's insider trading and shady deals in the first place."

"Hey," he said, leading you down the hallway with his hand at your back. "This is one hundred percent Meredith's fault. And the fraud charges were probably coming whether or not we said anything about it during the custody hearing."

Then Tracy's receptionist was waving the two of you past his desk without question, and Bradley thought that was either a very good or a very bad sign.

"Meredith is in custody," Tracy announced as soon as her office door was closed behind Bradley. 

You gasped and said, "She's in prison."

"Yes. Now have a seat," she replied, pointing to the small conference table. "Because we have some things to discuss. Welcome home, Bradley." Then she set down a copy of Meredith's mugshot and arrest information.

"What a warm welcome," he muttered, skimming the paperwork. "She turned herself in?"

"She did," Tracy told him, taking the empty seat across the table and cracking open a Red Bull. "Probably broke the window at your place for fun as her last hurrah before turning herself in."

"Did the police find anything?" you asked her. "My landlord is so mad about the window."

Tracy just kind of shrugged. "Like I told you before, it's probably a lost cause. Nobody picked anything up on a doorbell camera, and it's impossible to tell exactly when it happened since you haven't actually been living there for a few months." You nodded, and then Tracy asked, "But if they do find evidence, would you like to press charges?"

"No," you replied immediately, and Bradley leaned in a little closer.

"Are you sure? We can absolutely press charges if you want to."

"Come on, Bradley," you said quietly, even though Tracy could still hear. "I don't want to cost you any more money. And I can't afford Tracy on my own." 

You looked at him with pleading eyes, and he leaned in even closer to you. How many times had the two of you had this fucking conversation? Too many for him to keep track of, and it annoyed him every single time. "Look at me," he whispered when you started to turn away. As soon as you met his eyes again, he kissed you softly. But his voice was rough around the edges as he said, "I would defend you with my life. Why would my money be any different? Why is that the thing that is always too much for you?"

With a soft gasp, you gaped at him. "Your life?"

"Yes, of course," he said, brow furrowed. "So I really need you to stop making a fuss about everything else. Because it doesn't matter compared to you. Or compared to Noah. Or compared to us. And I'm getting pretty fucking sick of having this conversation over and over again with you."

"Bradley," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck. He chanced a glance at Tracy, but she was simply scrolling on her phone now. And he could hear tears in your voice as you said, "Money isn't as important as you either."

"Exactly," he growled, holding you tight. "Fuck, Princess... don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry. But if you want to press charges, if there's even a reason to press charges, I will gladly pay for Tracy. She's expensive as hell, because she's very good."

"That's right," Tracy murmured, still scrolling.

You pulled away from him and kissed his scarred cheek a few times before you said, "Can I think about it? I mean, Meredith was probably just acting like a petty bitch because she could."

"We can wait for a police report," Tracy supplied, setting down her phone. "And I can get more information about Meredith as well."

You nodded and looked up at Bradley. "That's what I want to do."

"Then that's what we'll do," he agreed right away. 

"Tracy, do you know when I'll be able to replace the window? My landlord is threatening me with another month of rent."

She just snorted. "Send me a copy of your lease agreement. I'll make him cry."

When the three of you stood, Bradley could tell you seemed more relaxed, and he kissed the now dry tears from your cheek. "How much do I owe you for today?" Bradley asked Tracy as he took your bandaged hand in his.

"No worries. I'll bill you."

"Worth every cent," Bradley told you once again as you rode the elevator back down. 

You had your head resting on his chest as you pulled out your phone, and he could see your screen as you said, "Dr. Kelly texted me. She told me to just take the rest of the afternoon for myself."

"Do you want to head home?" he asked as you tucked your phone away again.

"Yeah, I'll make us lunch."

"Perfect," he replied. "And then we can talk."

And you seemed fine on the way home, changing radio stations in the Bonco and talking about how you hoped Meredith would have to serve the full fifteen years she was being threatened with. Bradley didn't really give much of a fuck about Meredith as long as you felt safe and happy. As long as things went back to normal for the three of you. 

But as soon as you walked into the kitchen, you seemed apprehensive once again. He watched you carefully get some butter and cheese out of the refrigerator, claiming you were in the mood for a grilled cheese sandwich. But then you tossed everything onto the counter and spun to face him. 

"I can't take it any more, okay?" You were nearly shouting at him, fists clenched at your sides. Your pretty face was all pinched like you were in pain. 

"What?" Bradley asked, rushing to you. "What's wrong?" And then he saw one rogue tear streak down your cheek. Something was making you cry again, and he needed to know what it was. 

"She's so many things that I know are horrible, but she's also so many things that I wish I could be... but I'm just not." You took a deep breath and reached up on your tiptoes to take something down from the top of the refrigerator. "I just want to know why it's here, okay?" you asked him, your hands shaking as you reached out with a blue USB drive on your bandaged palm. "Just don't lie to me about why you have this, Bradley. I know it's a few years old, but I just don't understand why you had it in the attic with Noah's baby clothes."

He took it in his own hand, and it seemed familiar. When he looked up and met your eyes, you were crying and trying to swipe the tears away. "I'm confused..." 

You pointed at his laptop which was charging on the table, and said, "Just tell me the truth," as you sobbed. 

Bradley opened the computer and tried to keep a wary eye on you at the same time. But as soon as he inserted the USB drive and the folder automatically opened up, he heard you softly say, "I can't," before you rushed out of the room. 

He was still baffled as he tapped on the video thumbnail. And then he wanted to throw the computer across the room. His blood ran cold as he remembered making this video. The details were hazy, but when he heard himself tell Meredith that he loved her, he wrenched the drive back out of the laptop and heard it clatter across the floor as he ran after you.

"Princess!"

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

Fix it now, Daddy!! You better fix it! I hope you enjoy your babysitter story @beyondthesefourwalls and thank you @mak-32

PART 33

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[naomeii]

Hello! Here's my request:

Modern au where Childe and reader get into a particularly heated argument because he always comes back bloody, battered and bruised from a fight. Unfortunately, Childe ends up telling her he liked it better when she was ignoring him instead of nagging all the time, which shatters her heart. He tries to apologize but she's already out the door and staying over at her mother's house. Even when her mother reassured her that Childe does love her, it did little to heal her heart.

On the other hand, Childe was in shambles. He kept on trying to call, email, and text her but she won't pick up. He was left alone at their shared house, the meal she made had gone cold but he still ate it and yet, he didn't feel full. He ends up crying himself to sleep on their entryway.

The next day, reader returns to their home with the intention of packing up her things and leaving but is stopped by an exhausted Childe who follows her even when she tells him not to touch her. He notices her missing engagement ring (she had left it in their bedroom) and is terrified; he begs her not to leave him while sobbing and holding her tight. Eventually, his pleas were heard when she finally forgives him after he apologizes for snapping at her.

Metamorphosis.

—Pairing: Childe x F!Reader

Content: Modern au, angst to fluff, arguments

Childe's entrance into your shared apartment was marked by the tired shuffle of his boots against the floor. The faint odor of blood mixed with the antiseptic scent of a healing agent lingered in the air. He looked up, eyes shadowed with weariness, as you confronted him in the doorway.

"What happened to you this time, Childe?" Your voice was a mix of concern and frustration, and your eyes scanned his battered form with a mix of anger and worry. This had become a routine – him coming back battered and bruised, and you, waiting to pick up the pieces.

Childe sighed, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "It's part of the job, darling. You knew what you were getting into when we started dating."

Your jaw tightened at the dismissive response. "Part of the job doesn't mean you have to come back looking like you've been through a war every single time! Do you even care about how this affects me?"

Childe's tired eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a flicker of remorse. "I liked it better when you just ignored me, you know? Instead of nagging all the time."

As the weight of his words sank in, you couldn't help but recall the days when Childe was indeed all over you. His playful antics, the way he made you laugh until tears streamed down your face, and the warmth of his love enveloping you. It was a stark contrast to the current reality, where his flippant remark shattered the remnants of those precious moments.

"Childe, what happened to us?" The question slipped out, laced with a mixture of pain and confusion. "You used to care about us, about me."

He avoided your gaze, a hint of guilt crossing his features. "It's just the way things are now. We both knew my life was dangerous."

A bitter chuckle escaped you. "I knew, but I never thought you'd grow indifferent. I miss the Childe who used to come home to me, not this stranger who treats me like a burden."

His eyes softened, but it was too late. The damage had been done. You turned away, tears threatening to spill. "I can't do this, Childe. Not if it means losing myself in the process."

As Childe desperately reached out for your hand, the door swung open, as you quickly left.

"Wait, please!" Childe's voice cracked with desperation, but you were out the door, oblivious to his pleas.

In your tear-streaked haze, you hailed a cab, directing it to your mother's house. The city lights blurred as you tried to make sense of the shattered fragments of your relationship. The cab's interior provided a temporary sanctuary, shielding you from the unresolved emotions that lingered at the doorstep of your shared home.

Arriving at your mother's house, the front door creaked open before you could even knock. Concern etched across her face, your mother pulled you into a tight embrace, her worry palpable.

"What happened, sweetheart?" she asked, guiding you inside.

Through choked sobs, you recounted the argument, the hurtful words, and the irreparable damage that had driven you away.

"Sweetheart, people say things they don't mean when emotions run high. Childe does love you; I'm sure of it. Relationships have their ups and downs, but love can overcome even the toughest moments."

Her words, meant to console, offered a lifeline in the storm of emotions. Yet, despite her reassurance, the ache in your heart persisted. The wounds were fresh, the echoes of Childe's indifferent words still reverberating within you.

"I know, Mom, but it just hurts so much," you whispered, tears welling up again.

She held you at arm's length, her gaze filled with concern. "Take your time, dear. Healing doesn't happen overnight. If he loves you, he'll realize the impact of his words and make amends."

On the other side, Childe's attempts to reach you knew no bounds. His phone buzzed with unanswered calls and texts, each message a desperate plea for forgiveness.

+𝟗𝟗 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐮𝐦 <𝟑 3:33 am Y/n, please, just pick up the phone. I'm so sorry. I never meant what I said. I love you more than anything. 4:32 am I'm an idiot, love. I messed up, and I need you to hear me out. Let's talk. Please. 4:45 am ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 (Hey, dummy. I know I screwed up. I didn't mean any of it. I miss you... Can we just talk?)

The echoes of your silence were deafening. Each attempt to reach you felt like shouting into the abyss, the void swallowing his words.

Returning to the shared house, the remnants of your presence lingered. The cold meal you had prepared sat untouched, a poignant reminder of a time when warmth filled the home. Childe mechanically picked at the food, each bite a tasteless reminder of the void that now enveloped him.

The once-familiar walls seemed to close in as he wandered through the silent rooms. The solitude amplified the weight of his regret, and a profound loneliness settled over him. Despite filling his stomach, an emptiness gnawed at his insides.

Tears welled up, and he crumpled to the entryway floor, the place where the love you both had built now reduced to a battleground of hurtful words. The cool surface provided little comfort as he cried himself into an exhausted slumber, the entryway serving as a painful witness to the wreckage of a love he feared might be irreparably broken.

As the morning light filtered through the curtains, you cautiously returned to your shared home. The air hung heavy with the residue of the previous night's turmoil. With a determined resolve, you planned to pack your things and spend some time with your mother until the wounds of the argument had a chance to heal.

The moment you stepped into the entryway, you noticed a disheveled Childe, still draped in the shadows of sleep. His eyes, red-rimmed from crying, widened in surprise at your presence.

"Y/n…" His voice wavered, a mix of regret and exhaustion lacing his words.

"I'm here to pack my things, Childe," you stated, avoiding eye contact.

His eyes pleaded with you, but you remained steadfast. "Please, love, let's talk. I need you to understand."

"No, Childe. We've said enough," you replied, your voice firm. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, but you were determined not to let it sway your decision.

As you began gathering your belongings, Childe, propelled by a mixture of desperation and a genuine desire to make amends, rose from the floor. He moved closer, his hand reaching out involuntarily.

"Don't touch me, Childe," you warned, your eyes flashing hurt.

Childe's heart sank as he continued to trail behind you, the weight of your silence pressing down on him. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and he winced at the palpable pain in your voice when you told him not to touch you.

His eyes were red and swollen from the tears that had stained the entryway floor the night before. Yet, a glimmer of hope flickered within him, fueled by the desperate need to salvage what was left of the love that once filled their home.

As he followed you through the house, his eyes caught sight of your left hand. The familiar glint of the engagement ring was conspicuously absent. Panic seized him as he realized its absence, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut.

"Y/n, where's the ring?" His voice trembled with a mix of fear and desperation.

You glanced at him briefly, the weight of your gaze heavy with unspoken words. "It's in the bedroom. I left it."

Childe's heart raced as he hurried to the bedroom, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. The room, once a sanctuary of shared dreams, felt haunted by the shadows of fractured promises.

He found the ring on the dresser, its absence from your finger a stark reminder of the fragility of the bond they had built. The intricate design, a symbol of their commitment, now seemed like a fragile artifact of a love slipping through his fingers.

Fear gripped him, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a tidal wave. He returned to find you near the front door, the distance between you growing wider with each passing moment.

"Y/n, I—I can fix this. I'll do whatever it takes. Please, don't go," he pleaded, the vulnerability in his voice bared for you to see.

As you moved towards the door, a determined resolve etched across your face, Childe's hand shot out, instinctively reaching for you. He caught your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. His eyes pleaded with yours, mirroring the desperate turmoil within him.

"Y/n, please, I beg you… don't go," he pleaded, his voice breaking.

You paused, feeling the grip on your wrist, the pull of emotions warring within you. Childe's sobs echoed in the silent room, the raw vulnerability he displayed tearing down the walls you had erected around your wounded heart.

"Childe, you can't fix this with just words," you said, your own voice wavering with the weight of the situation.

His grip softened, fingers slipping from your wrist to intertwine with yours. "I know… I know, but let me try. I love you, and I can't bear the thought of losing you."

His tears fell freely, staining the floor beneath him. The vulnerability he exhibited, coupled with the sincerity in his eyes, created a tumultuous whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you.

"I can't promise anything, Childe," you said, gently trying to disentangle your hand from his. "But I need time to think, away from this… chaos."

Childe, however, held on tighter, his sobs intensifying. "I messed up, Y/n. I don't want to lose you. Please, just stay. Let me try to make things right."

The conflicting emotions battled within you as Childe's sobs reverberated in the room. Despite the anger, hurt, and the shattered trust, a deep well of love still lingered within your heart. The sight of him crumbling before you, laid bare in vulnerability, tugged at those lingering threads of affection.

Taking a deep breath, you relented. Your free hand reached out, gently cupping Childe's tear-stained cheek. Your touch, though soft, held the weight of both love and reproach.

"Childe, stop crying," you whispered, your voice a delicate plea.

His tearful eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside their shared turmoil seemed to fade away. The touch of your hand, wiping away his tears, bridged the emotional chasm that had grown between you two.

"I love you, but this can't be fixed overnight," you admitted, your tone a delicate balance of firmness and compassion.

Childe nodded, his grip on your hand relaxing.

In the days that followed, the atmosphere in your shared home transformed. Childe, once a tempest of chaos and unpredictability, began to change. The realization of the pain he had caused you, coupled with the fear of losing the love he cherished, became a catalyst for a profound transformation.

His actions spoke louder than words. Childe started attending therapy, seeking guidance to navigate the complexities of his emotions and learn healthier ways to cope with the challenges that came with his role in the Fatui. The reckless impulsivity that once defined him began to give way to a more measured and thoughtful approach.

The wounds of the argument were still fresh, and trust needed time to mend, but Childe's commitment to change became evident in his actions. He took on a more active role in maintaining the home, shared responsibilities with newfound diligence, and made genuine efforts to communicate openly.

Gone were the days of recklessness overshadowing your relationship. Childe, now more attuned to your needs and the impact of his words, worked tirelessly to rebuild the connection that had weathered the storm.

While the scars of the past lingered, the metamorphosis within Childe created a sense of hope.

#genshin angst #genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #reader insert #genshin imagines #angst to comfort #childe x reader #childe genshin impact #childhood #childe x you #childe #childe tartagalia #genshin childe #childe tartaglia ajax #genshin #tartaglia

[e-hv]

Why II

This is a repost cause i deleted all my fics

Major warning if you have mommy issues or daddy issues or parental neglect issues pls do not read this

and if you do read this pls don't blame me for anything, including but not limited to excessive crying/sobbing, a depression slump/ wanting to kill someone or anything else

Or if you're name Sarah

part 1

Alexia Putellas X Child!Reader

Tw: Negelct, Angst

Summary: Why did she not try

Why didn't I make the effort to acknowledge you, or even offer a simple greeting, when all you wanted was a moment of recognition?

Alexia was back from Elena’s high school graduation when she saw the Envelope on the dining table, mark with her name on it, she was going to open it when she realized it was your handwriting. She rolled her eyes thinking it was one of your notes, asking her to spend time with you or something similar. She threw the envelope into the bin and started looking through her email. The sky soon turned dark, she realized she hasn’t seen you since she came back which was unusual since you were always clinging to her like a lost puppy. She was going to order take out for both of you, when she recieved a text from Elena asking her if she wanted to celebrate her graduation with dinner, she texted her back saying yes, and called you to come down so she could give you money for your dinner. When you didn’t reply her or rush down she just left the money on the counter and went out for dinner. When she came back the lights were still on, she thought nothing of me until she saw that the money she left you was left untouched. She walked up stairs and open the door, noticing your barren room. She decided to call you, but all she heard was,

"Thank you for calling. The number you have reached has been disconnected or is no longer in service. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. Please check the number and try your call again. Thank you.”

Since when did your number change she thought, she wanted to ask your friends if they knew where you were but she realized she didn’t even know who they were. Then she remembered the letter that she envelope that she threw to the bin,

When she opened the envelope and read the letter, she felt empty she didn’t know why, she thought would be happy wouldn’t she after all she had been pushing you away all this time. So she set the letter down, change into her evening gown and went to sleep. But as the weeks past, she felt the empty feeling grow into a pit in her heart. She started missing the notes you left, the way you would smile when she talked to you, the warmth of your presence in the house. She missed the little moments that she had taken for granted.

As more a month flash by she started trying to look for you after all you couldn’t have gotten that for right. She decided to go to your room trying to find anything that could lead her to where youu went instead she found, a book, she then remebered that in your letter you wrote that you were excited that you made it into the school's football team. When she first read it she was confuse as she never remembered you even taking an intrest in football. But after she saw the book she realized you did indeed tell her you make it to the football team, it was also the day she was supposed to fetch you from school as you had been begging her to for a long time, so she just said yes. Hoping you would stop pestering her, she didn’t fetch you that day, and instead of giving you an explanation, she just ignored you when you told her your exciting news, and told you she would talk about it over dinner, which she also missed.

She then remembered all the other times you tried talking to her, yet she just regarded you as a pest, wanting you to just stop. How she regrets it now, as all she wanted was for you to come back through the front door and hug her telling her you change your mind. And she would make up for all the times she dismissed you. However it didn’t happen you didn’t walk in, the house was still missing your presence, and the emptiness lingered in every corner.

Alexia couldn't shake off the overwhelming guilt that consumed her. She realized how she had neglected you, how she had failed to offer even a simple acknowledgment of your existence, let alone celebrate your achievements and share in your excitement.

As she sat in your barren room, holding onto the book that held a piece of your excitement and dreams, she couldn't help but feel the weight of her own shortcomings as a mother. She wished she could turn back time, to undo the hurt she had caused you, to be the supportive and loving mother you deserved.

But no amount of regret could change the fact that you were gone, that she had lost the chance to make things right. The realization hit her like a wave, crashing down on her with a force she couldn't bear.

Tears streamed down Alexia's face as she clutched onto the book, her heart aching with the longing for your presence, for another chance to show you that she cared.

Why did I neglect the most fundamental tasks you asked of me, yet expect you to readily assist me in my every request?

She was still trying to look for you when she, reread your letter for the hundred time, she read the part where you said that you asked if you could go to the arcade with your friends and that you’ve always bent over backwards to fulfill her every request. She recalled the times, she would asked you to help her buy things before and during team building and didn’t even ask you if you wanted to join, instead reminding you that you had to help her clean up after it ended. She then remembered all the times you ask her if she could go to the beach with you, or attend your concert or events and she said she was busy.

She remembered how she always seemed to prioritize her own needs and desires over yours, expecting you to readily assist her in every request without considering your own wishes and feelings.

The weight of her negligence and selfishness hit her like a ton of bricks. She realized how she had taken you for granted, how she had failed to see the love and effort you were pouring into your relationship with her, only to be met with indifference and neglect in return.

Alexia's heart ached with the realization of her own hypocrisy. How could she have expected you to be there for her when she couldn't even spare a moment to acknowledge your needs and desires?

Why couldn’t she had just try to make time for you maybe then you would still be here with her, she thought as she was holding back tears telling herself she didn’t deserved to feel sad as it was all her fault.

Why was I consistently absent from your most significant moments, offering nothing but hollow excuses in return?

Alexia now had a routine go to training or a match and comeback home to try to look for you. The only times it ever change was when she had an away game even then, she checked the camera that she installed in the front door ( incase you came back and she wasn’t there) religiously. When she checked her phone she saw a message from Elena, she ignored it as now every time she saw it she saw a message from her she only remembers the fact that she missed your primary school graduation even though she promised you. Or the fact she always said that she had to help Elena with something and missed your milestones and important moments. She remembered all the reasons she thought was good reasons that now she realized was pitiful excuses.

All the times she said she was busy, and the way your eyes dimmed but you still hugged her and said it was okay. She wondered how much she hurt you but didn’t realized or more accurately was to busy to care.

And you... why didn't you question me when I stopped paying attention to you?

She found a photo album titled 2019 summer road trip, she didn’t remember going on any road trip before, when she opened the album she saw a photo of you in a car, she then remembered of the week she didn’t see you at all. And when she did you asked her if she wanted to ask you anything and she just ignored you thinking it was one of your antics. Turned out you had gone on a road trip for a week, and she didn’t even realized. She wondered why you didn’t ask her if she notice but you did in fact try to, as she vividly remembers you trying to tell her something but she just tuned it out and focused on her phone.

The weight of her neglect weighed heavily on Alexia as she flipped through the album, each photo a painful reminder of the moments she had missed, the moments she had failed to share with you.

She recalled the times you had tried to reach out to her, to question her absence, but she had brushed you off, too preoccupied with her own affairs to spare a moment for you. The guilt gnawed at her insides as she realized how much she had hurt you, how much pain she had caused with her indifference and neglect.

Alexia couldn't understand why you didn't push her more, why you didn't demand her attention and question her absence. She knew deep down that you deserved so much more, that you deserved a mother who would be there for you, who would prioritize your needs and desires above all else.

But instead, she had failed you time and time again, offering nothing but hollow excuses in return for your longing for recognition and acknowledgment.

As she sat there, surrounded by memories of the moments she had missed, Alexia couldn't help but feel a profound sense of regret. Regret for the time lost, for the moments she could never get back, for the love and attention she had failed to give you.

What actions of mine led you to accept the disdain from me , your own flesh and blood, to endure such neglect?

What exactly crossed my mind when I opted to engage with her instead of you, my own daughter?

Alexia couldn’t help but ask herself what exactly did she do to make you accept her negelct like it was normalcy, and maybe it was to you. Her mind settled on to the memory where she believed Elena over you, and scolded you for something you probably didn’t do. She then recalled the fact she had took the necklace back from Elena planning to give it back to you when you apologized. You never did, and that was a blessing in disguised. She rummaged around her drawer for the necklace and when she found it, she knew she didn’t give it to you that’s when she remembered in your letter it stated that you found someone that treated you like her own daughter, who was there for you when she wasn’t. She shouldn’t feel sad, angry or jealous that you relied on that women instead of her but as she held the necklace in her hands, engraved with the word "Princesa" and signed by someone named L.W., Alexia couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy towards this mysterious figure who had seemingly filled the void in your life that she had left gaping open.

She realized that she had pushed you away, prioritizing her own desires and relationships over nurturing the bond she had with you. The memory of scolding you based on Elena's words instead of listening to your side of the story haunted her, knowing now that it was a pivotal moment where she had failed you.

And as she sat there, clutching the necklace that symbolized the connection she had failed to maintain with you, Alexia couldn't help but wonder why she had chosen to engage with others instead of prioritizing you, her own flesh and blood.

She knew that her actions had led you to seek comfort and acceptance elsewhere, to find comfort in someone who treated you like their own daughter when she had failed to do so.

But even amidst the guilt and regret, Alexia realized that she couldn't change the past. All she could do now was acknowledge her mistakes, learn from them, and strive to be a better mother to you, even if it meant starting from scratch and earning back your trust and love.

And as tears welled up in her eyes, Alexia made a silent vow to herself – to never again neglect the most fundamental task of being a mother, to always prioritize you above all else, and to make up for the lost time and opportunities she had squandered in the past.

And despite the pain and letdowns I've inflicted, why did you persist in holding onto hope that I would come through for you

Despite the pain and letdowns she had inflicted, Alexia couldn't help but wonder why you persisted in holding onto hope that she would come through for you. It was a question that haunted her as she grappled with the realization of how much she had failed you, how much she had neglected to be the mother you needed and deserved.

When a parcel labeled for you arrived, Alexia couldn’t resist the urge to open it. Inside, she found a medal inscribed with the words "Copa Juvenil Estrella" – "Star Youth Cup." Confusion washed over her as she struggled to understand why you would receive a medal from one of the most competitive under-21 tournaments in Spain. It was then that the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.

She remembered the day of the tournament finals, the same day you had asked her to attend your football match. She recalled how she had brushed you off, claiming to be busy with her and Elena's training. It was a moment of realization that hit her like a bolt of lightning – she had prioritized her own interests over yours once again, and it may have been the final straw for you.

As Alexia connected the dots, she felt like burying herself six feet under. She couldn’t believe she didn’t know you were playing football much less knew you were playing it at such a high standard.

She wondered just what else she didn’t know about you. But she knew she could only hope that she’ll find you and that you’ll be able to forgive her so that you could build up your relationship again.

I just wish that one day I'll gather enough courage to ask for your forgiveness, and to find the strength to accept that you may never be there for me, regardless of how much I now yearn for your presence in my life

As Alexia was sitting down looking at her computer, a picture came up with you in her arms the day she adopted you and promised you she would love and take care of you forever. However all she did was the opposite, she remembered all the conversation’s or missed opportunities you had hinted at in your letter and, memories came rushing back to her,

“Mami, I made it into the school’s football team.”

The words barely registered as she mumbled a distracted response.

“But you promised you'd pick me up today.”

Your disappointment was palpable, "I know, sweetie, but something came up. The helper will take care of you," she said, barely sparing you a glance as I tried to focus on my task at hand.

"

As she watched you retreat to your room, she couldn't help but wonder why you seemed so upset. Didn't you understand that she had important things to attend to? Why couldn't you just be patient and wait for her to finish?

“Mami, can I go to the arcade with my friends? It’s the last day of school.”

She thought that you should help her with her teambuilding since you were her daughter after all.

"But I finished all my work."

Your insistence only added to her frustration. "I said no. End of discussion," I declared, my tone final as I brushed off your request. Didn't you understand that she had more important things to worry about than your petty desires?

"Why does she always choose someone else over me?"

As she watched you resign yourself to another night at home, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. Why couldn't you just accept that she had my own life to live, her own priorities to attend to?

"Mom, why can't you come to my graduation?"

Your hurt was evident in your voice, but she couldn't afford to dwell on it. "I have a work commitment, sweetie," she replied, her words hollow .

"I didn’t do anything wrong, Mom."

Your protests fell on deaf ears as she refused to listen. "I don't want to hear it," she cut you off, her disappointment palpable as she struggled to come to terms with your perceived shortcomings.

All the things she thought about you and everything she said was what pushed you away. Each dismissive remark, each broken promise, each moment of neglect drove a wedge between you, widening the gap in your relationship until it became insurmountable.

As Alexia sat there, reflecting on her past actions and the impact they had on you, she couldn't help but feel a deep sense of regret and remorse. She wished she could turn back time, to undo the hurt she had caused, to be the mother you needed and deserved.

But she knew that she couldn't change the past. All she could do now was acknowledge her mistakes and strive to do better in the future. She realized that she needed to confront her own shortcomings, to learn from her mistakes, and to prioritize you above all else.

With tears streaming down her face, Alexia made a silent vow to herself – to gather enough courage to ask for your forgiveness, and to find the strength to accept that you may never forgive her, regardless of how much she now yearned for your presence in her life.

As she sat there, clutching onto the memories of the moments she had missed, a notification from Instagram interrupted her thoughts. The post was from Arsenal, and the caption read:

"Welcome to Arsenal, our new signing Y/N Williamson”

#angst #liquidation writes #woso soccer #woso fanfics #woso #woso community #fc barca femeni #womens football #woso imagine #alexia putellas angst #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #alexia putellas

[likeadevils]

1989 Timeline

This is a very long post that puts all the songs on 1989 in order of Taylor creating them. I’ve also included a few other songs she worked on while writing 1989 and quotes from Taylor and her collaborators talking about her process

Of all the albums in Taylor's discography, I think this is the one that improves the most when you listen to it in order. All of those things Taylor was talking about in the promo for this album-- how this is an album of her coming into her own, figuring out her values, learning to stand on her own two feet-- it all clicks into place. Listening to it in order has made me cry on more than one occasion, and it's also the thing that made me start this whole crazy process of figuring out the dates she wrote each song.

If you don't want to read the whole post, check out this playlist of the album in order or this playlist of her entire discography.

I’ve also added this color coded scale of how sure I am of the date: 

Confirmed: There is some type of official source for the date

Inferring: Nobody has officially said “This is when we wrote it,” but all available evidence points to that date

Speculation: This date is based on guesswork and is highly likely to change, or, all that is known is the general season.

Unknown: All that is known is the year (from the US Copyright Offices)

Without further ado...

Oct 6, 2012: Taylor seems to have been in a studio in London (Note: I have no idea where this photo comes from and I can not find a place that specifies if this is a music studio or radio interview.)

This Love: Oct 17, 2012 (Confirmed)

October 19, 2012: Taylor mentions wanting to work with Imogen Heap, prompting Imogen to get in touch with Taylor

Time Interview: Who’d be your dream collaboration, especially now that you’re taking more musical risks? Let me think. Imogen Heap! She’s amazing. Taylor: Someone asked me in an interview "Who would you like to work with?" and I said Imogen Heap. I get an email to my management, sent like "Imogen just saw that Taylor just said an interview that she would like to work together" She said "Why don't you come out to my studio." Imogen: I got a phone call [in 2014] saying Taylor Swift was in London, she'd love to work with me and the only date she could do (between 4 sold out 02 arenas!) was the day after we got back, Sunday. It was both unexpected and not at the same time as I'd heard Taylor was a fan a while back via this Time magazine piece but somehow didn't think it would actually happen.

Fall 2012: Taylor possibly writes a song with Harry Styles and Jacknife Lee (her producer for The Last Time)

“It was out of my field of expertise and interest, but I was intrigued and my girls were thrilled. Taylor was nice and very professional. She knew what she wanted and there was no fucking about. She was seeing Harry Styles at the time, so he came to Topanga on her recommendation. She wrote a few songs with him, and it was the same thing – quick. But this time it was more directed by the management and label. They were after something specific. I wanted more acoustic and gentle, almost Americana, and they wanted bombast. They got what they wanted, and that was the extent of my foray into teen-pop territory. It was fun.”

All You Had to Do Was Stay: Jan 10, 2013 (Confirmed)

Taylor is photographed outside Conway, and then tweets "Back in the studio. Uh oh..." Later, Taylor confirmed that she was recording All You Had To Do Was Stay. Taylor: I had a dream that my ex showed up at my door, knocked at my door, and I opened it up, and I was about ready to launch into the perfect thing to say [...], Instead, all that would come out of my mouth was that high-pitched chorus of people singing, 'Stay!'...and then you go to say something else, and it's just like 'Stay! Stay! Stay!' And I woke up, I was like 'Oh, that was mortifying. But that's kind of a cool vocal part.'

January 11, 2013: Taylor is photographed outside Conway again

How You Get The Girl: Jan 15, 2013 (Confirmed)

Taylor posts a picture of her playing a guitar in the studio, captioned "Somewhere in LA..". Later, Taylor confirmed that she was recording How You Get The Girl. Given what was going on in her personal life, she likely wrote this sometime in the fall/winter of 2012, but all we know for sure is the date she recorded it.

February 9, 2013: Tweets "Grammy rehearsals last night, studio today, who knows what tonight holds! (I do. Laying around watching TV and eating candy.)"

March 6, 2013: Taylor is photographed outside a studio in LA

March 23, 2013: Posts a picture of her playing guitar captioned "Pre show. Columbia, South Carolina"

I Wish You Would: May 28, 2013 (Inferring)

Taylor is photographed out for lunch in Rhode Island with Lena Dunham (and likely Jack Antonoff, who was Lena's boyfriend but not as famous at the time) on May 27 before leaving for her show in Phoenix, Arizona the next day Jack:  "We were hanging out at her house in Rhode Island and we were talking about John Hughes movies, and a lot of the music that inspired [them], and just this general culture of sound in that time period that was really larger-than-life in an anthemic, positive way. These songs could be at the end of films that were really, really beautiful and said a lot. That actually ended up being a song called 'I Wish You Would' which is going to be on her album. We first worked on that song together and realised we kind of have a good thing. Taylor: “This is a song I did with Jack Antonoff, and Jack is one of my friends and so we were hanging out and he pulled out his phone and goes "I made this amazing track the other day. It's so cool, I love these guitar sounds." And he played it for me and immediately I could hear this finished song in my head, and I just said "Please, please let me have that. Let me play with it, like send it to me" And so he sent it to me and I was on tour and this was me playing the track on my laptop recording me singing the vocal into my phone and it ended up being a song called "I Wish You Would", because Jack wrote back and said "I love that".”

June 7, 2013: At the CMA fest, Taylor is asked if she's started writing for her next album yet

“It's starting, all the anxiety is starting and when the anxiety starts, then the writing happens right afterward, usually. Um, so, yeah, I basically... I like to, I like to write for about two years before I'm finished with an album because I... at this point I kind of know that whenever I write in the first year is going to get thrown away, because, I'm going to like it, but it's going to sound a little bit like the last project I had, and the second year usually ends up sounding like the next project. So I think at this point, at this point I feel like staying the same is the easy way to go but it's not the way that I want to go, creatively. I think you need to challenge yourself, I think you need to change up your influences, I think you need to be inspired by different things that you've been inspired by before, and, uh, y'know, It's harder to call people you don't know, and it's harder to think of topics you haven't covered and think of new ways to say old emotions that everyone feels, but, that's the goal at this point."

June 20-21, 2013: Taylor and Selena Gomez hang out, and Taylor potentially writes Wildest Dreams.

July 15, 2013: Taylor gives a brief interview to Rolling Stone

“The floodgates just opened the last couple weeks,” she says of the songwriting process. “I’m getting to that point where I’m irritating to be around because I’ll be with you for half the conversation and then the second half of the conversation I’m clearly editing the second verse of whatever I’m writing in my head.” “I really loved collaborating [on Red],” she says. “You work with a lot of different people and you find the people you have this dream connection with in the studio. I know those people and I know the ones I want to go back to. But I also have a really long list of the people I admire and I would really love to go and contact. So that’s kind of where that is.” “I think that the idea of having a different approach to every single one of my albums is so exciting to me. I never want to make the same record twice. Why do it? What’s the point? It’s so overwhelming that when you’re starting a project there are such endless possibilities if you’re willing to evolve and experiment. If you’re willing to become a different version of yourself, you can really go anywhere with it. And that’s kind of where I am. The kind of the laboratory experimental stage of really catching onto a new thing that I’m liking.”

July 18, 2013: Taylor unfollows the three backup dancers that left her tour for Katy's, meaning Bad Blood was likely written sometime between July and November 2013.

Sweeter Than Fiction: Summer 2013 (Speculation)

Taylor wrote this one over email, and then it was recorded in New York (partially in Jack's living room, partially in an actual studio)

August 25, 2013: Taylor and Selena Gomez hang out at the VMAs, and Taylor potentially writes Wildest Dreams.

August 25, 2013: Taylor gives a brief interview on the VMAs red carpet

"But I think [songwriting is] about to start to kick into full gear. I'm about to go into the studio. It's about to get really intense."

Out Of The Woods: September 14 2013 (Inferring)

On September 14, Fun cancelled their show. Taylor was likely either flying to or from Charlottesville, where she had a show for the Red Tour. Jack: "When I did the track for Out of the Woods, which is a Taylor song that I'm really proud of, there was some issue at a venue and our show was canceled that night and I didn't have my stuff, I had left it on the bus, so I only had these old samples on what was on my laptop, and caught up that 'oh oh'' thing, and I only had one drum kit on there, and these dumb little things [sometimes turn into a great song]" Jack: "So 'Out Of The Woods' was the third thing we worked on together, and probably the easiest. I sent her the track for it, and she sent back a voice note with the verse and chorus in what felt like five seconds. And it was just perfect. It's eerie how similar it is to what the final product is." Taylor: "This is a track that Jack Antonoff sent me, and I was actually on a plane, I got it and I got on a plane and I'm listening to it, and I'm just like listening to it and mumbling melodies cause the song came to me immediately like, in full [...] I think what I should start by playing you, is when I got the track, what I sent him like an hour later, and it is, me.. um, me singing what came to me, which ended up being the finished version of the song, or at least really close to it."

September 20, 2013: In a brief interview with USA Today, Taylor says she plans to work on her next album between the next few legs of the Red Tour

"I’ll be in the studio, figuring out what comes next. I really like to take two years to make a record, and I’ve been writing and doing stuff for the last year. This is kind of the year that it goes into overdrive, and it’s all I think about and I become obsessive over it and I’m hard to talk to"

September 22, 2013: Taylor gives an interview to New York Magazine where she talks about her plans for TS5

These days, Swift is thinking a lot about her next record. While on the Red tour, she’d been writing songs and stockpiling ideas: reams of lyrics, thousands of voice memos in her iPhone [...] she plans to spend much of 2014 writing and recording the new album, a prospect she finds exhilarating and terrifying. “I worry about everything. Some days I wake up in a mind-set of, like, ‘Okay, it’s been a good run.’ By afternoon, I could have a change of mood and feel like anything is possible and I can’t wait to make this kind of music I’ve never made before. And then by evening, I could be terrified of the whole thing again. And then at night, I’ll write a song before bed.” Swift hopes to collaborate with new songwriters and producers. But she planned to begin, she said, by heading back into the studio with Max Martin and Shellback. “I want to go in with Max and Johan first, just to figure out what the bone structure of this record is going to be. “I have a lot of things to draw from emotionally at the moment. But I have to draw from them with a different perspective than on Red. I can’t say the same things over and over, you know? I mean, I think it’s just all the more important that I don’t ever allow myself to coast. At the same time, there’s a mistake that I see artists make when they’re on their fourth or fifth record, and they think innovation is more important than solid songwriting. The most terrible letdown as a listener for me is when I’m listening to a song and I see what they were trying to do. Like, where there’s a dance break that doesn’t make any sense, there’s a rap that shouldn’t be there, there’s like a beat change that’s, like, the coolest, hippest thing this six months—but it has nothing to do with the feeling, it has nothing to do with the emotion, it has nothing to do with the lyric. I never want to put things in songs just because that might make them popular, like, on the more rhythmic stations or in dance clubs. I really don’t want a compilation of sounds. I just need them to be songs.”

September 28-October 5, 2013: Taylor and Selena Gomez are in the same city, and Taylor potentially writes Wildest Dreams.

October 12, 2013: Taylor gives an interview to the Associated Press

Swift: I think the goal for the next album is to continue to change, and never change in the same way twice [...] How do I write these figurative diary entries in ways that I’ve never written them before and to a sonic backdrop that I’ve never explored before? It’s my fifth album, which is crazy to think about, but I think what I’m noticing about it so far is it’s definitely taking a different turn than anything I’ve done before. AP: You said recently you’ve been working on songs for the new album for about six months. What can you tell us about what you have planned? Swift: It’s too early to tell who are going to be my predominant collaborators, but I do know that my absolute dream collaborators were Shellback and Max Martin on the last project. I’ve never been so challenged as a songwriter. I’ve never learned so much. I’ve never just been so excited to show up to the studio every day, just because you never know what we’re going to put together. I’ll bring in ideas and they’ll take such a different turn than where I thought they were going to go, and that level of unexpected spontaneity is something that really thrills me in the process of making music. ... What if we did this? What if we made it weirder? What if we took it darker? I love people who have endless strange and exciting ideas about where music can go."

October 14, 2013: At the NSAI, Taylor talks about reinventing herself for different albums

"I’m making my 5th record now, so I think you have to change things up, you have to explore different corners of music as much as you can. Cause I really, it’s been a big goal of mine to never make two albums that sounded the same. I really want my fans to be able to be like "Oh that song? Clearly that's from the Fearless album", "No that one, that one was from Red" and so I’m in the process of doing that thing all over again for my 5th album and it’s amazing to be in the studio and to be songwriting again, and be honored for songwriting tonight"

Blank Space: October 26, 2013 (Inferring)

It looks like she’s wearing the same outfit in this behind the scenes footage and these candids Taylor: "I was going into write with Max Martin and Shellback, who are two of the primary collaborators on 1989, and I... was preparing all these things, and I, I think Blank Space was like the third thing I played them, and they just stopped and they were like "NO, this is the first thing we're working on today." [...] I had the idea for the chorus and I had the hook, but a lot of the verse was gibberish." Taylor (On what song took her the least amount of time to write): "Blank space, cause I'd written a lot of the lines down already in the year preceding the session"

October 29, 2013: Tweets "Sitting in the studio writing the next album (!!!!) and wanted to thank you for the American Music Award nominations!"

November 1 : While promoting Keds, Taylor is asked about her next album

"What I go through is going to be the story that I tell. I think lyrically, I always try to tell my fans exactly what’s happened to me in the last two years, and that’s the thing they can expect. Everything else, they won’t be able to expect. Having been in the studio with this one, I’m just like… oh, this is going to be fun"

Bad Blood: Fall 2013 (Speculation)

The backup dancer drama seems to have kicked off in mid-July. Given that it's produced by Max Martin and Shellback, and Taylor was in the studio with them pretty much non-stop from October-November, we can assume that it was recorded sometime in the Fall of 2013

New Romantics: Fall 2013 (Speculation)

Unfortunately, Taylor doesn't really talk about this song. Given that it's produced by Max Martin and Shellback, and Taylor was in the studio with them pretty much non-stop from October-November, we can assume that it was recorded sometime in the Fall of 2013

Wildest Dreams: Fall 2013 (Speculation)

Selena reportedly told a fan she was there when Taylor wrote this, and I've noted above all the times Selena could have been with Taylor in 2013 (Here's my personal ranking of how likely each date is). Given that it's produced by Max Martin and Shellback, and Taylor was in the studio with them pretty much non-stop from October-November, we can assume that it was recorded sometime in the Fall of 2013.

Wonderland: Fall 2013 (Speculation)

Another one Taylor just doesn't talk about all that often. Given that it's produced by Max Martin and Shellback, and Taylor was in the studio with them pretty much non-stop from October-November, we can assume that it was recorded sometime in the Fall of 2013

Nov 20, 2013: Taylor posted "While in the studio, I came to the realization that my bangs are long enough to use as a sleep mask on long flights. Then I remembered I don't ever use sleep masks on flights. So really, I just need a haircut"

November 25, 2013: Taylor and Scott Borchetta have a meeting to talk about her plans for TS5 and are both asked about the next album at the AMAs

Taylor: “We got a lot already. There are probably seven or eight [songs] that I know I want on the record. It’s really ahead of schedule for me. I’m just stoked because it’s already evolved into a new sound, and that’s all I wanted. And I would have taken two years to make that happen, but it just kind of happened naturally, so that’s all I could really ask for.” Scott Borchetta: "Well earlier today we got together and she played me seven new songs, and she’s just on fire. The level of desire and passion that she has just to keep getting better, she’s an artist that just really never wants to just say ‘Well okay this is good enough’. It’s always gotta be better. She’s in amazing creative place right now." By the end of November, Taylor had likely recorded This Love, All You Had To Do Was Stay, How You Get The Girl, I Wish You Would, Out Of The Woods, Blank Space, Bad Blood, New Romantics, Wildest Dreams, and Wonderland. That’s 10 songs total, 5 of which were likely recorded in the past two months, and 7 that had been made since Taylor and Jack had their conversation about 80s music in May.

Dec 21, 2013: Taylor briefly talks to Billboard about TS5

"I’m really loving collaboration right now [...] I see it as a bit of an apprenticeship. I want to be around people who love writing songs and have done it for years. Every time I’m in a studio I’m learning, like how to build a drum track, and getting a new perspective on things. It’s so thrilling to keep learning on your fifth album. As soon as [an album] comes out I’m figuring out what the next one will be. It’s gotten to the point where each one is a reinvention, which is what I like best. I like it when it sounds new and people don’t know where you’re going to go next."

Say Don't Go: Jan 1, 2014 (Confirmed)

Diane Warren: Warren, who typically writes on her own, says the two of them “sat down and wrote the song […] from scratch” during the last few days of 2013. She remembers being impressed with how specific Swift was with her lyricism and how considerate she was about how her fans might receive it. “She was very particular about how she said certain things. It was a really interesting experience. She gets her audience [...] She’s deeply aware of how her fans want to hear something. I can’t explain it, but that’s probably why she’s the biggest fucking star in the world.” Several days after writing the song together, they got into Warren’s office to record a demo, where Swift played it on her acoustic guitar. “We demoed it on New Year’s Day. And I’m a workaholic, and that’s fine for me,” she says. “But I remember being impressed that she did, too. Everybody’s on vacation, but she showed up.”

You Are In Love: Jan 2014 (Inferring)

This song is copyrighted for 2014. Taylor has said a few times that Clean, Shake It Off, and Style were the last songs written for the album, meaning You Are In Love was likely completed in January or early February. Given Taylor's busy schedule in late January and early February, I'd guess this was written at some point in early January. Furthermore, I'd guess it was sometime after the 9th, when she returned from looking at house in New York.

I Know Places: Jan 22, 2014 (Confirmed)

Taylor: "I sent this voice memo to Ryan Tedder because I'd always wanted to work with him, and finally we scheduled some studio time. So I always wanna be prepared, I wanted to send him the idea that I was working on before we went into the studio just in case he wrote back and said "I can't stand that, I wanna work on something else, think of something else" So I just sat down with the piano, put my phone on top of the piano and just kind of explained to him where I wanted to go with the song, how I saw the melody sitting in and we ended up recording the song the next day and it ended up being on the record called "I Know Places" So this was the voice memo that I sent to him the night before we ended up finishing the song"

Welcome To New York: Jan 23, 2014 (Confirmed)

Ryan Tedder: "I thought we were going to walk in and start something from scratch because that's what I was used to. Then she calls me and says, 'Is it cool if I already have an idea?' I said, 'Sure.' She said, 'I have this song, I'm obsessed with New York and I just moved there, I want to write an ode to New York because no one's done it in a long time.' And then she sent me a voice memo. She's like, 'I want it to sound like 1980s.' So the next day I brought in a Juno-106, which is a very 1980s keyboard and I literally programmed that entire song right in front of her. It was very much on the fly, and that song was done in about three hours. And I did the rest of the production I think later that week. I was in Switzerland on a tour bus, and I did four versions of 'Welcome to New York,' one of which I liked personally more, but the thing about artists is they become very obsessed with the demo. She was in love with the demo so no matter how hard I fought, she brought it back to the demo, so really what you hear is what I did on the first day."

January 26 2014: Dianne Warren says that she recently wrote a song with Taylor

"I worked with Taylor Swift on a great song [...] I'm excited about the [song] that we did, it's pretty cool Dianne in 2016: “I know [Swift] likes it, so hopefully it will see the light of day. I know she really likes the song. She didn’t want me to give it away, so hopefully that means she wants it.”

January 26 2014: Taylor loses Album of the Year at the Grammy's to Daft Punk. She tells a few different stories about what the rest of the night looked like for her-- in some she goes home alone, in some she has some friends over-- but in all of them, this is the night where she decides that she's gonna name the album 1989, and she's not going to let her label tell her to put any country songs on it.

Clean: Feb 9, 2014 (Confirmed)

According to Imogen Heap's blog post, Taylor had the first verse and chorus by the time they got into the studio, and then wrote the second verse and bridge during the session. Taylor's part was wrapped up in 9 hours, ending at 8pm, while Imogen stayed up until 4am because she didn't want to stop working on it. Taylor: ""Shake It Off" and "Clean" were the last two things we wrote for the record, so it shows you where I ended up mentally. “Clean” I wrote as I was walking out of Liberty in London. Someone I used to date— it hit me that I’d been in the same city as him for two weeks and I hadn’t thought about it. When it did hit me, it was like, ‘Oh, I hope he’s doing well’. And nothing else. [...] The first thought that came to my mind was – I’m finally clean." Imogen Heap: I was really writing the tiniest amount just to help her do what she does. I put some noises to [“Clean”], played various instruments on it, including drums, and anytime she expressed she liked something I was doing, I did it more. It was a really fun day. She recorded all her vocals [for “Clean”] during that one session. She did two takes, and the second take was it. We always thought she would probably re-record it, because we thought it can’t possibly be that easy. But after we lived with it for a few months, we felt it was great.

February 15, 2014: Taylor posts "It was a studio Valentines Day with Max and Johan!"

Shake It Off: Feb 15, 2014 (Confirmed)

Lover Diaries (From Feb 22): "This week I’ve been in the studio with Max and Johan every day and it has been the most creatively successful and fulfilling time. The first day, Johan just made a really up tempo drum beat because we decided we needed something UP and light. We worked at it for a few hours before I just started singing “shake it off, shake it off.” And then the best way I know how to describe it is that the chorus just fell out of the sky. It ended up being this song about doing your own thing even though haters are gonna hate, and you just have to dance to your own beat. We all went home and I wrote the first and second verses and brought them in the next day. We wrote this chanty cheer leader bridge that I absolutely LOVE. We spent all day doing vocals and the next day recording background vocals. I think it’ll end up being the first single and Max said it’s his favorite song he’s ever been a part of." Taylor: "The problem was, I had all these lyrics, and I didnt have, like... writing session was coming up and I'm just like "I'm not getting a melody, I'm dead, I don't know what I'm gonna do." The thought terrified me, so I just sorta sulked into the studio and I was like "Guys, I have like an idea but its like, lyric, but I... and I know the vibe I want-- I want it to start off and the second the song starts, I want it to be the song where like, if it's played at a wedding, and there's this one girl who hasn't danced all night at the reception, all her friends come over to her and there like "You have to dance, come on, you have to dance on this one!". That's what I wanted. So I was like "Shellback, can you just go to the drum kit and try to play that?" Taylor: "There's one thing that I've always said to Max, is like "I don't like horns" I just always had a thing about it, I was always like weirdly scared of it, or intimidated by horns, I don't know what it was? It's a weird, like, nerdy studio fear of mine. I was like "No, no horns!" and I don't.. I don't even know, I don't have a reason for it, I love songs that have horns on them, I was just like "I don't think I can pull off horns." Strange. But, he goes over to the mellotron and he starts playing this horn sound. I'm like "What are you doing. Don't do that." and he's like, "No, I think this is cool" and I'm like "No it's not cool, and where are your chorus chords, because, that, you're just playing three chords over and over again and I can't make a chorus out of them, why don't you go to like a chorus chord that starts off the chorus, where is the one, like why don't you go--" and then there was this moment, where I thought of the whole chorus, and it's over the chords that I had just told him are not "chorus chords", which is a ridiculous thing to say."

February 18, 2014: Taylor is photographed entering Conway Studios

Style: Feb 19, 2014 (Confirmed)

Niklas Ljungfelt (guitarist): I played on “Style,” a song I started with Ali Payami for ourselves. He was playing it for Max Martin at his studio; Taylor overheard it and loved it. She and Max wrote new lyrics. But I recorded the guitar on it before it was a Taylor song. It was an instrumental. I didn’t have a clue that Taylor would sing on it. The inspiration came from Daft Punk and funky electronic music. Taylor: I'm pretty sure after we finished this one I knew the record was done. Shake It Off and Style were the last two songs to be written for 1989.

March 2014: Taylor's interview with Glamour is published (likely conducted two months beforehand)

TS: Working on this album has been unbelievable [...] I'm already in love with it. It's so different. CL: What's the new sound? TS: On Red I did three songs with Max Martin Shellback [...] I think we'll be doing a lot more than three songs together on the next album [Laughs].

March 26, 2014: Taylor is photographed entering a music studio in New York

May 30, 2014: Taylor writes in her diary:

So a crazy story unfolded in the last 24 hours. Last night, I had this vivid dream where the photo I’d chosen for the album cover wasn’t good enough, intriguing enough, artful enough. It woke me up. I couldn’t shake it and it stayed with me all day. Because that nagging feeling I’d been pushing back for weeks was now confirmed in my gut … It wasn’t good enough. I went to the venue, mind racing, wondering if I’d have to do an entirely new photo shoot … I got to my dressing room with newer versions of the “cover.” I looked at it and felt nothing. The team pulled up this new scanned file of the Polaroids we had taken during the shoot. I saw within 10 seconds. The shot. The cover. It’s a Polaroid of me sitting against a beige wall with a blue seagull swear shirt on. You can see my red lips, but the photo cuts off my eyes. From some reason unknown to me, it’s the most intriguing photo I’ve seen. I think it’s the mystery of not seeing my eyes. Maybe it just looks effortlessly cool. The craziest moment came when something caught my eye. The cover photo is photo 13. I kid you not.

August 23, 2014: Taylor is photographed walking out of a studio in LA (Note: I can not find a place that specifies if this is a recording studio, dance, photography, radio, or television studio.)

Now That We Don't Talk: Summer 2014 (Speculation)

Seeing as Taylor said she didn't have time to figure out the production, I imagine this came fairly late in the process. Taylor has a habit of adding songs right up to the deadline-- with Folklore and Evermore, she added multiple songs a week before the album came out. The latest she added songs to albums while signed to Big Machine was September, though (both Forever & Always and So It Goes...), so I assume that's the absolute latest she could've added a song. Taylor: "Now That We Don’t Talk” is one of my favorite songs that was left behind, it was so hard to leave it behind, but I think we wrote it a little bit towards the end of the process and we couldn’t get the production right at the time. But we had tons of time to perfect the production this time and figure out what we wanted this song to sound like. I think it’s the shortest song I’ve ever had, but I think it packs a punch, I think it really goes in. For the short amount of time we have, I think it makes its point.

And that's all for this timeline! Check out my others:

TIMELINES: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights PLAYLISTS: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights • entire discography GENERAL: tag

#txt* #timeline* #taylor swift #OH MY GOD ITS OUT ITS OUT ITS OUT I'VE BEEN RESEARCHING THIS FOR THREE YEARS AND IT'S DONE #!!!!! #as always let me know if you want further sourcing on anything/if you spot a typo or something

[webslingingslasher]

How about “desperately wanting to be angry, but they can't push past the hurt they're feeling with the trust being broken” from the prompt list? An angsty one with a really fluffy ending? <3

it's a little angsty, little fluffy *reader thinks peter's cheating

It always started with a ‘hey girlie,’ text. 

Any girl in a relationship knew what that meant. 

You thought Peter was a safe bet, there was no way Peter would ever cheat on you, right? 

Two words sent you into panic, your heart was beating a million miles a minute, your vision felt dotty and the urge to throw up, cry and scream was running rampant, even if you were to have a mental breakdown you didn’t know where to start. 

Actually, first things first, who is this chick? You clicked on her name, Cynthia Prescott, no mutual friends. There were only a few pictures, each smile she wore dug and pushed further and further into your gut, there would be no way Peter could ever cheat, unless it was with a girl like that. If you had big enough balls you would watch her story, but you already felt like you were shutting down. 

You wanted to respond. Anything, “hey, sis.” or “wussup, girlie?” maybe even  “please god don’t ruin anything for me, he’s all I have.” Instead you swallowed your tongue and closed out, if you didn’t ask then she wouldn’t tell, then you wouldn’t have to know. That was the best possible plan, you could pretend this never happened, you didn’t know a Cynthia Prescott, and by the looks of it none of your friends did. 

‘Message me back, girlfriend! I have something to bring to your attention.’ 

A second message, emojis littered her words, it was like sprinkling glitter on an open wound. You wanted to scream, you kept telling yourself it wasn’t real, he couldn’t have done it. For a minute you think about deleting the app all together, but that would make you weak, wouldn’t it? Run away, play pretend that your boyfriend didn’t cheat? 

You should be angry, seething, enraged. You should want to tear apart his dorm room, wipe his computer’s history, email his professors a list of curse words they remind him of, spill coffee on his returnable textbooks, anything to cause him a pinch of the hurt you were feeling. 

It was hurt, wasn’t it? The way your stomach dropped, the way you feel frozen, the way you can’t stop thinking about it. ‘Not peter, not peter, not peter,’ a chant rattled your mind, you collapsed to his bed, ‘hey, girlie, not peter, hey, girlie, not peter,’ you couldn’t help to pick up your breath. 

A full blown panic attack, when was Peter coming back? His class ended at four, what time was it? Where was your phone, the phone with the dm, the one with the text, the one that says he’s cheating. 

“Woah, are you okay?” 

Peter’s hands were held up, he was thrown off seeing you hyperventilate on his bed. Your hands shake, you should be angry, you should be screaming, you should hate him. So why do you want him to say sorry and hug you, kiss you softly, hold you until you feel whole again, why did it hurt so much?

His hands wrap around your shoulders, “baby, you okay?” 

You stared at him in shock, “you’re cheating on me.” A fact, not to be questioned. 

Peter pulls a face, “I am?” 

You nod, “I got a text.” 

“Oh.” He looks at the ground, you see guilty, you nearly break into tears. Your stomach hurts, your chest is tight, you feel lightheaded, nothing feels right and everything just hurts. 

“Can I ask who with?” 

A sick joke, he couldn’t even keep count, he wanted a number from his lineup. You shrug his hands off, wipe at your nose, “Cynthina Prescott,” Peter’s eyes widen, he nods, the name bouncing in his mind. 

“Baby, who the fuck is Cynthia Prescott?” 

“I don’t know! You’re the one fucking her, she told me!” 

Okay, maybe she didn’t but you knew what that text meant. 

“Baby, I don-” 

“Don’t call me that! Liar!” 

He sighs, “I don’t know a Cynthia, Y/N, I swear.” 

Your eyes narrow, “then why did she tell me she did?” 

“I don’t, I’m,” he’s pulling at straws, he feels like he’s the one being gaslighted, he looks for your phone on the bed. 

“Did she tell you in person, or text you? Bab- Y/N, I don’t know who she is I promise.” 

You hold a hand to your chest to settle your breath, “instagram dm,” Peter rested a hand on your head to calm you, his other hand finding your phone and opening up the app, and tapping on messages he saw the culprit immediately. He was ready to defend his honor to death, his next step is tracking them down. Until he blinked at the messages, “honey, did you delete something?” There was nothing that indicated anything of the sort, just a cryptic message, if anything he thought it was spam. 

“No,” you whimper the words, his fingers massage at your head slightly, he seemed confused but you also never would’ve guessed he’d cheat. 

“Baby, I don’t see anything about me here. I don’t know who she is and she isn’t following anyone I know.” 

“It’s a hey girlie text, peter!” 

Peter finally sat next to you, your phone in his grasp. “I don’t know what that is,” you groan, “it means like, hey girlie, your man is doing something sus.” 

Peter scrunches his face, “but I don’t know her, look, just message her, ask her to show you.” 

You shake your head fast, “I’d rather not see it, I don’t want to see you with someone else.” 

He huffs, “I’m not cheating! I’m not skilled enough to do that, let alone have enough time in the day!” You sniffed, peter grunted, “fuck this, I’m asking.” 

‘I’d love to see it, girlie!’ 

You wrinkle your nose, almost on automatic response it shoots a reply. 

‘You’re so pretty, I’d love for you to promote our new product! Just add me and download our app, use my name for a free bottle!’ 

Relief fills you, it was a bot, a simple mlm, a pyramid scheme, no real threats. 

“Oh my god, peter, I am so sorry, I didn’t-” 

“Geez Louise, babe. I know I’m nerdy but fucking a robot? C’mon now.” 

A joke, he wasn’t mad. Even after you accused him of the worst betrayal, he was trying to make you feel better. “I was so hurt and scared, I didn’t believe it, or didn’t wanna believe it, so I didn’t message her back but, like, i’m so sorry petey.” 

 Peter presses a kiss to your temple, “it’s okay, baby. It was very convincing, it said hey girlie.” 

You groan and lean into him, “you don’t understand, you will never understand.” 

“Is that a tone? Are you taking a tone up with me? Should I text Cynthia for a good time?” 

You sock his arm, “too soon!” 

#peter parker x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #peter parker blurb #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker angst #my writing

[spamgyu]

Always // Soonyoung x Reader - bonus part

DESCRIPTION: When Soonyoung told her he would always be there, he meant it. The days of pining for the girl he had fallen for freshman year had finally paid off.

PAIRING: Soonyoung x Reader

GENRE: A little fluff treat for my team soonyoung girlies out there.

Sorry for making yall cry in right where you left me. &lt;3

(ALWAYS)

He kept his promise.

That night when he had confessed his feelings to her, he truly meant what he said.

"I'm here. As a friend or whatever you need me to be. I'm here."

Soonyoung didn't care if he was the second choice or the twelveth – he remained by y/n side. He was the first person she called when anything happened; whether it was when Mingyu and her broke it off or when she finally found the sold out bag from Marge Sherwood. Soonyoung was the first to know.

He had become her best friend. Over throwing Jeonghan.

Though, if anyone were to ask y/n, it wasn't the case... Only because Jeonghan would make a scene, claiming that after all the years they have known each other he would be dethroned by someone he had introduced her to.

Many called him a fool for this choice – pining for a girl who was clearly not going to give him the time of day. But Soonyoung didn't care.

Because despite what everyone thought, he wasn't praying for her and Mingyu's downfall so that he could finally get the girl.

As long as she was happy.

He'd get over it one day.

But that was the thing, just when he thought his feelings for her were slowly diminishing, welcoming the idea of possibly dating... there was a glimmer of hope.

"Sorry I'm late, got caught up at the office." He apologized to his friends, taking the only empty seat available.

Next to an intoxicated y/n.

"Catch up!" She messily poured a shot of soju for him, earning hoots and hollers from the other two sat across the table – Jeonghan and Seokmin.

Soonyoung happily took the small glass from the girl's hand with a chuckle – throwing the drink back with ease.

"Okay you need about four more." She began to pour another only to be stopped by Soonyoung's hand. "Boo!!"

"It's only been an hour since you guys got here, how are you all so drunk?" He grabbed the pitcher of beer from the middle of the table.

"We're celebrating the end of a work week." Seokmin snickered.

"That I'll I drink to." He sighed; recalling to the emails, that seemed to never end, that he had to send throughout the week. Not to mention the outburst his team leader had on Tuesday.

To say the week ran him over like a semi-truck was an understatement.

Being part of the corporate world was no joke, each one of them taking turns complaining about their bosses and deadlines in their groupchats.

Who would have thought the real world would be this draining?

It had almost been a weekly ritual for them to meet every Friday for Happy Hour, whether as a semi-complete group or as a whole. It was their own way of tapping back to their hey-days in the midst of their now very grown lives.

"Take my glass." Y/n handed him her empty pint glass as she watched him look for a clean one.

"You're not gonna–"

She shook her head. "I'm getting the burps."

"Do you want another drink? I'll pay."

"They do have ice blended makgeolli." Y/n trailed off, a smile on her face growing – recalling to the menu that was handed to them when they were seated.

It wasn't part of the pub's happy hour menu – the three opting for the bottomless pitcher of beer and four bottle of soju special instead.

But since he had offered... she wasn't going to decline.

Soonyoung called over the waiter, motioning for her to place her order once he arrived at the table.

"One ice blended yogurt makgeolli–"

"Four." He interjected, knowing that the other two would whine about wanting some the minute it arrived at the table.

"Four, please."

"Must be nice having a finance bro as a boyfriend." Jeonghan sighed loudly, earning a laugh from Seokmin. He had been observing the two from across the table as they seemed to be in their own little world. Again.

She and Soonyoung have gotten used to Jeonghan's teasing, paying no mind to his comment. It had been a running joke for him since y/n and Mingyu had broken up – joking any time he caught either Soonyoung or y/n doting on one another.

It was just a joke, anyways.

"Han, please you're scaring the hoes." Soonyoung replied without missing a beat.

"Oh please, y/n is doing enough of that herself." Seokmin laughed.

It was no secret that the two had gotten very close – effortlessly navigating around one another like an old couple. They knew each other better than they knew themselves.

Soonyoung knew what made her tick, her coffee order, her favorite places to shop, and so on.

And she was the same.

Anyone could easily mistake the two as a long term couple, making the jokes from their group so easy to come.

"As if he has any." Y/n rolled her eyes.

"Because you scare them away!" Soonyoung laughed.

One iced blended makgeolli turned into three more and soon the group, aside for Soonyoung, were absolutely wasted; drunkenly singing along to the music that blasted throughout the pub. Earning looks from those sat around them.

"Alright, I think it's time to call it." Soonyoung placed two one hundred bills on the table. "I'm taking y/n home."

"I'm-" Hiccup. "Fine."

"No you're not, come on let's go." He chuckled standing from his seat, grabbing her oversized leather jacket that hung on the back of her chair along with her purse – holding out his hand.

"Boring!!!" Seokmin protested. Slurred to be exact.

He raised his brows at his friend, turning to a more coherent Jeonghan. "Are you guys good to make it home or do I need to call an uber too?"

"No, we're okay." Jeonghan shook his head slowly.

Soonyoung knew they weren't okay, but he was far too worried about the girl who was still sat in her seat – sipping on the watered down drink in front of her.

He nodded, reaching to take the drink from her hand; earning a pout before she took his hand; using it to help her up.

"Whoa." Y/n's eyes grew wide, feeling all the alcohol she had consumed take over her whole body.

Soongyoung stifled a laugh, holding her hand tighter as he felt her sway as she tried to find her balance.

"Request me on zelle if that doesn't cover it." He nodded to the two before exiting the building and straight into the uber he had requested minutes ago.

The second her and Seokmin began passing their make shift soju and spoon mic, he had secretly requested for a ride out of the establishment. He knew if he had waited any longer, y/n would have probably ordered another round for the group.

It was a short ride from the pub to her apartment, the two sitting in the back of the SUV in silence.

Mostly because he knew she was on the verge of throwing up.

Y/n could handle her alcohol pretty well. She just needed to throw up after each night out.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Y/n threw her body on her couch, groaning as her head hit the throw pillow. "I did pretty good. Didn't puke once."

"I'm so proud of you." He chuckled, unzipping her knee high boots. "Want to keep your socks on?"

"Please."

"Water?"

She shook her head. Her stomach was filled to the brim with liquids and she knew that if she took even a sip, she may just burst.

He watched as she remained laying still in a fetal position, admiring her beauty. She wasn't do anything but breathing. Yet somehow, he couldn't help but feel his heart fill with warmth as he scanned her – her hair perfectly framing her face, despite the fact that the curls she spent nearly an hour this morning doing had fallen, her make up was still in it's place, aside from her now faded lipstick. She looked perfect as ever.

Though, he may be biased.

Soonyoung took one last look at her before walking into her room to grab a hoodie from her closet. "Sit up."

He didn't have to ask twice, allowing him to assist her put on the black hoodie. Her favorite piece to wear when she was simply lounging around her apartment or running errands.

His hoodie from the day he rescued her in the rain.

She never did return it.

...And he never asked for it back.

"Maybe I am scaring your hoes away." She hiccuped, her eyes trained on his face as he adjusted the strings.

"I don't have hoes. I was kidding."

Maybe it was the alcohol.

Or maybe it was the close proximity.

But y/n found herself replying. "Good."

"Good?" He raised his brows, absentmindedly tucking the strands that fell in front of her face behind her ears.

She hated when her hair was a mess.

"I don't like sharing."

He felt his heart skip a beat.

Y/n had never vocalized how she felt about him; and up until now, he never though she would ever. Soonyoung began to have some sort of inkling a few months ago that she may have felt the same way he does, but he never wanted to read too much into this.

Y/n had been newly single and maybe she could have just been projecting her old lingering feelings for his best friend towards him.

Besides, she was like this with Jeonghan. At least, that's what he chose to believe.

"You're really drunk." He mumbled.

"Is it so bad that I have feelings for you?"

He felt like the air in his lungs was not enough; unable to fully process her sudden confession of feelings. "N-no. But you're also about eight drinks in."

"Drunk mind is an honest one."

She was right.

As much as he had waited for this moment, which only seemed possible in his dreams, he knew it wasn't right. She was drunk and though he was coherent, he too had a slight buzz.

Soonyoung wanted to be sober when they had this conversation.

"We'll talk about this tomorrow. During breakfast."

"Do you not believe me?" She pressed.

Ninety percent of him does.

The ten percent was his demons, telling him that he would never hold a place in her heart. Not the way Mingyu did.

While he crouched in front of her in silence, trying to silence the voice in his head; he noticed her inching closer – her eyes eyeing his lips. For a split second, he allowed himself to lean in; capturing her lips.

This was their first kiss, and as much as he has been waiting for this – it felt wrong. He didn't picture the first time he kissed the girl he had been in love with for almost six years to be in her living room while she was most likely drunk out of her mind.

Not like this.

It was quick kiss, and god did they both want it to last longer.

"Tomorrow." He breathed, placing a kiss on her forehead. "I promise."

Y/n didn't care to protest anymore, knowing that he wasn't going to change his answer and allowed him to tuck her into bed.

She may be drunk, but she wasn't out of her mind. The alcohol had simply gave her the confidence to finally say what had been plaguing her mind for the past month and half.

A secret she had only disclosed to Jeonghan. Who seemed to be very thrilled of the news – claiming that the reason why he had introduced her to his frat brothers during their freshman year was because he fully expected her to hit it off with Soonyoung.

Not with Mingyu.

He had spent the last month and a half encouraging her to finally let Soonyoung know how she felt. Annoying her to be exact.

Everyone had called that somehow and at some point, she would end up falling for Soonyoung.

She couldn't pin point the exact moment when she began to allow her heart to soften to the idea of possibly seeing a future with her friend.

The one moment in her apartment while she was still dating Mingyu didn't count.

It happened so slowly that y/n did not realize that she began to yearn for his presence. He had become a part of her daily life that when he had gone away for an overseas vacation with his family, she realized how much she had missed having him blowing up her phone with all sorts of random messages and memes.

Not that he wasn't texting her while he was away; no he made sure to keep her updated. Sending her images of the activities they were doing and all the meals was eating – and she was doing the same.

It was just that, due to the time difference and lack of proper cell service, he wasn't able to reply right away.

The minute she caught herself constantly checking her phone, to see if his name had popped up in her notifications, she knew she was done for.

The inevitable had finally come and she was fully welcoming it.

He knew he didn't have to ask for permission. Especially not if it was Mingyu that ended things.

Yet, there he was, standing at his best friend's apartment door – nervously shifting his weight from one leg to another, debating whether he had made the right choice or not.

Soonyoung's head had been a mess since he left y/n's apartment, unable to complete a single thought.

All except one. He needed to make things right, starting by giving Mingyu a heads up.

If what she had said was true, he wanted to start their relationship properly.

He knew he had already overstepped the rules of the bro code; that line was far in the distance, he could no longer see it. And despite the anger he once felt for his friend, for making the girl he loves cry and breaking her heart, he didn't want to cause any ill feelings that could possibly bring tension to the whole group.

He cared far too much for the twelve boys he had spent all his college days with. A girl nearly ruined their dynamics once, he wasn't going to allow this to happen again.

Especially if he could help it.

He was willing to let go anyways. If Mingyu says no, he'll walk away.

It would be painful as hell, but he didn't care. A simple no and he would do it in a heartbeat.

Finally mustering up the courage to knock on the door, Soonyoung reached up to unbutton another button from his white collared shirt – the sounds of Mingyu's footstep approaching the door all of a sudden made him feel as though the fabric around his neck was constricting him.

"Hey, Hosh." He greeted, almost sounding like a question.

Soonyoung cleared his throat.

Here goes nothing.

"I'm not asking for permission, I think we're too grown for that but– it's been a year and you're okay and she's okay a–and–" He stammered. He was far more nervous than he had expected himself to be.

"Spit it out, dude." Mingyu chuckled.

"I'm going to try it out with y/n." Soonyoung blurted.

Mingyu blinked. "That's it?"

That was not the reaction he expected.

Y/n had always been a touchy subject between the two. Especially after that night at the gym when he nearly landed a fist on Mingyu's face.

The two avoided any topic that involved y/n. Not unless someone else in the group brought it up.

"Well, yeah– you're my best friend and she's your ex–"

Mingyu shook his head. "Like you said. We're adults. Do what makes you happy, man."

He felt like the weight on his shoulder has been lifted, a smile forming on his lips. "Thank you, dude. It really means a lot."

"I guess this is me passing the baton." Mingyu joked. "Don't fuck it up."

"Trust me, I won't." Soonyoung chuckled, feeling at ease that his friend was able to make a joke out of the situation. He was fully prepared for Mingyu to put up a fight, or at least give him a hard time.

But then again, he was dating again; having brought a girl around when they went out as a group for Seungcheol's birthday.

Unlike the previous time Mingyu had done this, he noticed that y/n had barely bat an eye at his actions.

Things had shifted.

War was over.

Soonyoung had let himself in to her apartment, grateful for the spare key she had given him when she had first moved in.

Just like all his other promises to her, he kept his word and showed up the following day to her place; ready to pick up where they had left off the night before. This time fully sober.

He had felt like he had been floating on cloud nine since last night and was not able to sleep since coming home from Mingyu's apartment. He had gotten the greenlight from both parties and now it was his time to make a move.

Soonyoung had always respected y/n, he could have easily jumped the gun the second she was single but he knew that would have been a dirty move. He knew what his friends and her friends said about him, and he didn't want to prove those rumors true.

Four years with someone was a long time, and he knew there was no way he could erase that. Soonyoung knew that if he did stand a chance in capturing her heart, it would be when y/n was fully healed from all the pain and heartache that her previous relationship has brought her.

And he waited.

Not intentionally.

He enjoyed staying right by her side with no return in his investment.

It just so happened that she managed to fall for him during this time.

He quietly began setting up her small dining table with her favorite breakfast from the restaurant they had become regulars at when they needed to nurse their hangovers.

Cinnamon french toast and lavender iced latte.

He was in the middle of filling the pink vase he had purchased along with the bouquet of white peonies when he heard the hard wood behind him creak – signaling that she had woken up.

"Morning." She croaked, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

"No, no. Go back to your room." He turned his head to face her.

"Wha- no!" She laughed, trying to peer over his shoulder to see what he was up to.

"I'm trying to make a grand romantic gesture here." Soonyoung cried, moving his body to hide the flowers.

"Are those flowers?"

"Can't a guy surprise the girl he likes?" He reached to turn the tap off.

"Not when he's making so much noise!"

"I was being quiet!"

"Please, that word is not even in your dictionary. I heard you stub your toe the second you walked in."

"Who puts a fucking cabinet at the entry way!?"

"It's a shoe cabinet and you have been here so many times you still– Oh my god it's so pretty!" She gasped when he fully turned around, walking over to place the vase in the middle of the table.

Soonyoung was taken by surprise when he felt her arms wrap around his waist; feeling her warm body press up against him. It wasn't that he had never hugged her, nor have they never done this before – having been a little too clingy with one another over the past few years.

They've had their fair shares of unconscious cuddling on her couch, hand holding, and lingering hugs.

But this time it was different.

He now knows that her feelings for him was mutual, and somehow he had become very aware of her touch; feeling his cheeks grow hot.

"Thank you." She smiled up at him as he turned his head to meet her gaze.

"Did you mean what you said last night?" He asked.

"Ask one more time, and I'm taking it back."

"I was just making sure so that I could do this." Soonyoung moved his body to face her, leaning down to press a kiss on her lips – smiling instantly when he felt her melt against his touch.

"That was nice."

"We can keep kissing." He said quickly.

Y/n threw her head back and laughed, playfully hitting his chest. "You're dumb."

"You fell for it."

"Yeah, don't make me regret it."

"I'll fill this whole place with flowers, don't threaten me." He shook his finger at her. "You'll be coughing petals until you die."

"I know that was supposed to be romantic, but I'm scared."

Over time, she had learned to keep up with his jokes; almost as if they had become the same person. She had soon become quick to jump along with his bits and humor, at times egging him on.

Seungkwan's worst nightmare.

He rolled his eyes. "You're annoying."

"You fell for it."

"Yeah." He hummed happily. "Let's eat?"

The two happily ate their breakfast, welcoming the new change in the air between them. They have shared meals alone together countless times, this was nothing new.

But the unspoken words that they had yet to discuss had all of a sudden made them feel as though they were two young high schoolers who were left alone with their crush for the very first time.

In the midst of their meal, y/n couldn't help but catch him staring at her – trying her best to calm the butterflies that caused a riot in her stomach. Something that had been happening quiet often in the past month that she had been around him. But of course, this time, they seemed to have multiplied.

"Hey," Soonyoung reached over to place a hand over hers, halting her movement. "I haven't said it in a while but, always okay?"

Always had been their word to each other. It started off as a playful joke, telling each other that they would be there to always be annoying, be the butt of the joke, be there to accompany each other to any mindless errands....

It had been a minute since she had heard him say it, taking her back to the days when she had felt low and he had been there to rescue the day; bringing light into her dark days.

She tilted her head to the side. "Huh?"

"I'm always going to be here."

"I never doubted you one bit."

And it was true.

here hasn't been a day that Soonyoung had missed a call, text, or special day of hers – whether this was something minor like finally finding the Sonny Angel she had been on the hunt for or finally securing a job at the PR company she had been working so hard to interview for.

He had always been there and there was not a single ounce of doubt in her body that he would miss any in the future.

In all the mess going on around in her world, he was her only constant.

"I'm just reassuring you."

"Thank you."

tag list: @leah-rose03 @yoonzinuhh @musingsofananxiouspotato @woofie-nctzen-fanarts @hanniebanggi

«« [an]

hi friends, thank you so so so much for the love and feedback for the last two parts of the always!au.

always was meant to just be all pain and heartache but i feel like i owe my team hoshi girlies some fluff. &lt;;3

i'm currently working on one LAST installation to this au and then i promise i'll have other painful au in line. lol

#seventeen fic #seventeen #hoshi #kwon soonyoung #kwon soonyoung x reader #hoshi x reader #hoshi x you #hoshi x y/n #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #hoshi fluff #hoshi scenarios #hoshi fic #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung fluff

[the1975attheirverybest]

The First Time

A/N: sweet Ace ( @ughgoaway ) being sick and lacking sick fics has made me realize that every time I see a mutual fall ill, they, too, post about there being a lack of sick fics in 75blr land. That, and, the period fic I posted a couple of days ago wasn’t good so I’m giving yall this instead. feel better, Ace 💗 And also anyone who may be reading this while ill in the future.

Warnings: none.

Matty dabbed a few drops of aftershave around his neck and freshly shaved face, singing to himself softly. ”baby?” He called out to Amelia, turning the bathroom lights out and shutting the door behind him. “Do you think the no facial hair look makes me look boyish? I mean I’m nearly 35 I think-“ he stared at her, frowning, as she rummaged through her makeup bag. “Excuse me, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” “doing my makeup?”

“you’re not meant to be doing your makeup. You’re meant to be in bed. Resting.” He rushed over to her, placing his hands on top of hers to stop them in place.

“Matty, im fine!”

“you hear that ‘d’ sound that your blocked nostrils added to the end of ‘fine’? Yeah, that’s not meant to be there.” He stated emphatically. “You’re not fine-d”

She rolled her eyes, prying her hands out of his. “I have a meeting. I’ve been working on the designs all week. Todays the day we show it to them.”

“You can email it to someone else and they’ll fill in for you, can’t you?”

“Matty, Please-“

he moved in tandem with her, blocking her path every time she attempted to take a step.

“Get out of my way; please.” She rubbed her red nose.

“I can’t do that I’m afraid.” He shrugged. “Get back to bed.”

her arms crossed over her chest defensively, “I don’t want to and you can’t make me.”

“‘course I can, Darlin.’” Matty grinned, charming as ever. “I’m being gentle right now just cuz you’re ill and all that. But if I have to be rough, I will. Not letting leave the bedroom.”

“Matty-“

“You’re running a fever, baby.”

she could hear the concern in his voice. His determined features softened as he looked into her glassy, tired eyes. “Please, Amelia. I hate seeing you in so much pain.” His hands squeezed her shoulders. “Please, baby? Take care of yourself. Do it for me.”

*** Matty set a tray down on the nightstand. “Got you some tea. Careful it’s piping hot.” He warned as she reached for the mug, “right, shall we get you into something more comfortable?” from the dressed, he pulled out her favorite graphic tee of his, and a pair of joggers, proceeding to dress her. “oh my- this tea tastes like shit.” Amelia groaned, nearly spitting out the beverage. “I can put on my own clothes, you know.”

“it’s…medicinal. No caffeine or any of the good stuff.”

She stared at him, mouth agape. “what?”

“nothing, i just- never pegged for the kind of guy who drinks medicinal shit tea.”

“I don’t. Bought it on my way home last night cuz I noticed you sniffling.”

“you-“ Amelia placed a hand on her heart. “Aww, you noticed me sniffling?”

Matty crawled into bed next to her, pulling her into his arms. “Drink your shit tea. It’ll help.” He kissed her forehead. *** “Can’t tell if you’re crying or just sniffling.” He glanced down at her. “b-both.”

Matty’s brows shot up. “You’re cryin’? I was joking! Amelia, are you alright ? What hurts baby tell me please??”

“N-no, no. Nothing hurts.” She giggled, wiping her own tears with the back of he hand. “It’s good. Good crying.”

“what the fuck?”

She laughed again. “Okay, this is embarrassing, but…I used to fantasize about this.” She blushed at her own words. “When, you know….Back when we were fucking. I wished that you were my boyfriend. And whenever I would get the flu or something, I- would daydream about you being there. To comfort me. To look after me. And now…. This is the first time that either one of us has been sick since you asked me to marry you...i love you. That’s all.”

Matty’s heart fluttered. With her head resting on his chest, she couldn’t see the huge smile on his face. “loser.” He said. She jabbed her elbow into his chest. “Fuck off.”

he kissed her head.

“I’ll deny all this tomorrow. It’s the fever talking. None of it is real.”

he chuckled. “Amelia?”

“yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

*** Amelia’s eyes fluttered open, startled by the cool sensation over her forehead. She stirred, a damp wash cloth surprising her by falling off her head.

“s-sorry. Should’ve wrung it out a bit more. Did I wake you?” Matty whispered softly. she shook her head. Still half asleep, scanning her surroundings, trying to piece together the details. “you hungry? I’ve made soup”

she sat up, readying herself to receive the bowl, Matty promptly fluffing up the pillows and stacking them behind her back. “Thanks, my love.” She smiled up at him.

He watched her take her first sip, excitedly, then quickly looked away. “oh my god. Matty!” She squealed. Turning around, he hid his satisfied smile. “that’s- that’s my grandmothers recipe, isn’t it!”

Matty could no longer play it cool. He turned right back around hopping onto the bed next to her. “Yes, yes it is. Do you like it? Is it accurate? Called your sisyer. She helped me out.”

Amelia set down her spoon. Knowing Matty lived and died by her praise, this was a moment worth remembering. “Matty- I- if we weren’t already engaged, I’d ask you to marry me right now.”

#matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fluff #matty healy x oc

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Maggie interview with Murray Scougall for The Sunday Post, 10.7.2023

Having played a small role in the first season, she made such an impression on Gaiman, whose other work includes The Sandman and Coraline, that he wrote a new, bigger part for her.

“In the middle of lockdown, in the bleakest period when I couldn’t envisage a time when the creative arts would exist again, I received an email from Neil informing me he was writing season two, and that he was writing a part for me and she would be called Maggie, so that there would be no confusion in casting.

“He asked if it was something I would be interested in, and once I stopped crying, I emailed back and said, yes please!”

“The first series was Neil writing a love letter to his pal Terry, and I thought it was finished with after season one since we’d done the book. But he could write whatever he wanted for season two since it was all in his head, and he decided to bring back the people he liked to work with. He said I’d brought joy to the set during the first season.”

Maggie was involved with Good Omens from its inception. Invited to a script read-through for Gaiman and the TV executives during pre-production, she made such a good impression that she was cast as demonic nun, Sister Theresa Garrulous. When she was killed off, Maggie thought it was the end of the adventure, but instead it was only the beginning.

“In the first season, I had no scenes with David or Michael, so to work with their characters in the second season felt like an out-of-body experience. It’s extraordinary what they bring to the parts. And the green room was ridiculous – some days I was looking around, thinking I was the only person there I hadn’t heard of!

“We filmed in Bathgate, where they turned the studio into the streets of Soho. It was incredible. We had electric cars, 350 supporting actors, and every corner, brick and poster on the walls looked phenomenal.”

She hopes her role in Good Omens 2 proves to be a pivotal moment in her career. “I have a beautiful character arc this season and there are some pretty boss moments, which are divine,” she said. “This does feel like a significant moment in my career. Because I’ve never been here before, it’s difficult to see into the future of what it might be, but to get a story arc like this and to do things I’ve never had a chance to do on screen before will, I hope, shift things, because I love working and hope to do more.

“This feels like a weird time because it’s been nearly two years since we received the scripts for the new series and it’s been our little secret, now it’s about to go out and it’s quite a cool moment to see it go free.

“I’m hopeful that people who haven’t seen me before will see me in this. Whatever happens, I’ll keep saying yes to things and try to bring joy wherever I can.”

#good omens #gos2 #season 2 #magazines #maggie #maggie service #maggie interview #interview #sunday post magazine 2023 #bts #fun fact #wahoo! #s2 interview #the sunday post #the sunday post 2023

[avatar-anna]

another angst that I thought of 😭😭😂 what if y/n has a huge ass crush on harry and she's very open about it and would always call him/introduce him as "my future boyfriend" but then she overheard harry talking bad about her behind her back so she was all sad and mopey

shore!

(this is an au btw)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“She’s exhausting sometimes, mate. Like she doesn’t have an off switch. She acts like my girlfriend in front of all our friends. It’s embarrassing!”

You’d come into Harry’s room to see if he wanted to order takeout and study for their econ test together, but you paused right before you knocked on his door.

He was embarrassed? Sure, it wasn’t a secret that you were into him. He was cute, he was smart, he was kind to his mom, he was that typical “boy next door” type, and when you met him at the first residence hall meeting, you were smitten.

You weren’t the shy type, so you went over and introduced yourself to him and his friends, compared schedules for the Fall semester, and when you realized you and Harry shared a class, you couldn’t have been happier.

That was a year ago. You were in your second year of university, and you were still dorm neighbors, still ended up having a class together. You and Harry were inseparable, but it wasn’t one sided. He knocked on your door too, asking if you wanted to go to office hours with him or if you wanted to join him for dinner. Just the two of you.

You weren’t sure when the jokes started, it just kind of happened. One time when you were at a party with all of your friends, you introduced yourself to someone as “Harry’s future girlfriend,” and no one batted an eye, not even Harry. He just laughed—not in a mean way—and moved on. You didn’t see that as him telling you to stop, so you didn’t, and then everyone was in on it. Your friends asked about your “boyfriend” and his greeted you as “H’s girlfriend.” it was all harmless, and it didn’t go much farther beyond a couple pet names and the occasional tap on the nose, but you never would’ve done any of that if you knew Harry was uncomfortable. You had a crush, you weren’t totally unreasonable, but he clearly thought you were.

Unable to help yourself, you stayed a little longer by Harry’s door to hear what else he had to say about you.

“I tried to ask out this girl from our history class today, and she called me an ass because she knew I had a girlfriend! I mean, come on, mate when does it end?”

Now, it ends right now, you thought. You’d done these things because you liked Harry and you thought he maybe liked you too, but that clearly wasn’t the case. You suddenly felt this feeling in the pit of your stomach. Like all the butterflies you got when he smiled at you died one by one.

If Harry didn’t like you, then he should’ve said something. Perhaps him not saying something was his idea of him expressing dislike, but you honestly thought he was okay with all the jokes and flirting. But he wasn’t, and he couldn’t say it to your face. Instead, he hid in his room and ranted about it to a friend when he could’ve just talked to you about it. You weren’t an unreasonable person, if he’d kindly stated his discomfort, you would’ve apologized and ended the whole thing there. You would’ve been a little embarrassed and bummed that he didn’t like you back, but you could move on from that. But you didn’t like people who talked behind your back, and you could be very petty to people who did.

Turning on your heel, you decided to eat dinner and study on your own. A single tear slipped out, but you quickly wiped it away. Harry wasn’t worth crying over.

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

“You didn’t wait for me this morning.”

Looking up from where you were checking your emails on your computer, you saw Harry standing by your desk, his backpack over one shoulder. He had two to-go cups of coffee in his hands, one of which he set down your desk. You peeked at the label stuck to it, a chai latte with two shots of espresso. Your favorite.

“I had a question for the Dr. Marshall,” was your reply. It was a lie, but you didn’t want to tell him you’d been avoiding him since you overheard his phone call the other day.

“Oh. Well, are we still on for lunch and homework in the library? I have this psych paper that is absolutely kicking my ass—"

"I can't today," you said, cutting him off. Normally you'd jump at the opportunity to spend one-on-one time with him, but now you feared the next time you had to be alone with him. You couldn't just turn your feelings for him off, but you couldn't really stand to be around him, either. You didn't know how to act around him anymore.

"Uh...Okay, I guess I'll see you at the party on Friday? You're still going to that, right?"

"Yeah, I am," you said, but what Harry didn't know was that you wouldn't be going with him.

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

"I don't know what to do, Mel! I still like him, but he clearly can't stand me. But then he keeps asking to hang out at the library or to get lunch, and—and—and it drives me insane!"

You were in your dorm with your roommate Mel. She'd agreed to walk with you a couple blocks off campus to a party at some junior's house after the football game tonight. She had been confused as to why you weren't going with your "future boyfriend," and since you hadn't told anyone about what you'd overheard the other day, it kind of just came pouring out of you.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Mel said.

“Like, I know he doesn't like me that way, but I thought if I was affectionate around him or something, I could convince him.”

“You can't Pavlov him into liking you, Y/n,” your roommate said, trying not to laugh.

“Obviously,” you muttered. Looking up at Mel, you asked her seriously, “Am I crazy?”

Mel joined you on your bed, letting you rest your head on her shoulder. “You’re not crazy, Y/n. You have a crush, and unlike most people, you weren’t shy about it. If Harry didn't like it, he should've said something at the beginning. I bet he liked the attention.”

You hummed. She had a point. Harry never told you to stop the flirting, otherwise you would've. You liked him, but you didn't want to play a game you knew you were going to lose.

“Sometimes I got the feeling he actually liked me too, you know? But now I just can't stop hearing how he said I embarrassed him.”

“Would you forgive him if he apologized? Go out with him?” she asked.

“Mmm. I think it would have to be a really nice apology. I still like him, but I don't take kindly to being disrespected.”

“Good girl.” Mel stood up and pulled you to your feet. “Come on, let's get ready for tonight. I have a feeling if you give someone else your attention, Harry'll be falling at your feet.”

Hope fluttered in your stomach, but you tried to ignore it. “You think so?”

Mel nodded before going over to your closet. “Harry took your flirtation for granted. Once he sees you flirting with someone else, he’ll see.”

Even if you didn’t end up going out with Harry, you still wanted to show him what he was missing, so you took the clothes Mel handed over to you. “Alright. Let's do this.”

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

It was about an hour into the party, and you’d yet to go over to Harry.

You saw him come into the house, but instead of going over to him like you normally would, you held back and admired him from afar.

He was in a black and white flannel, half his hair tied up in a bun at the top of his head. He was just so cute, it was infuriating, but you held your ground.

And Mel was there to keep you in check too. She had your arm looped through yours as she introduced you to some of her friends, and after a while she hardly cared about where Harry was or what he was doing.

While you were in line at the keg, you heard your name called. For a moment you were excited that Harry was coming to you instead of the other way around, but it wasn’t him.

“Oh, hey Ash,” you said with a smile. He sat next to you in your history class, and you'd exchanged numbers for study sessions or in case one of you couldn't make it to class and needed notes.

Ash came over and gave you a side hug. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine. This line is a little long, though.”

“Always is,” Ash agreed. “Mind if I cut the line with you?”

“Sure.”

You talked to him about classes and plans for the weekend and whether these parties were actually fun or just something to do.

“So, where’s your boyfriend. Harry, right?”

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” you said, blushing a little.

Ash frowned. “Sorry, I just assumed. It's a small campus and I see you guys together all the time.”

Well, there was no point in lying. “Yeah, I—I’ll be honest and say I had a pretty huge crush on him.”

“Had?”

You nodded. “I’ve recently discovered he doesn’t feel the same.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he sounded genuine. You’d never hung out outside of class before, but he seemed like a cool guy. Harry’s friends had become your friends, but now all you could think about was how they all laughed at you behind your back about how pathetic you were. Maybe you could make some new friends.

“Do you want to get out of here?” you asked suddenly. “This line hasn’t moved and there’s a diner with really great milkshakes close by.”

“A milkshake sounds a lot better than cheap beer.”

Ash smiled down at you, and he playfully offered you his arm. You took it, slipping your phone out of your puffy jacket to text Mel you were leaving early. She responded immediately.

Mel☀️☀️: got lucky? ;))

Rolling your eyes, you quickly typed out a response.

You: yes, but not the way you think. he's a friend

On your way out, your name was called for the second time tonight. You looked up from your phone to see Harry jogging over to catch up to you.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you all night. Where have you been?”

The urge to hug him was strong, but you held fast onto Ash’s arm. “I’ve been around.”

“I’ve missed you,” he said. “Come play beer pong with us. We’re up against Zayn and his girlfriend.”

Stay strong, stay strong, stay strong, you thought. “Thanks, H, but Ash and I were just leaving.”

Almost as if he didn't notice Ash standing next to you with your arm looped through his, Harry looked over, a small frown on his lips. “Oh, um, well then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You went to respond, but Ash beat you to it. “Actually, we have a history test coming up. We were going to study together.”

Harry’s face fell even further, and while you wanted to distance yourself because he hurt you, you still didn't like the idea of hurting him. “You could join us if you want.”

Harry suddenly straightened up, an easy smile on his face. “No, no I’ll see you around. Take care, Y/n.”

You and Ash left soon after, and once you were far enough away from the party, you asked, “What was that about? We don’t have a history test.”

Ash shrugged. “He likes you. He just needs a little push.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well, he couldn’t stop staring at how close we were, and he watched us leave, was standing by the door until we turned the corner.”

“Really?” How did you not notice?

“Yeah,” Ash said. “I think just a couple times of us hanging out will make him putty in your hands.”

Well, that seemed nice. “And what’s in it for you?”

“Nothing. We’re friends, and friends help each other.”

Ash was definitely interesting, and you liked him, as a friend, obviously. He felt like a big brother looking out for you, and you could use a little of that.

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

Another Friday night, another party.

You were with Ash and his friends and Mel, a group that was actually very fun. Oh, and Harry was there too.

You hadn't been hanging out with him very much, but not to the point of being rude. You just kept yourself busy, and the longer you went not spending time together, the more he kept pestering you about it.

“I feel like I never see you anymore,” he said earlier tonight. He asked if you wanted to skip the party tonight and watch movies in his room. It was exactly the kind of thing you wanted to do with him, but you couldn't just cancel on your friends, and you liked hanging out with Ash. So you invited him, and he said yes.

Harry was practically by your side the whole night, not touching you or anything like that, but his closeness definitely sent a message to any guy—or girl—who seemed interested.

You weren’t even dressed up, but you felt good. You'd just had your braids redone, your edges were laid perfectly, and the green top you were wearing just popped perfectly on your skin. If Harry didn’t at least find you attractive, he was an idiot.

And now you were sitting in some frat house backyard, your head resting on Ash’s shoulder. You could feel Harry’s glare from here, but he remained quiet as he sipped on his beer, hardly saying a word since you met up with your friends.

“I think tonight might be the night,” you said to Ash quietly, a smile on your face. Harry had been glowering all night, had complained that he didn't get to see you as much as he used to the last couple weeks, but he still didn't outwardly express his feelings. You'd done enough of that already. Now it was his turn.

“Yeah? He does look pretty pissed,” Ash agreed. He subtly gave you a fist bump before rejoining his conversation with Mel, who winked at you on his other side.

After a few more minutes, Harry cleared his throat. “Y/n, do you want to come get another drink?”

He was glaring at where your head was on Ash’s shoulder, but you just smiled like nothing was amiss. “I haven't finished mine, but thanks,” you said.

“Please?” He sounded hurt, and one thing you didn't want to do was hurt him the way he hurt you.

Winking at Ash and Mel, you stood up and straightened your skirt. “Sure. I’ll be back, guys.”

When you walked over to him, you almost wished he would put his arm around you or something, but he didn’t, the only time he touched you being when the crowd inside got a little too thick and he grabbed your wrist so he wouldn't lose you.

Instead of going to the kitchen where a mini bar had been set up, Harry led you to the front of the house, sitting down on the porch swing. You sat down next to him, keeping a small sliver of distance between the two of you.

“You normally sit on my lap,” Harry mused, his foot pushing against the floor to rock the porch swing back and forth a little.

“Normally,” you said, because he was right. You used to sit on his lap and play with his hair at parties, and now you weren't even touching him. “I don't want to give anyone the wrong idea, though.”

“Okay, what is going on here? Am I missing something?” he asked, the words sounding like they tumbled out of him before he could stop them.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean! You were all over me for a whole year and now—”

“Now? Now I realized that it embarrasses you and it got in the way of seeing people you actually have feelings for, so I’ve moved on.”

“Well where the hell did you get that from?” he asked, bewildered.

“From you! You said those things a few weeks ago on the phone,” you said. You didn't raise your voice often, but Harry could be so dense sometimes.

Realization seemed to dawn on him. “You heard me when I—”

“Uh huh.” You raised your brows at him, waiting for an explanation.

“I, uh, my friends constantly teased me. About you. I just thought if I told them what they wanted to hear they would leave me alone. I didn't realize—”

“So, instead of sticking up for me, you played along?” you shook your head in disbelief. “God you're a dick.”

“I know, I’m sorry. It wasn't right, and saying all that stuff felt like acid on my tongue. I wish I could take them back.”

“Me too,” you said resting your chin in your hands. When you felt like you weren't about to cry, you looked over at him, only to find him waiting to meet your gaze. “Are you really embarrassed by me? Why did you never tell me to stop? I would've if you'd said something, but it didn't seem like it bothered you.”

“You don't, and I wasn’t bothered, I just—”

“Just what?”

“I—I’m not like you, Y/n, it’s hard for me to just wear my heart on my sleeve the way you do.”

Well that much was obvious, but you were glad he was opening up to you now. “I don't need you to be like me, or even like me like that, I just want you to tell me to stop if you're uncomfortable.”

“But that's the thing. I'm not uncomfortable,” he said. Reaching his hand out, he settled it over yours. “It was just so full on from the beginning, and I don't mean to sound like more of an asshole than I already have, but it was hard to determine if I liked the attention or that it was you giving me that attention.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you said. “I’m sorry, I know I can be kind of intense.”

“Don’t apologize for being who you are, Y/n. I was the one who couldn't identify my feelings.”

“And have you? Identified your feelings?”

You looked at Harry, trying to read the expression on his face, but he could be so guarded sometimes.

But then he nodded, and the hand that was resting on yours shifted so he was holding it. “I...really like you. Not spending time with you has been absolute torture, and I—I know I probably ruined my chances with you, but since you were nothing but honest about your feelings before, I just thought I should tell you.

“But I won't—I won't, like, get in the way of things if you like that Ash guy,” he said.

You smiled a little when he mentioned Ash. Instead of answering, you stood up and moved so you were standing in front of him. Looking down at his lap, then back to his eyes, you asked, “Is this seat taken?”

Harry chuckled, his dimples flashing for the first time tonight. “Nope. All yours.”

You made yourself comfortable on his lap, and he was quick to wrap his arms around your waist. Your hands immediately went for his hair, and he leaned into it, humming with pleasure, practically purring like a cat.

“I’ve missed this,” he said, his eyes closed as you continued to scratch your nails against his scalp.

“Could’ve had this if you hadn't opened your big mouth,” you joked.

Opening his eyes, he looked into yours, serious all of a sudden. “I really am sorry for that.”

Harry had been a dick, but he wasn't the same as you. Sure, you wished he'd open up more, and maybe he would, but you couldn't expect him to change so suddenly. “I...accept your apology. Just please don't do it again. You really hurt my feelings.”

He nodded. “Of course, and you might not believe me, but I’ll defend you against anyone. My friends were being pricks, and I should've stood up for you. I won't make that same mistake again.”

“I know you won't,” you said. This was his second chance. If Harry really likes you like he said, he wouldn't fuck it up again.

“Well, now that that's out of the way, I’d like to do something, but I have to make sure of something first,” Harry said. He took your chin in his hand, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You’re not dating that Rash character are you?”

You threw your head back and laughed. “Ash. His name is Ash. And no, I’m not dating him, he's just a friend. He was part of my plan to help you pull your head out of your ass.”

“Oh. Well then I should thank him, but that can wait. I'd rather do something else right now.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Harry didn't answer, just brought your lips down to his. The kiss was everything you wanted it to be and more. His lips were buttery soft, moving with yours perfectly, like you were made for each other. His tongue made your heart swell about three sizes, and you couldn't help but dig your nails into his hair and tug a little, making him groan around your mouth.

His hands stayed at your waist, but you moved them lower, encouraging him to explore, and then he was everywhere. It didn't matter that you were outside where anyone could see you. As far as you and Harry were concerned, you were the only two people on earth to exist.

You noticed—barely, as Harry’s lips had you in a pretty stellar daze—that he'd been avoiding touching our hair at all. Moving to his neck to kiss and suck marks on his skin, you breathed, “You can touch them. The braids.”

“I just didn’t—I mean I know it's a sensitive subject—”

“You didn't ask, H. I'm telling you you can, that's the difference. I want you to.”

Nodding, Harry ran his hands through them, a small smile on his face. “They’re beautiful. You're beautiful.”

“Thank you. So are you,” you said.

Leaning down, you kissed him once again, and there wasn't much talking after that. You could've sat there for hours, kissing and touching and exploring. You wanted to know which areas made Harry’s breath hitch and which ones made him moan and which ones had him gripping your backside harder and pulling you closer. So you did just that, and so did he. He found your favorite spot just behind your ear and the one at the base of your neck. He made you shiver and push your hips against his when he reached underneath your shirt, not touching or exploring, just sitting there and enjoying the warmth of your skin.

Your body reacted to every little thing he did, and so did he, to the point where you felt his jeans tighten beneath you.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked softly against your chest, placing open mouthed kisses right where the v of your blouse covered your breast.

“God yes,” you practically whined, making Harry chuckle, though he was just as desperate to leave as you were. “I have to tell Ash and Mel that I’m leaving first, though.”

So you slid off Harry, and this time he was all over you, arms around your waist and fingers resting on the sliver of skin between your blouse and skirt. When you return, the whole group watched you walk over. Someone whistled, but you couldn't tell who. Embarrassed all of a sudden, you turned your face into Harry's chest. Perhaps it was disbelief that it was actually happening.

“Take a wrong turn? You've been gone a while,” Mel said, a knowing smile on her face.

“We actually came to tell you we're leaving,” Harry said. “Probably to have sex, but we’ll see how it goes.”

Your mouth dropped into an ‘o’ in total shock. Slapping his chest, you said, “I cannot believe you just said that!”

“What? I'm just being honest. I'm all about being open and honest about my feelings now,” Harry said, not at all embarrassed by what he said.

“Oh God, I've created monster,” you groaned.

Your friends waved you off with teasing and laughter, but all you could focus on was Harry's thumb rubbing circles into your skin as he said, “You did, and you'll find that I'm quite insatiable.”

With a pinch to your bum, you squealed and pulled Harry out of the house as fast as you could without running. Harry opened his car door for you and practically sprinted to the other side so you could be off. His hand was on your thigh the whole way back to campus, reaching higher and higher, then coming back down your leg. It was torture, but the good kind. You were nearly buzzing with anticipation by the time he parked and let you out of the car.

And the second you were alone in his room, you were on him. Harry's hands were not so shy now that you were truly alone, reaching under your skirt and kneading your skin for all it was worth. You squeezed him hard once his mouth started exploring too, unable to much more than pull his hair and exhale encouraging words until you were a mess underneath him. He gave you a cocky smile as he kissed the corner of your mouth, but you were quick to pin him beneath you, eager to blow his mind the way he did for you.

You'd left the party early, but as far as you were concerned, you were just getting started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a quick note: i just wanted to say that i don't pretend to know what it's like to be black or to have a black woman's hair, but an anon asked if i would ever write from a black woman's perspective, and i always want to represent all walks of life in my writing. i hope this fic and the mentions of black women's hair is respectful and not offensive to anyone. pleas let me know if it is and i will change it immediately. all my love💕💕

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles x black!reader #harry styles x poc

[agendabymooner]

cinema ! max v. x ofc (hearth sister!ofc) — mdni

“it’s you. don’t know why but it feels so right for me.”

summary: a breakup can lead to a loss of a part of one’s identity, and sylvie and max were alright with that. (1)(2)(3)(4)

content warning: use of explicit language, mention of mental health issues and lack of sleeping, light smut/suggestive content (i can’t write for shit), mentions of loss of virginity, mention of past!ofc x the weeknd (toxic breakup, cheating storyline), chatfic + fic, mature content under the cut MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

note: yo girl is going to the 2024 canadian gp 😩 there will also be a charles leclerc piece otw but i just need to put out my cracked out thoughts into it. also, i can’t write smut so there will not be any extremely graphic details in this chapter. this doesn't mean that i am encouraging people to read it at their own risk so MINORS DNI :)

masterlist

september 2016

Everyone in the Red Bull area knew the reason why Sylvie was often found crying in Daniel Ricciardo’s drivers room during her breaks. Well, everyone but Sylvie. She lived to blame herself for the downfall of what she thought was a great relationship.

They were reaching the sixth month and if it hadn’t been for Abel’s cheating, then maybe— MAYBE Sylvie would continue to pursue what she had with him.

Everyone thought Abel was a fool. Sylvie hadn’t done anything but be a good person, a loyal girlfriend. Why did he let another woman warm the bed that they shared?

Because she spent more time with Max than she had with him. That’s what he said. When she found him in his flat and asked what the hell was going on, Abel yelled at her for not going home. He screamed that she was doing it first with her “fucking best friend.” He didn’t even know the rough past between the two; he only knew Max’s name and had seen their childhood photos. So much for someone who had been dating her for five months.

Instead of fighting back, she cried. Her feet stood there as her sobs became a plea to let her inside once he kicked her out. She looked so pathetic.

It didn’t stop her from working, though, and Christian Horner couldn’t be more wrong when he previously said that she wasn’t emotionally prepared for work.

Her work kept her mind occupied throughout the Hungary race. From sending emails back and forth with her model agency to attending sponsor dinners, her mind never stopped running until she was able to get some sleep.

Because truthfully, she really wasn’t able to sleep. She only relied on chamomile tea then pretended that she was refreshed from the night before.

Her family had tried to get some word out of her about the break up, but she refused to say anymore. Toto did say that Abel had a bad aura within him, yet Sylvie knew that her in-law wasn’t about to tell her that “I told you so.” Stevie definitely called Abel out on his bullshit one night when she came across him at a bar in LA. Tilly merely comforted her without a word. Other than that, Sylvie never said anything about it— her eyes were focused on the racing team and the drivers.

The night before the race, she found Max standing in front of her hotel room. Her bloodshot eyes were evidence of her sadness and exhaustion, but it wasn’t as if she could easily close the door on him to hide it away. He was persistent and would most likely bring Lando here if it means that he would be able to get in.

The Dutchman stood there with a tray of macarons and another tray with cups of tea. “Chamomile,” it said on both tea bags. His accent was laced with concern as he spoke, “I know you haven’t had the greatest weekend yet. I had to beg my PR manager to find me a pastry shop for these.”

And so they sat on the love seat quietly, Easy A playing on the television while they both munched on the last two strawberry macaroons and sipped on their tea.

“He blamed me, you know?” Sylvie chuckled bitterly, her eyes still trained on Emma Stone’s makeover scene as the character continued ripping fabrics off in rage. I should do that, she told herself. She could see in her peripheral vision that Max looked at her, leaving her to say, “Said I spent too much time with you. That I slept with you first.”

“Blue—“ Max tried to speak, but she continued regardless.

“Which is kind of rich of him,” Sylvie shook her head, reaching out on the tray to eat the matcha flavoured macaron next. She bit on it and said, “Considering that I never had slept with anyone I spend my time with. Let alone sleep with anyone.”

“I don’t recall sleeping with anyone, too,” Max made things lighter as he joked, “I would have remembered otherwise.”

“Man,” Sylvie sighed and slumped against the loveseat, “had I known that men would be like that, then I would’ve ditched him immediately.”

Sylvie knew that whatever she did with Max the moment he came inside the hotel room made her realize her worth. What was it about her childhood friend that made her think the other way?

Everyone did say they were connected one way or another. She didn’t know how and he didn’t know either; but everyone insisted they were soulmates. One soul in two different bodies. She knew him as much as he knew her. She always had similar thoughts and feelings shared with him, and not once did he ever go against that idea. He pushed her, in fact.

“Not men,” Max laughed quietly, “boys. Men learn. Boys are still in the process of doing so.”

“Didn’t you just hit puberty two months ago?” She joked.

“Didn’t you?” He bit back with a smile.

She laughed along, shaking her head once more. They fell silent as Sylvie stared at his eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen it up close. But god, they sure looked prettier than they did before Abel had broken up with her.

“Would it be,” she stammered, leaving the man next to him scowling as he goaded her into speaking. She cleared her throat and sighed. “Would it be okay to ask… if I can… ah, shit. Never mind. It sounds bollocks if I continue on.”

“We don’t hide things anymore, Mustang,” he teased her, “remember? We agreed on it.”

“So if I were to ask if you want to… do… it…”

Now he was rendered silent. She wanted the world to swallow her the moment she found him staring at her. He was frozen, and she felt her body burning in embarrassment as she wished to leave the place. This was her bloody room, she couldn’t get out of here.

“I- I-“ he stuttered, his cheeks heating up as he asked, “You want to do it?”

“I’ve always wondered what it's like,” she murmured quietly. “I tried imagining doing it with him but… he never seemed to have that kind of intention to… I don’t know… pay attention to my wants.”

“Pretty foolish of that dickhead,” Max scoffed. “If he only wants to use you, then it’s a great thing that you knew better than that.”

“But seriously—“ he continued, “Sylvie, look at me in the eyes and tell me you want me to do it with you.”

“I do,” she admitted meekly, staring at him while she said so before she turned away. “I don’t think I can do it with someone else. If they’re the same as him then I don’t know… and you’re not him or anyone. So…”

“Okay,” he nodded understandingly. He backed away for a second before catching his breath and murmured, “Okay… I’ll make sure you and I aren’t hurt. And- and, I’ll make sure you have the best time.”

And the best time, it was. It was the first time Sylvie slept in a few days. It was also the first time she shared an intimate moment with someone. Someone being Max Emilian Verstappen.

Anyone experienced with two eyes would point out that everything that happened was done rather clumsily. It probably didn’t help that Max had to trip and knock on Dan’s door to ask for a condom, but it was better to be embarrassed than sorry, he supposed.

Sylvie could remember herself wiping the smudged mascara off her face and removing her top to put on the black corset top that she had on her suitcase, keeping her black wide legged sweatpants on while he went out to “say hi to Dan for a minute.” She didn’t need to put on a makeup. It wasn’t really that special, was it? No. It certainly was, she just didn’t want to spook Max especially when his eyes widened just as he walked in on her putting on a lip balm with nothing but her bra and sweatpants on.

He couldn’t deny anything that night, especially to himself. The moment his tongue swiped over her lips, he nearly groaned in satisfaction at the minty flavour of her chapstick. A hint of strawberry came with it, finding himself caging her against the marble sink as she desperately held him… by the arms and his mouth.

Both of them were clueless, not knowing how to maneuver around one another the moment Max settled her down to her (upgraded) king-sized bed. For a moment, he wondered how she had managed to get herself a large room — knowing that the hotel room booked for him and Danny were smaller than hers — but her wandering hands sent his thoughts away when her palm landed on his sweatpants, eliciting a sigh from him.

Too many questions of, “Is this okay” and “are you alright” were exchanged— both of them unsure if either of them were comfortable or smart enough to be doing this. But one thing that they knew for sure was they wouldn’t be able to forget that night. It wasn’t the just pleasure that made it too memorable— but rather their experience with one another that made it too… good to forget. Sylvie and Max could care less about reaching the highs and lows when all they could think about was that they’ve done it with one another.

She could remember waking up to him kissing her forehead as he spoke in Dutch, telling her that they would talk sometime during the day before he left the room. She pretended to be asleep, but the whisper of his voice made her heart beat faster as if he hadn’t just called her love.

For someone who “hated” Max, Sylvie trusted him for taking a part of her and allowed him to ruin other men for her. She was sure that Max was her standard now. She couldn’t imagine doing the most intimate things with someone who didn’t have the same values and personality as him.

God, Max ruined her. But it wasn’t as if Sylvie was complaining about it. She embraced that idea, in fact.

#formula one fanfiction #formula one fic #formula one imagine #formula one x oc #formula one smau #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #max verstappen x oc #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen #red bull racing imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen series #max verstappen social media au #max verstappen smut #f1 social media au #f1 fluff #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x oc #f1 x female reader #formula one x reader #formula one smut #formula one hurt/comfort #f1 fiction

[catnipaddictt]

Work song

wc: 2.7k

series masterlist ⭑ co-creator @memoiich

Entering the office took years off your life. Not only were you tired you were now sweaty and flustered. Moving past the old lady at the front desk you made your way to the elevator. If your day couldn’t get any worse it just did. The elevator wouldn’t open when you pushed the button so you asked the lady at the front desk and she said in a monotone voice “the elevator doesn't work, miss”. You were ready to cry but held it together, went back to the hall and looked around until you saw a big mat green door with a sign “stairs'' so you ran up at 120 km an hour just to get to the office still 2 hours  overdue ,swinging the door open completely.

Out of breath you were greeted with the secretary desk and the angry man standing in front of it. Mr Rex, your brain told you quickly. You recognised him from the flyer, he was wearing a blue suit with a matching tie and three gold clips, and well, his face was livid. Pure anger radiated from him “Do you know what this is?” he questioned gesturing to the desk behind it “this is the desk you should have been sitting at by 9 this morning“, “I'm so sorry sir I-“ “I don't need your excuses I need a explanation“ at this point more and more gazes fell on you, “My car broke down mid way, I had to walk the rest of the way here, it took me 30 min, i'm so sorry sir” he let a sign escape past his hardened facade and he spoke way calmer now “well why don't you get to work then, and if you have any questions ask someone other than me, do you understand?“, “yes sir.” The army would have been proud of you. “Just call me Rex” but Rex clearly wasn’t. He walked away from you back to his office and you settled behind your new desk.

You had come from a branch in your hometown so the work wasn’t hard to adjust to. Reading emails, forwarding emails, getting the planning in check. Rex was a busy guy and it was clear that he hadn’t had a secretary in a few weeks, So it took some time to get it all in check, at least an hour…or 3. It also was taking an  extra long to finish because you were very very very tired. Your eyes were closing as if they were shutters, then open, then closed, until a hand waved in front of your face. The hand snapped you out of it pretty quickly and you finally heard a voice.

“Hello there, didn’t mean to intrude but you look …sleepy” you looked at the man. He had to be in his late 20’s dressed with a kind smile and matching gentle blue-greenish eyes. Your gaze must have stayed pretty long because he chuckled and handed you a cup. Taking the cup you looked back at him “don’t worry it's just coffee, my name's Obi wan  Kenobi, I work over there” he pointed over his shoulder at the now empty desk in front of you. You must have been really tired because you would have noticed the handsome man not 3 metres in front of you. "I'm y/n, I work here now” you pointed at the desk below you “I noticed, you made quite an entrance” he said holding back a snort. “Well yeah, my car broke down and this arrogant mechanic left me at the side of the street and then I had to walk and it's like 50 min at least and then yesterday my neighbour just…” he cuts you off. “Do you have a ride home?” Obi wan  asked you partly to stop the word flow. Not having thought that you answered “No, I don't”, “Well Qui Gon and I carpool” he pointed at an older friendly looking gentleman with well kept hair that reached his mid back at the left end of the office, who waved at the two of you. You waved back smiling “ If you wanted to we could give you a lift” he followed up. “I would love that”.

Rex's office door flung open. ”That's my sign to go!” Obi wan  said while turning on his heel. Rex walked over to you  “Do you have my plans for next week?”, “Yeah it's right here, I planned the meeting with HQ on Wednesday instead of Monday because bail organa is visiting Monday”. “Bail visits quite often so you don't have to worry about his meetings, just make sure to tell Obi wan ”, “Do you want me to move HQ back to Monday?”, “No, I don't need to see fives just yet”. “Okay then this is the final planning”, you say as you hand him the sheet of paper. “That’s perfect, you've been working for a few hours now, why don't you take a break” he said and walked straight back to his office.

Then it dawned on you that you definitely didn’t know the layout of this office at all. After the morning you kind of just sat down and did your job. You looked around confused when Obi wan  raised his hand and pointed to a brown door with a little window. While walking to it you looked only to be greeted by the second shit-eating smirk of the day. It also looked strangely familiar. Weird...

You opened the small door and were greeted with the sight of 2 vending machines, a little kitchen and 4 tables that seated four. At one of those tables sat Mr. Jinn eating a fruit bowl and sipping a glass of jawa juice. He waved you over, though it was more of a swipe of the hand than a wave. Sitting in front of him you could now see that he must have been closer to his 40s than his 30s. ”You’re y/n aren't you?” he said, more of a statement rather than a question “Yeah that’s me”. Before you could question why he was so confident in his guess, He answered, “Obi wan told me you would carpool with us” he finished it off with a smile that made the crows feet beneath his eyes appear. “only if it's not a bother of course”, “It’s definitely not a bother, you look like a decent person plus even a indecent person wouldn’t be a bother if they need the help”. You weren’t used to your coworkers being ...well nice . At your last job there was an intern named Axel who couldn’t catch a hint if it gave him a head start. ”Thank you Mr Jinn''. “Just Qui Gon  is fine”. Qui Gon had gone back to munching on his fruit bowl, so you had followed his example and started eating your late lunch. It was quite peaceful. Qui Gon was one of those rare people who understood and respected universal silence, without fidgeting under its pressure. But that beloved silence was broken when 3 men stumbled through the door.

One of them was Mr Kenobi but the other 2 you only noticed in the office. The first one sat across from Mr Kenobi. He was a Kiffar and had a golden line across his nose right under his eyes. He was doubled over laughing while holding on to the second man. And a green Nautolan who was laughing even louder than the last. The only one that wasn’t laughing was Mr.Kenobi. He was wearing a sour expression and a noticeable blush covering his face. “Wanna carpool” the Kiffar yelled and bumped his hip with Mr.Kenobi's.

You looked over to Qui Gon  who had a ‘disappointed father’ look. He let out a fake cough “uh hum“ at the pure sound of it, the 3 of them looked your way. Fear was the only way to describe the look upon their faces. The Kiffar was the first to snap out of it, “Hey i’m Quinlan Vos and this is Kit Fisto” he pointed to the green Nautolan on his left. ”And this one you already know” he finishes while grabbing Mr.Kenobi by the shoulder. “It's nice to meet the both of you” they both shook your hand.” Mr kenobi i had to tell you that Monday Mr. Organa is visiting” you remembered “Yeah Mr. Kenobi you have a meeting Monday” Quinlan responded with a odd tone to his voice. Mr Kenobi was clearly flustered “I could possibly change the meeting if your nervous “ you said “oh no there is no need I just I'm not used to being called by my last name” he retorted “I thought it was company policy” you said. At your last job they were rather strict on this rule mainly because ‘you're obviously a secretary, you should have some respect’, so it became the norm. ”We generally are a bit more lax when it comes to the rules,” Qui Gon stated. Then Rex walked in looking stressed “Y/n I need you to help me with the meeting for tomorrow now” he said more agitated than angry. You packed up your stuff quite quickly and followed Rex out to his office.

”So what seems to be the problem” you asked as nicely as you could, “I got an email from headquarters and they want to move the meeting from Wednesday to as soon as possible”, “That shouldn’t be a problem, I could probably move it to Monday, as I said before, and move Mr. Organa to Wednesday”. You didn’t know if you should call Mr. Organa Bail. “Can we have the meeting tomorrow?” He retorted “I will have to check with Obi wan since he is currently still working on the deal”. Rex turned around and pushed some numbers into the hologram behind him. “Hello Obi wan  , how far away are you with the lettering company deal?” he questioned. “About as far as I could be in 2 days” Obi wan responded. “Well I need it done by tomorrow morning, goodbye”, “wait rex i-” Rex hung up. “That went great ,didn't it?” He said to you while wearing a stressed smile. All you could do was stare at him befuddled.

There was a knock on the office door so you moved to open it. “There's no need to open that” Rex whispered. Another knock came from the door “Rex, I know you’re in there!” Obi wan  's voice came from the other side. “Y/n i'm going to hide behind the door, while you open it” Rex whispered to you in the seriousness of a war commander leading his troops. So you did as you were told. “Obi wan  , how can I help you?” you opened the door. “Where is he?” He asked, looking at you. You pointed at the door while saying “Oh Rex isn't here “Obi wan was holding himself back from laughing “Then why don't you go to your desk?” he said while stepping to the side. "I will, good luck finding Rex” you said with a wink.

The rest of the day went quite smoothly. When the end of the day came around people started to leave the building. You were seated near the door so you said a polite goodbye to the people that left. Most people seemed to like it except this one zabrak who made a grunting noise while rolling his yellow eyes. Rude. In the end only Obi wan and Qui Gon  were left. You approached Obi wan even though he looked to be focusing on his work. You didn't need to guess why. “Can I help you?” 

“I don’t think so, I just need to plan this deal out with Ryloth  lettering” he said looking rather desperate at his computer. “I'm a secretary, planning is my job” you answered with a self assured smile. Obi wan looked up from his computer and scooted over a nearby chair. You took the seat “so how may I help you?” You asked him in your secretary's voice. Obi wan gave you a look of panic as he answered, “I need to contact their office but my emails don't go through”. “Is the office still open?”, “I think so”, “okay wait”. You walk over to your desk and get the office holo out. “What's the number?” Obi wan gave you the number and you called it as quickly as you could. A man answered.

”Ryloth  lettering, how can I help you this evening?” A monotone voice answered from the other side. “Hey i’m calling from Paper Force, we sadly have to move a meeting from wednesday to tomorrow morning” you told him. "May I ask with whom this supposed meeting is going to be?” Then it dawned on you that you hadn’t asked Obi wan about it so you did the good-old talking a bit away from the phone. “Who is the person for the meeting?” “Orn Free Taa” he whispered back. You told the man on the line his name and the hour for the meeting. “Okay Ms. L/n, the meeting has been moved forward, have a nice evening.” “You too and thanks again” 

You closed the holo and Obi wan looked at you hopefully. ”So did it work?” he asked, tired and nervous. “Yes it worked, your meeting is tomorrow morning”. Obi Wan's face lit up immediately. “You’re a lifesaver Y/n” He almost yelled as he pulled you into a hug. “Are you two finally ready to go?” Qui Gon  spoke, having walked in mere minutes ago. 

Obi wan let go off you and you shifted a bit awkwardly around him to gather your stuff to go home. Obi wan did the same at his desk. You followed Qui Gon  to the parking lot. “There she is,” he announced. As you looked past him you saw a half sage green half white Volkswagen minivan. Obi wan opened the door for you and you entered the velvet orange hippy dream that was Qui Gon 's car. “Do you like Radiohead Y/n.” Obi wan  asked “I do, why?” “That's all you’re going to hear in this car" he said almost laughingly.

And right he was. 50 min and 1 entire album later you were finally back at the front door of the Alderaan apartments.

The door of ‘Shaggy’ closes with a slam. Shaggy was what Qui Gon called his wagon because “he has character” he stated. Obi wan agreed, the velvet seats had gone through quite a lot. Ever since Obi wan and Qui Gon  had met back in college, Shaggy had been by their side. Qui Gon  was only 2 years older but took Obi Wan under his wing pretty quickly. Because of this, Qui Gon was fine tuned to Obi Wan’s behaviour and so it began.

“So..” he let the o hang in the air as the music swirled around, “Y/n huh, quite an interesting person.” It might sound like a statement but he wanted an answer. “Yeah she's nice” he was going to talk himself out of this. It definitely wasn’t his fault that Qui Gon had walked in on that moment. He hadn’t even thought of it at the moment but yet here he was. “Do I need to just say it?” Qui Gon asked with a lilt to his voice. “I don’t know what you could be talking about my friend” Obi wan might have been known as ‘the negotiator’ of the office but whatever he was selling Qui Gon wasn't buying it. “Look, i'm not saying you did anything wrong but you know the rules, if you’re willing to break those, so be it” he stated rather gleefully as if he had just sipped the best jawa juice the world had to offer.

Obi wan knew the rules and their consequences. The office headquarters had installed them to make sure the workers would, well, work. The one Qui Gon was referring to was the ‘no work attachments'  which was basically a ban on office relationships. “Oh come on Qui Gon , we both know a hug can’t be classified as a relationship” he huffed and mumbled “otherwise you may have had one” he pointed out Qui Gon ’s non-existent love life. Qui Gon burst out laughing “For your information, it's by choice”  he said. He parked the car in front of the ‘for sale’ sign in Obi wan  ’s front yard. “Now get out of my car, squirt.” “A nice evening to you too” Obi wan yelled back slamming the door. He watched Qui Gon leave with a wave.

#star wars #the clone wars #tcw #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader #hayden christensen #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen x reader #revenge of the sith #ashoka tano #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #obi wan imagine #obi wan kenobi #obi wan and anakin #obi wan star wars #obi wan x reader #prequel trilogy #obi wan x you #ewan mcgregor

[lovesickfoolwp]

emails i can't send — conrad fisher

pairing : conrad fisher x fem!reader

summary : after being apart for so long, your dad comes to the fourth of july party in cousins beach being convinced by your mother. everything turns into a complete shit show and you end it up crying into conrad's arms.

word count : 2k

while you, belly and jeremiah were trying to follow victoria's recipe for making pomegranate margaritas, with a twist added by belly, conrad entered the room. seeing the enthusiasm on your faces, he also wanted to participate, coming up with the idea of using the better blender.

while you were remembering the time when belly and jeremiah, led by you, made a whole mess a few years ago trying to make some drinks for yourselves, a unpleasant surprise appeared in the kitchen.

"y/n?" your dad's voice, which you could have sworn you've forgot over the years, was heard from behind you.

your smile gradually disappeared and your lifelong friends were watching you intently, ready to intervene if you needed any kind of help.

you turned, slowly, on your heel toward him, swallowing hard when you realized that not much had changed in his appearance. probably just the white hair and a few wrinkles. otherwise, it was just like you remembered him and you hated that.

"dad?" you replied, using the word you hadn't used in years. more precisely, since he failed to be the person you would've looked up to.

he had the audacity to approach you and to try to hug into his arms, but conrad stopped him. extending his arm in front of you, thus blocking his access.

your father shot him a threatening look, and before he could say anything, your mother appeared in the room through the back door. seeing the look on your face and how everyone was tense, she realized that maybe this was not her best choice.

"well," she approached you and put her hand on your shoulder to draw your attention, smiling sincerely with regret. "sorry, sweetie, for not telling you earlier about this. now i notice that a mistake may have been made."

"how is this a mistake?" your father asked her, but everyone ignored him.

"you should have asked my opinion first, mom."

this was probably the first time you were really disappointed in her.

"y/n," your father tried to come to you again, but conrad's hand was in the same place. "can we talk a little?"

conrad's eyes turned to you, but instead he met your mother's gaze, which beckoned him to withdraw.

"please, y/n, let me explain!" he insisted when conrad withdrew his hand, but you continued to stay silent.

you gave up, sighing, and accepted. everyone in the room, especially conrad, were asking you if you were sure. you weren't. but, for the sake of your mother, you were at least able to listen to him.

so you went to your room to have total peace. you were sitting on your bed, and your father was standing in front of you.

"i don't understand, y/n, why you let what happened between you and your mother affect our relationship. we were so close before, and now you don't answer my phone either. i'm not even mentioning that you don't want to visit me."

"because it affects me too!"

he snorted in disbelief.

"how could it affect you if the divorce was by mutual agreement?"

you fake laughed and put your head in the hands you were now resting on your knees. "mutual agreement? is that what it's called now when you're cheating on your wife?" you said more for yourself, but he heard you.

"do you hear yourself?" he asked reproachfully.

"yeah, actually, i really do." you answered and looked up again, even if the eye contact grinded all your thinking. you could no longer look him in the eye. "it would have been a step forward if you had even acknowledged what you did. you cheated on my mother and destroyed my all of my trust in you. i can't forgive you as easily as she did."

tears began to appear in the corner of your eye, and he noticed this and sat down next to you, making the bear minimum to keep a considerable distance between you two.

"how this has affected you, y/n?"

he asked you and this time you felt a trace of sincere curiosity in his voice.

"i can't trust the boys anymore, dad. i can't love a boy without making thousands of negative thoughts when he doesn't respond immediately to my text." you sighed and thinking about conrad, you continued. "i know that he's a good person, but i can't get out of my head the idea that one day he might hurt me as much as you hurt mom. you gave me trust issues and you destroyed my expectations of a relationship."

he listened to every word you said, memorizing everything. so when you' were done, he leaned over to you and put his hand over your hand, which was shaking on your knee. "i wish i could fix this, sweet pie."

at the nickname he used to use when you were little, when he was still a model for you, and you felt his touch again, you retreated like his touch burnt you, standing upright by the door.

he stood up too, looking at you as if you were about to break down at any given moment and that's was it.

you approached him, raising your index finger to him and with tears starting to run down your cheeks, you addressed him for the last time. "i'm going to leave the room and when i get back, you'll be anywhere, just not near this house."

and with that being said, you came out of the room like a tornado, ignoring the fact that conrad was a few doors away, listening to everything. and ignoring the fact that conrad called name continuously, following in your footsteps.

you didn't stop until you reached the beach, you sat on the sand and you felt the sea breeze at your feet. you continued to cry, sniffing through the fresh air, watching through the tears as the waves broke.

you felt a warm touch on your shoulder and you knew who that was before he sat down next to you.

"do you want to talk about it?” conrad asked, continuing to look at you intently.

you looked up at him, and your eyes and wet cheeks shattered his heart. he couldn't stand seeing you in this situation.

"could you hold me in your arms for a moment, without saying anything?" your voice trembled when you asked him that and he agreed immediately.

you got up from the position you were in earlier, put your thighs around his legs, and lowered your head into the hollow of your neck, continuing to sigh as he stroked your back.

"yeah, but only for a few moments. we're going to have to talk about this at some point." he said in a reassuring tone and realizing that you would listen to his voice for a lifetime and not get bored, you nodded.

his touch along with your two favorite sounds combined, his breathing and the sound of the ocean, calmed you in a few minutes, becoming soft in his arms.

when your peace had begun to unsettle him because he had begun to overthinking everything, he began to draw circles on your back with his finger to get your attention.

the tears had stopped and the sighs were gone, but you weren't ready to see you with the swollen face from so much crying.

"y/n?" he called your name lightly, beginning to wonder if you had fallen asleep.

you murmured softly something that was not understood and when he tried to move you away enough to see your face by putting his hands on your hips, you clung into his neck like a little kitten that refuses to let you go when you want to let him down from your arms.

he giggled and you felt a flock of butterflies that flew in your stomach, managing to put a lazy smile on your face. when he felt your smile on the skin of his neck, he tried to move you away for a second time and with you being taken unprepared, he succeeded.

no matter how much it hurt him to see you cry, your face afer crying seemed a very beautiful thing, and somehow peaceful, to him because he could've sworn that you were always shining.

"when were you going to tell me you liked me too?" he asked you in a serious tone, but in the end he touched you on the nose teasingly.

"what are you talking about?"

"we both know that i have shown you many times, through my specific methods, that i care a lot about you and what you said to your father today made me believe that was about me. i might be wrong though."

you stood for a second, remembering what you said and you hit him playfully in the shoulder. "were you eavesdropping?"

he laughed lightly in response and then he returned to being seriously, his grip around your waist becoming tighter. "seriously, y/n, i can understand you better than anyone about everything you've said. and if that's all that stops you from telling me what i've wanted to hear for so long, go ahead. because i promise i understand you."

"how can you understand?" you asked him frustrated and you leaned your head on his shoulder, looking at the ocean.

he sighed before he said "because, between us, me and jere are going through the same thing, only he doesn't know it yet. i haven't told him yet. and no one but you, not even our parents, knows i found out."

at that moment you withdrew so that you could study his face. he had no reaction on his face, but the grip around you told you enough.

"your parents are divorcing?"

you couldn't believe it. susannah and adam seemed to be the perfect couple. but so did your parents. that was until your father gave up everything in one selfish night.

"yeah."

there was silence between you for a while, and conrad's fingers on his waist were the only thing holding you to reality. you went through your mind again the words you said to your father and now you knew that conrad had heard them. at the moment you managed to think you were ready, so you cleared your throat and his eyes immediately met yours.

he removed his hands from your waist, and if it had not seemed to you that you were exceeding a limit imposed by your conscience, you would have sighed at that lack of contact.

"what's wrong?" he asked you and put one of his now free hands on your cheek, stroking it with his thumb.

you didn't know how to say it, so you threw the words straight in front of him in one breath. "i like you too."

he thought he was dreaming.

"say it again." he challenged you to repeat it.

you raised your eyebrow and looked at him for a second, then did as he told you to. "i like you too, conrad."

you thought that if you said his name this way, in this sentence, it would make him feel assured of your feelings and you succeeded.

it was his turn to bury his face in the curvature of your neck, squeezing your waist in his arms as if he didn't give you a chance to change your mind and leave.

it was clear. his hands on your waist already felt like home after today.

he barely managed to retreat, being too vulnerable now and wanting to keep hugging you. but he need to say a few more words.

you watched him intently, waiting for him to start talking, but his hands found yours and he began to play anxiously with your fingers as he spoke "believe me, y/n, that after all i've been through in the last few months, i wouldn't want to believe that we'll just be friends again. i want to be around you, i want to be able to hug and kiss you." his fingers found their place, intertwining with your fingers as he continued. "and most importantly, i want to help you build your trust in me."

at that moment, you could have cried again. this time because of happiness. but the grimace on his face when he heard you sighing worried you and you abstained for his sake. "sure."

that was the only word you managed to say, but to him it meant everything.

his lips met yours and he swore to protect you from whatever was needed. even from his own demons.

#the summer i turned pretty #tsitp #conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #conradfisher x you #conrad fisher x y/n #the summer i turned pretty imagine #conrad fisher fluff #angst #Spotify

[xoxoladyaz]

AU-gust, Day 9: Cleaning Crew

A/N: Avengers Crossover and allusions to smut, ahoy!

This ended up way hurt/comfort/fluff than I anticipated and there were almost no sexy times? And it was definitely the Avengers cockblocking Eddie and not the other way around so if there's still interest in that, I could see me writing THAT AU in the future! I just wanted Steve to be properly appreciated, you know? Anyways, happy AU-gust Day 9!

“This is the weirdest NDA I’ve ever seen.”

“Question, how many NDAs have you seen?”

Nancy Wheeler’s pinched face glared at Steve through his Starkphone. “Enough.” She rolled her eyes at Steve and restarted her perusal of the hefty contract Steve had emailed over to her (that she’d insisted on printing and making notes on, because even ten years removed from high school, Nancy Wheeler was thorough.) “There’s some things here regarding interpersonal relationships that seem a little unprecedented.”

“But?” Steve Harrington echoed, his eyebrows near his hairline.

“But you are dealing with the world’s first literal superhero team so these probably aren’t unreasonable requests,” she finished between gritted teeth.

“Great, so I can sign it then.”

“Steve,” Nancy sighed, and she pinched her nose between her eyes, “are you sure you want to do this? If it’s a matter of money - ”

“It’s not, Nance. Neither one of us has to work,” Steve argued back and hey, he wasn’t wrong. The government had been obscenely generous in their payouts after they’d finally defeated Vecna. And, okay, was it a little weird that instead of going to a fancy school or kickstarting his musical career or buying a weed farm that Steve rented a normal apartment and put the rest away into an investment fund? Maybe. Did he need to work, let alone work as a glorified cleaning service for the one percent? No, not at all.

But maintaining one of his (recently-divorced) mother’s properties had turned into a prosperous career because hey, it turns out all of those years spent cleaning up after the kids (and the interdimensional monsters they kept as pets) meant that he was, like, really good at cleaning. (And he was still incredibly insecure about his intelligence, or lack-thereof, and he didn’t want to be the only one who didn’t get into the dream school he applied for.)

And now he’d been personally asked – by Pepper Potts herself, of all people (who apparently played bridge with his mom?) – to take over the general care and upkeep of the personnel apartments at the newly re-christened Avengers Tower in New York City.

(Thank God he’d been out of town at one of Lucas’ basketball games when the whole attack happened; not that he wouldn’t have been willing to help but man, fighting monsters takes a toll when you’re not a superhuman. And he was only thirty.)

“This just feels like a cry for help, Steve. Do you really want to look after the world’s most difficult group of people?”

Steve stared at Nancy without blinking. “I babysat Henderson for years. I feel like I’m still babysitting Henderson.”

“I know, it’s just – I’m just worried that you’re not moving on, Steve.”

And, well, that hurt. Because sure, he didn’t have a doctorate like Robin or Dustin and he wasn’t playing professional sports like Lucas or spearheading global disability rights campaigns like Max or running a prosperous weed farm like Argyle or was part of the reporting and photography duo that was Nancy and Jonathan, nor was he part of a Grammy-winning rock band or a retired superhero or –

(It’s just, at the end of the day, Steve didn’t have really big dreams. After years spent fighting interdimensional monsters that liked to crawl their way out of walls, all of the other stuff – fame, fortune, money, a legacy – it didn’t really feel important anymore. All Steve wanted now, and truthfully, all he really wanted then, was a place to call home and people to belong to.

So honestly, it was really fucking rude of Nancy to judge him for just wanting that. And he was going to be working in close proximity with the Avengers of all people, like, how was that not success? Sure, he’d essentially be a live-in maid, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t doing important work.)

Steve didn’t say any of this to Nancy, of course; he didn’t need to. The looks on her face – shock, and then guilt – said enough.

“Steve - ”

“Thanks for your help, Nance,” he replied quickly, and then he hung up the phone.

(They were all split up now, they had been for years. And keeping them all together, staying together, being a family? That had been his dream for years.

But maybe it was time for a new dream now.

And maybe the Avengers Tower was the perfect place to start.)

/////

Working at the Tower meant that sometimes Steve felt like he was cleaning a frat house, mainly because the communal kitchen was usually covered in junk food wrappers and empty beer bottles and days’ old coffee mugs.

(“Trust me,” Pepper Potts had said drily the first time they’d had a check-in meeting, “this doesn’t come closeto a Tony Stark frat house party.”) 

Still, he was on time every day, kept to himself, and most importantly didn’t sell out any information to any of the many, many media outlets that sent him offers. That, along with the fact that apparently Steve had an obscenely high security clearance (thanks, Hawkins!) meant that he was asked to officially move into the staff quarters of Avengers Tower within his first month of work.

(Which had the added effect of him actually meeting the Avengers and, well, it was a little weird.

Because if Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say that they were flirting with him. Or, even worse, that they were staking some sort of claim, and that didn’t make sense, right?

Right?)

/////

1. Tony Stark

“Hey honeybun, how’s it hanging?”

“To the left,” Steve replied absentmindedly as he disinfected the industrial-grade espresso machine.

Someone choked behind him and – shit.

He’d just said that to his BOSS.

(His incredibly hot, incredibly wealthy, incredibly smart and powerful boss.

SHIT.)

“Mr. Stark!” Steve exclaimed as he spun to face his employer. “Mr. Stark, I am so, so sorry, that was so inappropriate - ”

“First of all, please for the love of god call me Tony,” Mr. Stark – Tony – ordered with a smirk as he leaned on the kitchen’s island. He was dressed in an old AC/DC tee that sent a pang through Steve’s heart because wowit reminded him so much of Eddie (although that’s where their style similarities ended, because Eddie always wore loose bottoms and Tony’s pants were always fitted to accentuate his ass.

NOT THAT STEVE HAD BEEN LOOKING.)

“And second of all,” Tony purred as he leaned further across the island, getting right up into Steve’s space, “don’t tease me if you aren’t going to follow through, sweetheart.”

Steve didn’t need a mirror to tell him that he was flushing bright red. “I – I - ”

“Mister Harrington, sir,” JARVIS spoke – which was a fully functional AI that Dustin would die to know about – “there is a call waiting for you on your personal line, a Mister Edward Munson.”

Speak of the devil.

“Oh,” Steve murmured, his face cooling off as quickly as it had heated and he spun around, hands shaking as he looked for a towel. “Yeah, let me just get a towel - ”

“JARVIS, put the call on my line,” he heard Tony order, and then a warm hand was at his back. “I’ve got this, handsome.”

Steve turned just in time to see Tony shoot him a wink and pick up his phone. “Eddie Munson, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you,” Tony started and then he was gone, disappearing out of the kitchen and towards his lab.

“I – JARVIS?”

“Mister Stark is a mystery to behold,” the AI replied with a sigh. “How about a glass of champagne?”

You know what? Fuck it.

“That sounds great, J.”

2. Steve Rogers

“ – and I said, ‘excuse me, but only one of us outsmarted some leftover commie bastards at the age of ten and it wasn’t you, Professor.’”

Steve snorted, listening as Erica detailed her most recent argument – and victory – with her prick of an international relations professor. (A few days after his weird interaction with Tony in the kitchen, he’d been granted access to accept personal calls in the main Avengers spaces, which meant that he had more time to catch up with his friends while cleaning which was a blessing because some of the dusting in this place? Took hours.)

“Doesn’t that break your NDA?”

“Please,” Erica snorted over the living room’s loudspeakers, “I’ve got Owens wrapped around my finger, just like you with a certain member of the one percent.”

“Sorry, what?” Steve paused mid-wipe, looking confusedly at the now-gleaming metallic coffee table in front of him. “What are you talking about?”

“Tony Stark, your knight in iron armor?” Erica replied in her best I’m-talking-to-an-idiot-right-now voice. “Or did you forget that he’s screening your calls?”

“He’s screening my what?”

“Please, we all heard about his little talk with the Nerd King,” she scoffed and oh yeah, he’d forgotten about that. (Honestly, he had no idea what those two had even talked about; when he asked Tony, the older man had changed the subject and ordered super fancy sushi instead.) “Now, if you had a bodyguard like that back at Starcourt, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten your ass kicked by the Russians.”

“What Russians?”

Steve didn’t scream, but he might have let out a high-pitched noise of surprise at the sound of Captain America’s voice. He turned around to find Steve Rogers standing at attention in the living room, his eyes glaring at the speakers overhead.

“Steve,” Erica’s voice echoed slowly, “am I hearing Captain America right now?”

“Just Steve Rogers, ma’am,” the tall blonde replied automatically.

“And just how long have you been there, Just Steve Rogers?”

“Long enough. Now, what is this about the Russians?” He asked, and his piercing blue eyes dropped onto Steve’s face and his heart was beating fast because he was nervous and for no other reason.

“Seriously? How do you not know? Haven’t you read Steve’s file?” Erica asked incredulously and okay, this conversation needed to be done immediately.

Piercing blue eyes grew shocked and Captain Rogers looked, well, sick to his stomach. “You have a file?”

“Okay!” Steve jumped up before this could spiral any further out of hand. “Erica, it was great talking to you, I’ll call you later, uh, Captain Rogers - ”

“Please, call me Steve.”

“Right, Steve, there’s nothing to be, uh, worried about - ”

“She said Russians,” Cap pointed to the ceiling, “so there’s definitely something to be worried about. Does Tony know about the Russians?”

“I’m sorry, did somebody say my name?” Tony popped his head into the room because of course he was also nearby.

“Did you know about this?”

“I know a lot of things, Cap, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Did you know that Steve was attacked by Russians?”

“Steve was what?!”

(Steve was then treated to the sight of Iron Man and Captain America reading his security file, staring at him in shock, and then stomping off to do something about their fury? The last part of that entire thing didn’t make sense, but JARVIS sent him some whiskey so hey, it could have been worse.

And if he let Captain Rogers tuck an extra blanket around him during movie night, well, that was just his business.)

3. Natasha Romanoff (and Clint Barton)

“I heard you lost a fight with some Russians.”

“JESUS!” Steve startled, barely stopping himself from dropping Tony’s mother’s expensive China all over the floor. (The porcelain set hadn’t been looked at in years and Pepper wanted to use it for the next investors meeting, so of course this is when the infamous Black Widow approached him.)

“Okay, first of all,” he said after he had set down the dishware and turned to face the smirking redhead, “I didn’t lose the fight, I knocked one out.”

“And then you got surrounded, captured, and were tortured for a total of two hours in a hidden bunker,” she finished. (How did she get her eyebrow to quirk like that? And why did he feel like she was flirting with him but also being mean?)

(And how could he get that skill?)

“I – yeah, you’re not wrong about that,” Steve muttered, glancing away from Natasha. “At least we all made it out alive. And we survived the whole Hawkins earthquake thing.”

Natasha snorted and murmured something under her breath that sounded like Russian but also sounded like metal and frankly didn’t make a lot of sense. She cleared her throat and spoke up and, well, whatever she said before must not have been important. “It’s a good thing you have us to train you.”

“Yeah,” he murmured absentmindedly. Then – 

“Wait, what?”

Which is how Steve started spending two hours out of every afternoon “training” with Natasha in the official Avengers’ sparring room. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how much good it was doing, given that “training” mainly consisted of Natasha throwing him around the room and giving him bruises.

(Okay, that he was into, and she knew it too, judging by the wink she’d send him every time he headed off to the showers.)

After a few weeks, when she’d deemed him “competent” enough, she had Clint Barton start “assisting” as well, meaning there were two of them beating him up now which meant twice the embarrassment and twice the bruises.

(And twice the amount of time jerking off in the shower.)

(This was really starting to get out of hand.)

4. Thor and Bruce Banner

“This is really starting to get out of hand.”

“What is?” Robin asked as she poured the last of her Flaming Hot Cheeto dust into her mouth. She was the first person Steve had been able to secure a visitor’s pass for; Dustin was next on the list, followed by Max and Erica and then the rest of the gang (although according to JARVIS they were running into some sort of problem with Eddie’s pass, which could take up to an additional two months? He didn’t fully understand it, JARVIS had told him during breakfast a few days ago and he’d gotten distracted by Natasha throwing knives at Clint’s apple strudel and Steve accidentally breaking the toaster again.)

Steve grimaced as he watched her lick her fingers. “You mean aside from your Cheeto addiction?”

“Hey, this isn’t an addiction, I can stop any time,” she replied with a snort before tossing her empty bag at Steve. 

(Gross.)

“Sorry, what were you saying dingus? Something about things getting out of hand?”

“I don’t know, I just,” Steve set down his feather-duster (that he hadn’t even been using, he’d just been tossing it around like his old ice cream scooper) and got close enough to Robin so she could hear his whisper, “I might be reading things wrong, but I’m almost getting the feeling that they’re into me or something?”

Robin frowned. “Who, Eddie?”

“Eddie?” Now it was Steve’s turn to be confused. “No, the Avengers.”

“The AVENGERS?” Robin squeaked just as the door to the elevator banks opened. Steve and Robin whipped around to see Thor enter the main atrium with Dr. Banner on his heels.

“Steve!” Thor shot him a blinding smile and strutted over. Upon reaching Steve he wrapped him up in a hug and lifted him off the ground.

“Hey Thor!” Steve wheezed, trying to pat what he could of Thor’s back.

“How I have missed your countenance, my friend,” Thor boomed, and then he was setting Steve back on the ground – 

And kissing him on the lips. 

Thor leaned back and beamed, ignoring the fact that Steve was openly gaping at him. “It is good to be home.”

“Yeah? Yeah,” Steve breathed before shooting a quick look at Robin who looked completely and totally dumbfounded.

“And you must be the Lady Robin!” Thor said, turning his mega-watt smile upon Robin who flushed bright red. “Steve has told us of your exploits and your intellect. You would do well amongst the heroes of Asgard.”

“Thank you? I mean, thank you,” Robin squeaked.

(If Steve wasn’t in a state of complete and utter shock, he might have laughed at her, but he couldn’t move.)

“I have also seen the flag of your people,” Thor continued, like he didn’t notice Robin’s utter embarrassment, “and I have a lovely friend named Val who is searching for a paramour of her own. Do you think you would be interested? I could arrange a meeting.”

“Val. Val? As in - ”

“Valkyrie, yes,” Dr. Banner finally cut in sheepishly. “Also, hi, I’m Dr. Banner.”

Robin could only muster up a wave.

“Uh, hi, hi Bruce,” Steve shook his head, forcing himself to get it together it was only a kiss.

“Hi Steve, good to see you,” Bruce replied, and now he was bright red and well apparently Thor was the only person who wasn’t blushing right now and Steve needed to get a handle on this stat.

“That would be great, Thor!” Steve cut in, saving Robin from having to respond. “Robin’s going to be in town for a few more days.”

“Wonderful!” Thor said, turning back to beam at Steve. “I shall invite Val for dinner tomorrow but for now, I shall allow you to return to your revelry. Lady Robin,” he said with a bow towards Robin and then, turning to face Steve, he shot Steve a smug wink. “Steve.” And with that Thor was gone, headed towards Tony’s lab with a still-blushing Bruce Banner hot on his heels.

Steve turned to stare at Robin.

Robin stared back at Steve.

“Holy shit.”

“Holy shit.”

5. The Team

Surprisingly – or unsurprisingly – Robin’s date with Val had gone really, really well; in fact, it had gone so well that Robin transferred her graduate credits to NYU in a matter of days and moved into the Tower as well.

(“Steve. Steve. She’s a literal alien warrior goddess. Who cares where I work? I don’t even need to work.”

Still, the NYU transfer went incredibly smoothly, so smoothly that Steve confronted a certain genius billionaire playboy philanthropist about it. Tony had denied any input and distracted him with more sushi and a thorough tour of his sportscars which had ended up lasting for hours.)

Anyways, with Robin now living as an occupant of the Tower and the rest of the Avengers fully settled in and in agreement on a chore chart, Steve was starting to wonder just why he was still employed; like, what purpose was he serving? He really did try to stay on top of the cleaning, but the others were pitching in almost constantly, and it was a miracle if he was responsible for cooking even one meal a day.

“I just don’t get it,” he finally said to Robin on a particularly hot day in July. They were the sole occupants of the Tower’s rooftop infinity pool (as the Avengers proper were spending the day in a series of meetings), so this was the closest Steve was going to get to having a private conversation with Robin.

(Like, he was really, really glad that Val was so obviously head over heels for his best friend, but it definitely cut down on his and Robin’s cuddle time.)

“Don’t get what, dingus?”

Steve shrugged and ran a wet hand through his drying hair. “I don’t know, why I’m still here? I mean, they aren’t really using me as a cleaner anymore, and I mean, Bruce is a way better cook than me and he’s pretty much taken over so, like, what am I even doing here?”

Robin turned and pushed up her sunglasses so they were making eye contact. “Seriously? You’re serious right now.”

Steve nodded.

“You really don’t see it?”

“See what?”

Groaning, Robin slid her sunglasses back onto her face and turned back towards the horizon. “I’m not going to be the one to spell it out for you, dingus. You’re going to have to do this on your own. Or, better yet, why do you just ask?”

“Uh, maybe because I don’t want to get fired?”

(Robin shoved his head underwater at that which, frankly? Was incredibly rude.

He got his revenge later by knocking her into the pool after she’d finally dried off.)

+ 1 Bucky Barnes

Being fresh off of a highly-advanced plane-ship-thing from Wakanda meant that Steve hadn’t seen a whole lot of James “Bucky” Barnes. He’d sat next to him at dinner a few times, shared a couch during their re-watch of Game of Thrones, even sparred a bit at Natasha’s direction during Steve’s “training,” but they hadn’t really talked, which made the fact that after Steve’s un-helpful swim with Robin, he found said super soldier waiting for him in the hallway outside of his bedroom.

“Bucky, hi,” Steve nodded, rubbing his towel across the back of his neck. “Sorry, did you need something? Is there a problem with - ”

“No problems, doll, I just wanted to have a chat,” the dark-haired man purred, and Steve?

He felt his stomach tangle up in knots.

“A-about what, exactly?”

Bucky hummed and uncrossed his arms, the vibranium arm shimmering under the light. “Well, a little birdie told me you had some questions about what your place is here,” he said, a playful sparkle in his eye. “And,” Bucky stepped closer and backed Steve up until Steve was leaning against the door to his own apartment, “since it seems that my teammates haven’t made your position entirely clear, I thought I would take matters into my own hands.”

Steve didn’t even get a sound out before Bucky was surging forward, planting the sort of kiss on Steve that he knew he’d never recover from because for as forceful and passionate as it was, it was gentle too: the way Bucky’s cybernetic arm wrapped around Steve’s back and help him up; the way his other hand cupped the side of Steve’s face; the way Bucky hummed, like Steve’s lips were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted; 

The way he lifted Steve up and kicked open the door.

“I – I - ” Steve panted out as the door swung shut behind them. “I still - ”

“You’re home, doll,” Bucky murmured against Steve’s lips. “That’s what you are.”

And, well.

Steve couldn’t not kiss him then.

(And he couldn’t not give him every piece of himself in return underneath his silken sheets.)

Four Months Later

“Okay, now this is the weirdest NDA I’ve ever seen.”

Jonathan snorted from across the room as he fiddled with his camera. 

“Hey, you were the one that wanted the exclusive,” Steve replied. “I could have told you it would be more intensive.”

“Yeah, yeah, and who’s fault is that?” Nancy teased with a glimmer in her eye. “I’m not the househusband here.”

“Umm excuse me, that’s my job?” Robin piped up from her spot on Val’s lap. “Steve is obviously the trophy wife.”

“Hey!” Steve exclaimed, but then a pair of godly arms wrapped around his waist, a cybernetic arm wrapped around his shoulders, and a pair of expensive lips pressed a hot kiss to his cheek.

“Best trophy wife a guy could ask for,” Tony crooned in his ear and then laughed at Steve’s blush.

(His partners weren’t the good guys, they were evil.)

“Dude, Eddie would shit a brick if he saw this,” Jonathan said with another snort.

“Oh, how is - ”

“Who do you speak of? I am not familiar,” Thor cut Robin’s question off loudly, his thundering voice vibrating up and down Steve’s back.

“I think he said Freddie - ”

“Oh, like Freddy Krueger – Cap, we need you to watch A Nightmare on Elm Street - ”

“ – after the shoot! Do you think Tony will order us sushi again?”

“ – Steve first, Steve, are you in the mood for sushi?”

Steve felt Nancy nudge him, and he turned to see her smiling. “Hey. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Nance,” Steve smiled back.

“It’s good to finally be home.”

#steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington my beloved #avengers #tony stark #thor #steve rogers #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #stobin #stobin friendship #valkyrie #sorry eddie you snooze you lose #and now it is time for me to snooze because this is way too fucking long my god #august fanfic challenge

[wannaeatramyeon]

Samuel Seo x Reader: Colleagues to Lovers

Your new boss incenses you

"This isn't good enough."

You're two months into working under your new boss and seriously considering quitting. Nothing seems to please Samuel Seo.

Faults are constantly found in your work, that you consider pedantic and fussy at worst, but you bite back your retorts.

He is difficult, demanding and infuriating. Often, you leave his office on the verge of hot, angry tears when he berates you with sharp words and cutting remarks.

It's another late night with just the two of you on the office floor. You're correcting yet another report he found flaws with and has had the audacity to mark like he's grading an errant student.

Finally, you finish - double, triple-checking before emailing it to him. Under any other boss, even with the most exacting standards, your work would be considered flawless. Goddamn this man.

No doubt he would be reading and scanning through your email as soon as he receives it, you sip on your now stone-cold coffee for a moment of calm before the storm.

You knock on his office door, and wait for a response before entering.

Samuel doesn't acknowledge your presence as you stride in, his face scanning the screen and lit up by the harsh bluelight.

"This will do for now," you release a breath you didn't know you were holding, "but I want to make some changes tomorrow morning."

Fuck. You could have pulled your hair out in exasperation, but with restraint you didn't know you possessed, you give a small bow instead and call it a night.

"Y/N, before you go-"

You were so close. You turn back around to see what he could possibly want.

" ...Do you really think your attire is appropriate for the workplace?"

What? Your cheeks flush with shame. "Excuse me?"

"I can almost see through your shirt, and your skirt is too short. Do we operate an escort service here?"

He's one to talk about tight and indecent clothing. The bastard. Tears prick your eyes.

"I'm surprised you lasted this long," Samuel says as he gets up from his desk and approaches you. A smirk dances on his lips as he leans into your personal space.

"Do you want to cry? Do I frustrate you? Infuriate you? Do you complain to your little friends about me?" He moves closer with each question, and you see his eyes flash with malicious glee.

"Do you feeling like I provoke you for no reason? Find issues in your work when there is none?" He notes the hate in your eyes and your clenched fists.

"Do you want to hit me? Or..." his eyes rake over your body, "Do you want to kiss me?"

This fucking asshole.

"Fuck you," you hiss as your lips crash into his, pouring your resentment and anger. Samuel returns your kiss with equal heat and hostility. You bite his lip and draw blood.

Fuck you, you wanted it to hurt.

#lookism #lookism fic #lookism headcanons #lookism hc #lookism x reader #samuel seo #samuel seo x reader #seo seongeun #lookism fanfics #wannaeatramyeon

[wordsofhoneydew]

happy friday!!

put on your fucking seatbelts y’all because these fics will have you screaming, crying, throwing up, hyperventilating and climbing the fucking walls

read the tags. some of these have kinks that not everyone is into, so just make sure you know what you’re stepping into! the other half of these are just fluff fluff fluff!! enjoy!

home is where i’m with you by @luainthewild

where alex seeks the meaning of home and finds it in Henry's arms.

OR: Henry has to spend Christmas alone; Alex refuses and invites him to Texas. Ensue family crack, a lof of fluff, sexy dancing and love confession on a christmas card.

(We) Loved Her First by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

When I thought about all of the things I wanted to say to you both today, my initial urge was to write a letter. I could borrow Dad’s fountain pen from his top desk drawer and watch the ink soak slowly into the cardstock paper, to blow it dry and carefully crease it in three places before sliding it into an envelope and sealing it with the wax seal Papa bought a few years back, that he said we could use to send our Christmas cards to Sandringham in a more formal way so that Uncle Pip wouldn’t expect to find us wearing matching Christmas tree onesies inside.

But then I realized, a letter isn’t your style. It isn’t our style. Your story, the same story weaved together countless times throughout my life into a tapestry of your love that blanketed me at night whenever I needed comforting, was told through a series of pixels swirling through the air and crossing the void of space and time within moments. So, I decided it was only fitting to continue that tradition and to follow in your footsteps…an email, it is.

OR

Alex and Henry's daughter sends them an email just before they walk her down the aisle on her wedding day.

we might just get away with it by smc_27

Henry is the most gorgeous man Alex has ever seen. And Alex has seen a lot of gorgeous men. He’s a fucking model.

“This is Henry Fox-Mountchristen,” Prada’s current PR lead says, and Alex smiles and pushes his hand out. “He’s a journalist covering the merger.”

Alex doesn’t know what merger or what it would have to do with Paris Fashion Week. But he does know that Henry holding a glass of champagne as he shakes Alex’s hand is maybe the sexiest thing ever, and there is just no explanation for that.

“Hi. I’m Alex.”

Henry says, “I know,” and then does this weird, forced smile at Bianca and walks away.

Alex doesn’t know how to like, not be completely obsessed with things he wants.

OR, Alex is a model. Henry is a journalist, and a bit of an asshole. Alex wants him anyway, even when it doesn’t feel good.

Leave A Message by @sherryvalli

"This is Alex Claremont-Diaz's phone. If it's a business matter, I don't know how you got ahold of this number, but if you have my number that means you probably have Zahra's. Call her instead. If you're friends or family, just text me. If you're anyone else, I'll call you back as soon as I can."

Or: Alex's voicemail message over the years, and the messages people leave for him.

in the dead of night by @littlemisskittentoes

“Hm, am I still dreaming, or is there very pretty boy playing with me under the covers?” Alex’s voice is gruff. Its edges are coated in lingering sleep, and the drowsy-slow pull of the words lulls them to a deeper accent than he usually lets slip through. The syrupy drawl skitters the length of Henry’s spine.

or, Henry knows he can always rely on Alex to tire him out when sleep is far off.

#wohd recs #rwrb #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #prince henry rwrb #rwrb movie #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex x henry #rwrb alex #firstprince