#(also if you think about it kind of the happily ever after version of ‘peace’ 😵‍💫)

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

The Mine/Starlight medley was a brilliant pairing because combined it tells the story of a guarded person who’s been hurt in the past putting her trust and faith in a compassionate, supportive and ambitious partner who steadfastly stands by her and counters her anxiety about the things she can’t control with a love for living in the present and unwaveringly encouraging her to embrace her dreams for the future 🙃

[gloromeien]

Hellooooo I hope your day is good? Have an ask!

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love! <3

Whoo, my first ask! And from the exceptional and lovely @zenaidamacrouras1, whose fic Monoclonius I'm re-reading right now and loving just as much as the first time. An all-time fave, really, with just the best, sexiest, nerdiest Bucky and the sweetest dad Steve. Check it out if you haven't!

But this of course is supposed to be about *my* fics, so let's get started.

Five Favorite Fics That I've Written:

History Repleating (Or the Proper Care and Feeding of One Steven Grant Rogers), Modern AU, Shrunkyclunks, kidfic

Summary: Captain America!Steve receives a letter from Dr. J.B. Barnes, Brooklyn Historical Society. Except not quite that J.B. Barnes. This leads to Steve and Bucky having a meet cute via Bucky's work as a history teacher. Smut, fluff, and a smidge of angst ensue.

Comments: This one is, IMHO, the best fic I've ever written. Which is not to say it's good, exactly--your mileage may vary--but I don't think I'm ever going to get to this place again. It was winter 2022. We were all just re-emerging from lockdown. I was in the process of caring for my sweet little corgi girl at the end of her life, and I just needed some joy, you know? Something fun to look forward to. I feel like I channeled a lot of those emotions, that grief, into the Steve in this fic. Though it's not a sad fic by any means! It's full of bad jokes and sarcasm and sweetness and found family and people just caring for each other beyond reason. Bucky here is a bright light that comes into Steve's life at just the right moment, that allows him to believe that he could have a real future with someone to love. I really needed to hear that right about then, and so, as Alexander Hamilton sings, I wrote my way out. For that reason and many more, this will always have a special place in my heart.

Last Exit to Brooklyn, Modern AU, Shrunkyclunks, SoulMark

Summary: When Steve Rogers emerged from the ice, he wound up not only in a whole new century, but also with a brand-new soul mark. Knowing that the person he was destined to be with might be just around the corner made it easier for him to settle into a future where happily ever after was a sure thing. Until the Romanian drummer of a 'popular in Europe' heavy metal band, and freight car of personal baggage, come crashing into his life...

Comments: This fic is a confluence of so many things I really, really, really love. Soul mark AUs, for one. I looooooooove those. But I only wanted to write one if I felt like I could bring something new to the table. Once I hit on this particular idea, I knew I had to write it. Also, Tommy Lee!Seb kept me up nights, friends. I loved his look in that so much. As a teen, I had a whole hair metal phase. And it was a fun way to pay a little tribute to Seb's Romanian heritage, so... anyway. I particularly adore some of my Romanian OCs in this--two of them being not so veiled versions of Nadja and Laszlo in What We Do in the Shadows, LOL. Feeling kind of weird about tooting my own horn here, being Canadian and all (Sorry. Sorry. Sorry?) But anyway, they were all really fun to write, even if I think the fic ended up being a little too long and more angsty than I expected. A good thing? A bad thing? You can decide for yourself. ;)

Cut Him Out in Little Stars, Medieval AU, kidfic, arranged marriage

Summary:

Two Houses, both alike in dignity In fair Venora, where we lay our scene

Three years after a brutal, bloody war that saw their formerly friendly queendoms at odds for the first time in history, Prince Steven Rogers of House Grant seeks to solidify the peace between Lehigh and Venora through an alliance--marriage with Prince James Barnes of House Buchanan, his childhood friend turned unexpected enemy. But after years as the Fist of Hydra and a long recovery from brainwashing and torture, Bucky isn't in a place to marry anyone, let alone someone he doesn't even remember. Stubborn to the core, afflicted by tragic losses, and still half in love with someone who might only be a memory, Steve and his family journey to Lynbrooke, the capital of Venora, to attempt to end the tension between their queendoms, and perhaps heal his wounded heart.

Comments: My least-viewed fic by a wide margin, but one that I really love. Playing with the big tropes can be so much fun, and arranged marriage is one of the biggest and messiest. I also rewatched Seb in Kings right before writing this, and it started as a crossover between the world of that series and the idea of arranged marriage. But eventually it took its own path. I have a total soft spot for the Bucky in this one. Probably the most broken I've ever written him. I shy away from Winter Soldier recovery fics--love reading them, will never write one myself--and this is the closest I'll probably get to that. One of the reasons it's close to my heart is because I feel like they really earn their happy ending in this one.

A Slaying in Scarlet, a LOTR Mystery

Summary: On the eve of Aragorn’s coronation, Legolas and Elrohir are charged with investigating a brutal murder at the Citadel.

Comments: My AO3 account is split into two eras. From about 2002-2010-ish, I was heavily involved in the LOTR fandom, specifically writing Legolas/Elrohir, but also a few other pairings, including some OOC pairings along the way. After that, I went off to be a romance writer for a little while (and yes, I'm going to shamelessly plug my Stoker & Bash mystery romance series, because I'm fucking proud of them.) Then watching FatWS knocked me for six, and here we are, all Stucky, all the time. All this to say that my early LOTR work, I am certain, is not good. I have not re-read anything in ages, nor will I ever, most likely. But it was in writing those fics that I found a bit of my voice, and they gave me courage as a writer, and so I couldn't leave them off this list completely. This one is a Sherlock Holmes type deal, because I am also obsessed with mysteries. Hopefully it stands up a little bit. Buyer beware.

A Place to Rest and Remember Yourself (In My Arms), Shrunkyclunks

Summary: It's 2015, and Steve is living in a post-publicly coming out world. His every move is scrutinized in the tabloids and on social media, he's still wrestling with life in the 21st century, and the paparazzi never give him any peace. Making friends who aren't co-workers is practically impossible, let along dating. His solution? Have a regular, no-strings 'arrangement' with one of Natasha's honeypots. Bucky is a former spy and adventurer who used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D., but left for *reasons*. Having just gotten his heart ripped to shreds by a traitorous ex, he finds the idea of a discreet, 'with benefits' arrangement with his teenage-years crush very, very appealing. But you know what they say about what happens the minute you stop looking for love...

Comments: I wanted to write something quick and fun and smutty as hell for Stucky Week 2023. Instead... *sighs* You'll note that this ended up being 18 freaking chapters long. Why am I like this? I wish I knew.

One of my fic-writing missions is to give Steve Rogers the ending he deserves. The MCU did not treat him or his PTSD right--this is well-established in both fandom and a ton of metas more insightful than anything I could ever write on the subject. But where I feel like I maybe can address this a little is in fic. My aim here was to just spoil Steve rotten. To give him the literal world back, in the form of a Bucky who has serious wanderlust. It was also so much fun to play with Doctor Strange and the whole Sanctum Sanctorum stuff, Layla and Marc, Darcy of course, Nat and Sam. The 'love shield' Steve throws up in front of the press was inspired by Harry Windsor's PR move from many moons ago. My favorite part, about this fic, about writing fics in general, is when love just kind of happens to two people who aren't really paying attention, and suddenly it's everything, and they have to conform their lives to this new gorgeous reality. Anyway that's what I'm going for in every fic I write.

This was more talking about myself than any Canadian should do in a month, let alone a day. I need to go lie down. I don't love tagging other authors in these things, but if @burberrycanary, @bluesimplicity73, @musette22, @leveragehunters, or @dontcallmebree haven't done this yet and feel like it, I would love to read your thoughts on your incredible fics. And you, readers, please don't miss any of their tremendous work. Take it from me, their amazing stories (and Zenaida's) keep many a monster at bay when the night is dark and full of terrors. Big love to everyone out there sharing their creative endeavors with the world! <3

[godsfavdarling]

Here's my acosf review. If you enjoy sjm and acotar pls don't read.

Also, this isn't much of a review. I just had to get this out of me.

The review is: this shit stinks just like everybody's arousal in this fucking book. Imagine being able to smell everybody's sex stink all the time. Disgusting.

1. The book should be half as long.

2. It reads like a fanfic and as if it was written by a man at the same time, which is strange, but congrats Sarah! You must be the first to ever achieve that.

3. Nesta is the only thing I liked.

4. Why was this sooooo long?

5. Sarah, please, I'm begging you: stop writing smut and focus on writing a good story.

summary:

In this final (for now) continuation about our favourite group of friends, we get to follow Nesta, Feyre's sister, who's been a million times more interesting from the beginning. Nesta is in her spiraling crazy hoe bitch era and spends some of Rhysand's money, which he doesn't like even though he's the fairy version of Jeff Bezos. Nesta is told she can't be a little hoe anymore and is locked away in one of Rhysand's houses "for her own good."

You see, when Tamlin locked Feyre away in his mansion for her own good, he was a bad, bad fairy. But locking Nesta up is totally okay because they just love her. Thank God she has Cassian around, her pilates instructor, who makes sure she eats well and exercises every day before she goes to this huge af library to put books away. There, she meets some girls who've been through it and try to find peace in their work and community. But Nesta thinks they should start working out.

At last, Nesta has some friends who also love smut. Good for them. Nesta has to find some horcruxes or something to stop some people, something, something cauldron. Anyway, she meets some bad guy and pisses herself <3

Also, Feyre is pregnant, and Rhys is a piece of shit, but I guess he is our favorite book boyfriend, and he can do no wrong.

But who cares about the plot? Most of this book is Cassian's huge veiny schlong and balls hitting Nesta's bare skin. This is what we're here for. Good for them, I guess? I didn't need to know all that, but hey! There's 800 pages! So they had to fill those (just like Cassian fills Nesta every day) since the plot is just kind of there.

Nesta is the best character in these stupid books, and everybody else sucks. Maybe except Az or Elena or whatever her name is. I don't care about Cassian. But thank God he's there to eat our girl out and pound his waaaaaay too big (don't you dare forget how big his fairy dick is) schlong into her beautiful, dripping wet pussy.

At the end, three women who have been doing pilates classes for a few months win some Hunger Games against a bunch of men who have been preparing for this their entire lives. Some evil bitch gets killed in a second, and everybody lives happily ever after.

I am so tired.

[avelera]

So "Doctor Faustus" already being out by the time Dream came by in 1589, is...uh, possibly a bit fudged for the sake of the story in Sandman, but I'm thinking about Hob canonically calling bisexual legend Kit Marlowe a great playwright, and the fact that Doctor Faustus is literally about a handsome demon seducing a more or less normal guy into selling his soul in exchange for an extraordinary life, including temporary immortality during the agreed 24-year span (including a scene where Faustus survives a murder attempt and holds his own severed head in a scene that I'm sure made Hob fuckin' blanche wondering if his secret had gotten out).

And I'm also thinking about how there's a strong running theme in "Faustus" of Mephistophilis steering Faust away from getting married. There is no Marguerite (Faust's wife in other versions) in Marlowe's version of the story which is really interesting. Especially because there's a rather strong whiff of jealousy (especially with Arthur Darvill's performance) around Mephistophilis urging Faust away from marriage, saying he'll bring him fine courtesans, or even (eventually) Helen of Troy instead, but definitely don't get married.

And I'm also thinking about my (and others') emerging fanon that Hob had his own written-or-unwritten fanfic of Faust x Mephistophilis that was heavily based on his own fantasies around his dark and mysterious stranger who gave him immortality. ("This could be us, but you keep fuckin' leaving after 5 minutes...") and a thought occurred to me.

So it's really weird that Hob just happens to get married within a few years, at most, of his 1589 meeting with Dream.

Now, my main assumption around this, Watsonian/in-universe, is that Hob wanted to demonstrate success to his stranger. So within a few years of the 1589 meeting, he looked at the date and went, "Oh shit, if I really wanted to show off I should get married and have an heir on the way, that's the true mark of success in my era!" (Which, of course, Dream is spectacularly unimpressed by and/or projecting his own miseries onto Hob's inevitable despair once they die.)

But now I'm thinking about "Doctor Faustus" and also kind of wondering... timeline fudging aside where he could have conceivably seen the play (or some early version of it while Marlowe was writing it) and if that could lend to a slightly alternative reading of why Hob was in a rush to get married before his meeting with his stranger?

Either:

My tall dark and possibly-not-the-Devil-then-again- the Devil-could-just-LIE stranger is coming. Faustus in "Doctor Faustus" passed up on a chance to possibly have his soul saved by not being married. So it might be a good idea to be married just in case, y'know, for the sake of my soul and so I'm not tempted by being single.

(The more Dreamling-shippy one) My tall dark and handsome stranger can't possibly be interested in me. In fact, it's kind of pining and pathetic to still be nominally single when he comes by, especially after 200 years. Talk about desperate. Maybe it's better if I'm married, that way I don't look desperate and it's not like he'd ever be interested, right? But if he does seem annoyed that I'm married, I will have definitely learned something.

Only for Dream to peace out of there almost immediately upon meeting happily-married-Hob.

Now, do I think canonically that Hob was sort of testing the waters by getting married? Not especially cuz it's an ass-backwards way to go about it, if it was a consideration at all, I'd see it as more hedging to the tune of not looking desperate, rather than trying to make Dream jealous or anything.

But I would bet (or at least put in a fanfic) that Hob added the fact that Dream did not seem especially enthused about his marriage into his little mental list of "Maybe? But surely not. But maybe?" as it emerged around, say, 1789 along with all the other later evidence of possible interest.

[asamitakamybeloved]

I think Asa might be my favorite CSM character now.

I hope her and Denji wind up together. Or at least eventually are upfront to each other about their feelings.

That said... idk how I'm here wishing for a happy ending considering how part 1 ended lol

Anon, I'm terribly sorry I'm so late to respond to this. I wanted to put some thought into it before replying. You are the very first ask I've ever gotten!!!

They both fill me with sooo much emotion. Denji, who's sweet and corny and thoughtful, and Asa, who's sensitive and lonely and full of dread... they complement each other so well. Even if they don't end up together, I absolutely love their character interactions and the potential they have to fulfill each other's needs.

If it's any consolation, and I certainly hope it is, I have a lot of confidence in Fujimoto's commitment to True Love (in all senses: romantic, familial, platonic). Before he was an action/shounen writer, Fujimoto wrote romances. You see vestiges of this in one of his latest one-shots, Goodbye Eri, but it really comes out in full force in his earlier works like Shikaku and Woke Up as a Girl Disease. Those works not only featured love as a central theme, but also ended with the two leads mutually expressing their love and ending up with strange happily-ever-afters in the midst of the classic Fujimoto insanity that forms the premises of those stories.

[Fire Punch spoiler ahead] Even Fire Punch, for all its misery, ended with the two leads reuniting. The love between those characters is complicated, with the protagonist's affection for the love interest initially being a bastardized version of his grief and obsession with his sister, only later becoming a real passion for the woman that she developed into over the course of chastely living with him. Their moment as a couple is short-lived, but they eventually find each other again long after they had both forgotten one another. However, despite all they had forgotten about their pasts, the girl remembers the love that she had, even if she couldn't remember who it was for or why. The protagonist gets to forget the hardships and sorrow that drove him to madness and finally gets to quite literally rest in peace in the presence of someone who loves him unconditionally.

This is all to say, I think it's worth being patient and optimistic for the fate of these two. Fujimoto is extremely thoughtful and deliberate when it comes to writing emotional and heartfelt stories, and he himself admitted that Part 2 would take on a different tone from Part 1. I think all signs point to Denji and Asa eventually finding the person behind the devil and achieving some kind of deep, unassailable connection. I'm hoping for a romance angle, but honestly Fujimoto has never disappointed me with his plot twists and nuanced depictions of relationships.

tl;dr: Fujimoto has written happy endings and romances that withstood the wild curveballs he's thrown at them in the past, so I think a happily ever after between Denji and Asa is still within the realm of possibility. <3

[frannyzooey]

"Something doesn't have to look a certain way to be happy" non here! I’m so glad you understood what I meant. I’m kind of obsessed in part because I think I have a weird perspective. I’ve had just two relationships in my life, and both were great guys - just one turned out to not be for me. Hubs and I have been together over 15 years and met when I was a college freshmen. There was a slight age gap (just 6 years but felt larger at 18) and we have remained happy and committed. I think we’re the weird ones 😆

Would you ever consider writing a “happily ever after” type one shot? Totally understand if that’s the most cringe awful monstrosity you could ever imagine. I kinda see it either being sweet or that 😂 I sort of feel bad asking because it could come across as such the antithesis to the intent and so disingenuous, but I know it’s a beloved fic and an AU could be fun if nothing else. By no means am I implying your ending wasn’t perfect — it was — I’m just curious and have also had some wine.

You aren't weird at all! That's exactly what happened with my husband and I at the exact same ages, and we are still going very strong ❤

Don't ever feel bad asking! I have played around with a number of things for them - in my drafts, I have: their first reunion night in England, a 🍑 drabble, a drabble about their time apart and how Ezra seeks solace in men - and I could see someday down the line adding one that gives a little more closure than the ending did? I don't know if I could ever write a truly syrupy sweet ending for them since I can't reconcile that with their paths in life in my head, but if I DID, it would look like a version of this:

Birdie comes back to NYC, she needs a place to stay so Ezra invites her to live there, Cee has long since made her peace with it since she has a new found sense of independence in the city and Ezra is beyond happy to have a little Birdie in his house every day.

Him, working in his work room and her, writing in the front room, and them, cooking dinner together every night.

Him, running his errands and her, coming back from the library and them, curled up on the couch together before they go to bed.

Him, looking over at her every so often with a small smile because she's really here, and her, looking over at him every so often because she's really here, and them, looking at each other in the dark bedroom as their bodies entwine.

Them, going to movies and parking in the back of the parking lot just so they can take in the late show and then make out in the car afterwards.

Them, merging their friend groups and finding new things to do together and them, delighting in the openness of their relationship. The affection they can show in public and at home, freely.

"I'm just curious and have also had some wine" is how I have made half my friends on here, so PLEASE, never feel bad asking me anything!

[pankataratos-ficdump]

behind the scenes [respawn garbage]

You are ROSE LALONDE. The trouble, of course, is always figuring out which Rose Lalonde you must be at any given moment. Sometimes you are drunk Rose. Sometimes you are pedantic, petty, and unkind Rose; sometimes you are a young girl who just had to bury her own cat, and do not remember how old you were when you actually did it.

Most often, at least lately, you are simply a Rose. An expendable Rose. You are one of the thousands you have heard of that, who are just like you. All of them are nearly Rose, but are not quite. You are also not dead yet, which you aren't sure you can say for the real deal.

You deem that as being unfortunate for you, as today has been very, very shitty.

- You are still asking the wrong questions, Seer. Though, of course, I knew you would be. I must admit that I am a little disappointed in you nonetheless. -

You are ROSE LALONDE. The trouble, of course, is always figuring out which Rose Lalonde you must be at any given moment. Sometimes you are drunk Rose. Sometimes you are pedantic, petty, and unkind Rose; sometimes you are a young girl who just had to bury her own cat, and do not remember how old you were when you actually did it.

Most often, at least lately, you are simply a Rose. An expendable Rose. You are one of the thousands that you have heard of that are just like you. All of them are nearly Rose, but are not quite. You are also not dead yet, which you aren't sure you can say for the real deal.

You deem that as being unfortunate for you, as today has been very, very shitty.

This paradox of there being no true 'self' would not otherwise bother you much, you think. You spent a lot of time talking to Dave about it, and have had plenty of time to watch more and less fortunate yous zip off to their respective futures. Many of them were very, very bad. Yours is not.

With your excess of free time, though, you have found yourself wondering what happens when you and the timeline you ran away to are no longer needed by their 'real' counterparts: will you disappear in an instant, or will you die for years? Will you have even been at all, once that timeline is set into the garbage with all the other not-quite-suitable timelines?

Will it be your fault if you take anyone with you? Or were some of them unsatisfactory, too, and thus you'll all be aboard that particular literary Lusitania, comrades-in-arms all? 

Sometimes you think, sour and teenage, that the gods of your universe—

not this one, which was made for you, and which you unlike them do not rule because you do not want to

—might actually trying to be kind in how they have chosen to redact you and your unsatisfactory cousins. It is an eternal but peaceful and quiet death; an early retirement; each of you given unto a world made just for you, more or less. It is a place where you and the other failures live out your happily ever afters, safely removed from anyplace where you could cause trouble or have trouble caused unto you. Each and every one of you gets to live in a universe that only exists for you—so long as you remain a willing princess of whichever Everafter you were given, of course. It is an asylum for the chronologically inconvenient, and little more.

You are, in the most miserable way imaginable, only mostly wrong.

PESTERLOG HERE (DIDN'T FIT ON TUMBLR, SORRY) You deeply misunderstand your situation.

Scratch makes your mother look like an optimistic. Scratch makes your mother's impossibly overdressed performative parenthood seem like a genuine attempt. Scratch makes your mother look like she never knew you at all. You have been incensed since the minute you got here that he knows you so well as to apparently easily custom-craft a personal hell, just for you, and then how to make sure that you will be grateful for it regardless. You are not dead yet. You must not be the correct version of ROSE, with the capital letters, either. 

You have, over the time that has passed since you had (and hid) this conversation, come to believe that you actually do understand where you and your friends are. You are to play the part of a particularly heavyhandedly camp (but intriguingly genderbent) Dante. This unchanging snowglobe of a world is your very overliteral selva oscura. 

There are up sides to that. Namely, #1 and the only one you have ever really cared about: no one is dead—or at least, no one is dead that you know anything about, much less actually care for. Your friends have always been occasionally... terrible, though only in the way that makes your heart ache for them. You adore them. They suck. This is a universal truth of friendship.

Though you feel it is rather poetic that they are now your literal entire world, given your psychological tendencies towards codependency and deeply private hyperattachments, you are still trapped here with them just as much as they are trapped here with you. Con #1 (Pro #1, Subsection a): You just had to admit to yourself, at least in writing, that you have started to feel trapped with—or even by—the only people that you ever wanted to see. This has been a longstanding feeling, which you assumed was born of your lifetime of emotional avoidance and non-functional interpersonal relationships that weren't had exclusively over a keyboard until you were well past that particular developmental milestone. You had dismissed it as such.

Con #2: Some part of you listened to Scratch, and has begun to think that you actually are, or you would have thrown the laptop by now. You are tired of how much he always seems to know about you, and how long he seems to know it before you do.

Maybe you really would have dismissed him summarily, under any other circumstances, but then again he surely knew you wouldn't. Scratch is a liar among other, worse things, and he is also well beyond any place that should be able to reach you with more than a shoddy, laggy chat window. He also is not an idiot.

He's right, too. He usually is, but this time it stings: you should be able to find out. After hours of pretending not to have been bothered by it, you find an excuse to shut your eyes. The sun is warm. Its silhouette burns orange-yellow and green spots into the backs of your eyelids.

This is to say: you see the same thing as everyone else.

[see-arcane]

i read your meta from a few weeks earlier about how the harkers are hypocrites in their vows because if they were in each other's shoes they'd have made the same choice as them, and that stoker considers their love as too intense and too much for the proper social mores and morals in the narrative, but i wonder, if that's the case, wouldn't the narrative be punishing them for it with death or worse?

There's a lot of rambling I could go into about Stoker's Christian+ motives for the way the Harkers' story plays out, but I think once the vampires and the holy varnish flakes off, it all comes down to the guy's own wishful thinking. Really, what any writer of ribald, intense, ultimately ecstatic romance comes down to.

The narrative doesn't punish them (all the way) for their beyond-God-and-Devil love for each other because 1) Kind of a shitty lesson to say that Loving Too Much = Evil and 2) It's emotional escapism. It's been implied that Stoker wasn't a straight man and that a lot of Mina's mannerisms are a result of his using her as his own insert.

A character able to love and be loved past the point of good pious Christian allowance by a man who is at turns a gentle sweetheart and then a righteous and livid avenger for his beloved's sake! No, he will not destroy her! Not for all the urging of the angels, for humanity or sanity! No matter what his love is, be she imperfect or even monstrous, he will protect and join her..!

You see the appeal. And so it would be implied in the reverse (though of course that might skew Too Ellgeebeetee to have Jonathan as the imperiled maiden figure set to be collected by the Count), as Mina shows her likewise unexpectedly unwavering love and championing of Jonathan when he is not only a less-than-classic Man's Man even pre-Transylvania, but also struck ill, weak, and heavily traumatized. For all that they are good people, and Mina is heavily repressed in her Not Like Those Silly New Women! insistences, the Harkers are unconventional as hell.

Both in their manner with each other and with the strength of their love surpassing any edict of society and/or the threat of losing Heaven itself; a possibility shown so callously by the scarring of the Wafer on Mina's brow. If Jonathan wasn't already decided in his path, I think that visual probably made the choice irreversible. Because for all the others' talk of 'Lucy looked so much more at peace after we staked her heart and chopped her head off! She's surely with the angels!' our good friend Jonathan Harker has had more experience with the profane than the divine than all of them put together.

God is powerful against vampires. That doesn't automatically make Him just. And there's no guarantee that the pearly gates really will accept an ex-vampire's soul beyond 'Well, we assume that'll happen.'

If there's even the slightest chance that Mina is barred from the Son's protection, doomed to be either a monster on Earth or hellbound after it, Jonathan will ensure whatever her status is, he Will Be Beside Her. He is willing to damn himself to protect and join her.

We as the audience can't help but feel for that heartfelt dedication.

Just as we would feel pretty fucking pissed if Bramothy decided to inflict an extra dose of misery on the Harkers in a 'No no, loving each other too passionately is a sin! Let's torment/kill them about it for a good saintly ending!' So the narrative is a little stacked in their favor.

God is supposed to be love. Just as He made Abraham stop before striking the killing blow to Isaac--a test all along!--He is implied to have a hand in the heroes' quest and their ultimate harrowing climax. Helping them toward a happily ever after that they more than earned.

Or, the short version:

The Harkers: 'If this vampiric mess doesn't get fixed, I'm breaking up with humanity and getting vampired with my beloved. RIP to Christianity and humanity, but if they aren't here for my loved one, I want no part of them.'

God: 'Shit, that's fair. Let's go fix that vampire mess then. Harkers OTP4Ever'

At least I think that was the message Stoker was going for.

[slasherhaven]

slasher forehead kisses and/or braiding their hair!! (2nd one goes 4 slashers w long hair skendk)

The Slashers and Forehead Kisses (and Hair Braiding):

Thomas Hewitt 

Thomas’ heart melts whenever you take his face in your hands and press a kiss to his forehead.

You kiss his forehead and temples a lot since they’re parts of his face that his mask doesn’t cover.

He just thinks the gesture is so soft. Especially when he hasn’t started removing his mask around you, it’s like you’re at least showing affection to the parts of him that he does allow you to see. It just makes him smile.

If Luda May ever catches one of you giving the other a little forehead kiss, she will absolutely gush about it. As is her right to do so.

Tommy has pretty long hair, definitely a good length for a few little braids. And if you ask, he will definitely let you braid it. Sitting on the floor between your legs as you sit on the bed behind him, happily playing with his hair.

Michael Myers

You have managed to give Michael a forehead kiss or two but it’s quite the challenge. He’s much taller than you so you can’t really do it when he’s standing and you doubted he would allow the act of affection most of the time.

But once you started to feel more comfortable around him, you started to make moves in showing affection.

The first few times you kiss his forehead, the top of his head, or his masked face at all, it confuses Michael and you receive a curious stare. He slowly becomes used to it and stops reacting to it much at all.

Remember, if Michael isn’t stopping you, he probably doesn’t mind and might even like it.

His equivalent to a kiss on the forehead is a pat on the head. We take what we can get.

Obviously not all versions of Michael have long hair so this only applies to the ones that do.

While the idea of braiding Michael’s hair puts a smile on your face, you’re cautious about it because, well...it’s Michael.

He’s not great at caring for his hair in general so eventually he starts to let you detangle it for him, always watching you carefully. 

How you managed to tame Michael Myers enough to have him sit still while you got carried away and started braiding his hair it a miracle.

Jason Voorhees

Of course Jason loves forehead kisses! They’re so sweet, why wouldn’t he love them?

You gave him little forehead kisses to his mask from time to time before you were even dating, and they would always make him smile and blush.

They would just become a common little act of affection between the two of you.

Finally, when Jason removes the mask around you, he can begin properly returning the tender little kisses.

Brahms Heelshire 

Brahms loves forehead kisses, or kisses of any form.

You’ll often press a gentle kiss to the forehead of his mask or the top of his head when he was sitting down and you were just walking past him.

You can’t really kiss his forehead when he’s standing up since he’s just so tall.

He can’t help but smile when he rests his head against your shoulder and you kiss his forehead affectionately.

Before he takes the mask off around you, he gives you a few forehead kisses as well. Since he can’t actually kiss you, he’ll touch the lips of his mask to your forehead in his soft, tender moments.

Bo Sinclair

Bo isn’t normally the easiest person to give a forehead kiss too but you do so when he’s tired, when he’s falling asleep beside you.

He never really comments on it and if he did, he would probably scoff, complain, or tease. He’s just not used to gentleness and love like this, so he avoids addressing it as much as he can.

He also isn’t one to give you a sweet forehead kiss but he does it occasionally. 

Normally when you’ve argued or he’s been in a bad mood and snapped at you. Later on, probably while you’re already in bed, he’ll silently join you and press a kiss to your forehead, his version of an apology. He’ll know that you forgive him when you shift closer to his side before settling down again.

Vincent Sinclair 

Vincent loves forehead kisses, he just thinks they’re really sweet and tender.

When you press a kiss to his forehead, whether he’s wearing the mask or not, it just makes him feel loved and cared about.

He also likes to kiss your forehead from time to him, just leaning down and quickly pressing a kiss (or the mouth of his mask) to your forehead to express some affection.

Will often kiss the top of your head when you fall asleep against him, just smiling to himself.

Absolutely would let you braid his hair without complaint. He actually appreciates when you do it before he starts working with wax because it prevents him from getting wax in his hair. It’s just practical. 

But even if you’re just sitting around, enjoying a moment of peace, he will happily relax and let you play with and braid his hair.

Lester Sinclair 

Lester loves cute little acts of affections like forehead kisses, cheek kisses, or nose kisses. 

And you give them to each other all the time.

After a long day, the two of you will be sitting together, Lester’s head on your shoulder. And he just can’t help but smile when you press a little kiss to his forehead.

When you fall asleep and Lester is just overcome with love for you, he doesn’t want to wake you and so just leans over and presses a light kiss to your forehead.

Bubba Sawyer 

Bubba loves face kisses of any kind, he’s more likely to plant various kisses over your face than just one on your forehead.

You often kiss his forehead when he’s sad or having a bad day, it’s a sweet little gesture to remind him that you’re there for him. 

You don’t even think about it but it comforts him and makes him smile.

He’ll give you a little forehead kiss every now and again, giving you a joyful smile afterwards.

Billy Lenz

You kiss Billy’s forehead all the time and he loves it.

He loves any sort of affection like that. When you kiss his forehead, his cheek, the top of his head, when you hold him and play with his hair, letting him rest his head against your chest.

He always smiles and cuddles closer when you’re holding him, his head on your chest, and you lean down to press a kiss to his forehead.

He kisses your forehead when you’re asleep. If he wakes up in the middle of the night, he’ll kiss your forehead before settling back down. If he’s joining you in bed later, he will crawl into bed with you, kissing your forehead before laying down and falling asleep.

Asa Emory (The Collector)

While Asa isn’t one for ‘cute’ or ‘gentle’ acts of affection, he does actually give his fair share of forehead kisses, it’s just in his own way.

They’re almost like a reward from Asa, he knows how to use praise and affection the exact way you desire.

Each forehead kiss is a silent ‘good girl/boy’, and it always makes you smile.

(NSFW) A gentle, reassuring kiss to your forehead after a rough session with Asa always makes you melt. And at the same time, it grounds you and comforts you.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

Jesse is a tall man so you’re not going to easily plant a kiss on his forehead but he can do so to you with ease, and he does. You get your fair share of forehead kisses from Jesse.

He will normally kiss your forehead after he’s fondly teased you about something, as if making it up to you. Because how can you be mad at him when he’s being so sweet?

You give Jesse most of his forehead kisses when he’s working (the less murder-y side of his work), because he’s sitting down and you can actually reach...

You’ll affectionately kiss his forehead before letting him continue to work.

Depending on his mood, he will just smile and let you leave, or he will grab you and pull you down onto his lap.

Otis Driftwood

Otis finds forehead kisses surprisingly...tender, and he isn’t too sure how he feels about that.

He would never stop you from doing it but it’s just so damn soft.

In the end, he doesn’t see the point of them. If you’re going to kiss him, you better do it like you mean it, and will often grab you to pull you back for a real kiss before releasing you again.

Braiding Otis’ hair?...he doesn’t like it.

He will mutter and complain the whole time you’re braiding his hair, but he isn’t going to stop you. He will continue to tell you how much he hates it and how stupid this is, but still allows you to do it...

You have him wrapped around your finger more than either of you realise.

Baby Firefly 

Baby is all for forehead kisses, any kisses really.

They’re normally more playful than tender but she has her calmer moments where kisses are more gentle and tender.

She more likely to kiss you on the cheek or even nose rather than forehead, but she thinks it’s sweet when you kiss hers.

Of course Baby will let you braid her hair, as long as she can do your hair in return.

Yautja (Predator)

Look at that forehead! So much room for forehead kisses!

And he loves them. It’s just so...human, just so you.

He just gets all happy whenever you plant a kiss on him, taking his face into your hands and pressing a kiss to the top of his head with a smile on your face.

He thinks you’re adorable. 

Will probably let out a little affectionate purr when you do so.

[absolutebl]

the ones no one seems to know about or watch 

Top 10 Most Underrated BLs 

Seven Days (from Japan on YouTube) - One of the best live action yaoi adaptations, it has everything great about BL and none of the issues, plus a strong manga filming technique, a lovely little story with great acting, good chemistry, and no content or trigger warnings necessary.   

Restart after Come Back Home (from Japan via indie sub) - This BL showcases Japan’s cinematography and film history (rather than a manga style) with an atmospheric story of rediscovering family while falling unexpectedly in love. The ultimate grumpy/sunshine pairing this is a quietly graceful film that no one seems to know about. 

Wish You (from Korea on Viki & Netflix, go for the movie version!) - One of Korea’s earlier new wave pieces, Wish You has everything that I love about Korean BL: high production values, a simple clean concept, soft bois, and great pining. It’s winsome and lovely.  

Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding (from Korea) - if BL had a fairy tale, it would be this show. There’s something very 12th Night about it, with cross dressing, secret identities, evil stepsisters, period attire, and the softest most confused bois ever. 

He’s Coming to Me (from Thailand on YouTube) - I have no idea why fans are so against this show. Perhaps it’s just flack for Singto being paired with a different partner? It’s such a great story (a bit paranormal + a bit mystery), features one of the best coming out sequences in all BL, and even though one of them is a ghost, it still ends happily. 

Oxygen the series (from Thailand on YouTube) - On the flip side I know exactly why fans never jumped on Oxygen. It’s so quiet and mellow, it almost too simple, but it’s amazingly sweet. The doctor subplot is dumb, but Solo and Gui should run counseling sessions in good communication for all the other BL couples. However, because they talk to each other like adults, none of their conflict can come from miscommunication, and fans don’t seem to like to see an actually good working relationship. Still, if you want comfort, this is your drama, because (well) there’s very little drama. 

My Day the series (from the Philippines on YouTube) - Sometimes I feel like I am the only person in the world who liked My Day. I just found it so much fun. It has slightly better production values than most Pinoy stuff, the leads have great chemistry and are gorgeous, and it’s messy, but in the best possible way. 

Most Peaceful Place (from Vietnam on YouTube) - This list could also include Nation’s Brother, Follow My Sunshine, and You Are Ma Boy, all solid BLs from Vietnam. Vietnam struggles to gain viewers for various reasons (not the least of which is an apparent inability to understand SEO), but at least you can find their stuff legally on YouTube. This is one of their best. It’s a redemption story of the boy who got away coming home, and the two trying to understand what went wrong and how to repair it. Production values are low, and budget is sparse, but the acting is great and the chemistry is really good too. You should give Vietnam a chance to change your mind. 

HIStory 2: Right or Wrong (from Taiwan on Viki) - Another one where I can take a good guess as to why BL fans don’t love it. May/December is not a popular pairing, plus international fans in particular don’t like a teacher/student power dynamic, and there’s some weird child endangerment stuff at the start. BUT once it hits its stride this is the ultimate in domestic delights. The little family they form is fantastic, the drawn out explosive chemistry is great, and it has one of the best endings in BL. Also, it’s groundbreaking, as it’s the first BL to depict legally married gays. 

HIStory: Obsessed (from Taiwan on Viki) - This is classic old school yaoi-born BL in almost every way. Not many of us like something so traditional. I think you might have to come out of reading manga to truly get this one, but it’s kind of delightful to see it on screen. Mainland China did this style BL, only very dark, for years. It’s almost like with this (one of their first serious BLs), Taiwan was both making fun of that and fixing China’s past wrongs. It is about obsessive love, but also second chances. It turns the “kill your gay” trope on its head in a way that allows it to still pull your heartstrings but end happy, and, it’s Taiwan, so the chemistry is wonderful. 

FYI: I judge “underrated” on the strength of what I see people talk about (or more precisely not talk about) on social media, MDL reviews, and YouTube watch numbers (when available, as compared to comparable shows from the same country). 

(source)

[emepe]

You and Me and Nothing More. Chapter 12.

☆ Pairing: Jean x Reader (friends to lovers, slow burn), Eren x Reader (lovers to ?)

☆ General info: 18+, modern college au, multi-chapter fic, fluff & smut

☆ Chapter info: There’s something so romantic and peaceful about laying in your bed together while the rain pours outside your window.

☆ Warnings: --

☆ Summary: Who would you fall for if not for each other? You were so used to having each other around, never did it occur to either of you that there could be something more.

Links: AO3 | Masterlist

You'd only ever tried running away from home once in your life and you were genuinely terrified when you did. With the amount of pressure you felt at home to always be the best possible version of who they wanted you to be, it was difficult to not feel instantly sick to your stomach when you got your first C. 

It wasn't even that bad of a grade. You could certainly make up for it further along in the semester. But no, you were expected to be perfect even at the age of fifteen. The unwinding guilt in your gut may have also been triggered by the fact that instead of studying for your test, you had secretly gone out on your first date ever that weekend. It hadn't been a dreamy occasion at all, but it had given you an impactful enough experience for your head to be in the clouds when you were supposed to be studying. 

You stalled as much as you could to get home that day, choosing to hide in the place you felt the safest. When your parents went over to the Kirstein's to ask if they had seen you, Jean discreetly went up to his room, locked the door behind him and sat down on the floor next to you, and asked "do you think there's a way for me to take the blame?". 

This time was so similar and yet so different. You were still running away in fear that you'd messed up, but you weren't running toward Jean as you had back then; you were running away from him. 

The situation called for a fight or flight response and you instinctively chose flight. 

You swore things had been ruined between you and Jean. And though you knew deep down that abandoning him after such a dynamic-alternating act was confusing for him — kind of like how Eren kicked you out after dumping the latest on Jean's supposed feelings on you — you couldn't keep your legs from frantically driving your body in the opposite direction from Jean. 

It had been three days. You'd stopped riding to school with him, you woke up extra early to leave before he woke up, you began to buy your meals so you wouldn't have to be in the kitchen in case he ever thought of walking in while you were there, you began to stay in the library after school to do your homework and you didn't leave until it was dark out. And then you didn't walk into the apartment until you couldn't hear any movement from the other side of the door. 

It was a terrible system. You were spending money you could've easily saved and missing out on hours of sleep you could've easily had. Not to mention you were growing more and more embarrassed to keep showing up at the local diner for every other meal, but it wasn't your fault that their food was good and relatively cheaper than any other place nearby. It had only been three days, but the effects of your paranoid tendencies were taking their toll on you. 

You knew you had to but you didn't think you had it in you to talk to Jean, to be straightforward, or to even leave him an apology note at the very least for stealing a kiss from him. 

Jean, on the other hand, had progressed from being anxious and confused to purely devastated. He wanted to talk things through, give you a chance to say something, and maybe even let you know he knew you didn't mean to do what you did — to let you know he wasn't mad because if you were thinking of using him to get over Eren, he'd happily let you. But he was growing more and more annoyed at your evasiveness. He didn't want to be mad at you, but what the hell was up with kissing him and then refusing to even make an appearance around him for three days? 

He was upset and rightfully so. He hadn't been able to sleep at all the first night and he'd heard your alarm across the hall at five in the morning. He knew you were sneaking out to avoid him. He heard you each time you got back home and scurried to your room like a little kid that runs up the stairs after turning off the lights in fear of the dark swallowing them whole. He made you lunch and dinner every day with the hope that you could at least grant him some sense of normalcy by eating it when you got back to the apartment each time. But alas, he always found the Tupperware containers in the fridge full and untouched the next morning. 

He felt hurt. From the second you kicked him out of your room the other night, he could tell he'd have to meet you more than halfway if he ever wanted to talk about what happened. But this was plain ridiculous. It had been three days and yet it seemed like so long considering how used he was to catch at least a glimpse of you throughout the day. It had been three days but he was getting worried he might have begun to forget what you even looked like. He missed you terribly. 

It was Thursday afternoon the next time Jean and you saw each other. It was one of the days of the week that Jean wasn't home hours before you were let out of your last class. Granted, he was supposed to arrive around the same time you did, but you figured you could sneak in before he did. You had hurried into the building and up to your apartment when you saw that Jean's car had yet to be parked in its usual spot, meaning he wasn't home yet. What you didn't bother to consider was that he had just gotten caught by a few more red lights than usual on his way back home and he'd be arriving just a couple of minutes after you. 

When you heard a key jiggle into the door while you were just about reaching the tiny hall that led to your room, you bolted — but not before Jean saw you. 

He instinctively lunged forward, calling your name and asking you to wait. Jean had very long legs and he caught up easily to you in the minuscule apartment, grabbing hold of your wrist just outside of your bedroom. 

“Wait, I want to talk,” he breathed, slightly agitated from the brief sprint but more so from having feared not getting to you before you locked yourself up. 

“Sorry, Jean. I have a lot of homework and I-” Your arm was tense as his fingers remained wrapped around your wrist, and you avoided his gaze by looking down at the floor. 

Jean hadn't thought through which of his multiple questions he would ask you first in this scenario, so he was surprised when the first one just slipped through without previous meditation. 

“Why are you avoiding me?” He searched for your eyes, hurt that you weren't even willing to look up.

“I’m not.” You looked to the side and tried to wriggle your hand free from his grasp as if his touch was burning your skin — and metaphorically it was. 

Jean shrunk at your resistance. He was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this — that you could simply talk things through — but your refusal to even look at him ultimately made him surrender. He hated what he was going to say, he hated the thought of ignoring what happened when it had made his heart flip several times in his chest from just thinking about it. But having you literally run away from him hurt even more. He loosened his grip on your wrist and inhaled deeply.

“If this is about the kiss… I’ll forget it ever happened, just-” He swallowed thick, trying his best not to release the tears that were threatening to spill down his face. “Just please talk to me,” he begged. "Please."

Slowly and nervously, you finally looked at him. You could've sworn your heart split into two at that exact moment. Tears were lining his bottom lashes, and if you didn't know any better you would've expected him to release them in front of you. He must've been truly hurt was what you thought. 

"I'm sorry," you whispered. It was uncertain to either of you whether you were apologizing for having kissed him, avoided him, or hurt him badly enough that he was on the verge of tears. Perhaps it was a combination of all three. And although Jean was grateful to finally hear your voice again, it didn't stop him from aching all over again at the possibility that you were agreeing to forget that you ever locked lips. 

Still, with his words charged with relief, he said "you talked to me".

He wanted to ask more questions, demand more answers, but everything he wanted to clear up had to do with the kiss from a few days ago, and you'd both just agreed he'd forget about it.

Stepping back to grant you more personal space, he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair while staring at his shoes he hadn't removed by the door in his haste to see you. 

"Do you have a lot of homework for tonight?" 

You blinked and furrowed your brow as you mentally went through your agenda. 

“Um… Not a lot. Just a bit of reading.”

Jean nodded slowly, chewing on his bottom lip and rocking on the balls of his feet with his hands in his pockets.

“Do you wanna… watch some T.V. together after dinner? Or we can play a movie if you want. We can do whatever, really! Just—… you know… let’s hang out.” 

If there was no hope for something to stem from the other night, he at least wanted things to go back to how they used to be before that. Before the kiss, before your drunken antics, before Eren spilled his secret, before you ever went on that double-date.

“Oh… um… yeah, sure. A movie sounds nice,” you replied, flitting your gaze between him and everywhere around him.

“Cool, cool. Uh… I won’t keep you then.” Stepping back, he gestured for you to go into your room. But just as you were going inside, he grabbed your wrist again. You peered at him nervously, anxious that maybe he gave you a false sense of security of being off the hook for what you did. He didn’t.

“Are you having dinner with me?”

You cringed at the memory of leaving him alone every night. You’d wanted to eat with him, see his face and make conversation while you ate whatever it was he cooked up — he was a great cook — but you’d been scared you’d break down in tears because he didn’t like you back. But if you ever wanted to regain your routine, you’d have to suck it up, and you knew well you couldn’t bear to keep ignoring him after the pleasure you felt in seeing his face again.

“Yeah… I will. What are you making, Jean?” You smiled.

He beamed excitedly at the prospect of having you across from him at dinner.

“What do you want? I’ll make it for you.”

His grin stirred the butterflies in your stomach and you leaned your head against your door frame, smiling at him in what you knew was pure adoration. You were so madly in love with him; it pained you that it could never be.

“Spaghetti?” 

Jean could feel the heat creeping its way up to his neck, to his ears, and onto his face. Your smile was certainly his favorite thing in the world. His features softened and he rubbed his thumb over your wrist as he took the image of you in. 

It was going to be painful as hell to keep his feelings to himself.

“Sure.”

Dinner was cozy and a comfortable silence set between you as you ate mounds of spaghetti. You felt relieved that things were gradually falling into place — despite that place being a step backward from what you had hoped for the other day. This was fine, this was comfortable, and you’d much rather have this than not ever having Jean around at all or having him pity you because your feelings were unrequited. 

You made small talk and learned about his day. He told you he was meeting up with some classmates from his marketing class on Saturday morning to finish a group project; you told him about getting an A on your essay. You did the dishes together; you washed and he dried. He laughed when you blew foam onto his face but smacked you with the dishrag and proceeded to tickle your sides. You backed away laughing and he kept closing the distance until you were pressed against the fridge with his hands settled low on your hips while you caught your breath.

His touch was searing and if you hadn’t already learned from your previous experience, you would’ve kissed him again. Holy fuck, you wanted to kiss him again so badly. 

Jean was struggling to hold back just as much. Your shirt had ridden up in the midst of your playful behavior and your skin felt soft beneath his hands. If he hadn’t already gotten a taste of life without you, he would’ve been the one to initiate a kiss this time around. Holy fuck, he wanted to kiss you again so badly.

“I’m gonna go shower, okay?” you said, slicing the tension in the air.

He nodded dumbly and released you, letting you take your turn in the shower first while he finished tidying the kitchen with red cheeks. 

With the two of you freshly showered, you both settled down in the living room to watch a movie. 

Your breath hitched in your throat when Jean came out wearing grey sweatpants and a black muscle tee. He was still ruffling his hair with a towel when he sat down next to you and nodded for you to press play. 

“It’s raining outside, aren’t you cold?” you stammered, pointing your thumb over your shoulder toward the rain outside the window. 

“Well, I’m not outside, am I?” he jested.

You rolled your eyes but you could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks. 

As always, Jean let you have your choice for the film. Surprisingly enough, you hadn’t watched Flipped yet and you were totally engrossed in the enemy-like dynamics that surged between the child protagonists. 

“He’s so mean but they’re so cute,” you murmured at one point. “And he’s totally in love with her, he’s just in denial.” You pouted at the screen.

Jean had been stealing glances at you throughout the entire movie, and when you said that, he all but stared at your side profile, admiring the beauty of your softly lit features.

“Yeah, it’s so obvious… She’s pretty dumb not to notice.”

You snorted a laugh but kept your eyes glued to the screen. “Jean, don’t be mean, they’re children!” 

He smiled, completely entranced by you, a pride invading his chest from having made you laugh. His eyes didn’t leave you for a second after that, taking in every reaction, every gasp, every frown, every tiny little shift in your expression. He wondered if he held a record for the most expressions of yours to have seen. 

No matter how mesmerized you were by the scenes playing in front of you, like clockwork, your head began to feel heavy a few minutes later, just as Bryce had begun to put his grand gesture for Juli into action.

Jean noticed, and when you rolled your shoulders back and backed further into the sofa, he didn’t hesitate to offer you his lap.

Flustered, you fumbled with what answer to give. But this was normal; you always laid your head on his shoulder or his lap whenever you felt sleepy. You never asked for permission, he always just offered or he was simply there. 

So you complied. And as you found comfort in his lap, with his hand stroking your hair as the film came down to its last few scenes, you closed your eyes to fully take in his warmth. 

Jean looked down at you minutes later. You looked so pretty to him with your eyes closed and your chest rising and falling slowly with your tranquil breathing. An ache spread inside him. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” He sighed and smoothed your hair back with his hand with an even softer touch. “How am I supposed to tell you I’m in love with you now?” 

It wasn’t until Jean spoke his last sentence that you realized he thought you were asleep and not just resting your eyes. 

Jean was in love with you. He said it loud and clear. Maybe not so loud since he thought you were asleep, but you were sure you heard correctly. 

You hadn’t realized how tense you were until your muscles relaxed upon his whispered admission.

With the pitter-patter of the November rain outside the living room window, you fell asleep comfortably in his lap, his unknown confession floating into the realm of your dreams.

You hated thunder and you dreaded lightning. You were scared of it ever since lightning had struck a tree near your house and made it collapse onto the street, the fall lining in sync with the crack of thunder. The day Jean found out about this was the day the first thunderstorm since you'd moved across the street from him made its appearance. You were six and he was seven.

It was the first Friday night you ever spent at his house and the rain had begun to pour about an hour into your playdate. He'd teased you when he saw you getting jittery at the first signs of lightning. But then thunder cracked and you screamed, scrambling closer to him for safety. That was when he realized you were actually shaking and he brought his arms around you in an instant, telling you there was nothing to be afraid of. He was mildly scared, too, but he couldn't get all chicken on you when you were so terrified. 

On future occasions, you were still reasonably on edge, but it was more just an excuse to cuddle in Jean’s gentle arms because Jean meant safety.

You barely made it home just in time to avoid getting drenched on Friday evening. Actually, you got your fair share of rain, but you’d both managed to stumble into the lobby before the actual downpour began. It was unfortunate that the building didn’t have indoor parking but perhaps it was also your fault for suggesting you stock up on groceries before heading home.

Once inside your apartment and with the grocery bags having been dropped on the floor, as Jean peeled off his coat, you turned on the heater and rubbed your hands together to warm them up. 

“Go shower, I don’t want you to get sick,” Jean ordered. You frowned and he raised his brows menacingly, to which you raised your hands in surrender. 

“Fine,” you huffed, and you rushed to follow his orders. 

As you were waiting for the water to warm up, the first round of thunder cracked in the sky, and you jumped slightly in surprise from the sudden noise but continued to step into the shower. It wasn’t until the second crack that you began to feel slightly uneasy and you quickened your pace to get out of the bathroom as soon as possible to jump into the comfort of your bed. You weren’t scared, you’d grown out of that childhood fear, but you couldn’t tell when the thunder was coming when there were no windows nearby to see the lightning that came beforehand. At least that way you could be prepared.

The second round of thunder and lightning took a toll on the electricity as the lightbulb swayed to and from its full lighting capacity. You shrunk in fear from being left without power until the light stabilized and you were fully illuminated again.

Then you heard Jean’s voice calling your name in between the echoes of the running water.

“Yeah?” you replied, your voice a little shaky.

“Are you okay?” He sounded worried but you were put at ease by his voice. He was like a knight in shining armor, showing up at just about the peak of your vulnerability to give you a sense of security.

“I’m okay!” you called.

“I’ll stay right here by the door, okay? Don’t be scared.”

You exhaled with a smile and nodded until you realized he couldn’t see you. So you laughed to yourself and replied with a grateful “thank you” before finishing your shower.

Jean kept checking in on you every few minutes until you walked out into the hall with your body covered in one towel and your hair in another.

He stood from where he had been sitting down on the floor and gave you a once-over as if you could’ve suffered any injuries in the brief timespan of your shower.

"Jean, I'm fine," you assured him. Then the thunder cracked again and you automatically shot a hand out to grab the hem of his shirt while keeping one tightly fisted over your towel. 

"Sorry," you said and smoothed his shirt over.

"Don't be," he whispered, looking at you with concern. 

"You should shower, you got wet, too." You stepped back to allow him access to the bathroom but then felt obligated to return his recent favor. "Do you want me to stay by the door?" you asked bashfully. 

He chuckled softly and shook his head. "I'm good." 

Embarrassed, you chewed on your bottom lip and nodded. The warmth that Jean had grown so familiar with in recent weeks coursed its way through his body as he looked at your lip snug between your teeth. He almost just about planted one on you but held back. And in one cautious move, he slid a hand along your jaw and pulled at your lip with his thumb, silently telling you to stop inflicting pain on it.

"You're gonna hurt yourself," he murmured. 

The mildly rough skin of his hand left your face too soon for your liking as he slipped into the bathroom and locked the door. 

It took you a few seconds to snap out of your stupefaction and realize Jean was no longer standing in front of you. You hurried to change and dutifully arranged the groceries into their respective space while you waited for him to come out. 

It was oddly comforting to do such a mundane task in the midst of the sky's booming. It probably had to do with the fact that you now had a view to the outside to prepare yourself for the next crack. 

Just as you were placing the box of your favorite brand of chocolates on the bottom shelf of the cupboard that you didn't remember sneaking into the cart, Jean made his appearance. 

"I could've helped, you know," he said while leaning against the counter. He had changed into flannel pajama bottoms and a black t-shirt. 

"Do you happen to know how these got into our shopping bags?" You held up the item in question and watched amusedly as Jean tried to cover his reddening cheeks. You wanted to laugh when he got even more flustered when you jiggled the box for emphasis, still expecting an answer.

"Well, you like them don't you?" he nervously half yelled and quickly snatched the box from your hand. He felt like it was taunting him. "But I'll take them back if you don't want them, jeez, you don't have to make such a big deal." 

"No, wait!" You lowered his hand holding the box and carefully took it from him. "Thank you, is what I meant to say." 

"You're welcome," he mumbled.

Last night's confession had opened your eyes to every little detail and reaction of his. Your heart fluttered with love and certainty now that you knew how he actually felt. It was beyond adorable how nervous he was and how red his ears were and how much he was blinking as he avoided looking directly at you. 

"Hey, Jean, last night—" 

You were cut off by another round of thunder and this time, the lights went fully out. You had instinctively grabbed Jean, latching onto his shirt with your fist gripping the cotton fabric tightly. 

His arms held your frame close and he ran a hand soothingly along your back, shushing you in reassurance and telling you that it was okay, that it was just a power outage. 

"I'm sure there's a—" he began to stray from you but you clutched at him tighter. You could barely see and Jean leaving wouldn't help. In the darkness, his heart swelled and his face softened at your reaction. "I'm just going to grab the flashlight that's by the door," he explained in a gentle tone. 

"Oh… okay." You slowly released your grip on him and waited for him to come back to you. You heard rustling and a hand brushing against the wall, patting around blindly until Jean found the little shelf where you kept a dish with your keys and other miscellaneous objects you emptied from your pockets whenever you arrived back home. 

A few seconds later, you saw a light making its way back to where you were. 

"Come on," Jean extended a hand for you to take, an offer you didn't refuse. You let him guide you through the darkness of the apartment, holding onto his warm hand until you arrived at your room. 

He placed the flashlight on your bedside table and when he turned around in the direction to your door, you panicked and stood up from where you had already taken a seat on your bed.

"Jean, wait!" He turned his head slightly with a questioning look. "Don't leave. Stay."

A few days ago, when he was going over your drunken words, he kept thinking you were going to be the death of him. And now, with your eyebrows upturned in distress and pleading, he was all the more sure of it.

"I— I was just going to get my phone. I left it in my room." 

You didn't think the lack of light around you would be anything to celebrate, but you were certainly thanking the universe for it now as you flushed hot in embarrassment. 

"Oh, okay. I'll wait for you then." 

He nodded and ventured off to retrieve his phone. You felt guilty that he could trip over something if he wasn't too careful, given that he left the flashlight to you to calm your nerves.

He was back soon enough with his lips pressed into a thin line as he read his battery percentage. 

"I've got less than twenty, what about you?"

You searched around your room for your phone and found it on top of your dresser. You sighed.

"Less than ten." 

He clicked his tongue and placed his phone down next to yours. 

"Guess it's emergencies only." 

He sighed. 

"I'm sure the power will be back as soon as the storm ends… We can just lay down in the meanwhile. Unless you want to go to bed already." You secretly hoped he'd pick the first option. You didn't want him to leave.

"N—no. I'll stay." 

Jean motioned you over to your bed before turning off the flashlight. 

"What are you—"

"We don't have extra batteries. We should save it for when we have to move around," he explained. You nodded. 

He climbed onto the bed beside you and you both laid there, side by side, and stared at the ceiling. 

It was quiet and you prayed he couldn't make out the loud beating of your heart. Meanwhile, Jean was worried his own heartbeat would reach your ears with how hard it echoed inside his chest. You were so close, he could probably just reach over a few inches and come across your hand. He wanted to. But he didn't know if you would like it. 

You were nervous but you found pleasure in it. Your heart may have been beating frantically but your mind was at peace because Jean was there. And Jean meant safety. That being said, you had to pull yourself from sinful thoughts that reminded you he was on your bed. On a place where you'd given up your innocence. And you didn't tend to curse, but holy fuck was it hard not to think about how close to your grasp he was. And maybe if you had known his desires were so innocent compared to yours, you would've had the extra push you needed to give him everything all at once, then and there, because he was just that perfect. 

After a few minutes, Jean cleared his throat and called your name.

"Hm?" 

"Um… This is boring," he lied. Truth was, he needed something to get his mind off of bringing you closer to him.

"Well, what do you suggest we do?" You were eager to have him offer a distraction from… Well, him.

"I don't know. Talk? Play a game?" he suggested. 

"A game? What kind of game?"

"I don't know," he repeated. "I was hoping you could come up with something."

You hummed as you racked your brain for an idea. After a moment, you spoke.

"Oh, I know! Let's make up a story."

"A story?" he echoed.

"Yeah. So like, one of us starts off with one sentence and the other one continues it and we just build the story as we go." 

He gave it some thought as his eyes wandered over the shape of your ceiling.

"Okay, yeah, sure. Like mad libs but with full sentences, right?"

"Yeah, exactly!" 

"Okay, you go first."

You shimmied in your place as if to get more comfortable before you started the game.

"Okay, here goes. Once upon a time, in a faraway land there lived an…"

"An ogre who kept to himself in a secluded swamp." He nodded his head and grinned with pride. 

You furrowed your brow at the ceiling but took your turn nonetheless. "One fateful day, this ogre ventured out of his swamp, and during his journey, he found a…"

Jean's grin stretched further before taking his next turn. "A talking donkey." 

You groaned but couldn't keep yourself from smiling. 

"You know, you're not very creative, Jean." He laughed. "Or funny," you added. He laughed some more.

"Hey, it's harder than it sounds! And you're only doing generic sentences!" he accused. "We're supposed to make the story together!" 

You giggled. 

"Okay, fine. Let's go again but you start." 

He scoffed playfully. 

"Alright, I will. Once upon a time, in an old, forgotten land where no human ever dared to walk into, there lived a…"

"A… princess locked in a tower," you stated with confidence. 

Jean snorted. "You're literally about to use the same story!" 

"Well, you got in my head!" You nudged him playfully with your elbow. 

You both laughed, your joyful expressions filling the room with invisible light. 

"Okay, we both suck. Let's be glad we're not trying to become authors anytime soon," you joked. 

The rain was still going strong and heavy outside your window, though you couldn't see much of anything other than a few raindrops on the glass illuminated by the moonlight. The thunder was as loud as ever. You faced the ceiling again. 

Your heartbeat began to pick up once more and you wet your lips several times, growing more and more anxious over what you wanted to bring up. 

"Jean?" you spoke out into the shadows.

"Yeah?" 

"Can I… do you think you can give me advice on something?"

He turned to look at you; you did the same. In the darkness, he could still somehow make out the wariness brimming your gaze. You didn't think his eyes had ever seemed so bright until that moment.

"Sure. Ask me anything," he murmured. 

"I… There's someone who's very important to me. And over the last few days… I never thought I'd miss him so badly for just a few days… And I don't truly know if I'm allowed to say that because I pushed them away in the first place but… he's way too important."

Jean's heart sank for the umpteenth time. Someone you've missed, someone you've gone days without seeing, someone you pushed away — you broke up with Eren, didn't you? And now you miss him. It was pretty damn clear to him that the most important "he" in your life was the guy you trusted with your virginity. 

You're talking about Eren, aren't you? he thought. 

"And so…" you continued. "My dilemma… is whether or not I should tell this person that I'm madly in love with him." 

Jean had to swallow his saliva several times before he could even try to speak.

"If that's what you truly want… then go for it. Tell him." 

There were tears lining your lashes now as you stared off into the empty space of your ceiling. 

"I should, shouldn't I?" you whispered.

"Yeah, talk to him," Jean replied in a voice just as small.

You breathed in, held the air in your lungs as long as you could, then breathed out. You blinked the tears away. You didn't want to be crying at such a critical moment when your words needed to come out loud and clear.

"Jean?"

"Yeah?"

"I heard you."

Those three words awakened no more than confusion on Jean's behalf. 

"W-what are you talking about?"

You breathed in, held it, and breathed out once more. 

"Last night… when you said you were in love with me… I heard you." 

Jean couldn't bring himself to move. He was stuck, staring at your plain ceiling with his hands at his sides and his teeth clenched tightly. 

It was until you called his name gently that he came to. 

"Jean? Are you—"

He screwed his eyes shut and spilled lies.

"I didn't mean it, I swear. I was just—"

"Don't lie to me." You were watching him, you could feel the tension radiating from his form. "Please don't lie to me," you begged. 

He swallowed thick and sat upright; you propped yourself on your elbows in preparation to chase him down if he was about to sprint, and waited for him to say more — to tell you the truth of what you had already heard from his mouth. 

"Okay, fine, I was lying." A tear trailed down the side of his face. "But I know you love Eren and I know I don't have a shot so if you can just for—"

"You do have a shot." 

He stilled. And then he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand before looking at you with an incredulous expression on his face. "What?"

"The person I was talking about before…" You searched his face, putting your best effort to make out his features in the barely-there light. "It's you." 

Jean's limbs had gone numb and he wasn't majoring in anything related to health science at all, but he was almost positive there was something wrong if he could hear his heartbeat all the way up to his head. You'd K.O.'d him in just a few words. But they were the most wonderful words he could've ever hoped for. 

He was stunned. His system completely shut down as his gaze dropped onto your comforter and the fuzzy shape of his hand on it. 

The truth was out on both sides. You expected your confession would draw out surprising emotions, but you hadn't foreseen he'd go non-verbal on you. 

That is until he voiced a question.

"Is it okay… if I act on my feelings, then?"

You weren't entirely sure what his question implied or what it entailed, the high of your feelings being put out in the open muddying your comprehension. But nonetheless, you said "yes". 

Jean finally looked up. Had this happened in different circumstances, you would've been able to clearly see the greed and want that clouded his hazel irises. 

Ever so slowly, he brought his face closer to yours, only stopping when your noses were brushing against each other. His warm breath escaping from his parted mouth fanned across your lips. You couldn't help but feel like you'd already had this experience as he tilted his head slightly, and teased your mouth with his bottom lip. 

Your eyes fluttered closed, savoring every bit of his ghostly touch. And then he slotted his lips against yours. 

You'd been kissed soft and slowly before, but never as gently as Jean was being. He brought a hand up to cup your cheek with such a velvety touch, you could've sworn he thought you were made of glass. His kiss triggered shivers to course over each of your limbs, and maybe it was the darkness heightening the rest of your senses but you were practically melting under his delicate touch. 

He smelled of soap and fabric softener and… Jean. He tasted like mint and warmth and wet and… Jean. Kissing him for the first time after mutually confessing your feelings, you decided then and there you'd never get tired of having his lips pressed against yours. 

Jean was on cloud nine. He could have died and he would've left happily to the afterlife. Last time, he barely had enough time to assimilate what was going on while you kissed him. He was just about to reach for your face with his hands like you had advised him to do when he asked for your help when you had pulled back and kicked him out. Your face was soft under his rough hands and your lips so smooth against his. He'd kissed you first and you were kissing him back, and that alone revived that lucky feeling he felt the night of the party all over again. 

Except this time was better. You were both sober, you were both aware of the other and their feelings, and if even for just a moment more, you were both encased in your own little world while the sky was falling outside of your window. 

He'd kissed someone before, but it never felt like right now. This time it was right; this time it was perfect because this time was with you. 

He pulled away slowly. He didn't want to but he was starting to run out of oxygen. 

He made out the movement of your eyes fluttering open and looking straight at him, boring into his soul. Suddenly embarrassed, he fell back onto the bed and closed his eyes while he took a deep breath. 

You lowered yourself onto your pillow and you brought a hand up to your lips.

"You kissed me," you said.

Jean's previous confident persona vanished and he fumbled to respond.

"W-well you kissed me first," he retorted. 

You smiled. He was cute when he was flustered. 

Then you laughed. "I did, didn't I? I kissed you first." He joined you with a few soft chuckles of his own.

"I guess we're even now." You grinned; Jean did the same. 

"I guess so."

Just like Jean, his kisses had an equally soothing effect on your body. Tiredness spread through every muscle as you sighed heavily. 

"Jean?" you called one last time.

"Yeah?"

"Stay here for tonight, okay?" you murmured sleepily as you shuffled closer to him. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and brought you closer. 

"Anything you want."  

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taglist: @sparklekitteh​

[mercy-burning]

Cold Feet

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After receiving a letter from an old flame just days away from her wedding, Reader wonders if she should call it all off. —Inspired by the song Cold Feet by Tenille Arts Category: Angst (happy ending) Content Warnings: An almost kiss that isn’t with Reader’s fiancé, and blink and you’ll miss it implied smut Word Count: 1.7k

MASTERLIST | Alternate Version/Ending of Cold Feet

NOTE: When @meganskane announced her 700 follower celebration I just knew this idea would be the perfect way to implement one of the prompts she gave! The one I chose is “quit looking at me like that” ❤

Also! Fun fact: this song opens with “they’re all set to go on the 18th of June”, and that’s today, so it’s festive 😊)

***

She should be happily wrapped in a dream, Dying to kiss him and put on his ring. So why is she walking alone after midnight, Down a small town street, with cold feet?

Y/N is currently finding it difficult to breathe.

It was easier a couple days ago when she knew exactly what she wanted. Her husband-to-be was more than excited to marry her, and she'd reciprocated that feeling entirely. Everything was ready to go. Truthfully, they could have gotten married right this second if that's what they wanted, that's how ready to go they were.

But now? She was questioning everything.

She still feels the thin paper in her hands, even with its folded body currently tucked away in an old book she knew was never going to be opened again— a gift from the man who'd written the letter in the first place.

The first time she read it, her heart sank. And by the third time she'd read it, her heart soared.

And then her fiancée walked in, asked her about what to make for dinner, and her heart sank all over again.

Honestly, damn him for choosing now to finally confess. Damn him for making her question everything, after she'd finally moved on and found someone who would always be around.

But then again, she'd ended up choosing to live in a house in their hometown, just blocks away from that creek he'd mentioned in his letter. So... Maybe she hadn't moved on entirely

She hated that she even had to think about it.

She hated that her thoughts were so consumed with this man she hadn't seen in years when the man she was about to marry slept next to her every night, unaware of the start to her inner turmoil. Each night since then, she dreamt of dances with both of them, alternating between the two until they made her choose which of them she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And every morning she'd wake with an even bigger tear in her heart than when the old flame had burned it alive and left her alone in the aftermath to piece it back together.

Her fiancée helped her do that, though. Day by day he taught her to love again, to trust in somebody again, and he was truly a good man.

So why was it absolutely destroying her, thinking of getting married to him when there was someone else in the picture to think about? Someone who'd had a hold on her for well over fifteen years?

Again, she hated that she even had to think about it.

But she wasn't about to get married with all these conflicting thoughts, so whether she wanted to or not, her only real option was the one that would also be the hardest on her tattered heart.

She'd sent him a text message this morning that read, Midnight, and tucked her phone away for the rest of the day, drowning herself in mindless work and looking to keep time moving forward.

Now, she struggles to breathe as she makes her way down to the creek.

It's cold, having just rained fifteen minutes prior, and she wraps her fiancée's cardigan tightly over her her arms, searching for warmth and comfort. She would have settled for one of her own, heavier pieces, but in some strange way she thought maybe having something there that belonged to her fiancée would ground her, something to remind her of the gravity of the situation at hand.

Nothing could have grounded her upon seeing her ex boyfriend after all these years, though, especially when she finally shows up to their old spot and sees him perched on the big stump right next to the water, relief and joy flooding through his features at the sight of her. His smile is just as bright and familiar as she remembered, and it just about knocks the wind out from under her feet.

"Hi, Y/N," he greets softly, standing up and stretching his hands out over his legs. It's obvious that he's nervous to meet up with her after all these years apart, and she couldn't blame him in the slightest.

She's just as nervous as her feet take baby steps towards him. Meanwhile she's hugging her fiancée's cardigan around her body tighter than before. "Hi..."

"I... I can't believe you actually wanted to meet. Truthfully I thought I wouldn't hear back from you."

"Well... Your letter kind of rattled me... You rattled me. I guess I just had to know..."

There's a long pause before he takes a small step towards her and tilts his head. His words are hesitant, like he thinks she might say something he doesn't want to hear. "And... What do you know?"

"I know that I love my fiancée. After you, I didn't really think I'd ever love anyone the same way again, but... He makes me happier than I've ever been, and I... I can't just discard that feeling because you decided too late that you still love me. You know?"

"I do, Y/N, I really do," he answers earnestly, and this time his hand reaches out to grab hers. "But... I mean, you showed up here, didn't you? That has to count for something..."

She isn't really sure how to respond after that. It's true that seeing this man in front of her for the first time in years has brought back a wave of feelings that she'd repressed and even experienced with someone new.

But it's also true that with those feelings comes an inevitable aftertaste of bitterness. He'd left her, decided ultimately that his career was more important to him, and now that she has someone new he's asking her to leave behind this peace she's found. And for what? For him? What's to stop him from leaving again, or deciding years or months down the road that he'd made a mistake and gotten her to leave her one shot at happiness after him?

Nonetheless, she sits with him for hours, listening to him explain... Giving him a chance.

He apologizes for the past, he promises to do better in the future, and in between he makes her laugh. Their hands brush, their breaths mingle as they huddle from the cold, and with every passing minute, the cardigan on her shoulders becomes looser and more forgotten.

Slowly but surely, he's lowering her defenses and gaining her trust. He's showing her bits and pieces of the man she fell in love with until they're laughing at close to 3am.

And then, for a moment, it's quiet. Absolutely quiet, save for the crickets and the soft rolling of the creek behind them.

Y/N almost lets him kiss her then.

But then her heart hammers in her chest, and not in a good way. Suddenly, she's imagining the pure heartbreak that would surely manifest on her fiancée's face if he found out- if she really decided to leave him for this old flame that had barely started to kindle once again years later.

She has to be absolutely certain of her decision.

So she pulls back and wraps her fiancée's cardigan tightly around her arms. "I should go home."

There's disappointment in his eyes, and it twists her gut a little. "Right... Um... I-I can take you back, if you want."

"No, I, uh... I think I'm gonna walk. I have to think."

Y/N avoids his gaze just quickly enough that she doesn't see the disappointment in his eyes fizzle into a tiny sliver of hope.

Rain on the sidewalk, doubt in her mind. One thing's for sure, she's running out of time To decide what's right, And who's heart she's willing to break.

She climbs into bed some time later, the cardigan still wrapped tightly around her body, and she can't quite bring herself to face the man sleeping next to her. It feels wrong, like somehow she's betrayed him by even thinking of spending the rest of her life with another person. She doesn't feel worthy of his love.

When she wakes up the next morning, she'd somehow ended up facing him anyway. He's staring at her with adoring eyes, and under his gaze she can't help the guilt that washes over her.

"Quit looking at me like that..."

Her words are grumbly and soft because of having just woken up, and because her face is half hidden behind blankets and his cardigan, her fiancée doesn't know anything is wrong.

Instead, he laughs. "What, you're beautiful... And before you start arguing with me, yes, you're even beautiful when you wake up."

She only grumbles, feeling anything but.

It's quiet for a moment or two before he speaks again. "You're wearing my cardigan..."

Peeking her eyes out from the mountain of fabric, she can see the enchantment in his eyes and it makes her warm. "I was cold..."

While true, she mostly means I had cold feet.

"Come here."

Two simple words, two syllables, and yet it's the softest declaration of love she's ever heard. Her body instinctively nestles into his, face going straight into the crook of his neck while he wraps her up in his arms.

"There," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You feel warmer yet?"

"Mhm..." She sighs into his skin and then takes in a deep breath.

He smells like home.

He feels like home.

And as he starts softly humming her favorite song, rubbing soothing circles into her back as he holds her close, Y/N wonders why she'd ever doubted her love for him.

He is home.

James never was.

Y/N burrows herself further into Spencer's body and plants a gentle kiss to his neck, shivering slightly at the way his curly locks tickle her temple.

He stops humming and laughs. "What are you feeling for breakfast?"

"Hmmm... You." She articulates her point by selfishly kissing his neck, reminiscent of Cookie Monster.

Pretty soon, the two of them are laughing together, limbs tangling and breaths mingling, and then an hour and a half later they're in the kitchen, sipping on coffee.

As its warmth radiates through her throat and chest, Y/N studies him from across the room. He flips through pages of a book as he drinks his coffee, and for a brief moment, his eyes flick up to see her staring.

The action brings a smile to both their faces, and Y/N has never felt happier.

She's never felt more loved.

***

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[wizkiddx]

heyheyhey idk if u do req but love your dad tom stuff! PLZ PLZ do tom helping his kids with homework but cant do it and reader has to help and its all fluffy 😩💕

ye im down to do req and this had me going completely ott cos its v cute (and a lot less angsty than what ive written recently aha) so apologies for my ramblings:

Summary: tom has the kids for a day and maths homework throws a spanner in the works - tomhollandxreader

implied smut + v slight reference to porn but basically just fluff I promise xox

\\\\\\\\\\\\///////////

Tom had dealt with a lot of whining today. Nova and Leo were the absolute joys of his life, there was no doubt about it. Of course, he also loved you a hell of a lot too - sometimes to his detriment though, hence the position he was in now. 

You’d had a busy week at work and he had been away for the first half of it - leaving you as an almost single mother to a 5 and a 7 year old. So completely fairly, you’d asked if he wouldn’t mind watching the kids for a the day on Sunday, allowing you to go to a friends baby shower. There was no answer but to agree, Tom loved quality time with the kids and he wanted you to kick back and relax with you friends too. 

However the afternoon had not been nearly as idealistic as it were supposed to be in his head. You had left him only one real job (apart from the unavoidable essentials of keeping the kids alive with food and water, something you’d hope he need not be reminded about now). Really it shouldn’t of been that hard, it was just each kid had two pieces of homework. After convincing and cajoling the kids into sitting at the table which he’d already set up with Nova’s ‘Liverpool FC’ and Leo’s ‘captain marvels’ pencil case, the English was easy. 

In fact 5 year old Leo took great joy out of writing a poem with his Dad, which basically involved trying to rhyme any word with another - especially when he tried to convince Tom that all his completely fictitious words were real and worked together. A personal favourite had been ‘snakes’ and ‘palakes’ which Leo was convinced meant pancakes - arguing so vehemently Tom almost started to doubt himself on basic English. 

Thankfully though his eldest and most sensibly child eventually took him out his misery. If anyone had any control over the Holland boys, Leo and Tom - it was the Holland girls. You and Nova had both boys completely under you spell, often taking advantage of the fact too. It was only when Nova got bored of hearing Tom and Leo mock arguing, interspersed with the little boys giggles that Tom tried his absolute hardest to keep a straight face at, that she swooped in.

“Stop being silly Leo, mummy told you he’s not good at school!” She looked oh so innocent, eyes immediately flicking down to continue the little short story she was happily going on with. In response  Tom scowled, knowing your highly curious and intelligent daughter had asked you (for one reason or another) why he was not so academic. Yet instead of Leo bursting out laughing, instead he just nodded and accepted it too - making Tom scowl even more. Not even Leo thought it was a joke. 

So apart from his children apparently taking pity on his simple mind, it was all going smoothly. Perhaps, due to the thankful fact your children had inherited their brains from their mother - something Tom was forever thankful for, until he was shamed for his substandard intellect in the family. Then again though, he was Spiderman. So take that. 

Until Nova brought out her maths sheet. Then the afternoon quickly descended into chaos. It was fractions, something she hadn’t quite grasped from school yet - a concept that still hurt her head somewhat. Normally though it’d be fine, she’d bring the sheet to you and the two of you used ‘ girl power’ to figure it out… you prior experience as a tutor while in uni helping you know how to break through to her. 

Unfortunately Tom didn’t share this same experience. Nor did Tom share a maths qualification… something that had evaded him completely during his schooling career. Of course, it had never been a particular issue, acting didn’t require the use of maths and algebra and Tom was in a very lucky position of being able to pay someone to manage his finances from a very young age. So no, dividing 2/3 and 3/7 didn’t come the most naturally to him. Or at all to be quite honest. 

“I CANT DO IT AND GRACE IN MY CLASS COULD!” For context, Grace was one of her school friends, who forever liked to compare herself to the young Holland - especially because she was normally ahead. Nova had gone from quiet frustration, staring at the questions with her tongue sticking out slightly, to one of pure rage - yelling at her dad with tears in her eyes. Nova was normally incredibly intuitive, she always found it difficult when she couldn’t do something. Now, with a ‘teacher’ who was more useless than her - the frustrations inevitably bubbled over. 

“Hey, we can work it out, just calm-“

“YOU CANT DO IT EITHER YOUR STUPID “ She was just young and frustrated, Tom tried not to take it personally but … it wasn’t always easy. Chiefly because this was the height of offensive statement Nova knew - this was her version of adult explicit language. 

“Nova you can’t be rude.” He used his stern voice, something Tom very rarely used with his little girl. Though he never wanted to upset her, neither did he want her to think it was ever okay to be so rude to anyone like that- no matter how crappy at maths they were. It hurt him to do so but it was necessary - life lessons about the importance of being kind needed to be learnt. And it worked… if what Tom was aiming for was his beautiful baby girl’s eyes to brim with sparkling tears, her bottom lip quivering slightly. 

Instantly Tom’s eyebrows drooped, trying to fight his natural reaction to scoop her onto his knee and reassure her everything was okay. But as you had lectured him many a time before, he had to put his foot down once in a while. So instead, the father and daughter were locked in a silence and intense eye contact, until Nova hesitantly began to speak. 

“I’m sorry Daddy.” During which, Nova shoved her chair back, making it screech against the tiled floors uglily before running off up the stairs. Tom knew she was crying a lot. Knew this was going to take a bit of fixing. 

With a sigh of his daughters name, Tom popped his head into the living to check on Leo who had already finished all his stuff. Seeing him completely zombified in front of ‘paw patrol’ on TV, Tom trudged up the stairs. He knew where she was, when Nova was upset she always hid in the corner of her wardrobe and cried in the darkness. So after steadying himself with a little internal monologue of how to approach the situation Tom walked in and sat down beside the wardrobe - knocking on the door slightly. 

“Nova… can we talk please?” All he heard was sniffing echoing from the wooden chamber until she tried to shout through the door.

“Go-go… go away daddy.” It broke his heart, the way her voice wavered, making Tom pout - gently letting his head fall against the wardrobe doors. 

“I don’t want you to be upset beautiful…. And you did apologise which I appreciate. You know why Daddy got angry right?” Her sniffles heightened before she muttered a quiet ‘yes’. “And you are sorry? Because that might’ve made me really sad too.”

“I’m s-s-sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“Then that’s good and we don’t need to cry. You want a cuddle little one?” Before Tom could even properly get up the door was being pushed open by her little hands, revealing a tear stained face and big glassy eyes looking up at her Dad. Swiftly Tom scooped her up and out of the cupboard, whispering to her while she buried her face in his chest. 

“Oh come here my little bean.”

//////////////////////

When you came home late that evening, only mildly exhausted from spending the whole day gossiping with your girls, it was weirdly quiet. All the lights were out in the front room, which made you close the door gently, thinking Tom had managed to exhaust the kids - and himself in the process. With a relieved sigh at the peace you pattered into the kitchen to get yourself a drink (it had been a little concern that Tom would’ve worked the kids into a hyperactive and delerious state that kept them up long past bedtime - which ultimately you’d have to deal with). The house was remarkably silent and though it was clear from the littered toys everywhere that it had indeed been Tom alone in charge, everything seemed pretty okay. 

It was only as you were about to head upstairs to join your hubby in bed that you realised the study light was still on, streaming through the small crack in the doorframe. Assuming Tom had just neglected to turn it off, in otherwords Tom being Tom, you nudged it open with your hand. Surprisingly though, there was your husband, hunched over the desk, looking almost angrily focused - between the computer screen and a piece of paper below him. Normally you would’ve just assumed it was another script sent over or an edit Harry had sent of another screenplay they were writing together. 

But no, the blatant red flag was the screen that you could see. A screen on YouTube, of a man pointing at a whiteboard of fractions. 

So with a soft wrist you wrapped your knuckled on the side of the door, even if you had technically already entered the room. The reaction had you stifling a laugh, it was as if you’d caught him watching something *less PG* the way he jumped out his seat, closing the browser immediately. 

“Love!! I -er … didn’t know you’d got back?”

“I just did.” You smiled gently, while walking into stand behind his chair, wrapping your arms round his neck and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Soooo…. what’ca doingggg” The glee in your voice was evident, making Tom groan and shut his eyes. 

“I hate you, you know that right?” 

“No you don’t… but you were watching a primary school video on fractions, if I’m not so mistaken?” He sighed deeply, making a point of turning the paper with his scribbles over to obscure it. 

“Nova’s homework.. she couldn’t do it and neither could I, so then she basically screamed at me for being thick and udseless and then had a breakdown.” 

Now you felt guilty. This was a bit of a sore spot with Tom, he always for some reason felt inferior because of his academic ability. Which was stupid- mainly because he was the most clever and talented man you’d ever met. Just…. Just not at fraction. 

“Oh T… you could’ve just left it for me to do with her, I don’t mind.”

“That’s not the point Y/n.” He snapped a little, shrugging your arms off him and spinning in the chair so he could face you. “She’s my daughter and I should be able to help her! It’s not like it’s that hard, it’s just I’m unbelievable thick.”

“Tom stop. Look - you can do this I assure you, it’s just been a long old time ‘kay? Your rusty and that’s only natural.”

“I really don’t think I could ev-“

“Can I teach you? It’s just the method and then I promise you’ll get it.”

It took a bit of persuasion but eventually Tom agreed, letting you pull the corner chair forward to beside his desk so you could demonstrate it to him. To be fair, he really could do it- just a bit of familiarising on the ‘stick-change-flip’ method. The way the lightbulb moment literally caused his face to light up; scurrying to do the question for himself, tongue sticking out in the process; then presenting it to you proudly - well it had you melting in your seat. 

“See! That took all of 5 minutes and you got it.” You elbowed  his side by leaning forward in the chair, which instead of letting go, Tom reached and caught, before pulling you up and round. You landed with you bum perched on the edge of the mahogany desk, Tom now stood up- his legs in-between your parted thighs - your feet hooking round the back of knees. 

“It’s all down to my incredibly talented teacher.”

“No…. No I really don’t think it is” You mused with a soft voice, fingers instinctively going to the nape of his neck - twirling the little curls round your fingertips. 

“Well even so… I think I could teach you a thing or two too.” Never one to mull on anything, Tom’s tone had immediately switched to something a lot more… mischievous. 

“Not even going to ask about my day? Wheres the chat mr smooth?” He had to repress the grin at your smirk because as much as you infuriated the hell out of him - you also had this weird ability of making him feel so entranced and helpless. He relented with a sarcastic chime.

“Fine, how was your day love.”

“Good…. but I have a feeling you’re about to make it a whole lot better.”

That was all the signals he needed to lean forward, in doing so forcing you back until your back landed completely on the cool wood. His lips feathered yours, both hands pinned either side of your head.

“Oh darling… you have no idea.”

[the-witty-pen-name]

Can’t Help Falling in Love

Loki x Reader (f) 

Valentine’s Day with the God of Mischief 

Based on suggestion by: @squadleaderchase​

A/N: Thank you so much for the suggestion! I loved writing this, it was so much fun! 

Happy Valentine’s Day y’all!

There is also a gender neutral version of this fic, and will be posted shortly after this one! Read it here! 

I recommend to putting on Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis towards the end just for that finishing touch! 

Summary: When Loki learns about the traditions of Valentine’s Day, he asks you to be his Valentine- and reluctantly takes advice from Steve Rogers. 

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: none; just fluff 

“Can’t Midgardians have a holiday that doesn’t involve such a grotesque display of… red?” Loki asks walking into the living room of the Avengers compound. Loki arrived at the compound a few weeks before Christmas and so far, he’s experienced two Earth holidays: Christmas and New Year’s. Of course, Tony had picked the theme for both parties to be elaborately red and gold- he claimed the fact that it matched his suit was merely a coincidence.

“Just wait until next month,” you reply casually, your eyes not leaving the brief you were reading while you sat cozied up in one of the large armchairs. “I think you’ll like St. Patrick’s Day much more… color scheme wise at least.”

Loki looked up curiously at the hearts of all shades of red and pink Natasha had hung up to decorate the Avengers’ living quarters. She had gone to visit Clint’s family and his kids spent hours making Valentines and decorations out of construction paper and glitter. Loki looked almost puzzled at the lopsided hearts that hung from the ceiling on transparent line so they looked like they floated mid-air.

“Perhaps I might,” he mumbled to himself, the lovesick aura of his surroundings making him slightly disgusted. “Though I suppose I find your rituals as bizarre as you’d find on Asgard.”

“Mhmm,” you mumbled in response to his thinking out loud. It was rare that the compound would be this quiet. It was a Friday evening and in the middle of a team meeting earlier today, Tony declared exhaustedly that everyone needs to start the weekend early and dismissed everyone despite Steve’s protests. You weren’t sure where everyone else went and you didn’t particularly care- enjoying the rare peace and quiet.

You didn’t mind Loki’s company. He was a little aloof but overall, you found him more to be misunderstood than anything else. He wasn’t like Thor and sure, he had a very trouble ridden past to downplay it- but he’s confided in you all it wasn’t entirely his doing. Out of everyone living at the compound, he probably had grown the closest to you, or as close as Loki would allow himself to be to someone.

“What even is this holiday?” Loki asked, pulling his attention from the decorations to where you sat, binder in your lap. You looked up and closed the brief, tossing it onto the coffee table in front of where you sat.

“Sunday is Valentine’s Day,” you say looking back over to him, meeting his eyes. “I mean overtime the traditions and how we celebrate have changed but it’s originally the day meant to honor St. Valentine and commemorate his death. There’s a lot more to it than that and there’s all different of different origins, but now it’s more like a day where you celebrate love, because he was the patron Saint of Love.”

Loki nods, liking the idea of this holiday much more than New Years already. He didn’t mind Christmas, but the elaborate parties made everything not very appealing to him. You can’t blame the god for not having a good time at parties where every guest fears him or hates him. He walks over and takes a seat on the couch and crosses his legs. He was intrigued enough to continue the conversation and ask you more questions. “What are the traditions?” He asks curiously.

“Traditionally, you would ask someone to be your Valentine, and that’s the person you want to spend the day with,” you answer with a small shrug, trying to explain a holiday you’ve never had to explain before. “Some people have it easy and they ask their significant other, and if you don’t have one, you ask someone you’re romantically interested in to be your Valentine. Then you give each other gifts, like chocolates or flowers, anything really that’s romantic and you go out on a date, like a nice dinner but it doesn’t have to be. That’s the basic gist.”

“Thank you, (y/n),” Loki said, mulling over your explanation. “You’ve been helpful, as always. Tell me, who’s your Valentine?”

“I don’t have one,” you answered honestly. The only time you really celebrated was when you had been with someone. You’d never really participated otherwise. You planned to just spend the night alone or with Nat if she also didn’t have plans and probably watch a movie- most definitely Pride and Prejudice.

“Shame,” Loki said with a tsk. “Perhaps, if you would be interested, you could be my Valentine?”

“Really?” you ask, honestly surprised.

“I actually like the idea of the day,” Loki shrugged. “And I don’t know many people, people seem to hate me on this planet- no idea as to why. You’ve always been kind to me, and you are the most tolerable person I’ve encountered on this planet.”

“That’s oddly very kind of you,” you say with a chuckle. “I appreciate the sentiments. Um, yes. I’d be happy to be your Valentine.”

“Excellent,” he grinned. He clapped his hands together and stood up. “Splendid. I’ll ask Thor to help me plan something.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you smile, picking up your paperwork again as Loki heads off to find his brother.

***

“Brother,” Thor’s voice echoed in the training room. “Spar with me?”

“As much as I would love to,” Loki said sarcastically, “I need your help with something I need to plan.” Loki walked over to the side of the mat where Thor had been training with Captain Rogers.

“Plan what?” Captain Rogers asked curiously. It was an innocent enough question but Loki took it as Rogers insinuating his distrust in him. Of course, Loki can’t blame the man but it did rub him the wrong way.

“If you must know Captain Rogers, I’m making plans for this upcoming Valentine’s Day,” Loki said matter-of-factly. “I’m sure since you have quite the active love life recently, your words of wisdom are probably of infinite value.”

“You can learn a thing or two from me,” Steve retorted as he put the punching bag beck into place. “But I don’t like your attitude.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever manage without you,” Loki scoffed. He turned his attention back to his brother. “I need help to determine where I should take (y/n) and what I should get her.”

“(y/n) agreed to this?” Thor asks, his eyebrows raised in confusion. Rogers kept his mouth shut, deciding to see where this conversation will go before

“Yes, brother. I asked her to be my Valentine as stated by tradition and she said yes.”

“Ah! Good for you, brother!” Thor exclaimed, happily. “I’m glad you’re immersing yourself in the Midgard culture.”

“Yes, yes,” Loki waved him off, “Now, please, tell me what I should do.”

“I’ve never celebrated Valentine’s Day,” Thor says with a shrug and a sympathetic look. “I haven’t had much opportunity to explore the culture. Every time I’m on this planet I’m a little busy preventing its destruction. Perhaps Rogers can help you?”

Loki let out an exasperated sigh. He avoided Rogers as he knew the man had such a smug look on his face. Loki refused to give him the satisfaction. However, he realized that wouldn’t be fair to you. Rogers not only knew what to do, but he was also close friends with you. He quickly realized if he wanted to celebrate with you properly, he’d need to rely on the infamous super soldier.

“Captain Rogers,” Loki said with a charismatic smile, turning back to the man. “I wholeheartedly apologize for my lack of… social niceties. If you’d be willing to help me, to ensure your dear friend enjoys her holiday, I would be sincerely grateful.”

“Only because of (y/n),” Rogers says skeptically, waving a finger at Loki. “She deserves to enjoy her time and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you screw up her evening.”

“What a loyal friend.”

Years later, the Avengers would still talk about the fact Loki cared about you so much, he sought out advice from Captain America and Thor. And as Captain America said, he helped Loki with every last detail and Steve never let Loki forget it.

***

Loki had told you that he’d come to your room to get you at 6 o’clock Sunday evening. He wore clothes he had picked out, black dress pants, a white button-down shirt and shiny, black dress shoes. He had kept the last button of the shirt unbuttoned and he had rolled the sleeves up, a styling tip he had gotten from Thor. He had his long hair gelled back and tamed, ignoring Captain Roger’s horrible suggestion for a haircut. He felt very weird not wearing any green, but he took the advice he was given on his ensemble.

You were just putting on your heels when he knocked at your door Sunday promptly at 6pm. Of course, Loki would be very punctual. You gave yourself one more quick once more in the mirror in your room before heading to answer the door.

You had on a pair of dark green heels that perfectly matched your dress. You also layered over the outfit a suede brown jacket, that complimented the jewel tone of the dress and shoes nicely. You kept your appearance simple, sticking to how you usually styled your hair. Not wanting to keep him waiting, you quickly opened the door, your jacket and bag both in hand.

“Wow,” you say with a grin, when you take in Loki’s appearance. “You look very nice.”

“You look stunning,” Loki said, his eyes widening, taking in your appearance. The compliment made you have butterflies.

“Thank you,” you said with false confidence. Underneath, you were a nervous wreck as you took the arm that he extended to you.

“So,” Loki began to walk down the hallway with you. “Apparently, this planet has something called reservations, and anyone who tries to get one a few days before Valentine’s Day is a “moron,” according to a very rude young man I had the pleasure of speaking with- the first time using a phone too on top of that. So, I hope you don’t mind if the evening is a little… makeshift.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” you reassure him. You feel him relax slightly. You found how hard he was trying so endearing.

Where else did he bring you but just down the hall to the living room. At night with the lights dimmed, combined with Natasha’s homemade decorations, it actually looked quite beautiful. He had decorated with an eclectic array of candles as well that covered most surfaces of the room. It also looked like he had swiped every throw pillow in the whole compound and had them arranged the coffee table in the center of the room.

“Did you do all of this?” You ask in awe.

“Yes,” he replied, just watching you. “Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect.”

“I had to make my own version of advice I received,” he disclosed to you. You sat opposite each other on either side of the coffee table, you kicked off your heels and he did the same with his shoes. “Captain Rogers said- and I’m trying my best to quote verbatim, ‘You need to show a girl a good time. You gotta take her to dinner and dancing.’” He even mimicked Steve’s voice perfectly. It made you laugh.

“I can’t believe you subjected yourself to Steve for me, I’m touched,” you smiled. “I mean I love Steve,” you continue, “But I can’t imagine you too being best friends anytime soon.”

“No, I suppose we probably won’t be,” Loki chuckles.

“I hate to point it out,” you continue, “but I think you missed both the dinner part and the dancing part of that plan.” Loki smirked and when you blinked, he transformed the whole room.

“Did I?” he asks, with an eyebrow raised. You gasp, looking around the room you were now in. You knew it was an illusion, but it felt very real. The atmosphere, the breeze coming in from the large bay windows that weren’t there before. The coffee table now a table now one of many dining tables in an incredibly high-end restaurant. The table had food, and a bottle of wine. You were stunned. There was a live band and other couples in other tables and out on the dancefloor.

“Loki?” You exclaimed, looking around at your new surroundings. It was amazing. You couldn’t believe the magic right before your eyes. Of course, you knew it was just one of his tricks, but it felt so incredibly real. You picked up your fork and took a bite of the food in front of you. It was incredible, you questioned if you were even eating.

“It’s real,” Loki said, like he could read your mind. Honestly, he had only just anticipated your next question. “I made it. Well, I made it with Friday’s supervision.”

“It’s fantastic! I can’t believe you went through all this trouble just for me.”

“Sweetheart, you are very much worth it- worth much more than this,” he responded casually, throwing in the term of endearment to see how you’d react. He caught the way it made you smile.

You continued to talk for a little while, and shared stories. You were worried that compared to his life on Asgard, he’d find your stories incredibly boring and mundane. It seemed to be the opposite. His attention was only on you and he held on to every word you said. He created this elaborate setting just to keep you the center of his attention.

“Should we dance?” He asks suddenly, a glimmer in his eye. You looked down apprehensively.

“I’m not really a dancer,” you tried to insist.

“Do you actually not want to dance, darling? Because if so, I will not bring it up again,” he says earnestly, “But, if you’re saying no because you’re afraid I’m going to judge you, I honestly can promise you I would never dream of doing so.”

You give it another moment to ponder over his words. You were taken aback at how well he seemed to know how you were thinking. You let out a sigh of defeat, and smile. “I’d love to,” you reply.

He stands up and offers you his hand. His smile is enough to make you weak at the knees. You take his hand and he leads you over to the dancefloor as the band starts playing its next song. “Does that singer sound like Elvis?” You ask, the small glitch in the illusion throwing you off for only a moment.

“I don’t know who that is,” Loki says with a laugh. He pulls you in close and rests one hand on the small of your back and the other grasps your hand close. You wrap your other arm around his shoulder. You are both pressed up incredibly close to one another. You rest your head on his chest comfortably, and you can’t see how much the action makes his whole face go red. Guiding your movements together, it mostly just swaying in place. The steps were small, and with the music playing for the two of you.

“This place is incredible,” you sigh happily looking up at him. “But I think I liked the first place a little better.”

He nodded in agreement and you got to watch a green hue encompass the walls of the restaurant as they almost melted away, and everything around the two of you just fade away. The sconces on the walls, revealed themselves to be the candles that cluttered the living room and the couples evaporated with the green mist. The table you had both sat at, turned back to the coffee table but the empty plates remained. The elaborate statues that surrounded the room turned into the furniture you knew well, and then the live band faded away to reveal Steve’s record player indeed playing a 45 of Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley.

When the room finished revealing its true appearance to you, you laid your head back on Loki’s chest and mumbled that now it was perfect. He smiled to himself, thinking about how without a doubt in his mind, Valentine’s Day is his absolute favorite holiday on Midgard. He now couldn’t believe this reality was real. If he wasn’t holding you, he’d pinch himself. You were here, with him, in his arms, dancing in the middle of the living room on this godforsaken planet.

“(y/n)?” he whispered softly as the song was coming to an end.

“Mhmm?” You responded, your eyes closed, really just basking in the feeling of being so close to him and the smell of his cologne.

“Will be mine?” He asks carefully, remembering the phrase from Captain Roger’s advice. That phrase apparently being very important if today went well and he wanted to ask you to “go steady.” You chuckled softly, hearing Steve’s influence in the phrase.

“I would love to,” you say with a shy smile looking back up to him. He beams, incredibly happy you said yes. Swept up in his emotions, he swiftly leans down and presses his lips to yours capturing them in a passionate first kiss.

“Oh gross!” You hear someone exclaim, making you both pull away. It’s Tony- who was currently holding his side in pain as Pepper elbowed him in the side.

“You really had to do that?” she chastised him, rolling her eyes and giving an apologetic look to you and Loki before pushing Tony down the hallway to give you both your moment back, as sullied as it had become thanks to Tony.

“I’m so sorry,” she said embarrassed by his outburst, ushering him out as quickly as possible.

Loki turns his head back to you, immediately after they are out of view. “Where were we, darling?” He smirks, pulling you in for another kiss.

[sweet-sammy-kisses]

Finally Seeing

Written for @tropetember #12: getting together (I had this one ready figured I would post it while working on the other ones) Fandom: 911 Pairing: Buck x Eddie, minor Eddie/Ana Word Count: 1,435 Rating: T Summary: Ana turned out to Eddie’s Ali something Buck never wanted for his secret crush. You can also read it here AO3

"I can't do this Eddie. I can't do this anymore."

Eddie knew that this was coming Ana had tried but his PSTD was too much for her, the nightmares that had him waking up screaming for Buck in the middle of the night. Needing Buck to comfort him and not her.

It just hurt that she was walking away from him when he could use her support. 'Is this how Buck felt when Ali broke up with him when he needed her the most? That she walked away when it got too much.'

"I understand Ana. I'm glad that Christopher didn't get too attached to you because it would surely break his heart to know that you run at the first sign of things getting too rough." Eddie couldn't help but snap at Ana. He had been so sure that Ana would be different but once against he found himself comparing Ana to Shannon and found her lacking in comparison. Shannon had tried, she had cared for their son all by herself when she had no one to help him and his parents looking down on her and tearing her apart with their words.

Ana stepped back like he had been slapped, she knew that this wasn't going to be an easy breakup. "Edmundo," she began.

"My name is Eddie." Eddie snapped back, he was so tired and Ana unable to call him by his actual name was a sore spot to him. "I am so tired of being Edmundo for you. You created this perfect version of me, of Edmundo and I tried so hard to hit into the man you wanted me to be. I changed who I was, I allowed you to call me by a name I don't want to be called. Tell me Ana did you ever see Eddie or just Edmundo?"

Tears began to fill up in Ana's eyes, she could lie but there was no point. "I see you as Edmundo. We could be so happy together, we could have a lovely family if only you would leave your job. It is dangerous, every day you put your life on the line and I thought I could deal with it but I can't! I can't deal with you being hurt! Watching you thrash and scream only for you to call out Buck's name and not mine! This isn't what I wanted. What would have happened to Christopher if one day you don't come home to us? I'm not ready to be a mother."

"You wouldn't have to worry about my son, if something happens to me full custody goes to Buck," Eddie growled out.

Ana's mouth dropped open in shock. "Buck? Are you telling me that you gave Buck custody of Christopher? He is not suitable for being given care of a child, let alone one as special as Christopher."

Red hot rage filled Eddie at the way Ana talked about his son and his best friend. "There is no one I trust more in this world with Christopher than Buck. I have seen how far he would go to keep him safe. I have seen how much he loves Christopher and how much Christopher loves Buck."

Ana couldn't believe what she is hearing, "You really care about Buck more than me, don't you?"

Unflinching Eddie met Ana's eyes, "Buck sees me as Eddie, not Edmundo like you do. He likes me for who I am not who he wants me to be, like you do."

"Then I guess we have nothing left to say to one another." Turning on her heel Ana exited Eddie's house and somehow Eddie felt free now that she is gone.

+*****+

It wasn't a surprise that Eddie ended up at Buck's place with Christopher having a sleepover at the Wilson's house Eddie knew that he needed Buck, he needs his comfort and presence, he didn't keep the nightmares from coming but he could chase away the fear when he wrapped his arms around him and held him close.

"Are you okay?" Buck asked as he opened the door and took in Eddie's drawn face, "Did something happen to Chris'?"

Eddie's heart warmed at the fact that Buck's first thoughts were to make sure his son was okay. "Chris is fine, he is having a blast at his sleepover with Henry and Denny. Oh, I did promise Hen that we would stop by in the morning and you would make pancakes for the boys."

"Sounds like fun." Buck's eyes sparkled at the idea of spending time with three of the members of the junior 118th members, he loves all the children of their found family, none as much as Christopher and Jee-Yun but he does love them.

"Just remember to hold back on the chocolate chips I don't think Hen will thank you for her having to deal with three sugar-high children." Eddie teased back.

"I make no promises, that is why I will need you along to watch my back, Diaz." Buck teased back as he let Eddie enter.

A chuckle escaped Eddie he knew that Buck wanted to ask how he was but wouldn't say anything until he was ready to talk, where Ana would push him for answers. "Ana and I broke up today."

Buck's eyes widen and worry appeared on his face, "Are you alright?"

"I think I am. She couldn't handle my PSTD or my job and she didn't like the fact that I gave custody of Christopher to you."

Buck hadn't been wanting to be right about his feelings and thoughts about Ana. She reminded him of Ali in a way, she cared about him, maybe even loved him, but she loved the idea of having a hot firefighter boyfriend, someone she could brag about but when the dangerous side of his job came into play it became too much for her and she had to leave. Buck didn't blame Ali, not really, it had just hurt that she left him when he needed someone the most.

It broke his heart to see Eddie going through the same thing that he had once gone through. "I'm sorry Eddie, I know that you cared about Ana a great deal."

"But you didn't like the man I was with her." Eddie raised an eyebrow and dared Buck to try and lie to him.

Flushing Buck rubbed the back of his neck, "Not really. I guess I like Eddie more than Edmundo."

Closing the distance between them Eddie looked into Buck's blue eyes that he loves so much. "I like Eddie more as well. I especially like Eddie when he is with you."

Suddenly feeling very warm and having a dry mouth Buck licked lips, "I like who I am with you and Christopher as well."

Eddie's brown eyes were warm and full of love. "It took me some time but I have finally opened my eyes to what has been right in front of me this whole time."

"Oh thank god." Buck breathed out, "It was breaking my heart watching you with her and seeing you lose yourself trying to please her. That isn't what love is. You love a person for who they are not who you can make them into."

Stroking Buck's cheek Eddie's smile lit up his whole face, "Just so we are on the same page, I love you, Buck, so much and so deeply. You and Christopher are my world."

The sun had nothing on the smile that appeared on Buck's face. "I love you too Eddie. You and Christopher are what I have been looking for so long, people who love me for who I am."

"Can I kiss you now?" Eddie asked.

"Of course."

Kissing Buck was everything Eddie had dreamed it would be and more, Buck tasted like what Eddie thinks sunlight would taste like. Kissing Buck was like coming home, Eddie only felt this kind of peace and belonging with Christopher.

+*****+

The Next Morning

"Finally, it took the two of you long enough." Hen greeted them after she took in their joint hands. She was truly happy for her friends.

But no one was happier than Christopher, "Finally! Dad, I love you but you were taking forever in making Buck ours."

As a celebration Buck made his famous pancakes with far too much sugar and happily played with the boys until the sugar wore off where he happily collapsed into Eddie's arms.

"I love you, Eddie." Buck was thrilled that he could finally say those words out loud.

Smiling Eddie pressed a kiss on Buck's temple, "I love you too Buck."

[floatinginwords]

Saved by the Devil (17/?) - Thomas Shelby

Summary: Father and reader are reunited, Reader faces her past and future at once. (Im getting better kind of?) 

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader (Romantic)

Warning: Unhealthy father and daughter relationship.

A/N: This chapter took oh so long but I’m glad that we get to see this relationship between Father and Daughter in this one. Also i named the father George so sorry if you know someone named George. Comments and feedback is always appreciated and as always have a good night and take care of yourselves. 

Italics = flashback

George (L/N), your father was a man that everyone feared. You knew this ever since you were a little girl. You saw the air he prided himself with, the way people parted like the red sea whenever he walked, the way no one would look him in his eye. You used to worship the ground he walked on. You would cry on to your mother why you couldn’t spend more time with the man, she would give you a look that you didn’t understand then. She was horrified when George did decide to take you for a tour of his ‘office.’ She could do nothing but watch you bounce happily away on your father hand. You still remember the day.

 “You can’t take her, not there.” Your mother cried to him

 “Shes gonna need to learn sooner or later.”

 “Then later!” She yelled.

 He ignores her cries as he drags you along. You had a big smile at finally getting time with your father. You didn’t understand why she was against this.

The walk was brisk, you even stopped for a treat. You ended up jumping from one place to another. Your father talking to people, shaking their hands. You noticed how they looked to him like a leader. So you asked.

 “Im a boss honey,” He answered, “You will be too one day. You’ll help me run all this.”

 “Really?” you said

 “You just gotta be tough. Can you do that?”

 You nodded pulling off your toughest face. The next place he leads you is some old train tracks that aren’t used anymore. A group of men stand around in a circle. All of them waiting for him.

 “You brought a kid to this?” One of them says.

 “You got a problem with that?” George says cocking his gun you didn’t realize he had.

 The man shakes his head no and pints where the rest of them gather, “They got him over there.”

Your father no longer holds your hand as he walks ahead of you. You follow slowly. You can see the man in the middle of the circle. Looking worn down and beaten. Your father stands ahead of him, he plays with gun in the air. He talks words you block out. You just watch the man as is eyes loosely follow your father. He cries uncontrollable begging for his life. You see his body fall before you hear the gun. You don’t cry, you don’t say a word. Your father pats you on the head and says you did good.

 Soon he took you everywhere and anywhere, spending more time with him less with your mother. You became a different person as you became used to the violence. You saw different side of your father more than once but he still treated you like a good. He wanted you prepared for anything and you just wanted to prove that you could be. So learning wasn’t an issue and neither was the perfection you set yourself up for. You became a mini version of him, you didn’t mind unlike your mother who was just horrified. She fought for you to stay in school when he would convince you to leave. She wanted to to date, have a normal job. But you wouldn’t listen to her. You father was your hero at the time you saw nothing wrong with anything that was happening.

 “Your tainting her. Its not good for her to be around this stuff.”

 You listen from atop of the stairs, now only seventeen.

 “Son or daughter, my child is gonna learn the business and learn it right!” He yelled

 “Then ill tell the police, everything I know. Ill take her away or- or”

 “Are you threatening me?”

 “I want my daughter back! You’re running her.”

 “She’s growing up, deal with it.” He turns away from her, gives her the side eye before walking out. You go to sleep, hoping for them to forgive and forget.

 You wake in the middle of night for a glass of water when you found your mother dead. You cry for the first time over a dead body. Holding your mothers hand close to her face, hoping for  a reaction. Your father walks in and pauses. You can see through your lashes that his hands were stained red. You don’t say anything. He brings  out two shovels and hands one to you. George tells you nothing more but to dig in the backyard.

 You don’t. He scolds you for not listening, for not working faster. He digs it himself. He doesn’t look you in the eye as you watch his bury dirt on top of your mother. You share a tea later in the night. You just watch the inside of your cup, the steam rising up. He drinks his greedily, eating cookies as if it’s a regular Sunday morning.

That’s when your relationship changed. You begun to bicker and challenge everything he said or did. You couldn’t understand why he would do that. Or how he even could. You didn’t know what you could do, so you held the emotions in for a long time. Growing distant with your father. He confronts you on your behavior and you no longer hokd your tounge with him.

 “You killed her. Why?”

 “You wouldn’t understand.”

 “I had to bury her, do you know what that was like?”

 “In this business you’ll have to bury a lot more like her.”

 “she had nothing to do with it.” You state.

 He looks at your small figure, your eyes welling up with tears. “Don’t cry.”

 “Why did you do it? Why did you kill my mother?” You press the issue your voice growing louder wanting , needingthe answer. Wanting all this to make sense.

 “Why does it matter? So you can tell the whole city?” He turns on you quick.

 “What if I did, does that scare you?”

 “Watch your mouth girl.”

 “Is that why you killed my mother? Cause she didn’t watch her mouth.” He gets up quickly punching a hole in the wall near your face. You stay still as tears fall from you eyes slowly.

 No longer were the two of you a pair. The father daughter duo was dead. He iced you of the business. Meeting happening without you, transactions with your knowledge. He treated you like a stranger he shared a house with. But every chance you got when you would see him. You questioned him, wanted him to feel bad. No answer at this point would satisfy you, you know that. But you hoped the guilt would eat at his soul for the rest of time. You were there to remind him. And he didn’t like that.

It was the day before you turned eighteen, when you were surprised with a knock on the door. The men claimed to be doctors as they grabbed you by the wrist, throwing you in their car, declaring you insane. You didn’t understand what was happening and that only made them laugh sealing their opinion on what state your mind was as you panicked. The doctors told you nothing but that your father had expressed concerns over your health. And that he was doing this for your own good. Being there made you feel insane but you tried your best to repeal the order to get out. But the doctors were well played off, some of the nurses being Georges goons, no one would let you out unless he said so. Until Tommy Shelby came in, of course you were finally free from that cage.

 So now you stand in front of this man, you had idolized and called father. A man who now is only a murderer, a thief, a low life, your enemy. You clench your jaw as he opens his arms to you. The wrinkles on Georges face crease as he smiles. He’s older in the face and hold a cane in his hand.

 “What? No hug?”

 “Fuck off.”

 “What a lovely choice of words. Im glad to see your okay. I meant to visit…” You glare at him, “but I’ve been busy. Its good to finally find you.”

 “You don’t have to play dumb. How long have you been following me. Ive noticed since a month ago.”

 “Hmm you’re slacking. Its been longer than that. You really think I would let my daughter be out and about, not knowing shes safe.”

 “I had hoped the rumors of your death were true. Guess I hoped too much.”

 “Ah yes your little hit on me. Didn’t go as planned did it.” He glances over at the smoke floating in the town miles from us, “Your work I assume.”

 “Did you do that to Trinity?”

 “It wasn’t anything personal. No need to throw a tantrum.”

 You huff and hold yourself back from stabbing right where he stood. “You had no right-“

 George interrupts you, “After the stunt you pulled. Asking Thomas Shelby to kill me in exchange you tell him a few locations. You know what he did when he found me. He shook my hand. The man helps me fake my death, im off to America. Can you guess where?”

 “New York.”

 “That’s right and its bigger and its booming, honey. And here you are sleeping with a man who lies to you, who is no different than me or the other men ive killed or hurt.”

 “Im not-not” You blush at the accusation your father throws to you. You had forgotten for a second how Tommy Shelby was involved in this. You remember asking him and never getting a clear answer. Especially when you were so unsure with what was going on, you should have pressed more. Not been so easy to trust him. You could have been more prepared for this, left the country sooner.

 “Listen, I’m just here to help you-“

 “By locking me up calling me crazy, or was it when you killed my mother, or had me followed or when you killed my friend.”

 “I understand your mad. But honey we are better as a team than not. Remember me and you fighting the world together.” He uses a funny light hearted voice. One that he would use only to manipulate you when you were younger.

 “What do you want from me?”

 He sighs, “I need a peace treaty. And the family’s got this son.-“

 You scoff, “Are you kidding me?”

 “its what best for our family. And honestly you have no choice in the matter. Ill drag you there myself if I have to.”

 “I’d like to see you try.” You pull put your knife and hold it out in attack position.

 “You’re gonna kill me, your old man,” He uses a mockingly sad voice before erupting into a mad laughter, “You might as well do it now cause you wouldn’t want me as your enemy.”

 “I think it might be too late for that.”  You press the knife against your own throat, pressing hard against your skin. You can feel a trickle of warm blood run down. Now George finally panics.

 “Hey, Hey! Don’t do that!” He yells.

 “Walk out of here and don’t turn back.  Now! “You command.

 Your father follows your orders because you knew it as well as he that in this game you were now an important chess piece. And he wouldn’t have no use with a dead bride.

 “I’ll be seeing you very soon.” He says as he walks further and further away. You watch until his figure is nothing more than a blur. That’s when you finally release the grip on your knife.

You sit down on the ground and quietly sob into your hands. You don’t know the time when you finally stop but its still night and still no train. You hear the sound of a lighter flicking on. You curse under your breath as you get up, ready to die tonight if it meant not being in your fathers plan.

 “You are really testing my patience tonight.” You say turning around. Only it wasn’t your father standing there.

 “Cigarette? You look like you could use one.” The deep voice says. And there you are, Face to face once again with Thomas Shelby.