lcvenderblues

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— j’s 100 fave films

thank you for the tag @strwrs! I hadn’t seen this before - it was so cool to see your faves (we had so many overlapping!)

(and here is mine! 🎥💖)

(no pressure tags 🏷️ 💖: @moonlight-prose, @reaperofmen, @zoe-creates, @kedsandtubesocks, @whataenginerd, @friskynotebook, @leidoscope, @rescuethewretched, @tarabyte3, @spaceydragons, and you, if you see this!)

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been seeing ppl do these and i wanted to do one too 🫶

no tags <3

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Hit by the sudden urge to completely rewrite the fanfiction I never finished in 2020 as a way to grasp at something certain in uncertain times

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nothing scarier than being a fan of a fic and then becoming mutuals with the author. like hi shakespeare. big fan of your fake dating au

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hopping on the bandwagon with this one because my taste is all over the place

[lcvenderblues]

His visage, framed by dark, thick waves of hair, was a bit proud of countenance:  something that others, not knowing him, might mistake for arrogance. Confident in his skills and in his mission, he sometimes displayed an impatience that arose only from a desire to fulfill the task at hand. (Star Wars: The Force Awakens Novelization by Alan Dean Foster) (insp.)

[lcvenderblues]

...

This feels like a funny thing to say, but it’s such a sweet rendition of an (initially) failed proposal lol. And it feels so so true to Santi to throw himself into things for the sake of feeling like he has  control. The post-rejection awkwardness was so realistic and tangible, but so was the way he slowly comes around and feels reassured of the fact that “not right now” definitely didn’t mean “never”, enough to start being silly and joking around with it.

And I am a sucker for “mundane” or unconventional proposals. Pulling out the ring at Walmart, or even reaching for it during sex, or the way that it actually ended up happening for real in Will's living room, was just both hilarious and sweet. I loved this sm <3

say yes?

santiago garcia x reader

summary: the first time he asks, you say no. the next few times become a game to him.

warnings: refused proposal, angst (with a good ending), mentions of the operation from the movie, tom is mentioned like once or twice (yes this counts as a warning), brief mentions of ptsd and unhealthy ways to cope with it (drinking), a tiny smut scene

tags: gn!reader, fluff, santi being silly, the first few scenes are really angsty but I promise it mainly gets silly and cute after that!!

please mind that for artistic reasons (lmao), the first few scenes are not following a linear chronology (I wanted to point that out in case it gets confusing)

word count: 3k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

The tip of your fingers drum nervously against the counter; the sound is awful mixed with the aggressive rumbling of the coffee machine. Like every other morning, you watch the birds outside the kitchen window, pecking through the bowl of mixed seeds, and like every other morning, you feel Santiago’s hand gently resting over your lower stomach as the prickle of his stubble scratches your cheek when he kisses it.

You hear him pull the stool to sit at the bar table, like every other morning, and like every other morning, you give him the coffee you just made – though hesitantly, this time – before you make yourself one.

And just like every other morning, he checks on his phone as he waits for his coffee to cool down, the smoke curling up in the air, swirls visible through the ray of sunshine piercing through the kitchen.

You gaze at him, at the way he scrolls through the news page on his phone, your stomach churning at the fact you’re both trying so hard to act like yesterday was an evening like every other one and like this morning is the natural follow up of a perfectly normal situation.

Then, all you can hear is the coffee machine, your coffee pouring and the birds outside, chirping.

“Are we gonna act like nothing happened?” 

He looks up from his phone, to you. 

“Isn’t that what you want?” he quirks an eyebrow at you, his morning voice deep and raspy.

You huff out a small breath through your nose. “No” the coffee machine stops, but you remain facing Santiago. “I want things to be clear between us.”

He puts his phone down onto the counter, with a small chuckle as both of his hands rub the sleep off of his face. “You made things clear sweetheart.”

—

Your body was curled at the edge of your side, your arm hanging off the bed, fingers brushing the cool floor. Sleep had been hard to find, for the both of you; you felt Santiago move behind you across the bed, turning to face the opposite direction. 

How could either of you possibly sleep tonight?

Your heart ached inside your chest, your mind full and feeling like your head was about to explode, so you couldn’t even imagine how he must feel.

“Santi,” your voice was weak, quieter than you had anticipated. 

He hummed softly in response, just enough to let you know he was listening. 

You waited an instant. It all burned your tongue, everything you could possibly say to him.

“I love you” you reminded him, as if innocently trying to press a bandaid over the wide crack you had managed to create earlier. It felt stupid. You knew this wouldn’t fix the broken pieces.

Maybe it was even making things worse.

Santiago could hear the beating of his own heart reverberating through his ears; for you, the room was dead silent, and it remained like this for what seemed to be an eternity, during which you considered leaving the bedroom to take a breath outside, before he finally said, 

“I know.”

—

The ride back home had been oppressively quiet. Santiago's playlist, though playing at the lowest volume, had somehow managed to mingle with the shitload of thoughts running through your mind, and the rhythmic drumming of his fingers against the steering wheel felt like a desperate attempt to ease the sickening tension between the both of you and to make it feel like it all wasn’t awfully awkward.

Back at your shared home, you watched as he slid his jacket over the coat rack like he was on autopilot before you followed, hanging yours beside his. 

You glanced at him as he mindlessly tossed his cap over the couch. It felt like the right moment to address the elephant in the room – though you weren't truly sure there was a right moment to talk about this.

“Santi I–” you started, words dying in your throat, unsure where you were even going. He turned and sat against the back of the couch, knowing where the conversation was headed, his hands shoving into his pockets. “It’s alright,” he said quietly, his voice low, resigned. “You don’t have to explain anything. I get it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to marry you.” you affirmed. His gaze hardened, his lips pressing into a tight line as he looked at you. Out of all the things you could say, he hadn’t anticipated this. 

You could distinctly see the hurt and confusion in his flickering eyes. “Then what is this? Because that’s sure as hell what it felt like tonight.” 

You hated this. Hated to see him ache, knowing it was all your fault. Hated to hear the self defensive sarcasm in his voice – hated to see his conflicted furrowed brow. “It's just– not the right time.” you explained. You took a breath, stepping towards him, getting closer, but not too much. You could already see the frustration building up inside him, you didn’t want him to feel cornered.

“You don't know what you're doing. You're still processing what happened in South America” 

It had only been a month; he was still having nightmares, was still dissociating at random times, was still pouring himself a glass at random times of the day, more often than he should.

You knew you were right. You wondered if he thought you were. 

He stared at you, his expression unreadable, and you talked again when you started to see the defensiveness, the way his mouth gaped slightly as he searched for his words.

“You’re not doing this for us. You’re doing this for you, because you’re scared. You’re scared of things slipping away from you, so you jump head first into things to feel like you have control over your life. That’s what this proposal felt like” 

He rubbed the stubble of his chin, nodding, not like he understood or agreed, like he acknowledged what you were saying. His hand buried in his jeans pocket again. "You think this is just because of what happened? I’ve been sure about this for a long time. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t." his eyes darkened, his jaw working as he processed the conversation. “You think I don’t mean it.” he said quietly, more of a statement than a question.

“I'm not sure,” you pinched your lips, stepping towards him, desperate to make him understand. “I mean, I know you mean it. I know. But Santi… Ever since you came back–” you shook your head. His jaw tightened, the crease of his brows becoming more visible. “You’re trying to hold on to something, to control something, because so much of what happened out there was out of your hands. That proposal– it felt like a reaction to everything, like you’re trying to ground yourself, to finally have control over something in your life.”

He shook his head, a small sigh leaving his mouth. “It wasn’t. I just didn’t want to waste any more time.” he nodded, a pleading look over his face. Your heart clenched inside your chest. “I know it may seem rushed after what happened, with Tom and everything, but–” he stopped when he saw you wince. “I want to make the most of my life. With you”

The confession should make you feel all giddy, just like the proposal was supposed to. It just makes your heart tighten inside your chest.

“So, I’m right.” you raised your eyebrows at the way he just proved your point. “You’re doing this because of the operation.” 

You sighed with a shake of your head, your hand trying to rub away the ache lodged inside your skull. “So no, I don’t want to marry you out of emergency. Ask me again when we have it all sorted out, and I’ll say yes”

He nodded, biting his tongue. He knew he didn't have room to talk back on this, because he knew you were probably right.

“Jesus, Santi” you sighed, shaking your head once again, before you disappeared through the hallway. 

—

“I don’t want you to feel like shit over this,” you say, turning away to pick up your coffee. His lips tighten into a sheepish smile before he brings his own cup to his mouth. 

A soft frown grows over his face as he points a finger at you, his mouth still full. “So, next time,” he starts, having barely finished swallowing his sip. “Bigger ring, better speech, delivery?” he asks teasingly, testing the waters. 

You huff out a small, genuine laugh, relieved he’s taking it lightly, and an easy smile grows over his face when he sees yours.

You lean in against the counter, onto your forearms, humming in reflection. 

“Ring is perfect. Speech, delivery… I’d say save your talent in smoothness for our vows” you grin.

“Okay,” he chuckles, “So we're really getting married at some point” he grins, sliding his hand into yours.

“At some point,” you shrug playfully, gently squeezing his hand. “It just has to be the right time” you nod, more serious now.

“The right time…” he hums pensively, nodding slowly.

—

It starts rather innocently, at first, before it becomes a silly little game to him. 

The tension regarding the proposal has gradually eased between the both of you, and you have managed to find your regular dynamic again, not needing to sleep on opposite edges of your shared bed anymore.

It happens for the first time two weeks after the proposal, while you are getting ready to go to work; you’re almost done brushing your teeth, Santiago standing by your side doing the same, when he asks, out of the blue, “Would this be the right time?”

You frown at his reflection in the mirror, unsure what he means, leaning above the sink to spit out your foaming toothpaste. 

“What?” you ask, turning to him – his toothbrush is hanging from his mouth, his hand holding an open ring box. You freeze, once again, the same way you did the first time. 

“Marry me?” he asks, the toothbrush hanging out of his mouth moving as he speaks, his toothpaste-full mouth making the question almost unintelligible. You would think he’s being serious if he didn’t go back to brushing his teeth with his free hand as soon as he asked the question, and if he didn’t immediately follow into breaking into a laugh, rushing to empty his mouth full of toothpaste in the sink. 

“Very funny,” you sigh, your heart still thumping inside your chest as you watch him rinse his mouth.

“Oh you should have seen your face, babe” he chuckles facing you again, a playful grin plastered over his face. 

“Too bad you will never know my answer to the question,” you tease. He huffs out a laugh, wiping away the bit of dry toothpaste in the corner of your mouth before he kisses you. 

The next time it happens is more spontaneous, less staged on his part and more subtle – though still somewhat gently pushy. 

You’re trying to assemble a shelf, reading over and over again the instruction manual that might as well be written in another language; Santiago’s sighing as he checks every side and angle of the half built piece of furniture, trying to figure out where it went wrong, when he confidently affirms, “If we can get through this, I think we can go through marriage.”

And from there, it goes on, and on. 

It's little jokes about it thrown randomly through the weeks, making you playfully hit his chest with the back of your hand.

It's him getting on one knee, looking up at you with soft eyes, before he eventually just ends up tying his shoe.

It's him opening the ring box at the most random situations.

It all gets so frequent you don’t even get surprised when he kneels to grab something from the shelf when you're out for groceries, then shifting to one knee and dramatically pulling the ring box out of his jacket to present it to you.

“Santi, c’mon, your knees!” you urge him up, offering your hand for help, giggling like a teenager as you look around making sure no one actually thinks he's serious. He laughs and gets up, putting the item he was originally grabbing in the cart. “Are you really carrying that ring everywhere with you?” you scold him, pulling on his arm as you cling to him.

He shrugs. “You never know when it might happen,” he grins playfully.

He's not, in the slightest, kidding. He even does it in the middle of sex once.

He's under you, his grip hot and firm over your hips as you roll against his lap, small gasps leaving your lips swollen from kissing; he pulls your upper body down to his, silencing your desperate moans by licking into your mouth as he fucks up into you, one hand pressed against your back, the other gripping your side. 

His hand comes to rest at your neck once he pulls away. “If this doesn’t make you wanna marry me, I don’t know what will” he breathes out, reaching to his bedside table to grab the small box resting there.

You grip his wrist. “Don’t do that to me. You know I’d say yes to anything right now” you whine, drawing a huffed laugh out of him. “You’re not playing fair”

He laughs into your neck, planting a kiss there.

Spring quickly fades into summer, so it gets more and more frequent for you and Santiago to spend your weekend evenings at the boys’; it is at Will’s place this time, so like each time you’re there, they play poker, and because Benny is a sore loser, he ends up hanging out with you by the firepit, further away from the group. 

“So, are you actually gonna say yes one day?” Benny asks, handing you your glass refill, pulling the empty chair by your side to sit down next to you.

You smile, amused as you take your glass from Benny’s hand. You know the subject is no secret to anyone, but it still manages to make your heart leap inside your chest each time someone mentions it.

“It would require him to actually ask” you say with a tilt of the head before you take a sip of your drink.

Benny hums thoughtfully. 

There’s a silence between you before you can hear a sudden commotion of laughs further away and Frankie’s familiar bragging sneer, breaking the prior focused mood of their poker table. You smile as you watch them, your attention drifting back to Benny when he nudges you with his bottle of beer. “You know, for as long as I’ve known Pope, he’s always had commitment issues.” he nods, a small scoff breaking through. “Could rarely keep a girlfriend long enough for us to see her twice. Hell, you should see how many girls he’s had casual sex with, it’s–” 

“Okay Benny, you don’t have to–” you scoff, holding a hand up to stop him.

“I know, I know, it’s not something you wanna hear” he laughs, shaking his head. 

“What I mean is if the Santiago Garcia I know is asking you to marry him, he means it.” he shrugs, taking a sip of his beer.

“I know,” you mutter casually, like he just said the most banal thing ever when in reality your stomach flutters at Benny’s words and you suddenly feel like a teenager with a crush. 

The night goes on and quiets down until eventually, everyone ends up leaving or going to bed; Will offered his sofa bed for you and Santiago to sleep on, and you both agreed to accept, admitting you were too tired to drive back home. 

“So how many games did you win?” you ask him, sliding underneath the thin cover to press yourself against him. 

He chuckles, extending his arm so you can slot close to him. “Only one” 

“You suck”

He grins at your teasing. “I’ll never be worse than Benny” 

You chuckle, pressing your lips against his stubbled cheek. His hand slides down your back, pulling you even closer against him before he slips it underneath your shirt, his thumb dragging back and forth against your bare skin. 

Your mouths meet when his other hand cups your face, his broad hands roaming onto your sides and back when you fully lie over him, the kiss deepening as his tongue slips into your mouth and you start full on making out; you would be fucked if anyone came by the living room to use the bathroom, but either of you could care less.

“Hm, I could ask you to marry me right now” he hums, barely pulling away from your lips; he’s still so close, so close that you can feel him smile. You chuckle, your hand burying into the short curls at the side of his head. “No, I mean it,” he affirms in a serious whisper, adjusting his position under you. “Look, I’m done joking. Marry me”

You back away, enough to be able to read his expression. 

Something in his eyes tells you he might be serious, this time. “Really?”

He nods. “Yes. Fuck, I don’t even have the ring right now.”

You grin softly, shifting to rest by his side again. “You’re good. You’re really good.” you prop yourself onto your elbow, your other hand resting against his chest. “Because you’ve done it so many times throughout literally months and I’m actually surprised now that you’re asking for real” he smiles at that, his hand resting over yours. 

“You know, I’m still waiting for my answer” he grins. 

You shrug playfully. “Eh, you don’t have any ring, so I don’t know–” you tease, stopping when he rolls over you and presses his mouth to yours. You kiss him back, your hands burying into his hair again. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

He smiles contentedly, his eyes softly roaming over your face.

“I meant it the first time I asked” he admits, pinching his lips into a small smile. You mirror it, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone.

“But I get why you said no. And you were right to. But it’s kinda crazy that it’s now happening in Will’s living room” he snorts up a laugh, and you burst out laughing, before you quiet yourself with the palm of your hand against your mouth.

“I know, right? But it could have been at Walmart, so”

He chokes up a laugh, burying his face against your chest. 

“Yeah, it could have been at Walmart.”

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

triple frontier taglist:

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mystinky-butt @anightshift @whatthefishh @alexxavicry 

@grxywindd @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @luxisluxurious @dowbastan 

@unear7hly @pigeonmama @mari-thesimp

& @missdictatorme :p

[lcvenderblues]

Do not write fanfiction. One second you're normal and the next you're downloading a calendar from 2004 and tearing your hair out over what specific date every event in your fic happens

[lcvenderblues]

generals quarters and the two bugs that keep weaseling their way in

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unfortunately the first step in my creative process is avoiding for 14 hours

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if you were a romanceable/ friendshippable character in a farming sim what gifts would you need to receive to boost your approval rating. asking because i just received two (2) cannolis, unprompted, and i could physically feel my serotonin increasing and i did gasp out loud

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doesnt my job understand i have a blooming fanfiction writing career to work on

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obi-wan wishes you a very happy valentine’s day!

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happy valentine’s day from assorted star wars hotties (+ BB-8)! have some corny valentine’s cards 💌

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J this was so lovely!!!

I was craving coziness and still a little in denial about the holidays being over so I thought I’d go back and visit your Dilfcember 2022 masterlist and this one spoke to me.

I adore your Alfred! He's so sweet and doting, despite the outward grouchy introvert he tends to come across as initially— but make a comment about being cold or your sore feet and before you can blink twice he’s off finding things to bundle you up with or offer a foot rub, like caretaking’s a second nature. I loved the quiet, intimate vibe, curled up on the couch together by the fireplace and watching the countdown on the TV, the little confession right before the clock strikes, the kiss at midnight.

And the comment about "not feeling like you have to entertain an old man" made me laugh haha. Little does he know!

This was precious! Thank you for sharing 🤍

It Had To Be You | Day 31 - New Years Eve

alfred pennyworth x f!reader

Rated T - 2k words

Prompt: countdown/new year’s eve/midnight kiss + hot chocolate

Tags: age difference, soft domestic holiday fluff, mutual pining, a massage, a confession, and a new years kiss

Sure, there’s a few places you could spend New Years Eve. But there’s only one person you want to spend it with.

It seemed like a good idea - you're only really rethinking it as you press the buttons on the elevator. The ornate, brass doors closing behind you, the snow still clinging to the shoulders of your puffy winter jacket.

The soft, familiar jazz as it takes you up to the top floor - your legs still cold as the doors open, as you step out into the foyer.

It's half-lit - almost casual, despite the luxurious decor. Certainly cozy.

Hesitating for a second, but you’re already here. Too late to turn back now, you’re certain he’s already aware of your presence. You shrug out of your coat, hanging it on the iron coat rack in the entryway. You’re crouching, unlacing your slush-stained boots when you hear him.

"Bruce? I thought you'd be out until-" Alfred's words halt, as he appears from the left wing. Dressed warmly in a woolen fishermans sweater, a book tucked under his arm as he adjusts his glasses.

"Hi." You smile, "Is it okay that I stopped by?"

You were there often enough, once or twice a week. One of Bruce's college friends, though your time had only overlapped for a year, and you had been graduating. But then came grad school, and you kept running into each other, and a friendship had formed.

His brow furrows, though not unkindly, "You are always welcome. I’m afraid that Bruce is still out, though. I'm not sure when he will return home."

But he's already turning, beckoning you into the den, and you're following at his heels.

"I know."

Your arms wrap around your torso -the Tower always seemed to be a little chilly. The dress you wore for New Years, something short and glittery, did not help - the tile seeming to soak right into your stockinged feet.

There's a fire going, and you're sighing as you step close to the hearth, "I came to see you."

Your appearence had surprised him a little, but he had hid it well. This though, had his brows raising, his lips parting as he glances your way - though you don't catch it.

"On New Years?" He asks, clearing his throat - taking the briefest second to soak you in, before he's noticing how you shiver, "Don't you have plans? Something with your friends?"

Wondering if you're just stopping by, if you'd be leaving - now that you know.

"I saw them already." Your cheeks are warmed by the heat of the fire, a prickle in your toes as you wiggle them, "I saw Bruce, too. A couple times."

Turning to smile at him, where he stands stiffly next to the tufted couch, "He made sure to tell me each time how you were staying in, tonight. How lonely you looked when he left, up in this Tower. I couldn't have that."

His look turns flat, a flicker of annoyance across his features, "I am far from lonely, I assure you."

But you wonder if that's true. You wonder a lot of things, like the looks Bruce had given you earlier as he told you - as if he had peered into your mind.

Figuring out your wishes. Your little crush.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to entertain an old man."

His words make you want to laugh, you teeth sinking into you lip to hold it back. Oh, how much you'd like to do just that.

Instead, you move to the other end of the couch, flopping down onto it. Smiling up at him, "I wanted to stop by, anyways. Thought it sounded nice."

It feels too close to a confession, so you deflect with a yawn, "Besides, it's freezing out there. My feet are killing me from all the walking."

This gets him - the little nudge to his nuturing side, giving him something to do.

"You stay there, then. Get comfortable, and I'll be right back."

———

He returns with things that you enjoy, carefully tucked away in his mind from years of observation. A mug of cocoa, a large, navy sherpa blanket from the hall closet, one of his cardigans. A pair of thick woolen socks.

It's like a second Christmas, shrugging into the sweater that smells like him. A moan of approval and relief as you tug on the socks, pulling them up to your shins. The blanket gets tucked around you, your fingers wrapping around the warm mug - as he eases into his seat at the other end of the couch.

Passing you the remote to flip through channels - and you notice how his book he was carrying around remains discarded on the side table. Politeness perhaps, but he’s read in front of you before.

Part of you hoping that it’s a sign your presence really is welcome.

Skipping over half-finished movies, reality television. Finally picking one of the local stations covering the downtown celebrations - the camera zooming in on the stage set up where they’re playing live music, interviewing famous guests in town for the evening.

It’s comfortable, an easy silence as you watch, the occasional laugh. A bit of time passing as you sip on your cocoa, curled into the couch. The bright crackle of the fire, where you can both feel the curls of heat from the couch. Before he’s remembering - his hand catching your attention as he pats his thigh.

For a wild second you think he’s meaning for you to sit on his lap, the thought one that was very welcome - just unexpected.

“You said your feet were killing you.” He explains, and your eyes widen in surprise, “It’s the least I can do, seeing as you walked here to see me.”

“Oh, I couldn’t-” You’re protesting, though it’s half-hearted at best.

“Come here.” He’s interrupting firmly, catching the edge of your toes beneath the blanket, your leg stretching out willingly.

You groan when his fingers press into the arch, the sound wanton and unashamed. It’s feels incredible - your other leg reaches out, resting your socked foot on the thick muscle of his thigh.

Working the muscles loose with skillful touches, aching careful not to tickle you. It sends your heart flipping in your chest, unable to help your peeks in his direction - watching his profile, the light from the television reflecting off his glasses.

It feels… comfortable.

Like this is any other night, one that’s happened a hundred times before, and would happen a hundred time after. An easy sort of silence and companionship.

The realization is something you wish you had time to examine a little more closely, if your eyelids weren’t slowly getting heavier, the cardigan a warm cloud around you.

“If you fall asleep, shall I wake you at midnight?” He asks, a teasing edge to his voice that has your eyes cracking open.

“I’m not sleeping.” You retort, though the lazy yawn that cuts through your words indicates otherwise, “You just feel so good.”

His ears pinken, a flush to his cheeks as he smiles - though you don’t catch it in the cozy dim of the room.

Watching the coverage idly, the packed groups of people gathered close to the line of barriers for the entertainers. People-watching was pretty entertaining - plenty of costumes, the camera slowly panning back and forth across the crowd.

“Have you ever done that?” You ask - breaking the silence - your gaze lingering where the camera stopped on an embracing couple, kissing shamelessly.

“Stood downtown for hours on end in the cold?” He asks, with a reproving huff of breath, “Christ, no.”

“No.” That has you smiling, your gaze flicking towards him, “Kissing someone on New Years Eve. Right at midnight.”

“Ah.” He’s silent, a quick glance your way. A small smile, “Yes. Though it was ages ago, as you can imagine.”

“It always looked so nice.” You sigh, as the camera pans away, “I’ve never done it. It’s never worked out quite right. I was hoping to this year, but…”

The words trail off, a beat of silence as he glances down at his gold watch - thinking carefully about what he wants to say.

“There might still be time. You could go back out.” His words come slowly, “Is there… someone you have in mind?”

A tick in his jaw, as he waits - as he continues to face forward. Watching the television with unseeing eyes.

“I do.” You admit with a sigh, as his fingers halt their massaging for just a second.

Eyes that flick his way, to gauge his reaction, “I worry that he would say no, though. That he wouldn’t want me.”

His head turns at that, his hand curling around your ankle, where his fingers has just been.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you.” He tells you - a firmness in his voice that makes you want to believe him.

Giving you the perfect opening.

Tugging your feet from his lap, his fingers lingering for the briefest second, before you’re pushing yourself up.

“What if I was right where I wanted to be?” You ask him, and there’s the slightest crease between his eyebrows as he watches you.

As your leg curls up, as you ease a cushion closer to him, your voice soft and low as you ask, “Would you tell me no, Alfred?”

He inhales a sharp breath, the slightest widening of his eyes as they drop to your mouth. His own lips pressing together, the pink peek of his tongue as he wets them.

The answer coming as a low, honest rasp.

“Never.”

But then he’s blinking - catching himself, “But surely, wouldn’t you-”

You inch closer, emboldened - the time ticking down on the television, the new year so close at hand. Interrupting his self-sabotage as your fingers touch his wrist, the bare bit of skin where his sweater pulls up.

“I want it to be you, this year. That’s why I came. It’s been you for a long time.”

A confession at the eleventh hour.

He’s still silent, and your heart is crashing into your guts. God - this was embarrassing, throwing yourself at him, the pressure had to be enormous. Maybe his answer was only a friendly pep-talk, and you had it all wrong, and-

You’re starting to pull back with a self-conscious laugh, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. You don’t have to-”

But he’s catching you then, hands that find your elbows. Tugging you until you’re straddling him, a little gasp in your throat as you find yourself as you had just daydreamed earlier that night - perched on his strong thighs.

Eyes locked on each others, low panting breaths at the countdown begins. His hands on your hips, fingers pressing into the hard, glittery sequins as your own curl into his soft sweater.

“10, 9, 8-”

Your eyes are dropping to his mouth, the curve of his lips, the salt-and-pepper of his neat beard.

“7-6-5-”

His eyes still on yours - a final check that you do want this - reading your tells in the way you cling to him, the eager heave of your chest.

“4-3-2-”

Your eyes close.

He leans.

“1.”

Alfred mouth is warm against yours, the press of his lips firm. You melt, your breath caught in your throat. A flip in your chest, and then a warmth blooming lower. Fingers curling in his sweater as your nose brushes against his, as you find yourself clinging to him.

A soft moan in your throat as his grip on you tightens, pulling you closer. Deepening the kiss with a brush of his tongue, your lips parting eagerly for him - the sounds of the celebrating fading out to nothing.

Your eyes half-lidded when you eventually pull back, tongue caught between your teeth as you grin.

Even better than you had thought - better than any of your daydreams.

“Happy New Years, Alfred.”

His lips are parted, murmuring his own, breathless, “Happy New Years, darling” back.

Before his hand is coming up to cup your jaw-

And he’s pulling you back in for another.

(no pressure tags - @andrewrussgarfield, @luxuryberzatto, @obiknights, @stargirlfics, @squidlywiddly87, @maskhoper, @madamepoelzig, @hiddlebatchedloki)

[lcvenderblues]

steven grant / marc spector / jake lockley

MASTERLIST • OSCAR ISAAC CHARACTERS • 11/29/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs four

moon knight one two three

𑣲 help me remember you I @brokebonewritings

You are given a second chance at life after dying. After waking up in the hospital, you find that Marc has no recollection of you or your relationship.

𑣲 make it worth it I @mysecretlittlelibrary

The idea of you going on a date makes your friend confess feelings you didn't know they had

𑣲 marc doesn’t like reader I @halfmoonshines

Marc doesn’t like reader, at all, and isn’t afraid to let her know it. Eventually, he starts warming up to her. One day she gets injured and Marc can’t help his worry

𑣲 the kiss scene I @nghtwngs

with a severe case of writer’s block, kiss scenes are hard to write, but steven is always happy to help.

𑣲 late night talking I @messrmoonyy

𑣲 the mediator and the instigator I @little-miss-dilf-lover

you and marc have been casually dating for a while now, though he finds it hard to admit his feelings. steven fronts to comfort you after a tiny argument, and he finds it hard to contain his own feelings towards you

𑣲 limo sex I @/little-miss-dilf-lover

𑣲 swimsuit shopping I @ivystoryweaver

You're absolutely dreading swimsuit shopping for your upcoming trip. The Moon boys bravely weigh in.

𑣲 i never knew I @/ivystoryweaver

You meet up with all 3 Moon Boys one fateful night

𑣲 gamer!reader I @melodygatesauthor

𑣲 fair play steven I @silvernight-m

You've got your hands on a new video game and been hyperfixating over it. Moonboys aren't taking it well at how they've been neglected.

𑣲 cocktails I @runa-falls

you finally gain enough courage to make a move on your best friend

𑣲 the d pic I @reallyrallyauthor

Your friend Steven accidentally sends you a dick pic, but it’s not exactly unsolicited.

𑣲 sneaky I @missdictatorme

Jake is your cabbie, and idk he ends up between your legs thanks to your cat

𑣲 ribbon I @st4rymoon

putting a ribbon on Steven’s bicep

𑣲 the best for him part 2 I @starryevermore

things have changed, and you must let him go. it’s for the best.

𑣲 the other sarcophagus I @/starryevermore

you can’t help yourself when you see the other sarcophagus

𑣲 do not chastise the dove I @/starryevermore

you were a princess who would rather be anything but a royal; he was the knight her father forced her to marry—a true match made in hell if there ever was one. but, as the wedding inches closer and closer, it seems that, perhaps, your father had finally done something right by you. 

𑣲 crush I @vi-sinner

Steven works up his courage to ask you, one of the museums tour guides and his crush, out on a date. Even if it’s so hard to get the words out 

𑣲 meet me at our spot I @astreamofcolors

𑣲 venus, planet of love I @peterthepark

art models are surprisingly hard to come by in london. maybe they just don’t want to work with you. maybe they’re intimidated. steven thinks you’re pretty and marc thinks it’s time to act on it. who knew steven grant would be up for a portrait?

𑣲 not saying 'i love you' back prank I @wysteria-clad

𑣲 two days too late I @harrysweasleys

after being stood up by steven on your date, he starts acting slightly odd. he’s always been a little quirky, but this seems like cause for concern. 

𑣲 illusion I @nathanbatemanfucker

𑣲 six stops I @lcvenderblues

It only takes six stops on the bus for Jake to become completely smitten with you (and then a seventh for him to notice).

𑣲 first times a charm I @babyboibucky

Steven’s about to lose his virginity to you.

[lcvenderblues]

ahh I was just considering starting yellowjackets the other night! you've influenced me now

D: hot chocolate made from powdered mix— we just got over a foot of snow in my part of the world over the weekend so it feels necessary. also I never want to go outside again O: taupe fleece sweatpants and a black fleece sweatshirt with thick socks H: in the throes of trying to 100% Lego Star Wars: The Skywalker Saga B: I have Unsinkable by Debbie Reynolds checked out from my library and on my nightstand (but I've been struggling to find a reading mood) F: funny it's you asking, Theo, bc I've been actually meaning to go and finish reading your Borrowing Privileges! I'm having an Obi-Wan moment and that au speaks to me for so many reasons. hellooo Dr. Kenobi 🥰 I'm also currently in the process of trying to re-animate the Moon Knight fic sequel that died in my google docs two years ago, while a million and one Obi-Wan ideas rattle around in my head. I should have put that man as my hyperfixation, actually. I need to yell about him

i just seen this on the clock app and wondered what yalls would be. reblog or comment to let me know!

new tag game: what is your DOH (Drink Outfit Hyperfixation) or DOB (Drink Outfit Book) of the day? i also accept DOHBF (Drink Outfit Hyperfixation Book Fanfic/Fanwork). the F can be something youre working on yourself or that youre reading/engaging with.

here's mine:

D : a coffee shop by my house makes an edgar allan poe latte, which is white chocolate with blackberry and oatmilk and it is so good i would allow someone to bury my heart under a floorboard or immure me in a wall to have another one

O : baggy carhartt t-shirt my beloved, and rainbow pj shorts from tomboyx

H : the yellowjackets tv series (no spoilers pls!)

B : Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs (part of my dissertation bibliography)

F : not a specific one, but my partner discovered that some people have written spicy reader x the grinch fic and i have ✨GOT✨ to see what this is all about. and its like multi-media too. like. jim carrey grinch, 1966 cartoon grinch, etc. 👀

no-pressure tags ☕️💌 : @ladyxskywalker @lady-of-imladris @vellichormybeloved @frstcorinthians @uncle-kenobi @fandom-blackhole @citrus-moonlight @lavenderursa @maryannsstrawberry @wyn-n-tonic @bisexualblckcanary @ellasinnombre @wegtable @karasong @saradika @stargirlfics @smashcut @wickedscribbles @castle-of-ruin @friskynotebook @misseyres @paris-roubaix @selene-themoon @cheesybadgers @maybege-main @drb10 @tarabyte3 @lcvenderblues @fluffyprettykitty @mando-abs @sigourneyweavrr @milfgreedo @alectricblue @imaswellkid @masterbasterd @spiralinguponmadness @thehandalorian @mcnobi @thespareoom @celestial-alignment @fenharel-enaste @goldenkenobi @thetorontokid @bi-wan @cheesyygarlicbread @casestudy-mw @queenmeriadoc @phillypumpkin @queen--kenobi @bunnywan and anyone else who wants to play bc i hit my limit of 50 tags but wanted to add more lololol