#spotify wrapped fic

[swamp-chicken]

clethubs 44 or 67!!

OMG- NewJeans

The song’s about someone being there when you need them, so…

Cleo languorously stretched across the couch, swinging their legs over Bdubs’ lap. His hand wrapped around their ankle, but he didn’t look up from the book he was reading. He was squinting, holding the pages only a few inches from his face.

“You need glasses,” Cleo remarked.

“I—huh?” Bdubs asked, tearing his attention away from the book. His brow furrowed as his brain caught up. “Excuse me! Do I look like a nerd to you?”

“Hmm,” Cleo said, sinking further into the couch. A warm sea breeze blew in through the open window and tousled their hair. Living in Atlantis sure has some perks. 

Bdubs sniffed, returning back to his book. It was something he had found in Cleo’s library, something about color theory. They couldn’t fault him for reading it but it was awfully… boring.

They wished Etho were here, if only to have someone join them in making fun of Bdubs. But he had left early in the morning to go caving of all things. Like it was some sort of hobby. 

As if summoned, Cleo’s communicator beeped. They dug through their pockets until they found the device and flipped it open. The message that greeted them made them burst out laughing. 

“What?” Bdubs asked. “Let me see!”

Still laughing, Cleo handed the communicator to him. 

Etho was blown up by creeper. 

“Oh, geez,” Bdubs snickered. “What’s he doing down there?”

“Not using his shield, apparently.”

“Does he ever?” 

Grinning, Cleo snatched the communicator out of Bdubs’ hands and began typing.

ZombieCleo: try using that thing on your left arm to block any explosions! 

Etho: thanks, cleo. I never would have known

Cleo snorted. 

“What? What’s he saying?” Bdubs abandoned his book so he could read over Cleo’s shoulder. 

“He must have set spawn over there,” Cleo mused. There were no cries of despair echoing through the castle to indicate that Etho had spawned here. 

“See? He’s still an amazing wonderful genius.”

“Despite all signs to the contrary.”

“Cleo!” Bdubs admonished. But he still stretched out alongside them on the couch, pillowing his head on their chest.  “Naptime?” he asked hopefully.

It was midday, the warm breeze soporific. Despite themselves, Cleo yawned. It wasn’t such a bad idea, taking a nap… it wasn’t like there was much else to do, with the castle almost all decorated and the end of the season drawing near…

Cleo’s communicator dinged. 

Etho was blown up by creeper.

“Again?!” Bdubs squawked. 

Cleo shrieked with laughter. “Oh my god! What’s he doing? Should we go down and rescue him?”

“Oh, no, no, Cleo, this is the Etho we’re talking about. He doesn’t need our help.” 

“Right, of course. And this doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that we’re very, very comfy right now.”

Bdubs’ eyes were already falling closed. “Exactly, Cleo, we’re better friends if we don’t help him.”

Cleo’s communicator dinged.

“Don’t tell me…” Bdubs whined.

Etho was blown up by creeper.

Cleo couldn’t breathe through their laughter.

Etho: guys :( 

ZombieCleo: Alright, alright.  Send me your coords

Cleo wiggled out from under Bdubs’ clinging arms. “C’mon, we need to go save our boy.” 

Bdubs grumbled but agreeably sat up. “He’s washed. Let’s go.” 

[zenaidamacrouras1]

Heyo! For the wrapped ask, number 13? Stucky?

Also just wanted to say you’re one of my favourite fic authors I’ve found in a while ❤️ I often anticipate the smutty stuff the most but in your fics I enjoy the in-betweens so much! The way your write children is simultaneously the most warm yet hilarious prose and it always feels so much more lifelike than I often read? Having kids probably helps lol. Sorry I’m just rambling on but you’ve brought me a lot of comfort in the past few months and I appreciate you a lot

Hope you have a good one!!! :)

Thank you for the amazingly kind sweet words - so encouraging - flattery will get you everywhere, so here is a 2500 word smutty fic inspired by this wistful little love song, and yes, I wrote this whole fucking thing last night laying in bed and edited it today in between work calls because I have ADHD, we've talked about this, my brain is very good at doing exactly what it wants and sometimes our interests align and things like this happen.

I listened to this album (So Jealous) on repeat when writing the sad chapters of my fic Tension and Tonic, so not surprised this song ended up in my top songs nor in the direction this story took.

Tegan and Sarah - Take Me Anywhere

Warning this is smutty with graphic sexytimes.

“Stop making me laugh. I'm trying to be sexy," Steve laughs. 

"If you can't laugh and be sexy what are you even doing, sweetheart," Bucky drawls back and that's probably when Steve fell in love with Bucky. Unfortunately it was also during their first hook up. It was decent enough - mutual blow jobs. Bucky clearly knew what he was doing. On the surface nothing too different than Steve’s normal routine of finding a guy and blowing off some steam, but there were a lot of subtle red flags that should have warned Steve to run like hell.

Like how entranced Steve was when it was his turn to make Bucky feel good. Bucky, with his dancer's grace, with the asymmetry of his missing arm making the lines of him more perfect somehow, his long hair falling loose into his face, framing his perfect jawline, the pink O of his mouth, the dark smudge of his eyelashes. The way his elegant fingers fluttered so tenderly along Steve's cheek when he sucked in. It was. Lovely. Bucky is lovely. Lovable. It's a problem. 

That first time Bucky had sort of folded Steve into his body after, pulling him up onto the couch and burying his face in Steve's hair in a way that normally would have made Steve bristle because he is small but he's not a fucking stuffed animal. But Bucky hummed and sighed in this contented way. Bucky is all bones and muscular and yet fluid and it feels powerful to be held so desperately by someone like that. 

"Sorry I’m a cuddler, just shove me off when you get sick of me," Bucky hums, and laughs after a minute, and lets Steve go. "Don't make fun of me, I can't have sex with out snuggling, I should have warned you in the Grindr chat," and Bucky is easy and lax and happy and Steve could have maybe stayed longer without it being weird, but by then, he kind of wanted to stay forever so he definitely needed to go right away. 

Bucky is a former ballet dancer. Well, he still dances actually, but he was a principal with the New York City Ballet till he lost his arm, a story he shrugs off easily. "My ma always said I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached and turns out it's the same for my arm? I called the Coney Island lost and found, but it wasn't there? Just kidding, it was a car accident, just glad I'm alive." He's the assistant director of fundraising for the ballet now, and does some choreography too, Steve's not sure how it all works, but Bucky is happy and charming and Steve would definitely hand over all his money to fund the ballet if Bucky had asked him. But. Bucky's never asked him to donate to the ballet. They don't talk about work stuff beyond the minimum. Steve’s just happy they talk at all.  

The next week Steve's phone pings and it's Bucky on Grindr again, and apparently Bucky had a shit day and wants to get fucked, and he likes Steve's dick so, well, does Steve top? Steve saves his work, stops his time tracker, and that's all the graphics that are getting designed for today. He changes out of his work from home sweats and puts on his date jeans, and heads over to Bucky's place to take them back off again. Bucky's wearing a suit, his hair slicked back, and the arm of the suit neatly tailored up. He looks amazing, his tie just a little loose around his neck, his eyes lazy and suggestive, moving right into Steve's space and dipping his head down for a kiss before Steve can even say hello. 

Steve can work with that, he pushes Bucky into the wall and spreads Bucky’s legs enough so that they're the same height and untucks Bucky's shirt so he can feel up his slim frame. Steve moves Bucky through his apartment and into his bed, and climbs on top of Bucky, and Bucky reaches into the bedtime table for lube and condoms and it's good, it's so good, and Steve can't recommend fucking a ballerina or whatever a guy ballet dancer is any higher, especially when Bucky bites hard into Steve's shoulder and keens desperately and more and more until Steve's ready to last forever if Bucky needs him to, except then Bucky's shaking apart with his one hand in Steve's hair and kissing him messily all teeth and heaving breath and that's fine. Steve loves Bucky's teeth. 

After, Steve's forcibly cuddled by Bucky again, which is fine because Steve's legs are kind of rubbery because he's not as athletic as Bucky - then again, who is. 

Steve cuddles with Bucky and listens to him ramble on about nothing in particular before sliding back into his date jeans and letting himself out. In his head tells himself this is a business transaction more or less. Steve is a consultant who knows how to do authentic and meaningful work for his clients and move on. A skillshare of sorts. 

It sort of becomes a Friday night thing. Most Friday nights Bucky seems to have some kind of high end fundraiser related to his work at the ballet. It makes sense that Bucky can’t be hunting for a hookup while representing his work, so it’s perfectly logical that he’d touch base with Steve after for a bit of no strings attached fun. Steve doesn’t see any need to tell Bucky that he’s not seeing anyone else and also that he’d love to be Bucky’s boyfriend because, haha, what? Why would he say that? 

Honestly, they barely know each other beyond Steve having every inch of Bucky’s flexible, lovely body memorized. Steve’s favorite parts are the imperfections, the freckles, the scars, the cowlick that makes his hair stick up funny if he doesn’t slather product in it. He doesn’t mention it, because what kind of asshole would mention it, but he’s transfixed by the way Bucky adapts to having one arm, because it’s just so fucking beautiful. It draws the eye, the way his liquid grace casually defies gravity. It often seems his momentum should go one way, but it seamlessly flows another, and Steve wants to draw Bucky or at least take a picture of him. But they don’t do that. 

"I looked up your art," Bucky murmurs into Steve's hair one evening during their post coital cling session that maybe gets a little longer every week. Steve kind of freezes because what? He didn’t realize Bucky even knew his last name?  "It's good. You're pretty badass. It's impressive. I can't draw for shit, so I was curious what kind of art you do. Maybe we could commission you at the ballet, you like drawing ballet shoes and legs and shit?"

"Oh," Steve says because, like, seriously, Bucky, do you not know what a hookup is? Steve should be getting dressed right now, not letting Bucky lazily slide his hand up and down Steve's back while talking about his art.

"It's dynamic, lots of movement, reminded me of dancing. Maybe I have a dancing brain. Everything reminds me of dancing," Bucky laughs, and his breath is hot into Steve's hair, and Steve laughs too, because laughter is the appropriate response and also dear oh dear. Yeah. Bucky Barnes is lovable. 

"You had heart surgery?" Bucky asks in a sudden subject change. And Steve wonders for a minute how Bucky knows that. In his defense, he's drunk on sex endorphins and being stroked like a kitten and practically purring. 

"Yeah, couple of em," Steve says. It's such an enormous scar. Obviously Bucky noticed the damn thing, they’ve been naked together close to a dozen times. 

"It's all ticking away alright now though?" Bucky says softly, and Steve huffs a yes and pulls back before he falls asleep. "Should I not have asked? I feel like I have no filter about scars and shit since I got de-armed. It's like, I dunno. My injury is the first thing everyone sees. You're probably as bored as I am of talking about it."

"Did you ever have a filter?" Steve teases, and Bucky laughs hard, his head thrown back with joy, and that feels good. "Yeah, Buck, I'm pretty healthy these days."

Steve manages to escape a little while later. He looks up videos of Bucky dancing. It's only fair if Bucky's been looking up Steve's art. What he does next in the privacy of his own home when he sees Bucky's thighs in those ballet tights is his own business. All of the videos are from before the car accident. Bucky looks strange with two arms, off balance and overloaded, which makes absolutely no sense, but Steve’s just so used to Bucky’s body how it is now. 

They meet up the next week, and Bucky’s freshly showered from a dance performance, which, Steve didn’t realize Bucky was performing anymore, let alone today. Bucky’s full of adrenaline and way pushier than normal, taking Steve’s mouth and getting Steve up against the wall. Usually Steve doesn’t like to be pushed around, but he trusts Bucky by now. He’s really a super nice guy. Steve couldn’t be luckier in having such a convenient sex arrangement with such a beautiful, kind, sexually compatible person. This is a thought he has briefly before Bucky grabs him by the crotch and presses their shoulders together hard, slamming Steve into the wall, and Steve’s mind kind of whites out. 

After they’re laying on the floor in the hallway of Bucky’s apartment, huffing and limp and half dressed. Steve reaches into his jacket pocket, (how convenient they are still right there by the door) and takes a puff of his inhaler. 

“Shit, you ok?” Bucky asks in surprise. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m cat-sitting for a friend, got my allergies up, and you know, I know that wasn’t enough exertion to get your heart rate up, but some of us mere mortals have physical limits.” 

Bucky laughs dryly. “My heart rate was up Steve. Before the physical exertion started, actually though,” he adds softly. And what is that supposed to mean? 

Steve lays in bed awake half the night trying to decide if he should go to Bucky’s dance performance the next night. It’s in a massive hall, there’s no way Bucky would know. Is it too intimate? Is it too stalkery? Does he mention it after if he goes? Is it weirder if he goes and doesn’t mention it? That would be weird if he doesn’t mention it, so okay he has to mention it but does he mention it before or after he goes? The tickets are expensive too, so then it’s weird like, does he seem like he’s trying to score free tickets if he mentions it before? But then Bucky seems like the type to be annoyed if Steve pays when Bucky has free tickets on offer. Ugh. 

In the end, Steve goes, and he buys the ticket and doesn’t tell Bucky, and he cries because Bucky’s dancing is amazing, and breathtaking, and every adjective, and Steve could draw only Bucky for the rest of his life and not have captured the lines, the strength of him, the defiance. He wants to explain to the person next to him that he’s not crying because he’s like inspired that Bucky is disabled, but because he’s in love with Bucky, and it’s one thing to suspect the guy you’ve been fucking with no strings attached every Friday night for months is perfect, but it’s another thing to have it proven. 

Steve doesn’t mention to Bucky that he went to his performance, but he tries to put it into the way he touches Bucky the next week. Reverent. He spends close to an hour opening Bucky up with his mouth and fingers, and the sounds Bucky makes when Steve finally enters him, kissing him gently down his neck, the way Bucky’s out of athletic moves to try and wow Steve with, but just transcendently arching up, helpless with pleasure, that’s how Steve lets Bucky know he saw him dance, and he loved it, and he loves Bucky. 

That night, Bucky asks him to stay the night, and Steve actually has an early Saturday meeting with a client, he’s not making it up, he even shows Bucky the calendar note, and Bucky laughs happily, and says it isn’t a big deal. But. It seems like a big deal. Steve makes sure not to schedule anything the next Saturday, in case Bucky asks again, but Bucky doesn’t ask again. Which is fine. 

Then something strange happens. Steve’s locking up Wanda’s apartment from checking on her cat, and his phone pings, and it’s Bucky via Grindr, asking for Steve’s phone number. It’s actually super weird they haven’t done the phone number thing yet, honestly, Steve doesn’t even use Grindr except to confirm his weekly dates with Bucky. Steve sends his number over as he’s walking to the subway to head back home, it’s only one stop, but it’s cold. 

Bucky texts him right away, asking him what he’s doing Friday. Steve says he’s open, because, duh? At this point, Steve would turn down the presidential medal of freedom if the ceremony was on a Friday night between 10 pm and midnight. 

Bucky asks him what he’s doing at 6 pm on Friday, and that’s new. They almost never hang out before 10 pm, or whenever Bucky’s fundraising events wrap up. Steve’s not doing anything in particular, and says as much. Bucky asks if he’d hate wearing a suit and getting free wine? And Steve does not, in fact, hate free wine. He also has a decent suit, he thinks it’s pretty stylish still, he had it tailored a few years ago, but men’s styles don’t change as fast as women’s, which is a relief when you are not a standard human male size and have to have all your clothes custom fit to make sure you don’t look like a child wearing their dad’s dress up clothes. 

Bucky asks if Steve would want to meet up with him at his fundraiser on Friday, it’s at an art gallery, and the art reminded him of Steve. Steve feels his heart pound. 

S: I like free wine, wearing suits, and art galleries. Sure. 

B: Another question. 

S: I also like answering questions 

B: Do you like holding hands? 

S: Depends on the hand. 

B: I mean, I only have the one. 

Steve feels dizzy. 

S: Yes, I would like holding your hand. One is sufficient for my needs. 

B: And you would like holding my hand and going somewhere with me on a date? 

S: You could take me anywhere.

[adarafaelbarba]

Spotify Wrapped!

No 13 and Hasim!

Before you go - Lewis Capaldi

(TW SUICIDE!!! Not mentioned by name. But hinted at and I just wanted you all to be safe! If you struggle with mental health and thoughts of that, please please PLEASE don’t read this! Seek help and take care of yourself! This does have a somewhat resolved ending. But please be cautious ❤️ love you all!)

Everything was just emptiness for him. He hadn’t slept or eaten in who knows how long.

All he could think about was what he’d seen. What had met him when he’d walked through those doors. It had been etched onto the insides of his eyelids.

That’s why he hadn’t slept. Why he rather not do anything.

There was nothing he could have done. But fuck, he wishes he’d been there more for her.

“Was there something I could've said to make your heart beat better?” He’d asked himself that so many times since he found her.

Wished she would wake up. He cried over her. Cried for her. For her family. For what could have become of her.

“It kills me how your mind can make you feel so worthless.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled out and he gripped the pillow as his body shook.

Crying, as well as blinking, was the only time he would let his eyes close. But that just made it worse.

“Was never the right time, whenever you called. Went little, by little, by little until there was nothing at all.”

Why hadn’t he picked up her phone calls? Why hadn’t he been there for her more? He just hated himself so much for it.

So angry at himself and sad for her he barely felt it when your hand ran across his back, rubbing softly.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, your hand going up his neck and into his hair. “I’m here for you Hasim. Always. Please talk to me.”

~~~

Tagging:

@thatesqcrush @storiesofsvu @plaidbooks @beccabarba @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles @appletreesinwinter @misscharlielulu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @bisexual-dreamer02 @xoxabs88xox @beatrice-san @meetmeatyourworst @bullet-prooflove

[jmrothwell]

33 for spotify wrapped!

HEYA!!! ^_^ Hope you are having a good day.

33 is Jolly Sailor Bold by Ashley Serena:

Based on lyrics alone, we could easily turn it into a sort of angsty pine filled, waiting for the return of a sailor story.

However the VIBES I get from it, I really want to put some form of supernatural twist, like mermaid or siren. Making it more of a pining forbidden one sided romance of a mermaid for the sailor. Since the song did originate as a sailor's song the mermaid/siren learned it that way. . .this story would not have a happy ending for said sailor or the mermaid.

As this particular mermaid unfortunately lives further out in the open ocean. Therefore the only way this mermaid would really get to be close to their sailor is if either sailor fell overboard or the mermaid was captured. . .

.

As far as turning the idea into a JatP fic:

You know how tempted I am to make Bobby the sailor mentioned in the song? Very!

So I would probably turn the singer/merman/siren into Luke (out of habit because I apparently instinctually love to ship those two). Luke could also makes sense if we throw him falling in love with the music the sailors make just as much a part of the story as the pining for a sailor.

Like he lives so far out in the ocean he's completely entranced by the songs the sailors sing the first time he hears them. So he trails along behind the ship hoping to hear more, and slowly falls in love with one of the crew as well.

.

Send a number 1-101 and I'll tell you what fic I'd make based on my spotify wrapped

[kaiijo]

LOVER — RORONOA ZORO

roronoa zoro + i take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover content: gn! reader

request a character and prompt for my spotify wrapped event here!

dinners between pirate crews don’t usually occur since your alliances are fragile and you’re all prepared to fight at a moment’s notice. but given the collaboration between the strawhats pirates, the heart pirates, and the kid pirates, it’s safe to say that you’re all a bit more reassured that no one’s about to slice someone’s head off.

you accept another glass of wine from robin as usopp rambles on about how he took out at least thirty marines in your latest high-sea tussle. across the table, zoro snorts and gives you a dead-eyed stare that has you giggling behind your cup. 

you and zoro have been dating for quite some time, having begun only a few weeks after you joined luffy’s crew. neither of you have been inclined to tell the rest of your friends in order to avoid merciless teasing as well as mitigating the damage should your relationship go south. if it does, only the two of you will know about it and stew over it — the least amount of risk, you both agreed.

franky glugs down another stein of beer, laughing jovially, “alright, alright, i’ve got an idea!”

“oh? and what’s that?” robin asks, resting a hand on her chin. 

“let’s play a game. gotta spice things up!”

“hey!” usopp protests. “my stories are super spicy!”

“yeah, right,” kid snickers, “they’re also lies.”

usopp glares and is about to retort but franky beats him to the punch, saying, “truth or dare!”

“really?” deadpans law. “isn’t that for kids?”

“aww, you need to loosen up, cap!” shachi says, nudging law. “i’m down.”

franky says, “i’m sure everyone knows the rules. only thing is if you refuse to answer a truth or do a dare, you drink!”

luffy perks up. “yeah, alright! that sounds like fun! zoro! zoro! truth or dare?”

your boyfriend smirks. “dare. do your worst.” 

“i dare you to eat one of your swords.”

zoro’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “no way!”

“gotta drink then,” you say to him. 

“not a problem.” zoro lifts his stein to his mouth and you watch with appreciation as his bicep flexes and bulges under the tight t-shirt he’s wearing. he easily chugs down his beer, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. 

zoro dares sanji to throw out his collection of dirty magazines that he found under sanji’s bed; sanji asks nami who she would date if she could date any crew member (“ew, none of you.”); nami gets bepo to perform one of uta’s songs and bepo asks franky what’s the best kept secret he’s held from you all. 

franky smirks at law and says, “alright, law, truth or dare.”

“truth.”

“if you could hook up with anyone on the deck, who would it be?”

law frowns at the question and you’re sure he’s going to drink instead but when he says your name, the ship erupts into chaos. nami and ikkaku elbow you, their grins suggestive and encouraging; sanji glares at law; shachi, penguin, and bepo gape; and kid and luffy howl with laughter. you sit there in stunned silence, your face on fire, and you can’t look at law.

you chance a peek at zoro and find that, in all the ensuing chaos, he’s nowhere to be found. you catch the door to the belly of the thousand sunny swinging closed and you immediately stand, heading downstairs. you ignore everyone’s questioning shouts in favor of searching for your boyfriend. 

“zoro?” you call. “zoro!”

you wander the halls for a few minutes, checking the kitchen, the men’s quarter, the gym. you find him quickly, though, inside the energy room. he’s sitting on a crate, expression sour, and you plop down next to him. “you okay?” you ask.

“i’m fine.” 

you study him — his profile, the slope of his nose and the sharpness of his jaw, the way the low light of the room makes his tan skin look golden. you sit quietly with him for a few moments, listening to the engine of the ship run. zoro holds himself rigidly, unnervingly still, but you can feel the irritation rolling off of him, can still see the tension in his body. 

you reach over, brushing your hand against his brow to smooth out the furrow. he looks over at you, still scowling but a little less intensely now. you say, “i’m guessing what law said bothered you.”

he shrugs. you sigh, “it’s just a game, zoro. i’m sure he didn’t even mean it, probably said the first name he thought of.”

zoro grunts derisively, “he definitely meant it. look at you.”

you can’t help the pleased feeling the rushes through you but you don’t let it show as you let your hand fall to his shoulder. “it’s just a game. doesn’t mean anything.”

“yeah,” zoro says. there’s a beat and then he says, “i hate hidin’ this.”

“really?” you can’t hide your surprise. zoro’s the one who initially brought up keeping this from everyone.

“i’m sick of it,” he says. “sick of the fuckin’ love cook always saying shit to you. i hate when guys flirt with you and i can’t fuckin’ do anything because the rest of the damn crew is there and luffy’s makin’ me watch his scarf down twenty plates of roast beef.”

you snicker at the memory, which pulls a small smile at of zoro. you rest your head against his shoulder and he mutters, “hate that the fuckin’ doctor said you.”

“we could tell them, you know. i think it’s okay now.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you say. “i’m, like, super in love with you so you’re stuck with me.”

zoro snorts, “yeah, yeah. love you too.”

“are you ready to endure all the teasing from franky, robin, and nami?”

“for you, yeah.”

you tilt your head up and kiss his jaw. zoro grins, leaning down to catch your mouth with his. 

When you break apart, you ask him, “I would’ve placed money on you going to the gym. Why’d you come here?”

“Oh. I got lost.”

“You two okay?” asks robin as you and zoro resurface. the game seems to have finished and everyone’s back to drinking and chatting, though they all turn to you when they hear robin.

“yeah, we’re good,” you tell her. “we actually have something to tell you.”

“what is it?” nami asks.

“we’re together,” zoro says. “have been for a while.” and then, unexpectedly, zoro’s arm wraps around your hip and pulls you close.

the ship erupts into the chaos again with you and zoro in the middle. somewhere among all the yelling and gasping, law taps your shoulder and apologizes, which you wave off with an easy smile and zoro gives a firm nod.

nami shakes her head. “i can’t believe you two kept this from us!” and then, she turns to you. “zoro? really? you could do so much better.”

you wind yours arms around zoro’s waist, crushing him in a sideways hug. “nope, i don’t think so. he’s all mine!” 

nami gags and robin smiles calmly. “i’ve always known.”

you and zoro stare at her. “what?”

[icedb1ackcoffee]

Corrupted by Design CH 1 | Feyd-Rautha x Reader

After generations of pillaging and destroying their ecosystem, you are assigned by the Emperor to work on with the Harkonnens to improve their planet’s agriculture as Imperial Ecologist. However, Giedi Prime is far from welcoming, and you must fight to survive the horrors you endure at the hands of the Harkonnens. When you catch the eye of the Baron’s youngest nephew, and most prized possession, you step into a world complicated by politics and revenge.

Tags: Unbeta'd, AFAB Reader, multiple OCs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, enemy to friends to lovers/enemy lovers, slow burn, fake science, blood, violence, gore, body horror, cannibalism, uncle/nephew incest (implied), eventual smut, etc.

A/N: I’ve never read the books, so this is a combination of the Villeneuve films, the Dune Wiki, and a heavy dose of just making shit up lol. I try my best to make Reader as nondescript as possible, but there are mentions of having periods and body hair in later chapters. As a warning up front, this will not have a Happily Ever After ending, but maybe more like Happy For Now?

Please mind the tags; this is very dark, but that comes with the territory.

Chapter One: Like Meat (Spoiled)

Previous Chapter ⦾ Next Chapter

When you first arrived at Giedi Prime, nothing could have adequately prepared you for the shock the harsh environment brought. 

Approaching the planet, dark, heavy clouds of pollution choked its atmosphere, seen even from your descent into the atmosphere. Any hope you’d had on your mission here began to wither as you saw the goliath manufacturing plants and landfills that scarred the horizon on all sides. Even the advanced Sardakaur technology on this ship couldn’t soften the harsh winds. Could this be the reason why they accepted you— a last-ditch effort to salvage whatever was left of this godforsaken planet…?

When you landed, you rose unsteadily to your feet and grabbed your luggage. Two large bags and one satchel tied at your waist. The rest unloaded off the ship, full of your tools and plants. Your entire life packed away, always ready for the next move. An escort accompanied you off ship, the rest staying inside. Not that you would blame them; if it was not required of you, you would not leave, either.

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[natandwandaseries]

We need Spotify wrapped but for fanfiction

[tom-whore-dleston]

for the event how about snooze with steven grant <3333 they just fit so perfectly together !!

Snooze

Pairing: Steven Grant x f. reader

Word Count: 1.5k

This fic contains: fluff, neighbors to lovers, insomnia, meet cute scenario, confessions, kissing, corny play on lyrics of Snooze

Summary: You are the main constant that helps combat Steven’s insomnia. This night, things are a little bit different.

Notes: omg Sil you are so right about how Snooze is Steven-coded!! Thank you bb for the request and I hope you enjoy 🥰🫶🏽 Thank you to @potatothots for beta reading and sharing your insight 🩷

Spotify Wrapped 2023 challenge | send a request here

Steven glared at the blue squares of his Rubik's Cube. It had been the third time he solved the three dimensional puzzle since the moon illuminated the night sky. The toy tumbled into his lap as Steven’s groggy eyes flickered towards the shimmering sphere that tauntingly gazed back at him. 

The classical record that was meant to aid his sleep came to an end. Steven lost track of how many times he played that record. When his insomnia began many moons ago, the record did wonders for his sleep. Now, it basically is a broken record because of how often he played it at night.

Yet, there was one constant that always helped him fall asleep. And that was you.

You were new to the apartment complex and moved in right next to Steven. The way you both met was one for the books. Your flat mate was running late for work due to lack of sleep from the night before. He rushed out the door, struggling into his coat. Without realizing, his shoelaces dragged carelessly across the floor. Steven, as clumsy as he was, crashed into you carrying a box of clothes, and you both fell to the floor.

The British man’s eyes widened. “Oh my- I am terribly sorry! Are you alright?” His eyes widened even more after one glance upon your beauty.

You sat up chuckling, unaware of his gawking. “No need for apologies. I am perfectly fine.” Then, you noticed the items scattered on the floor.�� “Although, I’m not too sure about the pile of clothes.” The man mirrored your movements as you crawled towards an article of clothing.

“Allow me to help you ma’am,” Steven began tossing shirts and sweaters into the box. As you reached for your favorite scarf, a strong hand slightly brushed against yours. You stared into each other's eyes, smiling softly. You could have sworn you saw a twinkle in his brown eyes.

“Oh heavens, I am late for work!” He checked the time on his watch and began to panic. “I missed my bus, too!”

“Perhaps I can take you to work?” You helped him to his feet, and your cheeks grew hot as he began to tower over you.

“Oh no, I-“

“It’s okay. I want to.” You paused. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” 

Steven unclenched his jaw and let out a quick laugh. “Thank you ma’am! I cannot thank you enough for your kindness.”

“It’s my pleasure…” your voice dropped upon realizing you didn’t know the name of the British man before you.

“Steven. Steven Grant.”

It was a typical late Saturday night when you arrived at your apartment complex. Your watch peeked through your cuffed long sleeve, catching a glimpse of the time. 

3:00. That was a record time for the latest you came home from a shift at the local bar. Your body, especially your legs, yearned to crash into the coziness of your bed and sleep until the sun was at its peak in the sky. As you approached the door to your apartment, you stopped in your tracks after meeting your neighbor’s hazy eyes.

“Steven?”

The gentleman in question half smiled. “Hello, darling.” 

“Rough night?” You interrogated knowingly. Steven nodded with closed eyes.

You fumbled your key into the lock for a moment before opening the door and stepping to the side. “C’mon in. I’ll make us some tea.”

Steven walked into your apartment and headed towards your couch, as he had done many nights before. He wrapped himself in the blanket you knitted yourself as you fixed a pot of tea. The blanket smelled like you, which always brought him a sense of comfort. A kind of comfort he couldn’t find in his own home. In fact, Steven couldn’t remember the last time he felt any sense of security before meeting you.

“You really fancy that blanket, huh?” You giggled, admiring how adorable he looked being swaddled in your own creation. The day you moved in, you decided to knit a blanket to combat your boredom. Once it was finished, you didn’t dare touch it as you were too afraid it would get ruined. The first night you welcomed Steven into your apartment, he was immediately fascinated with the blanket that he cozied onto your couch bundled in the blanket before falling into the best sleep he had in a while.

“I do, indeed. It helped me sleep when I had no other way of falling asleep.” Steven peered down at the wooly fabric, tracing over the patterns as if his next words were hidden between the stitches.

“Well, I’m happy to have helped you in a subliminal way.” The rest of your surroundings blurred as Steven became the focus of your gaze. Your heart skipped a beat as the dim light in your living room accented his structured face and wavy dark locks. Even with the blanket draped over his frame, his plain white t-shirt did little to hide his muscular arms and broad shoulders.

The abrupt screech of the kettle caused you to jolt and you quickly turned off the stove to avoid the sound reaching your other sleeping neighbors. After steeping chamomile bags in two separate cups, you joined Steven on the couch, leaving a respectful distance between the two of you. You handed him a mug and he gingerly peeled it from your grip. Your teeth gritted together as his soft fingers brushed against yours. Steven frowned, noticing your shift in demeanor.

“You cold, darling?” He shimmied out of the blanket, letting it fall to his waist.

“It’s okay, it’s no big deal-” Suddenly, Steven scooted next to you before throwing the blanket over both of your laps with one hand. It was the smoothest thing you had ever witnessed, you forgot how to breathe in that moment. 

“There we are. It wouldn’t be right of me to hog all of your blanket.” You couldn't help but laugh. Without further thought, you and Steven simultaneously sipped your cups of tea, the hot beverage instantly calming your mind and muscles. Steven hummed happily as the tea warmed his body. Yet, he was still wide awake.

The grandfather clock that stood strong in your living room ticked loudly to fill the silence of the room. It glared dauntingly into your and Steven’s souls as you drank your tea while avoiding each other’s gazes. The pendulum swung from side to side as if waiting for one of you to make a move. As Steven drank the last drop of tea, he was left with no other choice but to break the silence.

“You know something, love?” You suddenly became more interested in Steven as you set the mug on your coffee table. “Ever since I met you, things have changed.”

“I hope it’s a good kind of change.”

Steven peered down, smiling softly. “Yeah, it was. For starters, you have really helped me combat this insomnia. I couldn’t tell you about the last time I had a good night’s sleep.” Your lips curled into a dopey grin, and your skin grew hot. Yet neither the tea nor the blanket contributed to the warm feeling inside you. 

“Then, there is your kindness. No one has been as nice as you have been to me so it feels reassuring to know there’s still good people out there. You are also extremely bold. To move all the way from across the pond is…It’s brave. You’ve done all the things I’m scared to do.” He rambled on and on but one thing reeled in your attention. “To tell you the truth, I’m quite smitten with you, love.” 

“Steven…” You were at a loss for words. Your heart skipped a beat after learning he felt the same way about you. 

“Forgive me if I am too forward, but-”

“No, not at all. In fact, I feel the same way towards you.” Your hands met in the middle of the blanket, bringing you back to the moment your hands first touched outside your doors. This time, the spark between you two was much stronger.

“Can I kiss you, love?” 

“I thought you would never ask.”

Steven laughed before cupping your face with his large hands and pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was soft and sweet yet full of passion. It reminded you of a flame so bright you couldn’t help but reach out and touch it because you knew it wouldn’t hurt or scar you. Your lips molded together like a sculptor forming the greatest piece that’ll be admired for centuries to come. Time froze as your lips danced in unison and space ceased to exist around you and between you. 

Losing sleep was the last thing on Steven’s mind. For how could he lose when he was with you? Sleep will eventually find its way back to him. He couldn’t snooze and miss the moment of you and him in each other’s embrace.

Navigation | Fanfic Masterlist | Steven Grant Masterlist

header credit: @saradika | divider credit: @firefly-in-darkness

[swamp-chicken]

im kissing u on the mouth. ethubs and 17

Time 2 Go - Matilda Marigolds

Oh, I think it's time to go Your hands are washing over me so slow And I, I watch you go

Dusk deepened into night and Bdubs sat unmoving. Silent, watchful, head propped on his knees. It started snowing but he didn’t shiver. He didn’t even feel the cold. 

There was a light in the distance. Bdubs watched it approach, waited until it resolved into a figure holding a flickering torch, waited until he was sure it was Etho, his face glowing in the flame, his brow creased with shadows.

Only then could Bdubs relax. 

Etho drew near and crouched beside the body at Bdubs’ feet. He placed the torch carefully beside him and began his investigation. He lay two fingers on the body’s wrist but there was no pulse. He placed his hand in front of the body’s mouth but there was no breath. The arrow jutting out of its back looked like a carnival flag, fletched in red. 

Etho broke the arrow with a snap. 

The snow was coming heavier now, falling in eddies. Etho swung off his cloak, lay it on the ground. Unstrung his waterskin, laid that out too. 

He knelt beside the body and heaved, his breath rasping sharply against the air. The body rolled onto the cloak. 

There was blood around its mouth. Bdubs didn’t remember that part. 

Etho ran his hand through its hair, combed out the burrs and the leaves. He straightened out its bandanna, brushed the flaking mud off its pantlegs. Then he delicately tipped the waterskin on to his handkerchief, dampening it. He wiped at the blood until its face was clean.

When Etho finished, he sat back on his heels. There was shouting in the distance. It wasn’t safe to be out here, alone. Bdubs wished Etho would get a move on. 

But Etho sat there a moment more, expression unreadable. “I’ll win it for you, Bdubs,” he said, finally, and Bdubs snorted. 

Etho stood, stretched, craned his neck upwards. 

Bdubs stood too, mirroring him. There wasn’t much to see up there, just clouds. Falling snow.

“Even though you didn’t win it for me.” 

His voice was warm, warm against the cold night. He laughed at his own joke.

“Just kidding. I love you.”

Bdubs laughed too.

[lihhelsing]

“Can I ask you a question?” 

Stiles tried to keep a neutral face but the annoyance blooming on Derek’s expression was enough to make him pop a grin. 

“I hate you,” Derek said even though he didn’t mean it. Or at least Stiles hoped he didn’t mean it otherwise the fact that they were dating for almost a year now would be very weird. 

“But can I?” 

Derek huffed, “yes.”

“Do you think I’m cute?” 

Derek rolled his eyes and walked away before Stiles could stop him. 

-

“Can I ask you a question?” 

There was no smiling this time. No mischievous laughter alongside the question. The question so he could ask a question. The infinite loop of everything that scared Stiles.

Derek wouldn’t meet his eyes. Stiles knew why. Knew Derek’s girlfriend was close by, standing by the cheese table chatting with a friend as Stiles watched his heart beat outside of his body in the shape of a grumpy man. 

Stiles didn’t mean to bump into Derek like that. He had no idea Derek and whatshername would be there at the party. But looking back at it, he should’ve known. He should’ve felt the dread filling up his body as he made his way into the party hearing the telltale laugh of the man whose heart he’d broken.

“Yes,” Derek said, eyes glued on the floor.

“Are you happy?” 

Derek walked away, the silence of Stiles’ unanswered question almost too much to bear. 

-

“Can I-“

“Shut up,” Derek was looking ahead, hands wrapped around Stiles’ waist as if it was nothing. 

“But Derek I-“ 

“You’re drunk so you should keep your mouth shut.” 

Stiles had never in his life kept his mouth shut. Asking permission to ask a question, any question, was just an excuse to talk even more. To see the false annoyance on Derek’s face and know it was nothing more than pure affection. At least it was.

“I still have questions,” Stiles huffed. Maybe he really was drunk. 

“Of course you do.”

“You can’t stop me.” 

“Of course I can’t,” Derek replied, sounding more resigned than annoyed. 

Derek stopped moving and he propped Stiles’ body against a wall. The party was still in full swing outside this dark room and Stiles was feeling brave, especially with Derek’s hands around him. 

“Do you love her?”

Derek didn’t reply but it was like Stiles could feel him rolling his eyes.

“Stiles…” 

“Derek.” 

Derek sighed. “The answer is not what you think it is.”

Stiles frowned, confused. 

“Do you still wanna be with her?” 

“Fuck me.”

Stiles felt Derek’s grip tightening around his waist. Felt Derek take an impossible step closer until his chest was pressed against his. 

“Derek, can I-“

“Just ask the right question, Stiles.” 

Stiles’ head was spinning. He was definitely drunk and he didn’t even know there was a right question to be asked. He was just being annoying. Just trying to get Derek’s attention away from that girl and back to him. He had been scared, back then. Of how intense their relationship was. Of how his silly high school crush had become the man of his dreams right before his eyes. Of how everyone was always saying Derek and Stiles were a bad idea up until the moment Derek and Stiles started to seem like a good idea. A perfect one. 

Stiles had been scared of how serious everything felt all of a sudden.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Stiles wasn’t sure why that was the question that popped into his head. He wasn’t sure he was the right one and for a second he thought he was too drunk for this. He felt Derek’s hands leaving his waist and thought that was it. He was done for. 

But then Derek’s hands were cupping his face instead and Derek was close. Too close. 

“What do you think?” Derek asked. 

“Thought I was the one asking questions,” Stiles replied, delighted to see the roll of Derek’s eyes. That meant Derek had come back from his indifference to the affectionate annoyance. 

“She’s my cousin, Stiles.”

Stiles’ world tilted. Then went back to its rightful place. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“Will you kiss me, then?” 

Derek huffed but he was smiling. He was pleased. He leaned in and pressed his lips against Stiles’. It was soft and chaste but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity everywhere on his body. Stiles let his hands wrap around Derek so he could pull him close. 

There were still too many questions he wanted to ask, but for now, he would keep his mouth busy with what really mattered. 

Written for the Spotify Wrapped challenge with the song Question...? by Taylor Swift for @bleedingoptimism (ily)

You can submit yours too!

[zenaidamacrouras1]

The gif savagery continues. I wrote this ficlet based on a Spotify Wrapped prompt and loved it too much so now it is going to live on ao3 with all my other little friends.

"If you can't laugh and be sexy what are you even doing, sweetheart," Bucky drawls back. And that's probably when Steve falls in love with Bucky. Unfortunately it is also their first hookup.

Steve's not looking for anything serious, but sometimes lovely things bloom where they weren't intended to be planted. A lightweight smutty little catching feelings story featuring Ballet Bucky and Artist Steve.

Words: 3002

Tags: Dancer Bucky BarnesBallet Bucky BarnesAmputee Bucky BarnesPre-Serum Steve RogersArtist Steve RogersHook-Upcatching feelingsSmutHappy EndingBottom Bucky BarnesTop Pre Serum Steve Rogers

[tunastime]

hehe hi myke, thanks for sending this in my dms <3 here's your song! it's quelle suprise, which I originally read the lyrics wrong in because I don't speak french, but I think now after reading it. rarrrg. anyway! this is just such a bop, so not a lot of replays! I found it late in the year (and I know I sent it to you already lol)

(536 words)

There is something very wrong with Etho.

Or maybe there isn’t. Who’s Bdubs to know every thought inside his head, apparently? Who’s Bdubs to think he understands him? Bdubs is a red life now. The sludge of trigger fingers and loose cannons and live-wires all mingles with blood, hot and red, in his veins. It was always red, always hot, heightened now, to a dizzying sting. He can hear it thump around his head when he listens closely, hear it chanting for more. 

He’s starting to piece things together that he thinks maybe he shouldn’t. It’s hard. Bdubs sits on his hands, screwing up his face as he squeezes himself into a small space of his upside-down base. It’s hard trying to figure this out. What Etho's thinking. His heart feels like a creature begging to flee from his chest, slamming against the front half of his ribcage like it might break apart and let it out into the world. At the same time, that thumping hurts, because there’s an awful squeeze in his chest. He’s not been able to breathe right for a while. Probably since the moment Etho laughed at him before he went to kill that dragon.

That’s funny though, isn’t it? Etho promises things so easily, but when it comes time to deliver he’s always finding shortcuts. Like how he didn’t agree when Bdubs asked how much he would give for him? There was no equal half, was there?

Bdubs was making a mistake, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that the worst part?

Well maybe he wasn’t! Maybe Etho was more afraid of Cleo than he was Bdubs—of course he would side with someone who could help him the most. Certainly not dead weight. Which Bdubs assumed he was again. Though Joel and Martyn, and Mumbo when he was there, and Pearl even, were more than willing to help out with whatever needed to be done. And that was easy for them. So why couldn’t Etho say anything? Why couldn’t he just lie to him? What kind of game was Bdubs playing at, that Etho felt so confident that he would never have a task that asked him to twist the knife already in Bdubs’ chest? He’s sorry. He’s sorry. Etho didn’t ask him to put the knife there. He took it from Etho’s hands and put it in his chest and he thought maybe that would make things better, rather than worse.

It isn’t Etho’s fault. Etho’s playing his game. Bdubs knows that. So he’s not mad at him—well, he won’t be mad at him when he leaves the game and Etho crawls his way into his lap and presses his face to the juncture of his neck and says he’s sorry. Because he’s always sorry. Bdubs wonders if—no. No. Bdubs swallows down the taste in the back of his throat. He’s done wondering. And he’s done letting Etho’s excuses sit heavy in his chest like they might be armor instead of eating him alive.

He stands up, fishing the pocket watch from his pocket.

It’s still early. The cracked surface reflects back only a portion of his face.

For now, the clock stays intact. But Bdubs can imagine the satisfying crunch it might make when his heel grinds against it.

(spotify wrapped ask meme)

[adarafaelbarba]

‘Haled's song about love’ - Ari'el Stachel

His voice was like soft velvet, sending shivers down your spine and you found yourself caught in a trance watching him.

“You talk, she talks | It's not about the conversation | The words are like your lips, are reaching out | To kiss the ear.”

All you wanted was to run up and kiss him. But you had to remind yourself that you were on the job. You both where.

“You glow, she glows | Two suns, no shadow | Your skin, her skin | And everything's alight.”

His eyes found yours in the crowd, and he smiled. He was now singing directly at you.

Nothing could prepare you well enough for this. He sounded like an angel. Looked like an angel. You were captured in him. At this point you would do whatever he told you too.

“You see the wind that moves the trees is | The algebra that moves your knees | Is written in her eyes”

It was like no one else was in the room. No one talking in your ear to tell you to pay attention to the room. No one sitting down next to you to try and strike a conversation.

All it was was Hasim singing beautifully to you. Not to anyone else. Nope, he was looking right at you. And you were in heaven.

~~~

Tagging:

@thatesqcrush @storiesofsvu @plaidbooks @beccabarba @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles @appletreesinwinter @misscharlielulu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @bisexual-dreamer02 @xoxabs88xox @beatrice-san @meetmeatyourworst @bullet-prooflove

[aidaronan]

24 for the Steddie/Spotify wrapped prompt!

Welp. This one got away from me and is less a ficlet and more of just... a fic, but here we go! 24 - Scary Kids Scaring Kids - Watch Me Bleed

Lucky Number 42

Tags & Warnings: Blood, Time Loop, MCD but it’s a time loop so…, maybe it's supernatural or maybe it's maybelline It’s March 27th for the 41st time, and Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sickly colors of the Other Sky. He won’t forget the blood either, the way it stains Eddie’s shirt and mats up his pretty hair. The way it gushes through Steve’s fingers as he tries to hold it all in yet again, as though if he just squeezes tight enough, it’ll finally—finally—work this time around.

“Guess we’ll try again, huh?” Eddie smiles, red pooling in the cracks between his teeth. “Fuck, Stevie, why’s it always so cold?” Nearby, Dustin sobs uncontrollably. Steve won’t forget that sound either. It’s seared into his brain, all of it. The same day over and over and over again, both of them stuck in it together. Changing everything, changing nothing.

“What is it you told me, Eds? 42 is the answer, right?” Steve squeezes his hand tight, his heart so full of love and yearning and clogged-up grief that he can feel it all spilling painfully into his chest. “That’s gonna be it for us. Lucky number 42.”

But whether he heard him or not, Steve doesn’t know. Eddie’s gone again, his eyes empty, his hand limp. Steve sinks into the dirt and hugs his knees, letting his forehead fall against his folded arms.

He has a mental tally running, everything that’s worked, everything that hasn’t.

There’s really only one direction left, the one direction Eddie wouldn’t entertain when Steve suggested it 28 days ago, 24 days ago, 15 days ago, 7... The more they fell for each other, the more vehement Eddie got about how that particular avenue was off limits, ‘un-fucking-entertainable, actually.’

It’s the only way though, has to be. There isn’t any other way left.

Taking a few deep breaths, Steve raises his head and crawls for Dustin, still crying, completely unaware of how many times they’ve been here before.

“I love you, Dustin. I love you and I’m sorry your childhood got absolutely shit on, and I hope you know you deserve better than all this.” Steve will say it again on the next loop, too, when it’ll actually (hopefully) count. But he needs to say it now. For himself.

“This can’t be happening,” is Dustin’s choked-out reply.

Steve wants to say that it’s okay, that he’ll fix it. But he and Eddie have also talked about how maybe all of it’s some kind of personal hell built just for them. So maybe there is no fixing it.

All Steve knows is he can’t watch Eddie die again, and he can’t watch anyone else die in Eddie’s place.

So…

So.

“I know.” Steve holds onto Dustin’s arm, waiting for the girls to make their way back to them so they can get out together, so Steve can shower and fall into bed and do what needs to be done. “I know,” he says again. And he does know. Fuck, he knows 41 times over.

It’s exactly three hours and twenty-seven minutes later—it always is, give or take five minutes—when Steve finally lays his head on his pillow., curled protectively around Robin’s back. It’s another half hour or so before she cries herself to sleep.

Then countless unquantified minutes before Steve manages to drop off. On the edge of consciousness, he dreams a voice quietly speaking the number, “two.”

#

When Eddie asks the plan for the day, Steve lies. They sneak into the woods near the clearing and they have each other wholly, primally, sex forged from bonding in a way that only they could ever understand. And then they plan.

And Steve lies.

He suggests they rehash Day 13 with Day 42’s knowledge, plus Day 17’s solution for saving Max. He talks Eddie through the hang-ups, through the objections, feeling a sickening mix of resignation and guilt with every inch of ground he gains in convincing him.

In the end, Eddie nods. “Let’s do this then. Lucky number 42.”

“The answer to the universe, life, and, uh, all the other stuff.”

Eddie huffs a small laugh and looks at Steve fondly, cupping his cheek. “How many roads must a man walk down indeed.”

When they kiss for luck, Steve focuses on every single millisecond, on the way Eddie’s lips feel, on the hands on him—small of his back, back of his neck—and on the feeling of Eddie’s hair sliding hairspray-rough through his fingers. Every little breathy sound, every note of birds calling, bugs flitting.

Life.

It may not have been everything Steve wanted, but he got to have this. For one fleeting moment, he got to fall in love and to be part of a small family of misfits. Some people never got that lucky.

“I love you, Stevie.”

“I love you too.”

It feels like a blink before they’re outside of the trailer, Dustin locked in the bathroom in Right-side-up Hawkins. It’s just them and their makeshift armor—spear and nail bat against the swarm.  

Eddie looks at him and nods.

Steve looks back and chokes down a sob, summoning all the bravery he possesses. “Eddie. I’m sorry.”

“Wh—”

This is the easy part, years of sports and fighting all culminating in this moment. At full speed, Steve plows into Eddie, tackling him to the ground, covering his body with his own.

They’re already biting by the time Eddie reacts, fighting like hell, pushing with all the strength of someone who spent years hauling around band equipment and theater props. Eddie’s strength is mostly in his thighs though, a force he uses to drive the rest of him. If Steve keeps him on the ground long enough…

“You motherfucker. You motherfucking fuck! You fucking son of a goddamned…” A feral scream, a shove that Steve counters by squeezing Eddie’s arms tight against him. Eddie growls, broken and desperate, “Stevie, please.”

They’re both fighting hard and with all the love in their bones. Apologizing over and over, Steve forces his fingers deep into the dirt, gripping the roots of rotten hell-vines hard even while the bats chew, even while he cracks his fingernails, and his hands bleed along with his body.

He’s halfway dead by the time the bats drop, and he knows it.

Eddie pushes him off and gets onto his knees and Steve can’t help but smile because Eddie is gloriously and beautifully okay. There’s a bite on his arm along with a few scratches from their tussle, but that’s it. He’ll make it this time. He’ll make it.

“I did it,” Steve says, falling onto his back despite the fact that it’s nothing but open wounds. “I did it. You’re alive and no one else is gonna…”

Eddie replies with a broken scream, with hands that reach for the bloodied hole on the side of Steve’s neck, that try to turn him over to see where else they need to press.

“Don’t.” Steve grabs weakly at his wrists. “Please, just… Let me. See if it works.”

“Fuck you, Steve.” Eddie blinks out several tears. “Fuck you. I said not this. Not this.”

“It’s the one thing we haven’t tried, Eddie. Maybe this is how it was always supposed to go, you know. Why we couldn’t break—” Steve coughs wetly. “God, it really is cold, huh?”

“Just… Just stay, okay, Stevie. Be stronger than me. Hold on, and that’s how we’ll break it, yeah? With you living.”

In the distance, Steve can hear Dustin finally bursting out of the trailer, crying his name.

He blinks up at Eddie’s brown eyes and smiles at the warmth of his hands on him.

Somewhere else, he can hear voices, unfamiliar and new.

“Oh,” Steve says, the edges of his vision going black, swallowing up Eddie’s face. “So there really is something else after all.”

#

Death, it seems, is darkness. Not terrifying but restful. Not cold, not warm either.

Just floating, quiet and peaceful.

“Two.”

A voice flows out of the void, a voice Steve thinks he may have dreamed once or even more than once. It’s quickly followed by more, all speaking rapidly from everywhere and nowhere.

“Four in cold blood. Undoing.”

“Two from love’s sacrifice. Healing.”

“And so it is. See how it all knits back into one.”  

“Then it is done. Send him back.”

Steve tries to open his mouth. “Where—?”

He never finishes the question.

#

Steve blinks awake to the rhythmic sounds of a machine beeping.

He slowly turns his head to find Robin curled up in a chair next to him, snoring softly with a book steepled open in her lap.

“Rob?”

She startles awake and locks eyes on him before exclaiming with a smile that goes instantly tearful, “Holy shit. Steve.”

From a lumpy bag by her feet, she unearths a walkie-talkie, nearly flinging it at him in her haste to use it. Her hands are shaking when she brings it to her face.

“Hey, uh, everyone. We’re… We’re having a good hair day.”

There’s a chorus of voices, all of them expressing some kind of joy and relief, all of them saying they’ll be there as soon as they can.

“Already in the van. Munson over and out.”

He’s there within five minutes, hair in a messy bun that implies he might have genuinely thrown it up while steering with his knees.

Standing in the doorway, he pauses, eyes on Steve. Steve feels like his entire stomach might drop out under the weight of that gaze. If he’d had any reason to wonder if Eddie remembered all the loops, he’d have no doubt now.

“Hey Rob, can I have a minute with Stevie boy here before the entire Scooby Gang shows up?”

“Uh…” Robin looks back and forth between them, furrowing her brow at Steve before getting up. “Yeah, sure.”

She softly closes the door on the way out, and just like that they’re alone.

“I should kill you all over again for what you pulled, you know?” Eddie says, sitting down and reaching for Steve’s hand.

“You should.”

“But then again, here we are.”

“Here we are. How long was I…?”

“Dead? Or here? Because you did die. I checked your pulse, listened for a breath, fucking everything. And then the girls showed up and out of the blue, you twitched a fucking finger, so Nance and I… You’ve been in the hospital for a week.”

“I had a dream. Maybe. Or maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. I don’t know.” Steve thinks about it again, the infinite peace of the void. “There were, uh, voices, and I think they were saying you and I both had to be willing to die for each other. Like specifically two people in love. To undo Vecna. Are the gates…?”

“Closed, but that could be because Nance and Robin flambéed him alive.”

“Yeah.”

“More things in heaven and Earth though, Stevie. We did just repeat March 27 for a month and a half. Maybe someone was looking out for us. Or they just really fucking hate Vecna. There are many options for motive here.”

Steve rubs at Eddie’s knuckles with his thumb. He hadn’t even taken the time to put his rings on. “So many.”

“It’s over though,” Eddie says. “All of it. The suits cleared my name in five minutes and Hopper ripped the local PD a new asshole. Only question now is…” Eddie gives the spot where they’re holding hands a pointed look. “Now what?”

Steve thinks for a second, mouth twitching at every stolen happy moment in those 42 days of hell. Every smile, every kiss, every sneaky sweaty fuck. Every little conversation that made him laugh, made him feel, made him fall. “Do you remember Day 19 when I asked where you’d go if you ever left Hawkins?”

“I do. By then we’d already given each other hand jobs so I had exactly zero qualms about saying I’d go to San Francisco where I could be gay as hell and also make the heaviest of metal.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugs. “I’m assuming I have to stay in this hospital for a little longer and probably sign, like, another pile of papers that say I won’t tell anyone the government broke Hawkins because they were experimenting on little kids. But after that, why not?”

“Why not? Just like that? ‘Eddie, let’s move in together and also let’s do that in California.’ That easy, huh?”

“We just lived through the end of the world 42 times, Eds. Why the hell can’t it be?”

Eddie laughs quietly and looks down at his lap, shaking his head, a few tendrils falling out of the bun as he does.

Outside of the room, Steve hears a series of sneakers squeaking on linoleum. The door bursts open and Eddie quietly pulls his hand away. But he’s smiling ear to ear when he leans back to let a gaggle of teens throw themselves semi-gently onto Steve for half-hugs.

“Well okay then, Stevie,” Eddie says over the sound of six other people talking at once. “If that’s what you want.”

[kaiijo]

Hii!! I loved the idea of the spotify wrapped event and I also loved your one piece one shots! Can I request 41 x Law? If you dont write for him you can write for Zoro or whoever you think would be fitting :)

IVY — TRAFALGAR LAW

trafalgar law + Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland content: gn! reader, canon-typical descriptions of violence, references to law’s past notes: thanks so much for your kind words! hope you enjoy this drabble!

request a character and prompt for my spotify wrapped event here!

law is no stranger to nightmares. he’s accustomed to jolting awake, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, chest heaving with anxiety and fear. he tries to remember what his parents used to tell him to calm his racing heart: inhale for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale in a count of eight. 

in. hold. out.

in. hold. out.

law doesn’t sleep a lot anymore, always locked in his office late at night, poring over books about anatomy and medicine and illnesses. it’s mostly because he’s working, the insomnia, but he knows there’s a part of him that’s almost scared to sleep — that doesn’t want to see looped images of dead bodies, feel the heat of erupting flames, hear the sounds of gunshots. 

law watches as you and penguin duck under a round of marine gunfire, diving for cover behind a building. civilians draw their shutters closed. the crew’s gotten what they need from the town, now it’s a matter of getting out. 

you sprint out from your hiding place, penguin hot on your heels. there’s another rain of bullets and law’s stomach lurches when he sees red dribbling down your arm, skin grazed by the bullet. he needs to get you two out of there now.

law lifts a hand. “room. shambles.” he switches you and penguin out for an empty crate and just like that, the two of you are standing safe on the polar tang’s deck. you’re both breathing hard, penguin resting his hands on his knees. you grab at your arm and law can tell that whatever adrenaline has been pumping through your veins is starting to wear off; you wince at the cut on your arm, your palm stained with blood. 

law gets the crew mobilized fast, everyone hustling to get the below deck so the polar tang can submerge. law swiftly and efficiently takes down the remaining marines, heading down below as the submarine sinks below the water.

he finds you heading for the washroom. he calls your name and you whirl around quickly. “captain,” you greet him.

“follow me.” law makes sure his tone leaves no room for argument and you shuffle behind him as he walks to the operating room.

you frown when you enter the room. “captain, i really don’t think my injury warrants an opera—”

he sighs heavily. “i’m not operating. just want to get somewhere more sterile. sit on the table.”

you obey easily and law opens up a cabinet, grabbing hydrogen peroxide, a roll of bandages, and antibiotic cream. he also picks up a sterilized pair of tweezers. when he turns around, you’re already shrugging out of your boiler suit, twitching as the fabric rubs against your wound. 

law approaches, doing is best to keep his eyes on the wound and not on the exposed skin you revealed. when you joined the crew, law had never been more thankful to himself for making the boiler suits uniform. he doesn’t know if he could focus otherwise.

he examines the wound, looking closely to see if there are any bits of debris or fabric stuck in it. when he doesn’t see anything, law soaks a sterile pad in hydrogen peroxide and presses it against your graze. you make a high-pitched, wounded sound that cuts right through law’s heart and he tries his best to tenderly but thoroughly clean the wound. you flinch, gritting your teeth and hissing, “you really must hate me, captain.” 

you let out a pained laugh that lets law know you were joking but your statement still makes him frown. if only you knew just how much the opposite was true.

law sighs again, wrapping the bandage roll around your arm and snapping off a piece, securing it. you test the motion of your arm and law asks, “too tight?”

“no, it’s good.” you hop off the table. “thanks, doc.”

“i’ll need to check that every few days,” he tells you, “to watch for infection.”

“sounds good! guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” you shoot him a cheeky smile and thank him again as you slip out of the room. law is rooted to his spot, feeling heat climb up his neck. you faint scent lingers — cinnamon shampoo and apple soap.

law’s heart skips a beat.

late into the night, law sits at his desk in his office, doing is best trying to focus on the medical text in front of him. he thinks about the smoothness of your skin and the way your eyes curve into half-moons when you smile. he drags a hand down his face. 

he needs to focus. he needs to not think about you. he needs to think about bones and hairline fractures and how fast the human heart can go before it—

law hears footsteps and he knows it’s you, beckoning you in even before you can announce your arrival and knock on the door. you swing it open, smiling brightly at him. gods, he swears you hold moonbeams in your grin.

“right as always,” you say as you close the door behind yourself. 

“do you need something? is it your arm?”

you shake your head. “no, just thought i’d check up on you. knew you’d still be up.”

law offers a wry smile. “no rest of the wicked.”

“i’d agree with you, but you’re not wicked, captain.”

law raises an eyebrow in surprise. he is wicked — it’s a known fact. everything he touches is destroyed eventually. when he doesn’t reply, you continue, “you look out for everyone, you’re a doctor for gods’ sakes.”

“so? bad people can do good things.”

your moonbeam smile falls and your expression turns stern. “you care for us, captain, all of us in a way that no one truly wicked ever would. don’t talk about yourself that way. ”

his heart’s in his throat and he’s desperately trying to swallow it down. “okay.”

you nod firmly and then bring your hand up to hide your yawning mouth. law tells you, “you should get some rest.”

“i came here to get you to go to sleep.”

“don’t worry about me.”

you cross your arms. “i’m not going to sleep until you do.”

law levels you with a stare and you gaze right back, unwavering in your conviction. you two stare for a good few seconds. he can see the way your eyes shimmer. it doesn’t seem that you’re backing down. law breaks the connection and sighs, “fine. let’s go.”

he puts away his books and papers and the two of you head down the hallway. he tries to guide you to your room first but you say, “nope. i want to make sure you actually go to sleep.” so you head for his quarters first. 

you come to his door and you say, “you better get some sleep. a healthy, well-rested captain is vital for an efficient and successful crew.”

“i know.” 

he basks in the comfortable silence that falls over the pair of you. then, you yawn again and he orders you off to bed yourself. you smile sleepily at him, your eyes form crescents again as you do so. “alright, i’m off then.” you turn and begin to walk away. over your shoulder, you call softly, “good night, law.”

he bids you good night and steps inside his room, door shutting behind him. it’s in there, as he’s changing into pajamas, that he realizes. 

it’s the first time you said ‘law,’ not ‘captain.’

your voice repeats like a record in his head. law. law. law. his heart thunders in his chest.

for the first time in a long time, law isn’t afraid to fall asleep. instead of the screaming nightmares he usually faces, he’s met with a different image as he drifts off. 

in a tender, hazy light, law dreams of you.

[holllandtrash]

The way my Spotify wrapped top songs this year are just…songs that inspired f1 fics

1. Haunted (Danny ric fragile line series)

2. Long live (fragile line epilogue)

3. Now that we don’t talk (Charles - Say Don’t Go mini series)

4. Afterglow (on repeat because of the lover x 6 to 1 series)

5. A little bit yours by JP Saxe (writing inspo for both red flags and 6 to 1)