18+ only! >20 years

Writing blog is @fandomfaery I will block all minors, sorry

[fandomfaeryreads]

Hi darlings!

Just FYI, this blog is for people aged 18 or over. As an adult who writes and reblogs NSFW art, I don’t allow any underage followers. I want adults and minors to feel comfortable and have safe spaces. Any minor, please unfollow; those who don’t will be immediately blocked. Thank you everyone for understanding and respecting my choices.

My writing blog is @fandomfaery so if anyone has requests for any of the fandoms I write for, feel free to send them in!

[castielscaplan]

Never to Be Safe Again

Summary: you visit Peeta after te hijacking, praying that he’s still your peeta. [WC 717] [AO3]

Request: Anonymous Peeta Mellark x best friend!reader (Reader is a stand in for katniss) Just really angsty interactions with hijacked Peeta Tyy Xx

The first time you saw him after they brought him back from the Capitol, you knew something was wrong. Not the obvious things — the thinness, the shadows under his eyes, the way his hands trembled slightly. No. It was his eyes.

Peeta Mellark had always looked at you like the world made sense. Now he looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. You stood just inside the observation room in the underground halls of District 13. Behind the glass, Peeta sat in a metal chair. Still. Watching the table in front of him like it might move.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” one of the medics asked quietly.

“I’m sure,” you said.

They hesitated. Then the door unlocked with a heavy click.

The room felt colder once you stepped inside.

Peeta’s head lifted slowly. For a moment he only stared.

You tried to smile. “Hi, Peeta.”

His brow furrowed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Your heart twisted. “Why not?”

He leaned back slightly in the chair. Because of the conditioning the Capitol forced on him using the venom tied to tracker jackers, his memories and fears had been twisted. People he loved now felt dangerous. People he trusted felt like threats. “You’re part of it,” he said carefully.

“Part of what?”

“The manipulation.” The words were calm. Almost logical. Which somehow made them hurt worse.

You swallowed. “I’m your best friend, Peeta.”

He laughed softly. But there was no warmth in it. “That’s what they want me to think.”

You pulled out the chair across from him and sat down slowly. “Okay,” you said quietly. “Then ask me something.”

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

“If you think I’m fake,” you said, “test me.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then he leaned forward slightly. “What’s the first thing I ever baked for you?”

Your chest tightened. “Burnt cinnamon bread,” you said immediately. “You were twelve and insisted it was supposed to taste like that.” His eyes flickered. “You cried because you thought I hated it.”

Peeta blinked.

You gave a small, sad smile. “So I ate three pieces.”

For a moment, he just stared. Then the tension snapped back into place. “You could’ve been told that.”

“Peeta—”

“You could be part of the propaganda.” The words came faster now, more frantic. “They’re trying to make me trust people again.”

Your hands clenched slightly on the table. “I’m not propaganda.”

“You’re not real.” That one landed like a punch.

You forced yourself not to cry. He was still in there. You knew he was. “You used to braid my hair when I got nervous,” you said quietly. Peeta froze. “You said if my hands were busy, I wouldn’t chew my nails.” His breathing changed slightly. “And when my dad yelled,” you continued softly, “you used to sneak bread out of the bakery and sit with me by the river.”

His eyes squeezed shut for a second. “That’s not—”

“You told me once that the world felt less scary if we faced it together.”

His chair scraped suddenly as he stood up. “Stop.” His voice was sharp. Almost panicked.

You stood too. “I know you’re still in there.”

“No,” he said quickly. “You’re lying.” 

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” he snapped. His breathing was ragged now. “You’re just another trick.”

Your voice cracked slightly. “Peeta, look at me.”

He hesitated. Slowly, reluctantly, he did.

Your eyes were shining with tears. 

“You used to be safe,” he whispered.

The words were barely audible. 

Your heart shattered. “I’m still safe,” you said softly. “I would never hurt you.”

His hands trembled at his sides. “I don’t know that anymore.” The admission sounded terrified. Lost. Not angry. Just scared.

You stepped closer slowly. Every guard outside the room tensed. Peeta didn’t move. “I’m not going anywhere,” you said.

“Even if you hate me?”

You shook your head. “Even then.”

Silence filled the room.

Finally, his voice came out hoarse. “…why?”

You reached out slowly, carefully placing your hand over his shaking one. “Because you didn’t give up on me when I needed someone.” Your fingers tightened gently. “So I’m not giving up on you.”

For a moment he didn’t react. Then his shoulders sagged slightly. And though his grip was weak and uncertain— He didn’t pull his hand away.

[fandomfaeryreads]

Why does Peeta have to suffer and why do you write it so much that it hurts us as well? Hasn’t he suffered enough cap?

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Okay why is sunshine sad?

"Oracle," Jason murmured into his phone, "Look into something for me?"

"Sure, I'll just put all B's shit on hold-"

"I need to know if Y/N's sister is still in rehab."

The clicking on the other end of the phone pauses, and she exhales sharply, "Alright. I'll get on it. Text you."

"Thanks." He hung up the phone and picked up his tablet, pulling up the website to find your damn bear, grateful that you didn't go for sounds in them.

You looked wrecked coming in. Exhausted. Work didn't do that. Your job was frustrating, but not- you liked it. The ebb and flow of it. Structure. Predictability.

Something hard as fuck to have when you're the family scapegoat and your sister takes up all the extra space in the room.

Pieces trickle in and Jason isn't sure how to put all of them together yet. But the brittle, too bright smile you gave him. Trying to shove what you really wanted out of the way. He didn't even know if you wanted to be buying a new bear, but. It was better than nothing. Better than letting you just be... sad.

You sad didn't sit right. You should be bouncing through the door and exploding with about 40 new pieces of stupid word gossip to update him on.

Not this. This just fucking sucked.

[fandomfaeryreads]

How is it that you can make a story so investing so quickly?? Thanks for sharing!

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Ooh ooh Jason and sunshine!reader for promptathon?

Jason frowned at his phone and propped his foot on the coffee table. Debating. Did he charge into the mess and bully people for you, or did he clean up the aftermath when you get home?

Because clearly, you were not having a good day. Your texts were just one word- maybe two. No GIFs. No... anything. Usually he gets something.

It's weird. You haven't updated your running list of build-a-bears in three days. He checked. Then checked other places- other threads. You can stick to one messaging app to save your life.

All silent.

"Don't like that," he muttered.

But before he could find jeans or shoes, the door to the apartment opened and shut.

"Babe?" he called, getting to his feet, "you okay?"

"Just tired," you tell him, kicking your shoes into the closet you're holding open. "It's been a horrible week."

Jason frowned and crossed the floor to you, taking your bag off your shoulder before pulling you against him. "You're home now." He squeezed you and kissed the side of your head, "Hungry, huh?"

"Not really, can we just-" You break off and shake your head, smiling up at him. "S'okay. I'll just grab a shower and probably lay down."

"Babe." He moved and cradled your face in his hands, gently squishing your cheeks, "What'd you need?"

"A toaster bathbomb."

Despite himself Jason chuckled, "We're fresh out. But I got some chocolate-covered strawberries and rumor has it, there's new bears out-"

"Jay-"

"The lightning bug really does look huggable," he tempted. He'd clear your whole list right now if it meant you stopped giving him the brittle smile he hated.

"It glows in the dark."

"You bet it does. You don't have a glow in the dark one yet." He smirked and kissed your cheek, "Go shower. I'll be here once you scrub your skin off. Use your nice stuff."

"I'm out of-"

"No, you're not. It got here 30 minutes before you did."

"I love you."

"Who doesn't?" he snorted.

[fandomfaeryreads]

Your Jason really is amazing. Thank you for sharing him with us

[oncasette]

put your loving where your mouth is.

wally west x fem!reader

summary: 0.5k

or the one where you desperately need to kiss your boyfriend.

masterlist

Something insatiable had overtaken you. Maybe it was the fact that Wally had started staying over more. Maybe you were ovulating. Maybe it was just the fact that you were just so incredibly in love with your boyfriend. 

You couldn’t keep your hands off of him.

Or your mouth, to be more precise. 

He winks at you through the mirror when you slip into the bathroom. He’s got a mouthful of toothpaste and his hair’s a mess and he can barely seem to keep his eyes open. It nearly makes you want to squeal.

He steps forward to let you curl around his back, the way he knows you like to do when neither of you are rushing out the door. 

“Hi,” he manages to mumble out around his toothbrush. His free hand finds where yours are joined at his navel. 

“Hi, handsome,” you hum. He’s still warm. He usually is, anyway, but you can feel the heat of sleep still emanating off of him. You shift to place your chin on his shoulder, attempting to coax him into turning towards you. He raises a brow at you through the mirror. Unfortunately, he knows what you’re up to.

Bending forward, he spits into the sink. He squeezes your hands to coax the pout from your head slipping off his shoulder from your lips. 

“Gimme like thirty seconds and I’ll give you all the kisses you want, baby,” he says before shoving the toothbrush back into his mouth. Your eyes narrow. You could wait. You could let him finish brushing his teeth and be content just laying on him, but you’d already been up for a little over an hour at this point while Wally slept in and you were basically foaming at the mouth at this point. You just want a kiss from your boyfriend. Is that such a crime?

Shaking your head, you start by pressing your nose into the nape of his neck. Your lips follow, then begin their trek towards his jaw.

“Baby,” he grumbles, muffled and foamy. 

You wiggle one hand free from the grip he still had on you, affording him just enough time to slip the toothbrush out of his mouth before you’re tilting his jaw back just enough to smack a loud kiss against his lips. 

Despite his grumblings, he kisses back with a grin. 

“Don’t act like you’re not obsessed with me, West,” you say as he spits and rinses before shaking you off to spin in your hold. “You know I am,” he laughs, hands falling down to their natural resting place on your hips. “I just felt it was impolite to kiss my girl with a mouth full of toothpaste, is all.”

“Screw polite,” you hum, before leaning in to kiss him again. He concedes for a total of five seconds before he pulls back.

“How is it?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“Minty?” 

“Shut up,” you groan, but you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. 

“Ah, you’re right. You wanted it mintier,” he says, pecking your lips once, then again like he’s chasing it. “You know, ‘cause you couldn’t wait for me to spit or anything. I’ve got mouthwash if-”

You cut him off with a firmer kiss, smushing his cheeks with one hand to prevent any more rambling. 

[fandomfaeryreads]

Cute cute cute!!!!

[starl1ghtgr4yson]

YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Summary: you come home, very drunk, and see a very hot guy sitting on your couch… so naturally you ask him out!

It starts with a simple, high-pitched gasp in the middle of your living room.

Jason is sitting on the couch in a gray t-shirt and sweatpants, laptop on his knees, mid-snack, when you stumble through the front door. You’re wearing one of his oversized jacket slung over your shoulders, your cheeks flushed red from two too many margaritas with your friends, and your hair a complete, chaotic masterpiece.

He sets his laptop aside immediately, a half-amused, half-concerned smirk already forming on his lips. "Hey, sweetheart. How was girls' night—"

He doesn't get to finish. The moment your eyes land on him, your hands fly to your face, covering your red-hot cheeks. You freeze in place, staring at him through your fingers as if you’ve just spotted a celebrity in a coffee shop.

"Oh," you whisper loud enough for the whole apartment complex to hear. "Oh my god."

Jason blinks, pausing. "What?"

You kick off your shoes—completely missing the rack—and take three deliberate, overly cautious, drunk steps toward the couch. Your eyes are wide, glassy, and completely starstruck.

"Who are you?" you ask, leaning over the back of the couch, resting your chin on your folded hands. You beam at him, giggling softly. "Because you are... so pretty. Like so hot. Has anyone ever told you that? You look like a whole movie star."

Jason slowly looks down at his faded t-shirt, then back up at you. A playful glint flickers in his blue eyes as the reality hits him: You have completely forgotten you're already dating him.

"A movie star, huh?" Jason drawls, leaning back against the cushions and crossing his arms over his chest. He bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. "Can't say I hear that one often. I'm Jason."

"Jason," you sigh, the name rolling off your tongue like a melody. You sway slightly where you stand, blushing down to your collarbone. "That's a nice name. I'm... well, you know. I'm me."

"Nice to meet you, Me," he says softly, his voice dropping into that smooth, low register he knows makes you melt. "What's a girl like you doing flustered in my living room?"

"I live here! I think?" You look around the apartment, thoroughly confused for a split second, before your focus snaps right back to him like a magnet. You lean in closer, whispering conspiratorially, "Listen... I know this is crazy, but... are you single?"

You pause, then giggle, “wanna know a secret? I actually wanna marry you but I think asking you if you’re single is less advanced.”

Jason bites his lower lip, trying—and failing—to hide a massive grin. "Am I single? Well... that's a tough question."

Your face falls instantly into a dramatic, adorable pout, and you genuinely look devastated. "Oh no. You have a girlfriend?"

"I do," Jason says softly, watching your reaction.

"Is she pretty?" you ask, sniffling just a little bit, clearly heartbroken.

"She's gorgeous," Jason says, his voice softening. He reaches out, grabbing your wrist gently, and pulls you over the back of the couch until you tumble right onto his lap. You gasp, your hands landing flat against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. "She’s got this ridiculously cute laugh, gets super giggly when she drinks, and is currently sitting on my lap looking at me like I hung the moon."

You stare at him, your brain slowly churning through the alcoholic fog.

1... 2... 3 seconds pass.

"Wait," you whisper, your eyes going wide. "I just drank and I am fairly giggly."

"You are."

"And I'm on your lap."

"You are."

"...I'm the pretty girlfriend?!"

Jason couldn't hold it back anymore; he threw his head back and laughed, the deep, rumbling sound vibrating through his chest against your palms. "Yes, dummy. You're the pretty girlfriend. We've been together for over a year."

A look of pure, unadulterated triumph washes over your face. You kick your feet up, burying your burning face right into the crook of his neck, muffled giggles spilling out against his skin. "I scored so hard," you mutter into his collar. "He's huge and he's mine."

"Yeah, yeah, you hit the lottery," Jason chuckled, his broad arms wrapping snugly around your waist, pulling you close so you wouldn't slide off. He kissed the top of your head, resting his chin on your hair. "Come on, baby. Let's get you some water and into bed before you try to ask me out again."

"Wait!" You pop your head back up, cheeks still bright red, poking his chest with a single finger. "So... does this mean you won't go on a date with me?"

Jason shook his head, a soft, fond smile softening his rugged features. "I'll take you on a date every single day of the week, sweetie. Now go to sleep."

[fandomfaeryreads]

This was so so so cute!!!!!

[castielscaplan]

Phantom Of the opera but with Bucky & reader 👀👀👀

[fandomfaeryreads]

Okay but who is the phantom?! 👀

[sanguineterrain]

in the buff | jason todd

Summary: The one where you learn firsthand that Jason Todd sleeps in the nude.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings/tags: best friend jason, awkwardness, nudity, reader hardcore thirsting over jaytodd, love confessions, humor (attempts at it, anyway), silliness. inspired by this post!

the divider

There's been a huge (blessed) development in the drug ring case that you and Jason are working on. You can hardly sleep now.

Normally, you'd call or text Jason, even though he's usually already in the know. It's possible that you just like having an excuse to call him, but who can confirm such a thing?

But it's late, probably too late to call, considering Jason doesn't answer his phone unless it's pinged directly to his helmet after a certain time, courtesy of his family being "a buncha jackasses" (his words, obviously).

But maybe it's not too late for a visit. After all, Jason patrols late, and has insane insomnia. He very well could be awake at this late hour. And he's never minded you dropping by before.

In truth, you haven't seen Jason in a few days and you feel restless now when you go longer than a day without seeing each other. You're not quite sure why that is.

So here you are, disabling the window alarm on Jason's apartment. Partly for a case, partly for your own benefit.

It takes a few minutes but you manage to open the window without anyone calling the police or whacking you with a broom. You slide open the window mostly soundlessly. Then you wait. The room remains dark and quiet.

You're pretty proud of yourself actually. It's not that you're green when it comes to spycraft, but you're certainly no Batman.

Still, you've managed to sneak into Jason's apartment without waking him. The Red Hood. You peek in to check if he's really asleep.

And he is, dark hair stark against the white pillow. It sticks out in messy tufts. You can't see past Jason's neck and his freckled arms, illuminated by the orange streetlight outside. You put your laptop bag on the floor.

He's sleeping on his stomach, facing away from you, but you're very endeared by how he's curled up under his sheet, hands tucked under his pillow. If you went really close to his face, you could count his eyelashes. Jason has such pretty eyelashes.

That's a perfectly normal thought to have about your best friend, right? Boys have pretty eyelashes. You're just making an observation.

You're bewildered by how cold the room is, surprised that Jason can withstand such a temperature. Maybe it's a Pit thing.

You watch him for a moment longer. Guilt pools in your gut. Are you really going to wake him when he's probably just gone to bed in the last hour? It takes Jason so long to fall asleep, you know that.

...

No, you should let him sleep. You can work on the case in the morning.

You bend down to get your laptop bag. In that time, the light flicks on.

You flinch, turn around, and find yourself staring down the barrel of a gun.

Said gun is held by an extremely naked Jason Todd.

"Oh my God!" you say at the same time Jason realizes his mistake.

"What the fuck!" he shouts, grabbing a pillow to cover himself.

But not before you get an eyeful of your best friend's, er, weaponry.

"Why are you naked?" you shout, gaze darting everywhere. Good Lord, it's seared into your retinas. You're never getting the image of Jason's dick out of your brain.

"Why are you in my apartment?" Jason snaps back.

"No, my question is way more urgent," you say.

"No the hell it's not! You broke in! I'm allowed to be naked in my apartment!"

"Okay. Alright. I came because there's been a development in our case. I thought we could work on it together but when I realized you were asleep for real, I decided to leave."

Jason rolls his eyes. "You know I'm a light sleeper. I just went to bed. I was up late.”

Realization strikes you. Could it be...?

"Oh my God. Do you have someone here?" you ask, voice sinking to a whisper.

"I have you here," Jason says irritably.

"No, like—" You make a hole with one hand and stick a finger into it. "Y'know..."

"Jesus, no!" Jason's face twists in disgust. "C'mon!"

"Okay, chill out, Jay-Jay. It'd be fine if you did. I can keep a secret," you say, shrugging. People have sex. You know that. You've never thought about Jason having sex, but you suppose it's possible. Why not? Just because you've never had sex and you always hoped that Jason would be your first doesn't mean that he would. If he's moved on in his life, then you should too.

Jason scoffs. "Yeah, okay. You think anybody would get into bed with a headcase like me?"

Hope rekindles. You're not behind. Jason's right there with you, virginity firmly intact.

He puts the safety back on the gun, squishing the pillow against himself with his elbow. You watch in fascination at his multitasking. Jason starts to turn around to put the gun behind the headboard before clearly thinking twice about mooning you.

"So... why are you naked?" you ask, respectfully keeping your eyes north of the equator.

"If you must know, I sleep in the nude. Now turn around."

You don't turn around. "In the nude?"

Jason's eye twitches. "Yes, nude. It's better for your body and it's more comfortable and I don't—"

You pull a face. "Who says in the nude? How old are you, a hundred?"

"That's what you're harping on?" Jason asks. "You broke into my apartment!"

You hold up a finger. "I didn't break in, I disarmed the alarm like you taught me."

"Yeah, which was only for emergencies. This isn't an emergency. Now turn around!"

So you turn around. You hear the pillow fall and the image returns. You recite the alphabet backwards. When that doesn't work, you think about the time you helped Jason on a mission in the sewers and couldn't get the smell out of your suit for a week.

Yeah, that'll do it. You shudder.

"Can't believe you just broke in," he mumbles. "Raised in a fuckin' barn, swear to God."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'm truly, honestly sorry, Jaybee. From the bottom of my heart. Can I look now?"

"If you dare."

"Are you decent?" you ask.

"Too easy of a joke," he says. "Yeah, the jewels are covered."

You turn slowly. Jason's got red (ha) boxers on, so you turn all the way.

Huh. Well.

You've never really thought much about what Jason's got going on underneath his armor. Certainly, you've assumed that he's got a good physique and a lot of stamina, considering what he does. You've always assumed that. But Jason's Jason. Your best friend, Jason. Your best friend, Jason, who came back really tall, yeah, and with a deep voice and a super pretty face...

Well, anyway. He's Jason. That's all.

But now? Now you get to look in depth, and... whoa.

Jason's broad, stocky, heavily muscled with a soft layer of fat on top. His arms are huge, hands proportionally big. His pecs are full with pink nipples the same shade as his lips. That's a fact you're never forgetting. Your belly flutters.

Okay, what the fuck! No. This is peak creepy behavior, leering at your best friend like this, even if he does have shoulders you could sink your teeth into and thighs you'd happily get crushed between. No! Bad.

...You look some more. He's covered in scars. This is the first time you've seen his autopsy scar in person. It's white, noticeable but healed, like most of his scars. There's a dusting of dark hair from his chest to his belly button. It thickens as it dips beneath his—

Mm, nope. Not thinking about that again.

"Hello-o."

Your eyes dart back to his face.

"Are you listening to me?" he asks, forehead crinkled.

"What? Yes. Sorry. Yes." Your cheeks burn.

Something crosses Jason's face, too quick for you to read. But then his expression stones over. He glances at the dresser across from the bed.

"If you gimme a sec, I'll put a shirt on so y'won't have to look at all this," he says, gesturing roughly to his body.

You blink, lost in Jasonland. "Huh?"

"I know the scars are pretty gnarly. Lemme find a shirt."

Jason goes to the dresser and digs through the top drawer. His wide back is strung tight with tension, you can tell. You hurry to him, blocking the drawer with your arm. Jason looks at you, brows rising.

"Can I help you?" he asks.

"Um."

Words. You remember words, don't you?

"You..."

You haven't been physically close to Jason in a long time. He smells like soap and detergent and is all-encompassing. Your brain feels like slush. Don't stare at his pecs.

"I didn't—I'm not grossed out by your scars, Jason," you finally manage to say.

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Sure. You're just grossed out by everything else about me." He sighs wearily, like he's practiced this speech every night in the mirror. "Look, it's fine. I know I'm really—"

"No, it's not fine! I can't bear having you think I'm repulsed by your body, Jason. That's just not true," you say.

"Well, you were starin' pretty hard, so—"

"But it wasn't—I wasn't staring in disgust, I was—I..."

Jason crosses his arms. His pecs are pushed up as he does so. His stomach looks so soft. But you know he's strong. Way stronger than you. Strong enough to wield his strength against you, if you wanted him to. Strong enough to be gentle with you, too.

You wonder if he's still ticklish.

"You're doin' it again!" Jason says, and this time he really does look hurt. Fuck. Fuck! You're a shitty best friend.

"No!" You lock eyes with him. "No, no! I mean, yes, I was looking at you. But I wasn't looking in a bad, judgy way. I was, uh, taking in your physique. Because you have a... a very nice body. I've never seen you without clothes so I was looking at you. Sorry."

Yeah, you'll just go die in a hole after this.

Jason squints at you for a long moment. You start to shift in place. Sweat beads on your forehead. You lick your lips, hoping Jason can hear your honesty.

"Are you messin' with me?"

"Huh?" You shake your head. "No, why would I—"

"You're really telling me that you find this," Jason gestures to his body, "Good looking?"

This is worse than any physical torture. You'd prefer Batman beating you up on a roof to being here.

You rub your temple, cheeks aflame. "Oh my God. Yes, Jason, you're a good looking guy. Can we move on?"

"No, 'cause I think you're lyin', and I don't like it. You're always honest with me."

"I am being honest," you say, suddenly more annoyed than anything. Because what the fuck? "Are you kidding me? There's a whole forum dedicated to the Red Hood and how much people want you to step on them. And that's without seeing your face! I have eyes, Jason, of course I find you attractive."

And that should be the end of it. Jason's already slack-jawed like a dead fish. But no, you keep going.

"You make me nervous and I thought I had a lid on it because we knew each other as kids but it's becoming clear that I very much don't, and that probably has to do with the fact that you're the only guy I've been close to, and I never got over you. And now I'm gonna go drown myself in the Hudson. Good night."

You go to slip out the window. Maybe it'll shut on your head and knock you out. That would be a divine gift.

It doesn't, though. The universe isn't so kind. Instead, Jason catches your arm and keeps you rooted to your spot. His hand is cold. You wonder if the rest of him is warm.

"Wait, wait. Just hang on."

You groan. "Dude, I'm fucking mortified over the last five minutes. Please let me keep some of my dignity," you say without looking at him.

"Now when have I ever done that?" You can hear the smile in his voice.

And suddenly, the miserable reality of never being more than friends with Jason Todd comes crashing down. It's too late. You've always been too late.

You sag in his grip.

"We can just forget this ever happened," you say quietly. "Chalk it up to idiocy."

"Mm, yeah, we could. 'Cept I don't think you're an idiot. And I want you to hear what I have t'say first. Will ya look at me?"

Mopily, you look at him. His hand drops.

"I—"

"You've never slept naked," you say before he can get a word out. "That's new. Otherwise, I would've known, and then I would've used the door."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Can I speak?"

You cross your arms. "Yeah, okay."

"First of all, I don't think it's necessary for me to disclose that I sleep in the nude." You open your mouth to argue. "But I know it was a mistake. I'm not mad about that. Okay?"

You nod. "Okay."

"I won't lie and say I'm not surprised at your... reaction. I don't really... I've never... I'm not Dick or Bruce, y'know? I wasn't told my whole life what a handsome boy I am. And dying and returning didn't really help with that stuff either."

"I think you're handsome, Jason," you say quietly. "Honest."

He coughs and looks away, a tiny blush on his cheeks. "Yeah, uh, think you've made that pretty clear. For the record, I think you're really beautiful. Always thought so."

Your eyes widen. "Really?"

"Well, yeah. I mean... yeah."

"You're just saying that 'cause I saw your vein cane," you say, grinning.

"Don't call it that."

"How about—"

"No."

You're both quiet.

"How 'bout pork swor—"

"No!"

You smile, eyes squinty. Jason glares.

"Don't nickname my thing," he says.

You nod solemnly. "You're right. It's your thing. You should choose its name."

He shakes his head. "Sucha weirdo."

"Hey, I've never been with a guy. I don't know the rules of thing-naming."

Jason tilts his head. "Never?"

"Never."

"Why?"

You shrug. "Never found anyone I liked enough, I guess. I've pretty much had my heart set on you, Jason."

His face softens. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, uh, me too," he says. "You're it for me, honey. I just never... I mean, really, I never thought it would actually happen with you. Not then, not now."

"Huh. You really should've flashed me earlier. We could've sped things up exponentially."

"Yeah, why didn't I think of that," Jason says dryly.

"Dunno! We all know you're more than a pretty face."

His face reddens. You grin.

"Are you shy?" you ask, dancing on your toes.

"No. Shut up."

"You're shy! I make Jason Todd shy! Oh, this is wonderful. I should break into your apartment regularly."

"It's just new for me!" he says. "Lea' me alone."

You cozy up to him, confidence renewed by the mutual confession. You wrap your arms around his neck. Jason looks at you, hands slowly coming to rest on your waist. The rest of him is warm.

"Just teasing you, Jaybee," you say.

"Hmm." He slowly nudges your cheek with his nose. "Like y'always do?"

"Like I always do," you say sweetly. "But for the record, if we ever share a bed in the future, you're gonna have to keep the soldier in his tent."

Jason lets go of you, exasperated. "Oh, for—y'know what? Your visitation privileges are revoked. Get outta my apartment."

You put on the saddest face you can muster. "You're kicking me out? Into the cold?"

"It's eighty degrees."

You sigh loudly. "Okay, fine. Date tomorrow?"

"Seriously?" Jason asks, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Seriously! Why wouldn't I be serious?"

"You really wanna date me?"

"Never been more sure of anything in my life."

Jason's relief is palpable and bittersweet. You'll spend the rest of your days letting him know just how spectacular he and his pectorals are.

"Okay," he says, shy again. You don't tease him this time.

"Great!" You close the distance between you and peck him on the cheek. His blinks in surprise.

"I'll give you a proper kiss on our date," you say, winking. "Bye, Jasey-Daisy."

"Bye, honey. Don't break into anyone else's apartment on your way home."

"Never," you say, climbing out the window. "You're the only one for me, Toddy!"

[fandomfaeryreads]

Aaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!!

This was adorable and I loved it and I can’t thank you enough for sharing it with us! Shy Jay is my favorite kind! Thank you thank you thank you for this sweetheart of a fic!

[castielscaplan]

Smart Mouths and Lovebirds

Request: Hey cap how are you? Well I hope. Can I request Pietro Maximoff x f!reader where she’s super sarcastic and comes off hard to like but he is totally enamored with her sass and disinterested interest? And maybe someone on the team is calling out how unlikable she is but he just instantly sees red and confesses and she is just like “yes obviously I like you too can’t you tell?” And everyone is amazed that she likes anyone? Thank you! -- anon

Summary: You’ve got a nasty mouth on you. Pietro takes it as his personal mission to talk to you. [wc 836] [ao3] [tag list]

Warnings:sarcastic reader, flirting in the sense of insults

From the outside, you didn’t exactly look like someone people were meant to “get along with.” You didn’t try to be rude. You just… had a tone. A very specific one. The kind that made compliments sound like insults and insults sound like you were doing them a favor.

Natasha once called it “emotionally weaponized sarcasm.” Tony called it “corporate-grade hostility.” You called it “talking.”

“Wow,” Clint mutters one morning, watching you lean against the counter. “She smiles like she’s charging us for it.”

“I am,” you say without looking up. “You’re all in debt.”

Steve sighs like he’s already tired of the future. Bucky just nods like that tracks. Pietro, on the other hand, looks enchanted. Completely, irreversibly enchanted. He appears beside you mid-sentence sometimes, like you’ve always been talking to him specifically.

“I like when you speak,” he says once, entirely sincere.

You glance at him. “That’s unfortunate.”

He grins. “No, it is good.”

You go back to your book. “I’m insulting you right now.”

“Yes,” he says happily. “It is very creative.”

The thing is, you don’t ignore him. You just… don’t react the way people expect. Which, for Pietro, is basically catnip. You don’t laugh at his speed jokes. You don’t act impressed when he zooms around the room. You don’t even flinch when he appears too close too fast. You just look at him like he’s mildly inconvenient. And he loves it.

It all comes to a head in the common room. You’re mid-conversation with Wanda when Tony walks in, followed by one of the newer agents—someone who thinks “team bonding” means “public commentary.”

They glance at you. Then don’t bother lowering their voice.

“She’s… kind of difficult, isn’t she?” they say. “I don’t get why she’s even here.”

Wanda stiffens. Steve looks up. Natasha goes very still. You don’t react. Just sip your drink.

“I’m right here,” you say mildly.

“Yeah,” the agent continues, “I just mean—she’s not exactly… likable.”

Silence drops. Heavy. Awkward. Pietro is gone. One second he’s leaning against the wall. The next he’s in front of the agent. Too fast to track. Too sharp to ignore.

“Say it again,” Pietro says. His voice is still light. But something under it isn’t.

The agent blinks. “What?”

“What you just said,” Pietro repeats, slower now. “Say it again.”

Tony mutters, “Oh no.”

“I—uh,” the agent stammers. “I just meant she’s hard to like—”

“No,” Pietro interrupts. A pause. “You are wrong.”

The room goes dead silent. Even you finally look up. Pietro turns slightly—not away from the agent. Toward you. And suddenly he’s not joking anymore. Not teasing. Not playful. Just… certain. “I like her,” he says. A beat. “I like her very much.”

You blink. “…Pietro.”

He looks at you like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s always been waiting. The agent clears their throat awkwardly. “Okay, but—”

Pietro doesn’t even look at them anymore. “I am not finished,” he says flatly, looking back at you with admiration. “I like how you talk to people like they are already wrong.”

You stare at him. “That’s… not a compliment.”

“It is to me.”

A beat.

Steve looks like he’s having a crisis. Tony looks like he’s live-streaming this mentally. Wanda looks vaguely delighted. Natasha looks mildly concerned for everyone involved.

Pietro continues, now fully committed. “I like when you do not laugh at my jokes.”

You cross your arms. “They’re not funny.”

“Yes,” he agrees instantly. “That is why I like it. You don’t laugh just to make the silence less uncomfortable.”

Silence.

“…are you done?” you ask.

Pietro thinks about it. “No.”

That’s when you sigh. Put your drink down. Walk right up to him.

And say, very calmly,  “You’re very loud about something I already agreed with.”

Pietro freezes. “…what?”

You tilt your head. “I like you too.” A pause. Then, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world,  “You’re just slow.”

The room collectively short-circuits. Clint actually drops something. Tony whispers, “I KNEW IT,” like he’s been waiting years for this payoff. 

Steve looks personally betrayed by reality. Wanda covers her mouth to hide a smile. 

Natasha just mutters, “Of course she likes him.”

Pietro, meanwhile, looks like someone just rewired his brain. “…you do?” he asks, quieter now.

You shrug. “Yes.”

“You are not joking?”

You stare at him. “Do I look like I'm joking?”

A beat. Then Pietro grins. Slow. Bright. Absolutely gone. “No,” he says softly. “You do not.” He leans in slightly. “Good,” he adds. “Because I was going to keep saying it until you did.”

You sigh. “…that sounds exhausting.”

“I am very fast,” he says proudly.

“Emotionally too?”

“Especially emotionally.”

Behind you, Tony whispers, “We are never recovering from this.”

Natasha replies, “We were never supposed to.”

And Pietro? Pietro looks like he just won something he’s been chasing without realizing it had a finish line. Like you were never hard to like at all. Just waiting for someone fast enough to keep up.

[fandomfaeryreads]

This was so cute! Pietro would absolutely fall for someone like that. I am SO GLAD you’re back and thank you for sharing!!!

[yearningforsolitude]

cowboy ryan gosling, please save me. save me cowboy ryan gosling. cowboy ryan gosling, if you’re hearing this, please save me.

[morverenmaybewrites]

Burial Rites (Jason Todd x Reader)

Pairing: Jason Todd | Red Hood x Reader

Warnings: Major Character Death, Resurrection, Came Back Wrong, Reader has she/her pronouns

Summary:

She'll hate you, Bruce wanted to say.

Because Jason did.

She wouldn't want anything to do with you, Bruce wanted to say.

Because Jason didn't.

You're going to spend the rest of your life knowing that, given the chance, you would do it all over again.

Years after Bruce used the Lazarus Pit to resurrect him, Jason realizes that he's willing to commit the same sins his father did.

Bruce Wayne was only thirty-one years old when Jason first said that he hated him. 

He said it quietly, with teeth, which was how Bruce knew that Jason meant it.

His son hated him. 

He should be hurt. He should.

He should feel like a knife has been slid neatly into one's guts; pulled out with a decisive sort of viciousness. He should feel like his insides were strewn across the dining room tiles. 

But instead, Bruce took a deep breath and gazed into his son's face.

Green eyes, he thought. Not blue. Looking at Jason no longer looked like looking at the sky. 

"I know," he said.

He did. He wishes he didn't, but he did.

He wishes that he would feel the hurt, but at the same time, he only felt a strange sort of relief: his son could still feel anger, could still feel hate.

This was not another thing that Bruce had taken away from him.

Jason stared at him, his features tight. There were new lines on his face, now, right where his eyebrows knotted whenever he was angry. Odd, for one so young. Perhaps because he frowned so much, these days.

Or perhaps they were scars, ones that even the Lazarus Pit couldn't get rid of. 

Bruce wouldn't know. When he had finally found Jason that night, his face had been a bloody ruin. Bruce had been unable to tell the fresh wounds from the scars.

When Bruce didn't reply, Jason tried a new tactic. 

"I can't taste food anymore, did you know that?" he snarled. 

Bruce didn't know this. But he suspected something like it.

It was the reason he invited him here, after all.

He knew that Jason had been eating less and less. His apartment had been filled with the styrofoam shells of endless takeouts. Only the barest spoonful scooped out from them, then the rest was left to rot. 

Bruce's gaze traveled to the feast that lay between him and his son. He had used one of the dining room tables, the kind that would usually seat at least a dozen guests. 

But tonight, it was only the two of them. 

And yet, the wood practically groaned from the weight of the food it bore. Alfred had outdone himself, the dishes astounding in both quantity and quality. Strong black tea, the pot upturned and left to stain the tablecloth. Steak so rare that it was almost bloody, left to congeal on the table. 

Fruits imported from Southeast Asia, carefully peeled and sliced into small pieces for easier consumption. 

Bruce could see the remains of them on Jason's plate, where he had bitten into them, hopeful, only to then spit them out in disgust. 

"No," Bruce admitted. "I didn't." 

Jason analyzed him for a few seconds, then decided he wasn't lying. 

He snorted.

"Well, I can't. And you know what the worst part is?"

"What?"

Jason swept his plate off the table, where it shattered against the tiles. Half-chewed bits of meat strewn across the floor like insides. 

"I'm still so fucking hungry." 

He was thirty-three years old when he first saw Jason smile again. 

It had been entirely on accident, on a sunny day.

A rare thing for Gotham City. When the sky was such an aching blue that it would have been a crime not to go out and enjoy it. 

The thought crossed his mind, the way it always did whenever the sun came out: he would see more days like these in Metropolis. Or perhaps Star City. Or even somewhere far away like Santa Prisca. Where the heat would chase away the cold that seemed to have made a home in his bones.

The thought crossed his mind: he did not want to be doing this forever.

Bruce chose a small cafe in Old Gotham. It had been tucked away behind a twisting alleyway, all dark wood that should warped in the constant rain but somehow didn't. He had seen it months ago while on patrol, and something about it had made him want to step inside. 

On that day, all Bruce had wanted was to sit somewhere warm, somewhere far away from the roar of car engines and the babble of the crowd, and the constant rumbling of his own dark thoughts. 

Here was what he got instead.

On that day, on one of those rare warm days in Gotham City, Bruce Wayne got to see his son smile again. 

Jason had been sitting in one of the corner booths, near a window where the light streamed through.

It was a strange realization, that after the warehouse, Bruce had only ever seen his son in shadows. In the darkest corner of the room, his face turned away as if he couldn't stand to meet Bruce's eyes. 

Always, after the warehouse, his son seemed to hide from him.

And the sight of him, sitting in sunlight stunned Bruce so much that it took him a secon to realize that Jason wasn't alone. 

You were there.

And Jason's attention was so focused on you that he didn't even notice Bruce. He laughed at something, perhaps a joke you made, and it was an odd and wondrous thing, to hear him laugh without sharp edges or hurt. 

He was eating, too. Taking small bites of a croissant as if it didn't taste like sawdust in his mouth. Taking small sips from your cup across the table, as if it didn't taste like rusted metal.

It took his son a second or three to realize that he was being watched.

Too long, Bruce would have said, scolded even. Time was the difference between life and death on the field. 

But this wasn't the field. 

And perhaps, like Bruce, Jason did not want to do this forever.

He glanced at Bruce, he met his eyes.

The Lazarus Pit had changed them. No longer as blue as the sky, they were now the same swirling green as those strange waters. 

But this time, looking at them did not make Bruce think of that cursed pit or emeralds taken from illegal mines or bits of broken glass.

This time, looking at Jason made him think of grass, of trees in spring, it made him think of the forest after a storm, when everything had been washed clean and turned new. 

Jason didn't frown or scowl, the way Bruce expected. Instead, he goes back to looking at you.

And for just a second, his son looked almost happy.

He was forty-one years old when he received the message, three days after your funeral. 

I need to talk to you. 

It was brief, concise, and came from an unknown number. But there was no mistaking who it could be from.

It was a cruel sort of joke, he thought. The kind only Gotham City laughed at. A drive-by. The kind of thing that happened all the time in Gotham. All for the five dollars in the cashier till. 

Better an illness, he thought. Predictable and drawn out and long enough that it would allow the reality of it to sink into one's bones.

But this? 

The sudden, random viciousness of it. To watch the building blocks of your life come crashing down. All in the space of a day, an hour, a single blinding second. 

Yes, Bruce knew where the message came from.

He stared at it for a few seconds longer.

Then, he deleted it. 

He was thirty-two years old when he realized that Jason no longer had the scars.

It was a bad night, a mission gone wrong. Just another in a string of bad luck that seemed to have no end. Bruce was so used to the sight of his own blood that it barely even fazed him anymore.

But his son's blood?

The color of it never failed to make his skin crawl.

Bruce's stomach twisted painfully. 

A part of him wondered if there was a hell and if there was, what layer he would end up in, for recruiting his sons into his mission.

A part of him wondered if he would do it all over again.

The thought rose in the back of his head, like dead things washed up on the shore: he would. He would.

He thought of Dante and how the deepest circle had always been reserved for betrayers.

Jason's voice came as if from far away, sharp and irritated and far too deep for someone his age.

He had only been fifteen when he died.

"I'm fine." He was saying. "Go see to Bruce first." 

It was this that roused Bruce from his stupor, blinking away images of sheep and abattoirs. 

"No, you're not." 

He tried to inject some authority in his voice, swallowed back the exhaustion that was rising in his throat.

"I saw Killer Croc take a bite off you. Let Alfred see it."

He didn't just see Killer Croc snap at Jason. He had seen the gush of blood, he had seen gristle and exposed bone.

He had seen the explosion, so bright that it burned even when he closed his eyes. He had seen Jason's face so mangled, the flesh so burned that the blackened bones shone through.

Oh God, his son, his son, his son.

"Seriously, Dick, I'm fine. Stop hovering."

Jason shoved Dick off and ripped off his gloves. 

And Bruce watched in horrified fascination at the way Jason's flesh was knitting itself closed. The bones snapping into position, the muscle renewed, the skin the boiled-pink color of a newborn. 

"Do you see what I mean?" he snarled. "Go tend to Bruce first."

Not even a scar, he thought. 

And Bruce thought about what a horror that was in itself, to realize that your own history is erased from your skin. He thought of his own scar, the one in his spine where Bane had shattered it. The cut on his lip. The burn scars on his hands, his arms, when he had held the mangled remains of his son.

It was its own kind of horror. To be denied your own history.

And for the first time since he made his decision, Bruce realizes that a part of him is sorry.

When Jason looked at him, Bruce's eyes skittered away from his like frightened spiders.

He was forty-one years old when he got the call.

"It's her. She's hurt, she's not breathing."

Bruce thought of the alleyway and that awful, ugly sound his father made as he drowned in his own blood, eyes spinning madly in their sockets. 

His mother had died almost instantly.

When he spoke, his voice was that of a little boy's.

"Where are you?"

"The flower shop. There's been a shooting. I—"

Jason's voice cracked, and for just a second, Bruce could almost hear what he would have sounded like as a child. He had been a teenager when he and Bruce met. By then, he already knew not to ask for help. 

"Bruce, I need you." 

And Bruce wondered then, for just a second, if he was cursed to always be too late to save the ones he loved. 

And yet he would try.

God, help him, he would try.

He would arrive only just in time to pronounce you dead, to see your blood spilled on the floor in a way that made him think of abattoirs.

He would arrive just in time to peel his son's hands from you and let Jason cling to him as if he was drowning.

He would arrive only just in time to say this: 

"She's gone." 

And the sound Jason made brought him back to the warehouse, cradling the blackened husk used to be his son.

 He was still forty-one years old and yet, somehow, infinitely older when he came back to the mansion to find that his sins have finally followed him home.

Jason was waiting for him. 

"I'm not asking this time, Bruce. Tell me where it is." 

He swallowed back exhaustion and despair. Images of the pit came clawing up his throat, and he had to swallow them down lest he start screaming. 

"You shouldn't."

Jason snorted. 

"You shouldn't have, either. But here we are." 

Bruce sat down across his son, and more than ever, he felt the yawning chasm between them. There were so many things he wanted to say too talk him out of his plan. 

She'll hate you, Bruce wanted to say.

Because Jason did.

She wouldn't want anything to do with you, Bruce wanted to say.

Because Jason didn't.

He looked across his son, and with a jolt, realized that Jason was the same age Bruce had been when he had used the Lazarus Pit. 

Ten years. 

The Lazarus Pit had given them ten more years. And only God knew how many more.

Years in which his son fought him, avoided him, hated him. 

Staring at his son, here was what Bruce truly wanted to say: You're going to spend the rest of your life knowing that, given the chance, you would do it all over again.

Here was what Bruce wanted to tell Jason: It was an ugly business, exhuming a body. It was an even uglier business, exhuming a loved one. Jason would not want to be there when the mortician's work has come undone. When the putrefaction has set in and he would be able to smell the stink barely three feet down.

Jason would not want to be there, when the gums retracted and the lips peeled back, so that when he opened your coffin, you would smile back at him like a ghoul.

Here was what Bruce wanted to tell Jason: when he opened grave, his eyes had been boiling with maggots. And the broken sound that came out of his mouth could have been laughter, it could have been sob.

His son. Food for the maggots.

It was what had given him that final push. The thing that strengthened his resolve. For all of his faults, Bruce couldn't leave his son, alone in the dirt. Cold and frightened and eaten by maggots.

But he had always been a coward.

And so, he said nothing at all. 

And still, Jason nodded as if he understood. 

Bruce was thirty-years old when he first used the Lazarus Pit.

It was underneath the Monarch Theatre, where the fumes would rise and soak into the wooden floors of the stage. For years, it had been a mystery why the actors of Monarch Theatre went insane. Why they would act out fights scenes with actual swords, why the crowd would cheer whenever someone's oily guts would spill tonto the floor. 

Here was the answer: the strange, unspeakable pit that soaked the foundations of the building. 

It had taken hours for Bruce to find the entrance. Hours carrying his dead son in his arms, covered in the stench of death and rot and his own sour sweat.

Hours in which he could have changed his mind. 

He didn't. 

And when Jason came to life, he did so screaming, the raw, bloodcurdling one of an animal.

For years after that, Bruce would wonder what sort of peaceful rest he ripped his son away from, for him to scream as if he was being murdered all over again. 

He had torn apart the shroud with his hands, and when Bruce reached for him, he had torn at him too, nails carving bloody ribbons into his arms. 

And when he held him, the way he used to whenever Jason would wake from nightmares, his son tried to tear out his throat with his teeth. 

He was forty-two years old when he next stood at the Pit again. 

His arms ached, and he was covered in the familiar stench of death and rot and his own sour sweat.

The waters of the Lazarus Pit bubbled eerily at his feet, and the fumes that rose from it made him think of sheepand abattoirs.

She would hate you, Bruce had wanted to say.

He knelt at the edge of the pool, and he was so close that he could feel the heat rising from it. It was an animal sort of heat, the kind he associated with frothing, heaving horses, of pigs trapped in small cages to never know fresh air their whole lives. 

She would spend years fighting you. 

He unravelled the shroud. Underneath, you were naked, and he could see the blackened hole where the bullet had torn through you and stolen your life. 

She will try to tear your throat out with his teeth. 

He had always arrived too late to save the ones he loved.

But at least, let him save his son from this. 

He let you go.

And he watched as the Lazarus Pit swallowed you whole. 

[fandomfaeryreads]

Um WOW! This was absolutely heartbreaking and miserable and yet was stunningly gorgeous and so easy to understand. The parallels between Bruce and Jason were amazing! I’d love to see Jason’s take on this, or even the aftermath of his choices. Thank you so much for sharing!

[kandyscorner]

Hiii if you’re still taking Steve requests I’d love to see your take on reader maybe trying to skateboard with max in the family video parking lot and getting injured and Steve rushing out to help. Thank you! ❤️

Sorry I took so long on this, and thank you for requesting it! Enjoy!

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

“Hello, I need to rent the best movie of all time and a hot date to go with it.” You announce as you pull the door to the Family video. You thought the store would be empty aside from Steve, seeing as there were no other vehicles in the parking lot. Your skin grows warm in embarrassment at your own words when you find Max sitting on the floor in front of the counter. You greet the girl, “Max! I didn’t know you would be here.”

She grins at you, freckled cheeks dimpling, “Oh, I can tell.”

You shake your head at her antics, already hearing the rest of the kids teasing, “What’s up, buttercup?”

“I need a ride,” she answer as stands and stretches, her skateboard leaning against the counter where she was sitting, “Steve didn’t have his car though.”

“Right,” you nod. He had let you borrow it while yours was being worked on, “sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” she shrugs, “its not a rush thing. He said you’d pick him up, so i could wait til then. But aren’t you early?”

You copy her shrug, “Yeah, I’d figured I’d give him some company for the last thirty minutes or so.”

“Were you planning on making out in the back room?”

“Max!” you scold her boldness (even if she’s right). She holds her hands up defensively with a smirk that tells you she knows she’s right.

You both jump when Steve makes an appearance from said backrooms, “Max, you were supposed to tell me when there was a customer.”

She rolls her eyes, “She’s not a customer.”

“Oh,” Steve finally looks at you from his glare at the back max’s head, “hi, baby, you’re early.”

You fluster after Max’s comment about you being early, “I had the time.”

You move around Max to meet him at the counter. You slip under his arms into an easy hug. His hand strokes up and down your spine as he kisses your crown and mutters a quiet missed you. Then, not parting from the hug, his attention is on Max, “What’d you do to her?”

She scoffs behind you, “Nothing!”

“She really hasn’t,” you laugh against his shoulder at the sound of his clicked tongue of disbelief, “We were just talking.”

“Yeah, about how she shows up early so you can get it on in the back room.” 

“Max!” you both shout, Steve’s tan skin turning red.

“Jesus, I’m just calling it as it is,” she rounds you both to pick up her skateboard at the counter, “You can still do that. I’ll go skate. Outside. Away from any noises.”

You press a hand to your face as you listen to the door ding as she goes out. 

Steve gives your shoulder a squeeze, “That girl knows way too much.”

“As if you were a saint at that age, King Steve,” you chide.

“Hey, she has two years before that, and even that was too young if you ask me,” His hand slides down your shoulder to your hand, squeezing it, “but since she is outside…”

You step back from him entirely with an affronted look, “You are such a boy! We’re not doing that after she just accused us. Max Mayfield can not be right about our make-out habits.”

“... but she is?” he lifts a brow at you.

“Yeah, but she can’t know that,” you huff, turning towards the windows to watch her skate back and forth in the minuscule parking lot of Family Video, “I’ll go hang out with her. I’m sure she’s been bored to death waiting.”

Steve glances at the window, then back to you, then to the back room door, “Is this punishment? Honey, I’m sorry… for whatever.”

“Stevie. My sweet boy.” You laugh as you step back towards him to give him a peck, “You didn’t do anything, we’re just not going to make out til we get home.”

He hisses through his teeth in disappointment, “Fine, go hang out with Max and leave me to my boredom.”

“You mean your job?” you tease as you part from him and step towards the door, “The thing you get paid to do?”

“I’d rather get paid to kiss you,” he answers as your hand settles on the door.

You blow him a kiss in compensation, “Tell us when you're ready to go.”

You catch the end of a grumble from him before you’re stepping back out into the warm air. Max swerves her way towards you, stopping just before the curb and kicking her skateboard up. 

“That was fast,” she comments, clearly biting back a laugh.

You shake your head with a grin, “Okay, Maxy, laugh it up. We were not making out. That’s why I’m out here, to hang out with you.”

“Hang out with me?” she points a finger at herself, “but I’m just skating.”

You nod, “It's nice out. I can watch.”

You step down from the curb and then move to sit on it. Max stops you, “Wait.”

“Hmm? What is it?” you ask. 

She holds her skateboard up, “You wanna try?”

You hesitate as you glance at the board. You weren’t great at balancing on a bike. “I don't know…”

Ten minutes later, after a lot more convincing than you thought the girl had in her, Max was holding your hands as you stood on her skateboard, pulling you back and forth as you wobbled. 

“Lean left, no, your other left,” she huffs as she tries to get you to turn.

You laugh at her guidance, “I only have one left.”

“Well, lean that way then,” she laughs with you. You manage the turn as she pulls you back to the other side of the parking lot. Slowly, she lets go of your hands, and you glide straight.

“Hey now,” you wobble, “come back.”

“You're doing great!” she cheers unhelpfully, “You can push with one foot.”

“I am not doing that.” The board slows more and more.

“It's easy, just put your foot down and push,” she encourages. 

You trust Max, truly. You should not trust yourself, though. You put your foot down, and before you can blink, you’re on the ground. Your knees and palms sting; luckily, you had caught yourself before you face planted.

“Oh, shit. I said push not stop,” Max rushes over to you, “You okay?”

You roll on your back with a breathless laugh, gravel stuck to your palms as you, press them to your chest. Your eyes watering does not match the words that leave your mouth, “I’m fine.”

The bell of Family Video dings and squeeze your eyes shut, taking a moment to practice your next words. Steve, I’m fine. Really! It was just a slip. Nothing truly hurts. 

Your knee jerks up at the newfound sting on your knee, something wet followed a burn that you swear you feel in your toes. Your eyes open as you sit up. Tears prickle at the corner of your eyes as you stare at steve pouring some hydrogen peroxide straight on your bleeding knees. You glance around, finding Max missing.

“Steve, that hurts,” you whimper. He looks back up you with a concerned pinched brow that’s unfairly attractive. His hand gently cups the underside of your knee, keeping it bent. Your leg jerks again as pours some more peroxide, wetting his hands, and letting it bubble.

“Are you okay, baby?” He ask gently, likes hes worried he’ll scare you off. His thumb rubs at the underside of your thigh and you try to remember what you’d rehearsed in your mind. You blank because its Steve asking and he looks so worried. Your eye water more despite knowing your truly not hurt other than a few scraps. 

“Don’t ask that, Stevie,” you murmur, looking up at the sky and trying to blink away the unnecessary tears.

“Harrington!” Max reappears to scold, “Put down the disinfectant. I told you to wait.”

Your head tips back to look at a Max with a couple of mugs of water. She pours one over your knee and the stinging disperses. You let out a relieved sigh. Steve’s hand, still damp, leaves your knee to hold your elbow. Your eyes find his and he murmurs an apology to you.

“I don’t know how you survive anything, Steve. You don’t listen,” Max complains as she cleans your knees. You can’t help but laugh at the commentary. Steve gives you a disgruntled smile while Max properly cleans your meger wounds. 

“I really am fine,” you reassure, tempted tears now pushed away, “It was just a slip.”

“My poor girl,” he murmurs and for a moment you forget Max is there, steve’s hand rubbing fond up your arm.

A hiss leaves you as Max dabs disinfectant on your knees, faking a gag, “You two are gross.”

You laugh despite the sting, “Like you and Lucas are any better.”

Her cheeks turn bright red as she grumbles to herself. She hands Steve a couple of bandages, “all you.”

She makes a quick escape back inside. You and Steve grin at each other before hes wrapping up your knees and helping you up. 

“Get the car started,” He helps you limp that way, “I’m closing early.”

“What about Keith?” you reprimand, knowing Keith already didn’t like him.”

He shrugs, “I’ll tell him there was an emergency. Now get the car started so I can kiss you better.”

You laugh, possibly too loud, “You manipulator!”

“Guilty as charge,” He grins as you slide into the front seat. He shifts back towards the store, “I’ll close up and get max. We are leaving.”

“Okay, okay,” you giggle as you pull the keys from your pocket.

-----------

Masterlist

Make a request!

[fandomfaeryreads]

This was adorable!

[the-twiilight-diaries]

Y/N and Bella when they're the only ones to suspect something about the Cullens and both separately start vampire investigations:

Y/N and Bella when they fall in love with vampire brothers and end up heartbroken:

Y/N and Bella when they both befriended shapeshifters during this heartbreak and are being hunted by old enemies of as old love:

[the-twiilight-diaries]

Alice frantically trying to keep her family together, make sure that Jasper/Edward don't kill themselves, handle her visions, keep an eye on Victoria, and make certain that Bella and Y/N don't totally lose their minds and do something stupid (spoiler alert: they both do something stupid)

[fandomfaeryreads]

I really love the idea of this! Is there a story for this idea?

[samdeancass]

Requested by Anonymous

Pairing: Thomas (The Maze Runner) x Reader

Summer Event

Summer Event Masterlist

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

The music was far too loud. At least, that was what Thomas kept insisting.

You stayed close to the edge of the group, feeling tense as you watched the Gladers laugh and stumble through the rough celebration. You were not one of the original Gladers, but you had become part of their world after arriving in the Box three months earlier. Most saw you as just another runner, though you knew you were still something of an outsider compared to Thomas and the others. Frypan had somehow managed to scrounge up a feast of grilled beetle-blade legs and mashed tomatoes, with Newt passing out slivers of stale but precious chocolate to anyone who won a dance-off.

It was the first night after a successful run; everyone was out by the fire, celebrating making it through another week with no casualties. Winston had built a wonky lantern tower from spare machine parts, sending mismatched beams over the clearing, while someone else had put together a basic speaker system from old wires and metal plates. The music was loud, too loud, probably, and you watched as Gally challenged Chuck to a worm-eating contest, much to everyone’s disgusted amusement. All of it, the weird food, the shouting, the cobbled-together decorations, felt so perfectly Glade, and for a second, you were swept up in the feeling of being right where you belonged. The pounding music made your chest flutter, not just because it was noisy, but because it meant you were here, surrounded by friends and laughter, alive after another hard week. The sound pressed in on you, thrilling and overwhelming at once, and somehow the loud music made your heart skip a beat.

Thomas sat on a wooden crate nearby, arms crossed tightly, jaw set, and eyes scanning the crowd like he was looking for a way out. "You could at least try to look like you're having fun," you teased. "I am having fun." You raised an eyebrow. "Thomas, you look like you're preparing for battle." He frowned. "Maybe I am." A laugh escaped you.

The music shifted to something slower, and several people paired off in the centre of the clearing. Even your friend Minho, usually the life of the group, looked vaguely embarrassed as he got dragged into it.

You nudged Thomas with your shoulder. "Want to dance?"

"No." His answer was instant, cutting off your question.

"Thought so."

Thomas loosened up a bit, thinking you were done talking. Then you stepped forward and offered him your hand. His eyes dropped to it.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

“You know I don't dance." He looked away, jaw tightening again. Dancing always felt too public, like everyone was watching for him to mess up. As music drifted around him, Thomas remembered the old shuck banter in the Maze, the way the Gladers used to tease each other after every close escape, and how every movement or mistake out there carried weight. He remembered running through the shifting walls with nothing but the pounding of his heart and Minho's shouts for company, carrying responsibility that felt heavier than any bad dance in a gym. There had even been that night after their first escape from the Grievers, when the group tried to teach Newt a silly campfire jig to keep spirits high, everyone shouting out moves with wild laughter. Thomas had hung back then, too, pretending to check maps, but secretly wishing he could join in without messing it up. That was always the hardest part: letting down the guard he built in the Maze, even now, surrounded by friends.

Even now, the thought of being out in front of everyone made his skin prickle. But he caught the way you looked at him, steady and patient, not mocking or insisting, just waiting. It was different from before, the kind of quiet encouragement that made failing seem less scary. Here, under lantern light and surrounded by makeshift decorations, the old nerves felt both closer and somehow further away, tangled with memories of safety and fear. Maybe, for once, this was a moment he could let himself try.

"That's not what I asked."

A few seconds passed. Thomas sighed and stood, surprising you. "Fine."

Your eyes widened. "Wait. Really?"

"Don't make me regret this."

You took his hand before he could change his mind.

The centre of the group had cleared out; most people were swaying slowly under lanterns hanging from the trees. Thomas followed you, clearly not eager. His hand hovered for a moment before resting, a little shaky, at your waist. You couldn't help but grin, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

"Oh, my God."

"What?"

"I thought you hated dancing."

Thomas groaned. "I do."

"Then why are you here?"

He looked at you, searching your face for something, his eyes suddenly open and honest. For a brief moment, memories tangled between you: the night by the garden, when you both tried to cook over an open flame and nearly burned your hands, laughing so hard you forgot where you were. You remembered the time Thomas dared you to climb the old watchtower at midnight, the two of you whispering jokes and holding your breath whenever the boards creaked.

There was the time you both got caught sneaking late-night tomatoes from Frypan's stores, scrambling away from the kitchen still grinning. Sometimes, you knew, the others noticed these moments. Frypan would roll his eyes, but always save you an extra bite. Minho would catch your gaze after some shared mischief and shake his head, warning you to be sneakier, but with a knowing smirk that said he liked being in on the secret. Even Newt, who saw everything, would sometimes chime in with a dry comment just loud enough for only you two to hear, making both of you hide your grins. As the memories washed over you, you felt your chest tighten with a kind of aching happiness, the warmth of those moments threading through the nervousness and excitement of now. It made everything around you glow a little brighter, and your heart felt full and fragile all at once. All of it flickered between you, unspoken, and you wondered if he was thinking about it too.

For a moment, all the noise around you seemed distant. The laughter. The crackling fire. None of it mattered. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Because you asked."

A sudden flutter made your heart skip. "That's incredibly cheesy."

"Yeah, well." He shrugged. "Don't tell anyone." You laughed and rested your forehead against his shoulder. "No promises." Thomas rolled his eyes, but his arm tightened around you. "You know," he said quietly, "if anyone asks, you're forcing me to do this."

"Of course."

"And I'm miserable."

"Clearly."

Another song began. Neither of you moved away. Thomas hated dancing. But as he swayed with you under the lanterns, smiling when he thought you couldn't see, you started to think that wasn't completely true. In this small, borrowed moment, you realised Thomas was letting go of fears he rarely voiced and trusting you to see him as he was. There was something new in the way his fingers settled at your waist: a choice, a step forward, the sort of tiny bravery that fans would always remember about him. You felt it in yourself, too, that something had changed between you, quietly and profoundly. Maybe it was just one dance, but under the warmth of the lanterns and the music, it felt like a promise you both carried into whatever would come next. Later, you would look back on this night and realise it was a beginning, the sort of shift that made the future feel uncertain but wide open.

For the first time, you wondered what it might mean to be more than just friends, and if this was the night things quietly started to change. You found yourself wishing for another moment like this, a hope you tucked away beneath your ribs as the laughter faded into the night. Whatever tomorrow brought, you couldn't shake the sense that something important had started between you and Thomas, and that soon, both of you would have to face where it led.

[heliads]

Hi Lisa, how are you? Well, I hope!

I wanted to request an Edmund Pevensie request where he falls for the loud, sarcastic girl with no filter but has a lot of trouble deciphering whether she likes him back until she kisses him? Please and thank you!

'Caught Between Waves' - edmund pevensie x reader

masterlist

Edmund Pevensie still isn’t used to being a sailor.

The sea is not an unfamiliar part of his memories of Narnia. During his time as King, Edmund had his fair share of days spent at the seaside or traveling aboard a ship to reach distant lands. He had thought the shimmering waves of the Narnian oceans pleasant enough when sparkling from afar, and if you had asked him he probably would have said he’d make a decent seaman, all things considered. He’s decent with a sword and his balance isn’t half bad. By all means, it seemed like this sort of life would be right up Edmund’s alley.

It’s not terrible, to be sure. It’s just that, well, when Edmund had gazed fondly at the painting on Lucy’s wall and reminisced about the Narnian design on the hull, he’d really been thinking about the wood carvings back in Cair Paravel, or the emblems in the tapestries lining the halls he used to rule. Sure, a few pleasant memories of sunny days by the water had cropped up in his mind, but if Edmund were to pick any place for a Narnian return, he’d probably first choose dry land.

That’s not to say that he isn’t enjoying himself. Even the most perilous storm in Narnia makes Edmund feel twice as joyous as any day back in England. He feels alive here in a way he couldn’t ever manage in the modern day. So no, it isn’t that he’s unhappy to be out to sea, he’s just surprised by it, that’s all.

Not that he’d tell anyone that, of course. Edmund is happy to be back, and especially happy that he’s managed to come back with enough time to see his good friend Caspian, even if he had imagined their reunion in the fabled halls of Narnian castles rather than on the salt-soaked boards of the Dawn Treader. Besides, he has to keep a stiff upper lip so as to avoid comparison to their unfortunate younger cousin, Eustace, and most importantly of all, to avoid being teased by Y/N.

Y/N is Caspian’s first mate, and how she crossed the path of the heir to the Narnian throne, Edmund can’t imagine. Apparently, she was a bona fide pirate before joining the crew of the Dawn Treader. She still acts like it, too, a hair’s trigger away from crossing blades whenever she gets too bored. Edmund has seen her fly up the ship’s rigging the second anything interesting crosses the horizon. Half the time, he swears she’s not even climbing, just being pulled up on a string like a marionette. She’s blindingly fast on sea or land, both in body and in mind. She has a quick counter to anything that’s said to her. Edmund has no idea how she can pull one-liners out of the air that fast, but it leaves him in something like awe, and something like fear if he’s on the receiving end of one of her teasing remarks. 

One time, he told her that with a sense that quick, she should have been a politician, and she nearly threw a knife at his head. He says ‘nearly,’ not because she stayed her hand, but because the knife hit a few paces away, not actually connecting with his skull, although it had certainly felt like it might at the moment. The first week Edmund spent in Y/N’s company, he was sure she would kill him in his sleep. He’d voiced this concern to Caspian, but the other man had merely laughed.

“Y/N’s a mad one, to be sure, but she means you no harm,” Caspian had said, grinning broadly. “There’s no one else in this realm I’d trust to have my back. She’s fiercely loyal, too. If I say you’re a friend, she’d die before she’d see you hurt.”

Edmund had tried to believe that, but the idea of a loyal pirate just couldn’t stay straight in his mind. Still, he supposes Caspian’s words have merit. A few of the times they’ve gone ashore to find trouble, Y/N’s first instinct has been to defend her captain, even when it places her directly in the path of danger. However, Edmund can’t quite determine if that’s because she’s intensely loyal, as Caspian claims, or if she just loves the taste of peril. Her raucous laughter during furious fights doesn’t really help him make up his mind, either.

Still, he supposes Y/N does have a quiet side, too. There had been that one morning, early, just as the sun was starting to rise, that he thinks about all the time now. Edmund had been unable to sleep, dreams keeping him awake, and he had given up on trying to get any rest and quietly shuffled out onto the deck to watch the delicate pinks of dawn trace their way against the brightening sky. He had assumed nobody else would be up except the poor soul on the tail end of the night watch, but to his surprise, someone slid into a seat next to him on the stairs leading up to the high point of the deck.

Turning to the side, Edmund didn’t see Lucy or Caspian, as expected, but Y/N. Her eyes were trained on the rising sun, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders to ward off the chill of early morning.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She had asked softly.

“Yes,” Edmund said a little too quickly.

He must have been staring too long, because she glanced curiously over at him. Edmund turned quickly back to the horizon, oddly embarrassed for a reason he couldn’t explain. In his peripheral vision, he saw her face the sun again as well.

“I missed sunrises like this,” Edmund said quietly. He’d meant that everything looked different in Narnia, looked better, like he was seeing the world through a spell that carried him away from ugly reality back in modern day, but Y/N had misunderstood him.

She’d let out a cold laugh. “What, it wasn’t as easy to watch the sun come up when you were cooped up in one of those palaces for the High Kings and Queens?”

Edmund had shaken his head. “No, they were pretty there, too. I just mean–”

“What?” Y/N had asked, a trace of bitterness now present in her tone. “You like being able to pick and choose, right? You can come play out in the wild with us when you want, then go back to a castle at the end of the day. Or, better yet, you can go off to that mystery world of yours and only make appearances in Narnia, where you’re hailed as a legend and treated better than royalty?”

“Why are you angry with me?” Edmund had hissed. “I’m not the one in control here, you know. Something makes me come here or leave, I don’t know what, and I’m not the one who built the damn castles.”

“So we’re all just an accident to you, is it?” Y/N had shot back. She had made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “Some of us live our whole lives in your little play-pretend world. I’ve seen Caspian, you know. He’s been talking about your visit for years now, always with that same note of regret. Every time you and your family come back, you throw everything into chaos, then leave us to deal with the rest.”

She went to stand up and get away, but Edmund, moved by something stronger than his good sense, tugged at her blanket to make her sit down again. “I’m not trying to leave you,” he said back, looking her directly in the eyes. They both stared at each other, refusing to back down, and in a way it reminded Edmund of those old wild-West programs they used to show back home. “I never wanted to leave, you know. Every time I come here, I make up my mind to stay. If I had it my way, I would spend the rest of my life in Narnia. And not in a castle, necessarily, although you can’t tell me you wouldn’t do that if you had the choice.”

Y/N arched a dubious brow. “You’re telling me you’d go settle in a cottage in the middle of the smallest village if you were actually given the choice?”

“Yes,” Edmund said, and he was surprised by how fervently he meant it. “If it meant I could still see my friends, and practice my swordsmanship, yes, I would. I’d even live forever on one of these sailing ships and see the world. I don’t abandon you by choice. If you have a problem, take it up with your realm’s magic.”

He had turned back to the sunrise, annoyed with himself for turning a peaceful moment into a fight. There was silence for a beat or two, and then, out of nowhere, Y/N started to laugh. She was clearly trying to keep it in, but a laugh like that is genuine, and it spilled out of her like a cascade of gold coins.

“Of all the kings I’ve met,” she said with a grin, “You’re the strangest, Edmund Pevensie.”

“Of all the pirates I’ve met, you’re the most insane,” Edmund replied, not sure whether he should be pleased or upset.

“I’ve met many pirates,” Y/N had commented, “That’s a compliment.”

“Take it however you want,” he had shot back, but when she’d tilted her head to look over at him, still smiling broadly, he’d been unable to stop his lips from twitching upwards as well.

They’d passed the rest of that moment in silence. It hadn’t been awkward, far from it, and when the sounds of daily activity had started to rise up from the hold Edmund had found himself oddly annoyed that the rest of the ship’s crew had dared to interfere. Y/N had slipped away in a moment, and Edmund had left not long after. The deck, although by then warmed by the early sun, felt cold without her.

That morning had lingered long on Edmund’s mind even after the sun had fully risen and set that night, so much so that he found himself creeping up to the deck at daybreak the next day, and the next. Some mornings she was there, some not. Edmund can’t ever make up his mind if she’s fine with spending these quiet moments with him or if she wishes he’d let her have her mornings in peace, but she’s never said anything to dissuade him from coming, so he keeps showing up. She’s never said anything to keep him, either, but that’s beside the point.

He tries to understand her, of course, tries to peer through those rare chinks in the armor, but it’s as rare as a miracle around here. Midway through a sparring bout, trading blows of steel through an impromptu fencing match on the deck, Edmund searches for dropped guards or rare moments of opportunity, but he finds just about as much luck in the bout as out on those open mornings. Y/N easily matches him in swordsmanship, and the results are always quite close. It’s addicting, in a way, those narrow wins, those slight defeats. He’s always wanting another round, another test. Sometimes, she gives it to him, and sometimes she just laughs in his face and tells him that he won’t always get what he wants. Then he has to watch her boldly stride away, already counting down the minutes until he gets another chance to see her in the ring.

Edmund finds himself especially grateful for her skill with the sword when the Dawn Treader docks in a small coastal town only to find themselves set upon by raiders. They were only out on a supply run, but as the sun sinks below the hills, ranks of dark-clad warriors appear out of nowhere, blocking them off and demanding gold or blood. Caspian orders them back to the ship, and it’s a fight to get out. Edmund has to use every iota of his strength with the blade to fight off the raiders; they’re decently skilled, but there are so many of them that the numbers threaten to crush them. 

At one point, he finds himself pinned between a rocky outcropping and three of the thieves. He’s certain he’s done for until someone hurls themselves at the raiders from behind, distracting them enough for Edmund to surge forward and turn the tide. He looks to his rescuer to thank them, only to find Y/N there by his side. She flashes him a quick grin, then looks behind him and shouts a warning. Edmund only just manages to whip around in time to fend off the blow coming towards him from behind. More raiders are coming their way, but Y/N has his back, and together they join the crew in sprinting for the ship. They only just manage to cast off before the raiders catch up, although several crew members sustain injuries in the process, and the ship is a bit worse for wear by the time they’re pulling out of the harbor and into safer waters.

Surprisingly enough, Edmund is actually in decent shape other than a few odd scratches, but that’s not the case for everyone. The sailors with the worst injuries are taken below decks to recover, and Edmund realizes with a sickening lurch to his stomach that Y/N is among their numbers. As soon as he can assure a panicked Lucy that he’s quite alright, Edmund hastens down to search through the wounded sailors for the one he most wants to see.

Y/N is tucked away in a quieter part of the ship’s makeshift infirmary, hidden by a curtain to most. Edmund pulls it away and sucks in a breath at the sight of her. The ship’s medic has done a good job patching her up, but there appear to be several deep cuts lacing her arms and chest.

“Y/N, you’re–”

He doesn’t make it far before Y/N cuts him off, one eyebrow raised. “Sliced to ribbons? I’m aware.”

An awful feeling of guilt swirls through him. “This is from that skirmish by the rocks, isn’t it? You saved my life, but they were too many for you too, weren’t they?”

Y/N shakes her head quickly. “No one’s too much for me, Edmund. I’m much too good for that.”

She tries for a laugh, but Edmund just feels horrible. “You should have left me there by the rocks. It wasn’t worth it to have you hurt like this.”

Y/N huffs out a sigh. “I don’t do it for no reason, you know. I’m not that terrible a person as to have left you there.”

Edmund feels the weight of her frustration again, though he can’t tell why. “I’ll tell Caspian that this loyalty of yours is no good when it gets you hurt. You don’t have to put your life on the line just because I got backed into a corner.”

“Edmund!” Y/N snaps. “I didn’t do it for Caspian.”

He stares at her dumbly. Slowly, carefully, she stands up, wobbling slightly on unsteady legs. Edmund’s hand darts out to wrap around her waist, steadying her. They’re closer than they’ve ever been below decks. Proximity has only ever been allowed under the private eye of the rising sun, but in the dull light of the ship’s lamps, Edmund somehow feels more obvious than he ever has been.

“Not for Caspian,” she repeats quietly, “I did it for you. Because I couldn’t stand to see you killed.”

Edmund is about to stammer out something stupid like really– for me– when Y/N leans forward and kisses him. It’s funny, Edmund had assumed that nothing he did could convince bold, fearless Y/N to like him as he did her. It had not occurred to him before now that she may have felt for him just as much, maybe even the whole time, maybe since the start. It isn’t until he kisses her back that he realizes just how badly he had hoped she had.

“Y/N,” he says, quietly, urgently, but she interrupts him.

“I know,” she tells him, and Edmund gets the feeling that she knows all of it. Quick-witted, he’s always thought of her. Quick to decide how she felt about him. Quick to figure out that it would be more fun to play with him and see how long it took Edmund to get over himself and tell her that he loved her. Smart enough to realize Edmund wasn’t going to get anywhere without a little help.

Anything he could tell her, Y/N has already figured out. So, Edmund decides to cut to the chase and kisses her again. Judging by her satisfied smile, this was the move she’d been wanting him to make. As it turns out, Edmund had quite wanted it too.

narnia tag list: @remussbitch, @faerieroyal, @goldfish4403

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent

[fandomfaeryreads]

This was adorable!

[laur-kinsellaodonnell]

Hey friend, just thinking of you wanted to say hi and that I hope you’re doing well!!

Aww hiya!! You're so sweet 🥹💗 I've been having an absolutely rotten go of it lately and getting this message from you really helped lift my spirits, so thank you.

How are you doing? Anything exciting? Tell me something good please lol

[fandomfaeryreads]

I am so sorry you’re having a rough time, I hope things look up soon! Here, I’m just waiting for summer, it really wants to be fashionably late this year, and I’m working on writing, so that’s nice after such a long struggle with writer’s block, but other than that things are good here. Hopefully the summer will bring new, exciting, and uplifting things for you, you deserve it!

[djobriens]

imagine, the hangover ... but ...

nance and jon are getting married! and it's jon's weekend to have his bucks party with the older crowd (nancy's was last weekend - they found it only fair to take turns)

and vegas, here we come!

but, shit, it's the next day and ... wait, where the fuck is jonathan??? holy shit we lost byers.

is that ... oh my god, half of eddie's head is shaved! and robin ... is that a shoulder tattoo?? hold on, no, it's a shoulder AND back tattoo

at least steve is ... is that a wedding ring steve? and why do you have a matching one to his ........

we have to find jonathan - nancy is going to lose her mind

[fandomfaeryreads]

Okay but, could you please write this?

[djobriens]

we'll see how i go 😩 just a random thought i had waiting for my shift to start

[fandomfaeryreads]

And just IMAGINE ROBIN’S REACTION TO THE MATCHING RINGS! The soft smile and teasing “well, dingus, at least you two finally did something about it”

Steve runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Jesus, Robin, she only married me because she was drunk, it’s not real.”

She smirked at her best friend. “I’ve been watching you two pine over each other for months. Trust me, it’s real.” Her eyes shifted over his shoulder as her lips turned up in her triumphant smirk. “But if you don’t trust me, you can ask her.”

This is such a great idea, I can just picture the insanity!!! Thanks for sharing it!