#being so honest man. that fic was such a huge inspiration for my own personal interpretations and projects
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duuuude. i JUST started Powerless and the way this is 120% the LNDD vibe. oh my god. your BRAIN
YEESSSSSS OMG. THAT MAKES ME SO HAPPY. I remember reading your fic and being FLOORED for DAYS after because ohhh my god it was incredible. Every single time I listen to Powerless I'm reminded of it and I have to take like 10 minutes just to think about and appreciate the experience.
And like,, my synesthesia makes the vibes of both things like.. golden almost?? Soft yellow light and dark crisp honey colored at the same time, the warmth before it settles into a cold blue and you're left remembering how the gentle glow felt instead of being inside of it still..... idk!!
bro i have some strange superpower thing with connecting parx songs to basically like.. anything ever, especially writing and characters,, like if it fits the thing or not my brain just shoots out a song for it lmfao
#being so honest man. that fic was such a huge inspiration for my own personal interpretations and projects#the mental images it brought up significantly impacted how i create for laurance as a character#you're literally so amazing#asks#ask#mutuals
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Last Time?
Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Benny Lafitte
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Summary: They promised each other it would be the last time.
Square/s Filled: “Age Difference” (@spnchristmasbingo), "Lingerie" (TMAS Bingo - @supernatural-jackles), "Dirty Talk" (@spnkinkevents), “Suck on my fingers and get them nice and wet for me.” (@anyfandomkinkbingo)
Warnings: age difference, smut, 18+, finger fucking, sex, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk
Rating: +18
Words count: 2460
A/N: Hi there! Not long ago I wrote a fic called “A few moments of madness” for the beautiful @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone. It was fun writing that one, especially the part where I left with that huge plot twist. I genuinely thought it was the end of the road for this story, though, until the inspiration hit me. And what was I supposed to do if not write it down? So, here we are today. I think I’m starting to figure out my way with smut, but I’ll let you judge that. Let me know what you think about it. Enjoy!
He was in big trouble.
Since his little accident with his best friend's daughter - if that's what you wanna call it - he tried to avoid Benny at all costs. He did a pretty good job if you asked him, until the Christmas holidays. He wasn't in the mood to celebrate since what happened with Lisa, and he definitely didn't want to spend Christmas under the pity glances his family would throw at him. Sunday's lunch was already too much for his own taste. So, he decided to spend Christmas alone for once. Maybe eating take-out on the couch just like a grown-up person would do. He had everything planned already until Benny asked him to join him for Christmas dinner.
Dean knew he should have ignored the bell ring - he knew it.
Either way, he agreed because it was Benny and because, of course, he felt guilty for what he did. So, now, he was stuck celebrating Christmas with his best friend and his daughter. Yes, the same girl he had fucked months ago, and he still jerked off at the thought of it, even though he would deny this last piece of information with all his strengths if anyone asked him.
Dean had a plan, though.
He had spent the prior night wide awake, planning his way through the whole Christmas dinner. It was a solid plan, and he was kinda proud of it. He just needed to stay away from Y/N and follow every step just like he had planned them.
What could possibly go wrong?
They were halfway through dinner and Dean was pretty sure he was going to hell. His plan, which was supposed to be solid, blow up in his face the moment he stepped inside his friend's house. He didn't even know how that happened, but here he was facing Y/N at the dinner table. He did his best to avoid her gaze and participate in the conversation, but if he had to be honest the only thing he could see was her bent down on his kitchen counter. Because of that he almost choked on his food on multiple occasions. Thank God his friend was too busy making sure everything was perfect for his daughter.
Yeah, his daughter…
Dean's thoughts trailed off again until he realized he was staring at her sweater a bit too much.
"Oh, crap, I forgot the beans."
Benny's voice caught his attention just in time to see his friend get up. Dean followed suit without thinking about it, too afraid to be left alone with Y/N.
"I'll go get them." he tried, earning a weird look from Benny.
"No, man, sit down. You're our guest. I'll be right back."
And with that Benny was already out of the room, leaving Dean with his napkin still in his hands, staring at the door. He cleared his throat, glancing at Y/N, who was watching him amused, before sitting down again.
"You're being weird," she told him while sipping her wine.
"No, I'm not." he scoffed, even though he knew she was absolutely right about it. Y/N raised one of her brows, watching him from the rim of her glass which earned an eye roll from Dean.
"Okay, fine, but in my defense, I just want you to know that when I came here, I had a solid plan to walk me through this..." he said, gesturing at them and the room they were in it.
"Oh, and how's going?" she asked amused, trying her very best to hide her smirk. Y/N figured she had done a poor job from the way Dean was looking at her - unimpressed.
"Clearly, it ain't working."
"Clearly," Y/N smirked, putting down the glass she was still holding.
Dean scowled at her, wanting to kiss that smirk out of her face. Wait, what? No. Absolutely, no. - he had to scold himself for thinking stuff like that about his friend's daughter, even if that same person was looking too damn cute for her own good.
"Okay, stop doing that."
"Stop what?" she asked with her brow raised in confusion.
"You know what! Never mind," he said, stubbing some of the vegetables on his plate with the fork. He didn't even like vegetables, for fuck’s sake. Y/N looked at him for a few seconds, glancing in the direction of the kitchen before leaning more toward Dean.
"Look, I know that we started on the wrong foot..."
"You can say that again." Dean scoffed, gulping down a generous amount of red wine.
"And I would like for Benny not to know about, you know..." she said, pointing at the two of them. "...us."
Dean sit up straight at that, putting down his glass and leaning more in her direction before speaking in a lower voice.
"He can never know about us," he said, panicked.
"So, could you, I don't know, act a bit more normal?"
Dean furrowed his brow, opening and closing his mouth a few times his mouth trying to find the right words.
"Yeah, right, right. I can do that," he assured her, even though he wasn't sure who he was really trying to convince, her or himself. She nodded her head with a small smile, satisfied by his answer.
"Great. And, oh, Dean, what happened between us..."
"...it can never happen again." he agreed, finishing her sentence.
Y/N was pressed against the wall, her Christmas sweater pulled up and her breast spilling out from her red bra. Her skirt was around her waist by now, while her panties were discarded somewhere on the floor. She could still picture Dean's face when he discovered the lingerie she was wearing under her Rudolph sweater.
Her breath hitched in her throat at the feeling of Dean's cold fingers against her hot skin. Y/N felt them travel along the inside of her leg until he reached her aching pussy. He ran his fingertips along her slit way too gently, making her ache even more.
"Please..." she moaned, letting her hips sway back and forth in search of some friction.
"You want more, hm?"
Y/N nodded her head enthusiastically, trying to stifle a moan and failing miserably. Dean smirked, biting down on his lips. Yeah, hell was definitely waiting for him, and he couldn't care much.
"Suck on my fingers and get them nice and wet for me, sweetheart," he whispered, taking away his hand from between her legs. Dean saw her open her mouth, sticking her tongue out for him and he had to restrain himself to not groan out loud. Damn, this woman - he thought while pushing three of his fingers inside her mouth. Y/N welcomed him without saying a word, sucking his fingers as if her life depended on it. Dean's free hand traveled down his pants, unbuttoning them to free his aching cock. He pushed them down just under his ass, taking down with them his boxer. His cock sprung free, tip red and precum already leaking. Y/N sucked at his fingers one more time before letting them free, licking her lips right after. Dean didn't even give her time to think about what was coming next and his three fingers found their way between her legs again. He circled her clit a few times before pushing inside her wet folds. He fingered her hard and fast, watching her take it thrust after thrust while taking hold of himself and giving a few strokes at his hard cock.
"Oh! God... Dean..." she whimpered, moving her hips against his hand while trying to hold herself somewhere, anywhere. She could already feel herself getting closer and closer, already tasting the pleasure when his fingers stopped, making her whine. Dean put his hands on her hips helping her move on her unsteady legs, positioning her in front of the bathroom mirror. He stayed behind her, watching her intently while his hands traveled along her body. He reached for her breasts, squeezing both of her tits in his hands and making her moan.
"You have to be quiet, now, Y/N. Can you do that for me, hm?" He asked her, licking the skin on her neck before latching his lips around her earlobe. She bit down on her lip, nodding her head at his question. Dean smiled with her earlobe still trapped between his teeth. He sucked at her skin one more time just for good measure before helping her lean forward.
"Bend down on the sink and spread your legs for me."
He didn't need to tell her twice. Y/N bent down, spreading her legs in the process. She felt exposed under Dean's gaze which made her even wetter than she already was. Dean bit on his lip, unable to take away his eyes from her glistening pussy. He took hold of himself, letting his cook brush against her folds a few times before lining himself at her entrance. He started to slowly push inside her, his eyes never leaving the mirror to watch her every single expression. Y/N closed her eyes, biting down on her lips to stifle the moans wanting to escape her. Dean let his fingers disappear between her hair, gripping a few of her strands and pulling them towards him. Y/N followed his movement arching her back and exposing her breasts even more.
"Open your eyes, babe. I want you to watch me fuck you," he whispered in her ear, feeling her shiver against him. She breathed heavily, taking a few seconds to regain control over her heart before opening her eyes just like he had asked her. The moment her eyes opened and looked at him through the mirror, Dean filled her with a deep thrust. Her whole body was pushed forward, and Y/N barely had the time to put one of her hands on the mirror to keep herself from crushing against it. She tried to follow every push of Dean's hips, matching his rhythm.
"Look at you, being fucked in your dad's bathroom by his friend." Dean panted in her ear, while still fucking her with a brutal pace. Y/N bit down on her lip harder, but she couldn't help the sound that came out of her at Dean's words. So, she put a hand around her mouth not trusting herself enough to be quiet, not when he was playing dirty. Dean smirked at her reaction, thrusting hard inside her while one of his hands went to her breast squeezing hard.
"Do you think he noticed your absence or he's too busy with the new year eve's party?" he asked her, knowing full well she wasn't going to answer him too busy pushing her hips against his hard cock. He let slip his free hand in between her legs, founding her clit.
"What would Benny think if he saw you right now, hm?" Dean felt her walls fluttering around his cock at that, making him falter for a moment.
Y/N let go of her mouth free even though she knew that wasn't a smart move, but the need to hold on to something was too much. So, she held onto the sink not being able to do anything if not stay there and take every push of Dean's cock ready to burst.
"Dean..." she whined, hoping that the music downstairs would cover her moans.
"You'd like that, don't you?"
"Oh God..."
"Say it," he told her, rubbing faster and faster at her hardened clit.
"Fuck... yes! Yes... yes..." she sobbed while the hardest orgasm of her life washed over her; her juices coating his cock. Dean groaned at the sight of her coming undone and after a few more thrusts he was spilling inside her, filling her up.
"Fuck, babe, yes." he panted in her ear, while his hips spasmed a bit more.
Dean collapsed on her, being careful to not crush her against with his weight. He breathed heavily, resting his forehead against her shoulders. Y/N rested against the cool sink, trying to catch her breath while letting her fingers travel between Dean's locks.
"That was..." he whispered, licking at his cracked lips.
"...the last time?" she asked him, scratching at his scalp making him moan.
"Yeah."
"You already said that yesterday after you fucked me on your couch..." she whispered, glancing at the mirror to look at him. Dean hid his face in the crock of her neck, grabbing at her breasts and squeezing them.
"...and the week before when we fucked in your car..." she whimpered, knowing exactly what she was doing while he bit down her skin.
"...and at Christmas dinner..."
Dean pulled hard at her nipples, making her gasp, and her core clenched around him but that seemed not to be enough to stop her.
"...half an hour later I was sucking you off, remember?" she asked, pushing him away gently just enough to turn around to have a better look at him. Dean let her move, still keeping her trapped between him and the sink, already missing the warmth of her pussy around him.
"Yeah, I remember that like I remember being balls deep inside you while your dad was sleeping three doors down," he whispered kissing her hard, letting his tongue swirl around hers.
God, she was able to make him a needing mess - he thought making a huge effort to push away from her. Dean licked at his lips, tasting her while slowly starting to recompose himself the best he could.
"We should get dressed and go downstairs before midnight," he said to her, bending down to grab her red lacy thong. She nodded her head, starting to adjust her bra before pushing down in his place her sweater. Dean kneeled at her feet helping her with her panties, pulling them up at her leg, and stopping halfway through to give one last lick at her wet pussy. Y/N shivered at that, opening her legs a bit more to give him better access at which she earned a gentle suck at her lips before he pulled her panties all the way up. Dean got up, kissing her one last time letting her taste herself on his tongue.
"You go first, and I'll follow in a few," he said to her, watching her adjust her skirt before walking to the door. She put her hand around the knob ready to turn it when she glanced at him.
"So, last time?" Y/N asked him just to be sure.
"Last time."
"Great, I'll see you back at your house then."
She winked at him before opening the door and slipping out of the bathroom. Dean closed the door behind her, resting his head against the cool wooden.
He was a dead man, but damn if it wasn't worth it.
#spnchristmasbingo#spnkinkevents#anyfandomkinkbingo#tell me a story bingo#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester au#reader#benny lafitte#supernatural#supernatural fic#supernatural fanfic#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural au#spn#spn fic#spn fanfic#spn fanfiction#spn au#christmas#smut
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i discovered your writing this yesterday and i am so taken by your words. you’re truly very gifted, i hope you know that and nurture it! junky pride gave me all sorts of feelings… big sigh! i was curious to know, where do you draw your inspiration from when it comes to fics and just storytelling more generally, apart from the man himself of course? i know you have only shared a few things with us but they are so immersive and i can only imagine how boundless your imagination must be. also… i saw you study english lit, so wondering what are your fave books?! Xoxo 💋
thank you so much, sweetheart!! i really do appreciate it all the kind messages; they're such a huge motivator ♡
to answer your question though, i mainly draw inspiration from song lyrics if i'm being honest. obviously, i love lana del rey - her lyricism is truly poetry. i also draw a lot from the dark, morbid lyricism of nicole dollanganger too and various other artists. i guess i just build from the things that feel special to me. certain imagery can evoke certain feelings as well. i'll see an edit of fucking red dead redemption and suddenly get the urge to write because it pulls a specific idea that i can only ever express through words. i'm not an artist, give me a pencil and paper and tell me to draw something i will give you an awful rendition but words, i can do. i play the piano and the guitar yet even then, when i write music, my faith is not in the melody, it's all in the lyrics.
either way, when it comes to prose i kinda just...make it up as i go along?? i don't really know what i'm doing. i've never been clasically trained - creative writing has never really been taught to me on a detailed level either, i just have a basic knowledge of grammar and turn the thoughts in my own head into something that makes some sense. i'm glad that you find it immersive enough to evoke emotion!! its all i really wish to do because i know how many feelings that i get when i read certain fanfiction because i am a firm believer that fanfiction is writing. there's so many stereotypes surrounding it to lead those less informed to believe that it's all just mindless smut and thirsting but it's so much more than that for me. so many writers get their start in fanfiction! it's a great place to construct your personal writing style and build a more solid knowledge of writing in general.
alsoooo, my favourite books!! my favourite of all time is blood meridian by cormac mccarthy!! i love old west themed stuff (my fave film is the good the bad and the ugly lol) and i read a lot of louis l'amour, especially when i want something that i can read in a few days. i'm really drawn to the history of america, espcially the expansion of the american west so anything outlaw and cowboy related is my fave!! i like pride and predjudice too which i feel is such a basic answer but it was the first classic i ever read!! and as someone who doesn't really like reading the classics because studying them to death at school kinda takes the fun out of it, i really like austens work. there is definitely an element of nostalgia in there, but isn't there in everything?
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I understand that you enjoy the moments between Connor and Hank the most, which is actually quite common in the fandom. I know many people who share your opinion. However, this is a viewpoint that has been discussed a lot, and to be honest, it has become a bit tiring for me to read about it repeatedly.
On the other hand, Connor and Hank are beloved characters and have inspired a lot of art and fics in the fandom, more than any other characters have. I wish more people would focus on what they like instead of constantly remind everyone how much they dislike the rest of the cast.
Please know that I'm not trying to be unkind to you, and I apologize if it comes across that way. It's just that reading the same viewpoint repeatedly can be so discouraging.
Ah, man, I'm sorry about that. I promise that I wasn't trying to diss anyone for liking DBH or other members of the cast. And I wasn't trying to bring back any old discussions about the game since those have been beaten to hell and back multiple times already.
I was really just trying to express how odd my own personal experience with DBH felt to me.
I don't think you're being rude, either. Totally get where you're coming from and I'm sorry I bummed you out.
I was more so trying to express some thoughts I've been having while reflecting on my own experiences with DBH and the fandom. I genuinely get why people enjoy other members of the cast. And while, yeah, Hank and Connor are my favorites, I don't think that makes them automatically the "better ones."
My fandom experience has mostly always been me being fully invested in a piece of media, not surface level like it is with Hank and Connor. That's why I was saying I found it weird that I was experiencing something different.
I'm also a huge sucker for the whole grumpy dad and their sunshine/more personable kiddo so it makes sense for me to wanna revisit all of Hank and Connor's interactions over the other characters and their stories.
But yeah that's just me. I'm totally aware that people like DBH and that's perfectly fine. It's not my main fandom the way it is for others and I don't expect anyone to share my opinions.
Still sorry I bummed you out.
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🦔 Thank you for the answer. I love your Thomally and Nally ideas, and i wondered if you have more headcanons with both this superior ships ? 🦔
Ahh! I’m so glad you like my hcs — sometimes I fear I’m being extremely annoying. I “this is my house” about my tumblr but I don’t want to be a spamming nuisance, so I’m glad you enjoy 😅😊
Side note, I’m assuming you’re using “superior” facetiously, (like me saying socks with cows on them are superior to regular socks, like yes I love my cow socks, but all socks have their place) because while I love these two ships I’m not a ship-basher and I think all ships are lovely in their own ways (even ones I don’t personally ship because it’s like having different cultures and stuff in the environment — I like a diverse biodome for my fandoms) so if you’re saying superior in a bashing way toward other ships I’m gonna put a hard no on that — but again if it’s like the socks example then yes I get you lmao
Anyways! Headcanons!
So, I have a bajillion, because these two ships have commonly been how I distract myself when I’m doing monotonous tasks as of late. Because of this, we’re just gonna kind of choose at random.
Thomally —
Thomas is one gloomy boi, as we all know. I've used this in other littler headcanons, but if you know the song Chin Up by Yoke Lore? I think that defines how Gally would try to help Thomas. Thomas most of the time (not all of the time) just needs a distraction, and Gally's good at helping him with that. Whenever he sees Thomas about to start stressing out, or too in his head, or about to get really glum, Gally just taps under his chin and makes Thomas look at him. And Thomas kind of melts into the gesture every time, and it does help to get his eyes off the pit of despair and his head out of the clouds. It's not a perfect resolution, but it's enough to get things kickstarted.
In modern aus, when Gally can't sleep, Thomas reads him Wikipedia articles. It serves both their desire for knowledge, and Thomas has a really nice soft voice in the night, and it does a really nice job of lulling Gally to sleep. When Thomas (or Gally) goes away for trips, he knows Gally isn't sleeping well (ever since they started sharing a bed it feels very strange to be sleeping alone and Gally is embarrassed about it, but he really doesn't sleep well when they're apart) Thomas will call him or leave him little podcasts of various Wikipedia articles and it's not quite the same but it helps a lot.
Gally and Thomas are also the worst to watch movies with. Absolute hypocrites the both of them, because if it's a movie they both think is stupid, they talk and crack jokes all the way through it, they never shot up. If it's a movie they both enjoy or think is interesting, then they are the ones who go "shh" if someone else is talking. And to be honest, if one of them says something no matter the quality, the other almost always responds. Gally blames Thomas for this but everyone knows that he is just as bad.
Another headcanon that was made by @onceuponabluemoon is that these two write each other essentially love letters in the form of annotations in their favorite books that they pass back to each other. Sharing a book is a huge act of trust and once they start they don't stop because they just love reading what the other thinks and have their own midnight book club essentially and love sharing stories and have their own conglomerate behemoth list of books whose insides are filled with their notes to each other. If you want to know the fic that inspired this, it's: Concerning Hobbits, Trust, and the Peculiarities of Friendship , and it's amazingly delightful and now it's canon for these two in my mind.
Nally —
Newt gives directions like an 80-year-old man and Gally is the only one who knows how to decipher them. Newt has a great sense of direction, but good luck getting intelligible instructions from him. All of his directions are obscure landmarks and memory. Things like "You take a left where that nice field was before they filled it in with apartments. You know, the one that had the giant oak that kids liked to climb?" And when Minho is like "what the fuck are you talking about, no I don't remember this," Newt will respond with "Near the old Arby's that got demolished!" like it's some great revelation and Minho rightly responds "who the fuck eats at Arby's?". But Gally does understand and can tell Minho "take a left in two blocks," because he also has a great memory and just gets how Newt thinks.
Gally taste in music is really just what Newt shows him. Newt, in turn, makes carefully curated playlists because he knows what Gally doesn't like pretty easily, but finding what he does like is harder. Gally's not the type to say "I like this, who is this," because bands are just not something Gally will care to remember so he doesn't bother, but Newt internally cheers every time Gally gets a small smile on his face and nudges up the volume.
Newt is actually quite handy by himself and can fix most things. The only problem is that when something isn't able to be fixed the correct way -- a part is missing or it's too old or whatever -- Newt comes up with "creative" fixes (for example, he once wired the tape deck to the car's ignition, shut off the radio and the car stops). Later, when Gally has to come back to it (or discovers the "fix" while looking at something else and is unable to let it go) he has to take apart the whole fucking thing because he can't figure out what Newt did or how the fuck it still works. It's both extremely impressive and unbelievably annoying.
Gally isn't a picky eater to the point that it's hard to watch. He is a human garbage disposal, he will eat whatever is in front of him until he is full, he does not care. Newt is convinced he doesn't have tastebuds. After the third time Gally gives himself food poisoning, Newt intervenes. Every lunch Gally packs for himself Newt sneaks in after Gally goes to bed and adds an element of fruit or vegetables (or sometimes a discernible meal; once he found Gally was going to eat a piece of bread with cheese and no meat and nothing else, and while Gally argues there's no difference between that and a grilled cheese except for heat, Newt insists he cannot eat a dry cheddar cheese sandwich). He always leave a note about what he's added under the guise of being informative but almost always ends it with a little love note that Gally keeps.
(If you want more beautiful thomally/nally/or other great headcanons and amazing fics, I recommend @onceuponabluemoon , @its-tea-time-darling , @un-ah , @timgayne , and so many more my brain cannot think of all their tumblr names on the fly but i'll probs add them back later -- but these people also have really good comprised lists of OTHER blogs and headcanons so, they're great places to get tmr fixes).
#tmr headcanons#nally headcanons!#thomally headcanons!#ask box!#shipping and other ship stuff#ask box questions#anon ask box
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in harmony | tom holland
-> singer!reader x tom holland
-> summary: after a nasty break up, you go to london with your two best friends in hope to find inspiration for your upcoming album and a london boy soon became your muse.
-> word count: 5.7k
-> a/n: wow. this is probably my favorite fic of mine. i hope you all enjoy it as much as i do. big thank you to @rainbowrobin for hyping this fic up and being its biggest fan. also thank you to @cali-holland for beta reading this for me! your support means the world to me and you inspire me every day to keep writing. love you to bits <3
~~~
Breaking up with someone you used to care about was never easy. In fact, grieving and eventually getting over that person was the hardest thing to do. You were a singer so relationships that went public usually ended up terribly wrong. The good part about it is that you can write a hit song about the experience.
Breaking up with your past boyfriend was probably the worst experience for you thus far. You thought that he was the one, every move you made was for him and you ended up depending on him constantly. And he broke your heart. He played you like a fiddle and played with the strings of your heart. He cheated on you with someone you were insecure about the duration of your relationship with him, which made everything feel worse.
You decided that you needed a change of scenery in hopes to clear your head. You had been spending time in your Los Angeles apartment moping around, trying to get over your ex-boyfriend. You also had a deadline for your new album and you haven’t even started. Your album was due towards the end of the summer, and it was now spring.
You sat down on your sofa with a pen and notebook in your hand. You were determined to write something. You didn’t want to write songs about your breakup, but that was all you were thinking about. You saw your phone on the coffee table light up and buzz. It was your manager and agent, Cassandra. You picked up the phone nervously, knowing that she was going to ask about your progress or lack thereof.
“Hello?” You answered.
“Hello, Y/N,” Cassandra greeted sweetly. “How’s the album coming along? We need to start recording soon.”
“Funny you ask.” You always tried to make fun out of an uncomfortable situation.
“Y/N.”
“I’m sorry, Cass! I have no idea what I should be writing about for this album.” It’s not like you didn’t want to write. You did, but you had no idea what to write about.
“Maybe you need a change of scenery, dear. You haven’t been out in months,” Cassandra suggested.
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Where would you want to go? You can stay there for the rest of the spring and the beginning of the summer.”
You thought about it for a moment. You definitely wanted to leave the country. “How does London sound, Cass?”
“Sounds nice. I’ll book you, Natalie, and Sarah tickets for this weekend and I’ll rent the three of you an Airbnb for your stay,” Cassandra confirmed. Natalie was your personal assistant and your best friend. Sarah was your older sister who traveled with you everywhere and she helped you with many of your songs. She was good to bounce ideas off of. You had the perfect team.
“Perfect. Thank you.” You both said your goodbyes and hung up.
***
Tom got off the airplane and sighed in relief. He was finally home. After many months of filming on another continent, he was back in London. Tom was ready to finally sleep in his own bed and hang out with his brothers and friends once again.
Harry and Tom took an Uber back to Tom’s apartment. It was fairly late and all Tom wanted to do was sleep. In the Uber, Tom and Harry made light conversation.
“You want to go to the new pub by our flat this weekend? Haz and Tuwaine want to hang out,” Harry asked.
“Sure,” Tom mumbled. To be quite honest, Tom had absolutely no desire to go out at all this weekend, but he knew that his mates wanted to see him. He did want to see them too, so he agreed.
“Sounds good.”
***
You packed your suitcases for London at the last minute. In your defense, Cassandra only booked Thursday night’s tickets on Wednesday, so you didn’t have that much time in the first place. You were planning on using your time in London to relax and to create a healthy headspace to write your next album.
You called Natalie to ask her opinion on some of your outfit choices. “Nat, am I going for a casual look this trip? Like sweatpants and t-shirts?”
“Absolutely not, Y/N. Are you insane?!”
“It was just a question, Natalie.” You defended yourself. “What should I pack then?”
“I don’t know, just look hot. You need to get out of the post-breakup sweatpants phase.”
“Fine,” you grumbled. You grabbed some cute spring sundresses from your closet and threw them into your suitcase. You packed some jeans and blouses as well.
You hung up with Natalie and took a look at your bag. “Should be good.”
***
The flight to London from Los Angeles was long and exhausting. You arrived at Heathrow airport in the early afternoon on Friday. You immediately went to the house to rest up from jetlag. Once you woke up a few hours later, Sarah was pressuring you and Natalie to get dressed. “We’re going to the pub! Get up, ladies!”
“What? Why?” Natalie groaned. You and Natalie were laying on your beds in your shared room. Sarah jumped onto your bed and tackled you.
“Sarah, we’re exhausted,” you said. You pushed your sister off of you and sat up. “We can just go tomorrow.”
“It’s the pub’s grand opening! It’s supposed to be fire!”
“Fine,” you mumbled. You got up and began unpacking your suitcase. “But I refuse to wear heels.”
***
Harrison made his way to his best mate’s flat to pick him up for the Cheer Beers grand opening on Friday night. Harrison used his spare key to get into Tom’s place. “Tom,” Harrison called out. He made his way to Tom’s bedroom to make sure he was ready for the night.
“In my room!” Tom exclaimed. Tom sounded upset and agitated. Harrison entered his room anyway because he wanted to hang out with his best friend. He opened the door and noticed Tom laying his bed under the covers.
“Are you alright, mate?” Harrison asked. Harrison noticed Tom in his pajamas while in bed. “Why aren’t you ready to go? Harry already went out with Tuwaine to wait in line.”
“I want to hang out with you all, but I’m just so jetlagged, mate.”
Harrison took his phone out of his back pocket to check the time and noticed an Instagram notification from you. He opened it out of curiosity and it was a direct message. It said that you would be at Cheer Beers tonight with your friends and asked if he was going. Harrison and you had met at an award show a few months back and you became friends. “You know what I just found out, Tom?”
“What?”
“Y/N L/N is going to the grand opening tonight.”
“You’re lying just to get me out of bed!” Tom accused him. Tom didn’t want to admit it, but he fancied you. He has been following you on social media and listening to your music for a while now, so Harrison saying you were going to be at the pub caught his attention.
“I’m not.” Harrison showed Tom his phone with your direct message. “I had no idea she was in town, though.”
“No clue, either.”
“Now will you come?” Harrison asked. “I know you have a huge crush on her.”
Tom eyed him skeptically but then let out a sigh. “Fine, I’ll go.”
***
You waited in line outside of Cheer Beers with Sarah and Natalie. You were wearing a black sleeveless cocktail dress with black slip-on vans. You saw a few familiar faces approach you and you realized that it’s your friend Harrison and his mates. You recognized one of his friends to be Tom Holland.
“Hey, Haz!” You greeted. He pulled you into a hug and squeezed you tightly. You pulled away and said, “Following me, I see?”
“Very funny,” he replied. “We were coming to opening night anyway. We were planning this in honor of Tom’s return from filming.”
“Oh, that’s right,” you said and then turned to Tom. You put your hand out for him to shake. “I’m Y/N.”
He shook your hand and you felt his sweaty palm touch yours. You could assume that he was either unwell or nervous. “Tom. Nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise.”
You introduced Natalie and Sarah to Harrison and he introduced the rest of his friends to the three of you.
“Would you like to share a table with us?” Harry, Tom’s younger brother, asked you.
“I’m sure that Y/N L/N would have much better opportunities than to sit with us, Harry,” Tom interjected.
“Actually, Tom, we would love to.” You all entered the pub and grabbed a table in the back room. Harrison sat between Sarah and Tuwaine. Harry sat by Natalie. You sat between Natalie and Tom, per Natalie’s whisper in your ear to go for it. You all got your first round of drinks.
“So what brings you to London?” Tom asked.
“Needed to clear my head,” you said and then ate the olives from your martini.
“So you flew halfway across the world?” Tom was amused and you could tell. He wasn’t trying to laugh at you particularly, he just thought it was funny that you chose London of all places.
“Shut up,” you teased. “We’re here for the summer. A vacation, or holiday, if you will.”
“Nice, nice.” You could feel the slight awkward tension between the two of you. You were basically strangers so it made sense. You decided to try and break it. “How was filming for the third Spider-Man film?”
Tom’s eyes lit up at your sudden interest in his work. “Can I tell you a funny story?”
***
Three hours passed by and you decided to call it a night. You talked with Tom the entire night. You enjoyed his company but you were also jetlagged. “Tom, I’m tired,” you said as you leaned on his shoulder.
“Me too.”
“Want to walk me home?” You asked.
“Would love to.” You both got up from the booth and Tom paid for your drinks, even though you protested. Harrison, Tuwaine, Harry, Sarah, and Natalie didn’t look like they were ready to leave any time soon so you said your goodbyes to them and left with Tom.
“How far are you away from here?” Tom asked you.
“About a ten minute walk.” You began walking in the cool London air.
“So, Harrison told me that you were writing for your new album. How’s that going?”
“Not well,” you said as you crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s been fucking difficult.”
“I’m sorry, love.” The pet named warmed your heart and body even more. Tom wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. “I wish I can help you out somehow.”
“It’s alright. Getting out tonight helped me get into a good headspace,” you said.
“Glad to hear it.” You arrived at your Airbnb and Tom walked you to the front door. “I had a great time tonight, Y/N.”
You smiled, the first genuine smile that you’ve had in a while. “Me too, Tom.” You opened your door to enter.
“Wait.” Tom stopped you. “Let me get your number.”
“Sure.”
***
Two weeks had passed since you arrived in London and you and Tom have been texting back and forth. He had even taken you on a tour of London. He took you to all of the hot spots. Occasionally, Tom, Harrison, and Harry would come over to your Airbnb to hang out with you, Sarah, and Natalie. You were developing friendships with everyone, but you felt a bit stronger about Tom. He was charming, kind, and really funny. You enjoyed his company and you finally got the chance to start writing for your upcoming album. You realized that you didn’t want to write about your breakup with your ex, but instead write about your crush on the brown-haired London boy.
“How is the album coming along?” Cassandra asked you on the phone.
“Pretty good. I have a killer single coming your way and many other songs too.”
“Remember, we need to start recording at the end of July.”
“You got it.”
“You sound happy,” she commented. She was right. You were happy and finally completely over your ex. “It’s a good look on you.”
“Thanks.”
“What are you writing about?”
“Oh, you know… London, pubs, boys,” you trailed off.
***
Harrison was busy planning his upcoming date with your sister, Sarah. They hit it off extremely well at the opening of Cheer Beers. They got each other’s numbers and planned to go on a date. To be honest, Harrison was stressed out. He scored a date with Sarah L/N, which ultimately shocked him. So, he decided to go to his best mate for some advice.
Tom was sitting in his living room and Harrison entered with two dress shirts in hand. One of them was a white button-down and the other one navy. “Which shirt should I wear on my date with Sarah?”
“Black slacks, right?” Tom asked.
“Yeah, and a black leather jacket.”
“Go with white,” Tom suggested.
“Thanks, mate. Another question,” Harrison proposed. It felt natural for Harrison to ask Tom about his lady troubles, even though Tom had been single for a while.
Tom nodded his head to urge Harrison to continue.
“What if I fuck this up?” He asked nervously. “I really like Sarah.”
Tom got up from the couch to come closer to Harrison and put his hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine, mate. Just be yourself. She’ll fancy you, I promise.”
“How are you so good at giving me advice but you can’t get a girlfriend?”
Tom mocked being bothered. “Rude,” he scoffed.
“What are you waiting for?”
“If I say the perfect girl, will you slap me?” Tom joked.
“Yes, yes I will,” Harrison laughed as he replied. “I think that you already found the perfect girl at Cheer Beers.”
“We’re still getting to know each other. Why must we move so fast?” Tom wondered. He wanted to take things slow. His life had always moved fast and he wanted something to move at his pace, for once. Too many relationships have moved too fast and he ended up hurt.
“Because she’s only here for so long and I have a feeling that she likes you,” Harrison reasoned. Tom was starting to feel the same way about you too.
“Fine. While you go on your date with Sarah tonight, I’ll see if Y/N wants to hang out.” He picked up his phone from the coffee table and texted you asking if you wanted to come over. You replied saying yes and he smiled. “We’re hanging out.”
“Great. Don’t forget to use protection,” Harrison said as he ran away to go get dressed for his date.
“Fuck off, you div!”
***
Tom went to the grocery store to pick up some snacks and beers before you came over to his flat. He tidied up the living room once he got home and made sure to fluff the pillow to make them look nicer. Even though you and Tom were only friends, he couldn’t help but make sure that everything looked perfect for you.
You arrived 30 minutes later. You wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt, along with your slides. Your hair was out of your face and Tom thought that you looked stunning. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Tom blushed. “Nice sweatshirt.” Your sweatshirt was light blue and it had butterflies on it. Tom realized that he loved that color on you.
He led you to the couch and he sat beside you. “So what did you do today?” You asked.
“I worked on a script that I’m writing and then I helped Harrison get ready for his date with your sister. What about you, love?” The pet name made your heart flutter. Tom was definitely charming.
“I worked on some songs for the album,” you answered proudly.
“Care to share?”
“Willing to share what the script’s about?” You asked back, already knowing the answer.
“I’m legally not allowed to share, so no. I’m sorry, darling.”
“Then my answer is the same.”
“Well played, pretty girl,” he flirted. “Wanna watch a movie?”
“Sure, what do you have in mind?”
“Avengers: Age of Ultron?”
“Yes, it’s one of my favorite Marvel movies!” You exclaimed. “I have a feeling that you knew that already.”
Tom smiled at you as he picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned on the television. “I may have, but only because Haz told me. Don’t worry, though. It’s one of my favorites too.”
Tom found the movie and before he hit play he got up from the couch. “May I offer you some popcorn before we start the movie? I have beer as well.”
“Yes to both, please.” Tom went to the kitchen to pop the popcorn and grab some beers. He came back around five minutes later with everything.
“Here you go,” he said as he handed you a bottle of beer. “I know it’s not a martini.”
“It’ll have to do,” you teased. You pat the seat beside you to urge Tom over. “Now, come sit.”
Tom pressed play and the Marvel introduction appeared on the screen. You moved closer to Tom and he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, just like he did that night at the pub. “Is this ok?” He asked.
“It’s perfect.”
Around an hour into the movie, the popcorn was finished along with your first bottle of beer. Tom’s hand was still resting on your shoulder but now your head was resting on his. “Y/N?” Tom called out.
“Yeah?” You asked as you moved your head away from him so you could look at him.
“Can I be honest with you about something?” You nodded so he would continue. “I really want to kiss you.”
“Can I be honest with you?” You asked while smiling.
“Yeah.”
“I really want you to kiss me,” you said as you leaned in. He pressed his lips against yours in a soft first kiss. You kissed back almost immediately. After a couple of seconds, you pulled away from him.
“Wow,” he said.
“Ditto,” you said and then pulled him back towards you. You kissed him again and you knew that from now on, you couldn’t get enough of him.
***
Tom and you didn’t finish the movie the other night. After your many makeout sessions with him, you decided to go home, and you promised him that the two of you would get together again soon. You went home with the biggest smile on your face. Since your kiss, you and Tom have not talked about the status of your relationship. As of right now, you were just friends who have kissed before. No biggie.
It was now the 28th of May and you were sitting on a park bench having coffee with Harrison. It would be Tom’s 25th birthday in four days and the two of you were attempting to plan the perfect party for him.
“You’ll get the decorations, Sam will cook a few dishes, and I’ll provide booze,” Harrison said, listing things off. “We’ll host it at my new flat and I already called everyone.”
“Sounds great, Haz. I just hope he has a great time.”
“I’m sure he will,” he said as he winked at you, indicating something.
“What is that supposed to mean?” You asked, referring to his wink.
“I know that something happened between the two of you last week. Tom hasn’t stopped smiling since the two of you started hanging out. I’m sure he’ll be happy to know that you planned a party for him.”
“We all are planning it,” you corrected him.
“Yeah, but it’s not like he fancies me,” Harrison laughed.
You rolled your eyes at the blonde-haired boy in front of you. “Whatever.” You got up from the park bench and began walking towards his car. “Come on, Harrison. We need to go to the market.”
***
It was the 1st of June; Tom’s birthday. You woke up early to make sure that everything was ready to go for the party tonight. Harrison and Tom’s brothers planned a golf trip with Tom while you set up Harrison’s flat. You brought Sarah and Natalie along with you to help.
“Move that banner a little more to the right,” you told Sarah. She moved it as you requested. The banner said, Happy 25th birthday, Tom! in light blue glitter. “Looks great. Thanks, sis.”
You blew up balloons, set up tables for the food and drinks, got streamers and ribbons, and finally assembled the cupcake tower with the cupcakes you and Natalie baked the night before.
“Red velvet. Nice choice,” Sarah said as she took a look at the cupcakes on display.
“They’re Tom’s favorite,” you pointed out.
“Seems like you know a lot about him.”
“Well, he is my friend.”
Natalie laughed at your response to your sister’s comment. “Is that all he is?” She asked.
“For now.” You pulled out your phone from your pocket to check the time. It was the early afternoon and the party would start in a few hours. “We better get going to get ready. Sam will bring the food and set it up within the hour.”
Before you got into the car, you texted Tom to wish him a happy birthday and he responded with a heart emoji. You smiled to yourself and then got into the car to drive to your Airbnb.
The three of you washed up and got dressed for Tom’s party. You decided on wearing a light blue sundress with daisies on it. You matched it with white wedges and you did your hair to your liking. Once you were all ready you drove to Harrison’s. When you got there, Harrison, Sam, Tuwaine, and a few other friends of Tom’s were already there.
“Harry is bringing Tom in around 15 minutes,” Harrison told you.
“Ok. Everything seems to be going pretty smoothly.”
“We make a pretty great team,” Harrison said in appreciation for all of the work to make Tom’s party happen.
“Tell that to Sarah over there,” you teased him. His date with your sister went well from what she told you, but because of Harrison’s nervousness, they haven’t talked much since. “She’s been dying to hang out with you.”
“Are you just saying that so you can have Tom all to yourself when he gets here?” He tried to joke.
“No,” you said seriously. “Go talk to her, Haz.” You pushed him lightly in her direction to encourage him to go talk to her.
“I see Harry’s car pulling up!” Sam said a few minutes later. “Everyone get ready.”
Harry used Harrison’s spare key to get into his flat and once both of them entered you all yelled, “Surprise!”
“Thanks, guys!” Tom said in shock. Tom made his rounds to greet everyone to say thank you. You waited patiently in the kitchen for the birthday boy. He finally approached you after a few minutes. “Hey, love.”
“Happy birthday,” you said as you pulled him in for a hug. “You look very handsome.”
He pulled away to look at you. “Thank you, but you’re absolutely stunning.”
You leaned in to kiss his cheek and then said, “Thanks, Tom.”
“I should be thanking you,” he said and then grabbed your hands to intertwine your fingers together.
“For what?”
“Harrison told me that you helped him plan all of this, so thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure,” you said genuinely. “You like it?”
“I love it. He looked over to the counter and saw the cupcakes. “Is that a cupcake tower?”
“A red velvet cupcake tower,” you confirmed. “I baked them.”
“You’re a goddess.” He kissed your lips for half a second and then grabbed a cupcake from one of the tiers. He unwrapped the cupcake and then took a bite. He hummed in delight.
“I’m taking that you like them,” you giggled at the man in front of you. He could seriously make anything look cute.
“They’re heaven,” he moaned. Tom dipped his finger in the frosting and swiped your nose with it. You looked at him in shock. “Aw, you look so adorable,” he said.
You laughed at his antics. “Glad you think so, babe.”
Tom’s lit up at the pet name. “Babe? Hmmm.”
“Yeah, babe.” You took some frosting from what was remaining of his cupcake and placed some on his nose to match you. “You look very cute with frosting on your nose, babe.”
Tom grabbed a napkin from the counter and cleaned the frosting off the both of you. “We’re both very cute.”
“Ok, lovebirds,” Sam called out for the two of you. “Let’s get this party started!”
“Before we go out there, I have something to ask you,” Tom said.
“And what may that be?”
“Will you go out on a date with me?” He asked nervously. You felt your heart skip a beat and you could’ve sworn that you felt Tom’s heart beating rapidly from how close you were standing to him.
“I would love to, Tom,” you said and then kissed him to confirm that you really wanted to.
***
The rest of the night went well and Tom enjoyed his time with his friends. You, Sarah, and Natalie crashed at Harrison’s place along with Tom and Harry. The party ended late and the five of you were too tired to drive home, so Harrison offered to let you all stay there.
You woke up early and made your way downstairs to heat the kettle for tea. As you were waiting, you heard footsteps, and soon enough a pair of arms wrapped around you. “Good morning, beautiful,” Tom said and then kissed your clothed shoulder.
“Morning.” You turned around so you could face him. “How did you sleep?”
“Not so well,” Tom said as he stretched out his arms. “Harrison’s a kicker.”
“Poor baby,” you teased, and then Tom pouted. “Quit pouting, Tommy. I know you’re faking it.”
“Fine,” Tom mumbled.
You turned to the stove and saw that the kettle was ready. “Want tea?”
“Please. A splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” you said as you poured him a cup. “So where are we going on our first date?”
“That’s a surprise, darling.”
***
A week after Tom’s birthday, Tom texted you asking if you were available to go on your first date. You had been working on the album the entire morning so you thought it’d be nice to go out with Tom. You replied yes and he told you to be ready within the hour. Tom knocked on your door around an hour later, with a bouquet in his hand. “These are for you, love,” he said with a smile as he handed them to you.
“Thank you, Tom,” you said and then sniffed the flowers. “Come in while I put these in some water.” Tom entered your Airbnb and you searched for a vase in one of the cabinets. Once you found one, you filled it up with water and put the flowers in. “We should be good to go now.”
Tom held your hand as he led you to the car. He opened the door for you and then got in and started the car. “You ready?”
“Where are we going?” You asked.
“You’ll see in around 15 minutes, angel.” Tom grabbed your hand that was resting in your lap and brought it up to his lips to kiss it. “I don’t think I told you this, but you look ethereal.”
“You’re quite the charmer, Holland.”
“I aim to please,” he joked. “But in all seriousness, you always look gorgeous.”
Tom was by far the kindest man you have ever met in your entire life. You have known him for barely two months but he made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. You had never felt this way about anyone before.
Tom drove down to a lake. “It’s one of my secret spots,” he told you.
He led you down to the grass near the water and he set up a picnic there for the two of you. “I made sandwiches, cut up some fruit, and some apple cider.”
“It looks good. Thank you, Tom.” He pulled everything out from the picnic basket and handed you one of the sandwiches.
“Anything for you.”
“So this is one of your secret spots, huh?” You asked.
“Mhm,” he mumbled as he took a bite from his sandwich.
“So you bring a lot of girls here?” You teased and you could’ve sworn that you saw Tom almost choke on his sandwich. “Is that why it's so special?”
“Very funny, love,” Tom said. “No, I actually come here alone.”
“I’m guessing because it’s quiet.”
“Yeah, I come here when I need to clear my head.”
You looked around the area and you immediately understood why Tom liked it so much. There was a beautiful, cool breeze and the birds chirping sounded like music to your ears. “It’s beautiful. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“I can drive you here to write songs if you’d like,” Tom offered.
“That would be lovely.”
You and Tom spent a couple of hours at the lake. You talked about anything and everything, and you finally felt yourself get closer to him. You felt him opening up to you too, which you felt good about.
“Would you like to go on a drive with me?” Tom asked once you both packed up the remainder of the picnic.
“Will there be music involved?”
“What would be a nice evening drive without music? C’mon, let’s go.” Tom led you to his car and you began your drive. The sun was setting and it was beautiful. “It’s wonderful outside, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is,” you said.
“I had a great time with you, Y/N.”
“Me too.”
*** Once Tom dropped you off, you began writing another song. His date left you inspired and you were starting to like him more and more. Each time you saw him your feelings for him grew. He inspired you to write your song, London Boy.
Tom wanted a second date. He felt so good leaving the first one and knew that he wanted to pursue a relationship with you. He knew that it would be hard but relationships won’t always be easy. He decided to call you the next to ask when he could see you again.
“Tom, we just went out,” you teased.
“I know, Y/N, but I like you. A lot.” You thought that it was cute how Tom was eager for a second date. You were excited too.
“I like you, too. I would love to see you again, too,” you said.
“Coffee? I don’t drink it but I know how much you like it,” Tom offered.
“How about tea? Know any good spots for a cup of tea and maybe breakfast?”
“I know just the place. See you soon, Y/N.”
***
Many amazing dates with Tom and a bunch of fun days in London later and you know that you’re ready to start recording your next album. People had their assumptions about you and Tom. Rumors had gone around but Tom and you didn’t address them.
London inspired so much of your album that you decided to record there. The rest of your team flew out and you began recording.
You called Tom asking him to come to the studio. “I’m recording one of my favorite songs today. I would love for you to come if you’re free.” You were recording London Boy today and you wanted Tom to hear it since he hadn’t before. It would also be a good way to officially tell Tom that you’re falling in love with him.
“I would love to come. Send me the address.”
“You got it. See you in 20.”
You sent Tom the address of the studio and he was there within 15 minutes. You greeted him at the front. “Hey, babe.”
He kissed you on the cheek and then asked, “Are you excited for today?”
“Very. I’m excited for you to hear the song,” you said as you led him into the studio. You introduced him to Cassandra and the rest of your team.
“Y/N, get your pretty ass in the booth,” Cassandra said. You walked into the recording booth and put on your headphones. “Let’s do this.”
“Tom, sit up in front,” you said and then he took a seat beside Cassandra. “This one is called London Boy.”
The upbeat music came on and you knew that you were skipping the intro for now so you went in with the first verse.
I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey But something happened, I heard him laughing I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent They say home is where the heart is But that's not where mine lives
You heard Cassandra tell you to stop so they could play it back. You saw Tom smiling at you as you were singing and you took that as a good sign that he was enjoying it.
“Now for the chorus.”
You know I love a London boy I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon He likes my American smile, like a child when our eyes meet Darling, I fancy you Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates So I guess all the rumors are true You know I love a London boy Boy, I fancy you (Ooh)
You ended up finishing the recording of the song in an hour. You left the booth for your break and you first greeted Tom. “What did you think of it?”
“I love you, too,” he said. You leaned up to him and kissed him with every fiber of your being.
“That’s good because many of these songs are about you.”
“And I can’t wait to hear them all,” he said and then smiled.
“I can’t believe how I’ve only been here for three months and I already feel this way,” you said honestly. You have never fallen so fast for anyone, but it feels right with Tom. Everything feels right with him.
“Well, believe it because it’s real,” Tom confirmed. “Be mine, Y/N?”
“I thought you’d never ask, lover.”
~~~
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tagging: @tomsbabymomma @canwekissforever-hazzy @pinklxmonade @tomsbrina @storybookholland
#this is scheduled so i hope it shows up in the tags#tom holland x reader#tom holland#tom holland fluff#tom holland oneshot#tom holland x singer!reader#tom holland x you#tom holland fanfic
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How to Never Stop Being Sad
A/N: Yes, this is another song inspired fic I am OBSESSED with them. If you’ve listened to how to never stop being sad by dandelion hands, are you okay? If you haven’t and you do because of this I would like to formally apologize. Okay so I started writing this and I just want to say that every single one of you is so beautiful because like wait hold on I’m getting flustered... Anyways, everything about you is beautiful that I just got so overly flustered and hot THINKING about it. Okay that’s all carry on.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Summary: Spencer shows Reader how to stop being sad in tiny ways.
Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Content Warnings: mentions of depression, loneliness, body image issues and self deprecating thoughts
Word Count: 21K
Masterlist
____
Time has proven that fooling yourself into believing the lies is the most effective way to deal with the things you have no control over.
She sat there, for too long if she was being honest, staring at a reflection that couldn’t have been real. The mirror in her bedroom had to have been replaced with one from a carnival, distorting the image as a sick, twisted joke.
Your thighs are huge.
Your hips are too wide.
Your stretch marks are disgusting.
She had enough, finally letting the tears that welled in her eyes escape, falling down like raindrops on a window as she sat back and rested her head between her knees. She couldn’t bare to see anymore, all the early morning jogs, gym memberships and diet remedies were for nothing.
Her body had a mind of its own, and she couldn’t control it.
But then her front door clicked as Spencer all too excitedly used his brand new key, expecting to see his girlfriend sitting on the couch he fell in love with her on. The first day she invited him upstairs, the door was opened and his eyes immediately fell to the obscure, bright purple sofa that oddly enough went well with the rest of her simplistic, white furniture.
“I saw it once at a thrift shop and it was too perfect not to buy it,” she said, noticing the way he was eyeing the couch. He let a smile break across his face, knowing in that moment that he may just be in love.
But she wasn’t there, and when the door clicked shut, she was also made aware of the presence in her home.
Quickly, she pulled herself off the floor, wiped the tears that accumulated under her eyes and down her cheeks, and avoided looking at the reflection in front of her.
“Y/N? Are you here?” Spencer called from the living room. She knew he was slowly taking steps that he attempted to make as quiet as possible, just in case, towards the hallway that led to her.
“Uh, y-yeah I’m here. Just a second!” She called back, rushed and stuttering as she looked for the biggest sweatshirt and sweatpants she could find. Deciding on gray sweats and a Caltech sweatshirt, both belonging to Spencer, she took one last look at her face hoping he won’t catch what her previous activities consisted of.
When she walked out of the bedroom, Spencer saw it. He always did.
But what she noticed was the fact Spencer was dressed up, even after stopping home from the office before coming to her. They had a date, and it wasn’t that she forgot, oh no, she remembered clearly, but in her attempts to find something to wear that would be enough, her spiral had begun.
“Come here,” was all Spencer said, opening his arms for her to waltz into, and she did, slowly dragging her fuzzy sock clad feet over to the man in front of her that held both the warmth and answers that she needed.
“I’m sorry, I just... I can’t-”
“I know, it’s okay.” His reassurance calmed the nerves she had for the past hour over if Spencer would be mad that she flaked on a date. “Usually I’m the one to cancel dates. Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
He wasn’t prying for answers, she knew that, and she also knew that if she said no, Spencer wouldn’t push it. That was the thing about Spencer; he didn’t need to know what was wrong, but he always knew how to fix it.
“Not yet,” she mumbled, her words muffled by his chest that she pressed her face into the moment she had the chance.
Spencer cradled the back of her head, forcing it off his chest softly to gaze down at her with a face full of worry, curiosity, but most importantly, adoration.
“Come on, sweetheart. I wanna try something,” Spencer said before grabbing her hand and leading her to the purple velour couch. He sat down first, pointing away from him with his free hand letting her know he wants her facing away.
The second she sat down, Spencer let go of her hand and replaced both on top of her shoulders.
“Spence, what are you doing?” She giggled slightly when his fingers brushed near her neck. Spencer will never quite get used to how ticklish she was.
“I’m giving you a massage, I could feel how tense your muscles were from across the room.” She knew it was a lie. He also knew it was a lie, but neither had the want to say anything about it.
His hands caressed her shoulders before moving down to her back, his fingers resting on the sides of her body as his thumbs did all the work. She let her head lean back as a sigh left her body with the tension.
“You’re so beautiful,” Spencer whispered just loud enough for them to hear, and even though they were the only two in the room, the admission felt natural as a whisper like if he said it any louder, it may have broken the bubble they were in.
Slowly, she looked down to the left of her, watching Spencer out of her peripherals. The second her eyes started to glisten, he abandoned the massage altogether to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her directly against him.
“I’m sorry I don't know why I’m crying,” she said between gasps for air and soft sobs. Spencer simply shushed her, and held her close to his chest, brushing his fingers through her hair.
He tried to turn her body to face him, but in her stubbornness, she stayed with her back to his chest.
“Hey, look at me, sweetheart.” Spencer put a finger under her chin, delicately lifted her head to lock teary eyes with his loving ones. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world, and I promise to remind you that every day for the rest of my life.”
And Spencer Reid kept his promise.
Keep listening to the mixtapes they made you, overanalyze every single word you hear. "Was this a sign that things were going wrong?" No no, you were the one that cared too hard, not them.
The couple had impulsively decided to spend their two free days together in an impromptu vacation to New York City. Spencer never actually cared for the city, but when he watched the way she lit up as she suggested they go “be one with the New Yorkers,” how could he say no?
That’s how he found himself in the passenger seat of her broken down Volkswagen beetle listening to her sing along to the words of a song he’s never heard. Most of the songs she’s played so far he hasn’t known, but after watching her get lost in music she has no shame in showing she loves, he knows every line.
And when the song changes, his ears perk up because he knows this song. Spencer is aware that it doesn’t quite conventionally fit in his usual music library, but nonetheless, it’s adored just the same as Beethoven or Bach.
But then the channel is changed, the force used to push the button on the radio much stronger than needed. It was quiet for a second before Spencer spoke up.
“Are you okay?” It was simply put enough that if something was wrong, which evidently there was, she wouldn’t feel interrogated about it, only comforted.
“Uh, yeah. Everything’s cool,” she said in what could be the most unbelievable faux cheerfulness Spencer had ever heard. “That song just brings up some bad memories.”
“Oh,” Spencer whispered. When it didn’t look like she was going to elaborate, he continued. “Do you want better ones?”
“What?” She took her eyes off the road to look at Spencer like what he just asked was absolutely preposterous. “What do you mean?”
Instead of answering, he changed the station on the radio back. Time was on Spencer’s side this morning, because the peak of the song was about to play once he settled back.
She's a, she's a lady, and I am just a Line Without a Hook
BABY, I AM A WRECK WHEN I’M WITHOUT YOU
Spencer loudly sang along to the words, throwing his head back as he yelled and using his hands as he sang. She looked over at him with wide eyes that slowly shrunk as her smile grew.
The ice the song caused to freeze over her mind and heart slowly melted from the warmth Spencer’s love spread. Together, they sang the rest of the song, and when it was over, she still had a smile on her face.
“You’re a terrible singer, you know.”
“Oh, I know.”
Stay up every single night staring at your phone either attempting to gather up the courage to turn these demons, these constant reminders of your loneliness into nothing more than a bad dream, or praying just for one second you could feel the warmth of equally returned love.
There are many reasons one doesn’t answer their phone.
She could be on the phone with another person, but no that’s not possible. Her hatred for speaking over the phone ensued she never answered anyone but him.
Maybe her battery died, but that would mean she didn’t charge it overnight. Spencer watched her plug it in around midnight, even after he’s told her the dangers of doing that.
His mind unfortunately went to a darker place, because what he didn’t know was that hers did too.
She had watched her phone on her dresser vibrate insistently all three times until it fell to the floor with a deafening crash. She hoped that it didn’t crack, but that hope wasn’t strong enough to get her out of bed to check.
Spencer in his panic never expected to walk into her apartment to find everything in its place. Her car keys sat where they always did, in the bowl by the front door. The boots she usually found an excuse to wear with everything were sitting where she struggled every day to get them off by the couch, and there wasn’t a single sign of a struggle.
And then he walked into her bedroom to check one last time before he called Garcia, and while he found signs of a struggle, it wasn’t the one he was dreading.
It was the one she was.
They made eye contact the second the door opened, and upon seeing her safe, Spencer bit back a sigh of relief. There was no relief flooding his veins when the sadness in her eyes traveled to his, creating a sick equilibrium.
Spencer’s mind no longer cared about the missed phone calls, there were more important matters at hand.
“Hi, sweet girl,” was all he said as he shuffled into the room. “I got to go home early today, so I was thinking I could cook dinner for us.” Spencer had started to pick up thrown clothes off the floor, securing them in the dirty hamper. He was about to start putting books back on her bookshelf when she called out.
“Spencer.” It was only a whisper, because anything louder would’ve been too much work.
“I know, I know. My cooking skills aren’t the greatest bu-”
“Spencer,” she said again, much louder this time, even if it was just a hoarse excuse of his name.
He turned to her this time, stopping his cleaning. She had sat up only slightly to catch his eye. Regret filled her veins when they met, but upon gazing into pools of honey that held no pity, but an understanding, it melted.
“What are you doing?”
Instead of truly answering the question, Spencer held up the books that were in his hands. “Do you organize by last name?” When she just gawked at him, he continued, “We’ll do last name.”
She had no energy to fight him, he was right about the last name at least. Instead, she just watched him organize the book shelf in record speed, her mind clearing the fog that laid dangerously close to her thoughts.
When Spencer picked up the last book to be put away, she called for him again.
“Can you read that one to me?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
Go out for coffee four times a week by yourself, always bring your notebook, never stop writing. Leave little comics and thank you notes with your tip, watch them smile as you get in your car.
She always sat alone. It was the first thing Spencer noticed about her because he too enjoyed his coffee at a table with only one chair. He would watch her every day when he got the chance to go to this cafe, so much so that his brain associated her with the place. The small mismatched couches that gave it a homey feel would always remind him of her, even if she were not sitting on them.
Who she was? Spencer did not know, but he was going to make it his mission to find out.
He always sat alone. A man like that, one with features perfectly sculpted, and an aura of comfortability so strong she didn’t have to follow the jingle of the bells on top of the door to know it was him who entered. She would look up from her notepad filled with doodles of everyone who walked by her, and comments about the day. He would always be reading, it being a new book each time.
One day when she looked up at him, wondering what he could possibly be reading now, their eyes met. She felt herself get lost in his eyes, like running through a forest, charting unknown territory carefree with no reason to turn back. Everything about him was so soft that she feared if he came any closer to her jagged thoughts, he may find himself ripped to shreds.
For the first time in Spencer’s life, his mind seized its constant running, the relief so strong he felt his limbs follow suit. She had paralyzed him with her stare, green meeting honey, mind numb except for the begging to get up and introduce himself.
In all the times he watched her, Spencer had never seen her smile until that moment. If there was any doubt that he shouldn’t talk to her, it was quickly washed away with the realization he would stop at nothing to see it again.
“Uh hi, I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.” When she looked up at him from where she went back to writing, his heart faltered. Her gaze was so cathartic that it leaves his brain fuzzy and his heart giddy.
Spencer never believed in a god, but if there was one, she was sitting in front of him.
“I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Giddy and fuzzy.
When his phone rings, Spencer swore whoever dared interrupt the moment he’s been dreaming of every night for 4 months was going to feel a wrath unparalleled. He reached into his pocket, and upon reading ‘Hotchner’ in bold letters, his face fell.
“It’s okay. We’ll see each other again,” she reassured him before he had the chance to queue her in on his need to leave. She just knew, the same way she knew it wasn’t going to be the last time she saw his face.
“Until then.”
“Until then.” She smiled as she watched him leave, and once the door shut behind him, she returned to her notebook. The smile never left.
Talk down on yourself whenever possible; my life is shit because I deserve it, right? You must have done something real bad, it’s nearly impossible for you to cry now.
It was always the little moments that Spencer let it slide. When he brought her coffee on the off chance he found a free day, and surrounded by her appreciation for his kindness was a mumbled ‘I don’t deserve you,’ he let it go.
The time they walked by a small boutique, and a dress in the window caught her eye. It was short, purple silk loosely hanging off the collarbone of the mannequin, only to tighten at the waist.
“I couldn’t imagine wearing something like that,” she told Spencer before the two continued to walk. He could.
Spencer thought she would look rather beautiful in it.
And now, they sat on her purple couch while Spencer attempted to pay attention to the TV show she was binging. He kept all his comments to himself, she liked to talk about what they watched after, and he vowed that this time, Spencer would actively participate in the conversation.
But when he looked down at the girl laying in his lap, he found she was no longer following the storyline, and instead looked a million lightyears away.
“Hey.” Her attention snapped to him instantly. “Where'd you go just now?”
“I was just thinking about you,” she admitted. Looking away she continued. “About us.”
She didn’t continue with that thought, but with the sadness that filled her voice, Spencer knew there was more than what she was letting on. He also knew that if she really wanted to share her demons with him, letting them dance circles around them in the dark until the sun came up, she would release them. So instead, he tried to shoo them away.
“You know I love you, right?” If reassurance was what she needed, he would be more than happy to grant her that.
“Why?” She whispered back, so softly that Spencer could’ve missed the way the room no longer just held the two of them. She could not find a singular thing she loved about herself in that moment, so what was Spencer actually seeing?
Spencer sat with that question for a moment.
“You make me smile, even when you’re not with me. When I’m away, thinking about you is the highlight of my day. You’re beautiful, it kind of knocks me off my feet for a second, and you’re so kind, even when people don’t deserve it. You’re a light in the dark. Plus you make really good cookies, but that’s just an added bonus. Does that answer your question?”
Spencer looked back down at her, finding a smile and tears, and somewhere in his mind, he knew to make a mental note of this image.
“Yes,” she whispered before reaching up and cupping his face. “But now I really want cookies.”
Avoid your friends for weeks even though they're the only sense of consistency you have left in your life, if they really wanted to see you they'd come, but they won't.
She could feel herself slowly closing off, and no matter how much she willed for the isolation to find its way out, it still crept in at night. Without care, she let it consume her, taking more and more time during the day to dissipate to inevitably crawl back at the first sign of dark. It infiltrated her mind like a parasite, latching on to the first vulnerable thought.
Spencer did nothing wrong, he was sure of it. What he wasn’t sure of, however, was the reason for his girlfriend’s abrupt distance. He knew that in relationships, sometimes space apart from one another is important, but that knowledge wasn’t enough to stop the nagging feeling.
Something else was wrong, he was sure of it.
Alone she sat staring out the window at cars that drove by and people enjoying the day in each other’s company. The sounds of the world were not enough to drown out her mind’s racing, the thoughts so loud that she could’ve missed the knock at her front door.
It happened again when she refused to move or make a sound that could inform whoever was on the other side of her door that she was home. By the third round of knocking, she grew irritated and stormed over to give whoever interrupted her self loathing a piece of her mind.
But she opened the door and there stood Spencer, and whatever obscenities she planned on yelling were forgotten. In their place, guilt flooded through her because Spencer didn’t storm in angry, or yell at her for avoiding him for a week. Instead, he just stood there, no anger, just unapologetically Spencer.
“It’s been a week,” he said, no heavy emotions in his voice, just very matter-of-factly. “I hope it’s okay I stopped by.”
No one had ever just “stopped by” before.
“It’s more than okay.”
Allow yourself to lose interest in the things you love, watch as you begin to take a backseat to the world around you, don't fight it. Become a secondary character in your own motion picture.
Spencer wasn’t particularly snooping as he was curious. She was in the shower, and he spotted it. Before he even had the chance to force his eyes anywhere but the leather bound journal, it was too late. His mind was already too curious for any other decision besides to read what was inside.
It was the same journal she was so engrossed in every time he looked at her in the cafe.
The first few pages were simple sketches of people he recognized as regulars from the cafe. On the fifth page, what looked to be an unfinished drawing of a man was found with a little note next to it that read ‘My art doesn’t do him justice.”
Spencer could’ve sworn he had that same haircut 7 months ago.
Moving on, he flipped to a page with a drawing of a sunflower on it, the stem growing up the side of the page with a small flower on the top, leaning over what he suspected was a poem. It read,
with striking precision, my mind is full of thoughts
only i have not a soul to voice these nags
the episodes of Self Growth and Actualization that i long to not be
my reassurance alone.
if only my being was of a sunflower’s,
to sit in a field surrounded by those who are
Just Like Me.
Spencer read it over and over, scouring his brain for the poem’s author. He was trying so hard, his brain going into overdrive that he missed the sound of the shower turning off.
She walked out of the bathroom to find Spencer sitting on her bed, journal in hand.
“What’re you doing?” She asked, although no matter how hard she tried to sound serious and authoritative, it more or so came out joyous with the giggles that followed her question.
“Who wrote this poem?” Spencer asked, finally looking up at her. There she stood in the doorway of the bathroom, bright pink fuzzy pants and a white t-shirt on, drying her hair with a towel and she has never looked more beautiful.
“Which one?” She walked over and peaked at the page Spencer landed on. “Oh, that’s mine.”
It was so nonchalant that Spencer had to repeat it over in his mind to fully grasp what she said.
“You wrote this?”
“Mhm.”
“Do you have more?” She laughed at his eagerness, but when she looked over at his dead serious face, her smile dropped.
“You can’t be serious. Spencer I wrote those so long ago. Eventually I realized it was going nowhere and just gave up. They’re really not that special.”
“They are to me.” The couple held eye contact, a silent standoff between the two. One of them had to back out eventually, and then the thought that no one in her life had ever told her that her art, whether it was huge painting or little doodles, long written out memoirs or tiny poems, was special.
So she threw the competition, and sat down next to him on the bed.
“There’s another one on the next two pages.”
You don't need other people to drive away your loneliness, you just needed to find a way to talk to it.
______
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The Newlywed Game: Round 11
A/N: Not gonna lie, I'm a little excited to answer my own questions lol As always, a huge thank you to our queen of the newlywed game, the icon that brought us Allensey, @jamespotterthefirst! Wedding Wednesday would not exist without you. Also, I best be seeing Allensey answer these, ma'am!
For Both:
1. Where did you go on your second date?
Genevieve: Our patient's art show, although we could count the opera, but I was sad and you were -- Ethan: No. Those were not dates, G. Gen: You asked me out, there for they're dates. Ethan: No, no, no. If we go by this logic, our first date would have been that time you followed me to Derry's and we people watched. Gen: Exactly. Ethan: *pinches the bridge of his nose* Our second date was the drive in theater in Meldon, they were playing grease. You wore your hair like Sandy in the beginning of the movie, it was cute. Gen: Had to be on theme. But let's be honest, we only watched like fifteen minutes of the movie, the rest of the time we made out in your car. Ethan: *smiles wide*
2. What is their pet name for you? Do you have a favorite? Do you have a least favorite?
Ethan: She calls me 'babe' most often, it's not my favorite. Gen: Let me guess, your favorite is chief? Ethan: No, it's not. It's "my love". You don't use it often, but when you do, the look in your eyes... it's my favorite, hands down. Gen: *heart eyes* Ethan uses a variety for me; darling, sweetheart, love, baby on the super rare occasion. Also, G, which didn't start as a pet name, but it's kind of turned into one. He's like one of the few people in the world that call me G, and that makes it special, too. Ethan: Which is your favorite, "baby"? Gen: Rookie, because it didn't come from my name, and it's not the usual pet name. It's just for me. Second favorite is "baby" because it's just *fan's self*. And no least favorite.
3. What is their silliest fear?
Gen: Interns. Ethan: I'm not afraid of interns! Gen: Social interaction? Ethan: Will you -- Gen: *smirks* Ethan: Her silliest fear is the dark. Gen: How is that silly? Lots of people are afraid of the dark. Ethan: Children, maybe. And it's a situational fear, you're completely fine in the dark in our home, but you're petrified of the dark outside. Gen: You can't see what's there! There could be a ghost or a zombie, or a creepy dude coming to kidnap me. Ethan: We live in a city, that's never dark enough for something to jump out of the shadows. Gen: Stop judging me, old man.
4. How often do you go on dates together? Do you think it’s enough or would you like to go out more often?
Gen: Once a week, we have a "date night". More often than not, though, it's just us making dinner and watching a movie or something. But it's a night where we put our phones in the other room and just spend time together. Ethan: We try to go physically out on a date every couple of weeks. Gen: And it's never enough. Ethan: I know, I need to get better at prioritizing our relationship. Gen: No, I meant, like, no matter what it'll never be enough. We could go on a date every night of the week and I'll still feel like it's not enough. You're my person, I wanna be with you all the time. Ethan: *looks at G like she hung the moon* I love you. Gen: I love you.
5. What was the first thing your spouse said after the proposal?
Gen: My name. Ethan: Because you were standing there, unmoving. I was getting concerned. Gen: Like I'd have said anything other than "yes". Besides, I was in a little bit of shock. But after that, I said yes. And then "I love you." And then -- Ethan: I have to call my mom. But that came hours later.
6. If you were forced to marry one of your exes, who would it be?
Ethan: What exactly is the point of this question? Gen: To make you jealous. I'd marry my first boyfriend, Patrick. He's one of the sweetest guys in the world. Ethan: You answered that way too quick. He's the one I met during your second year, correct? The one visiting his sister? Gen: Yes, that was Patrick. Ethan: *grumbles* Gen: *laughs* Your turn. Ethan: No one. I never even considered marriage until you. Gen: Okay, but you're being forced, therefore, you have to pick someone. Harper? Ethan: No, Camila. Gen: Seriously? Ethan: Seriously. Harper and I, we were great and all, but that was situational, convenient. Camila I had rather deep feelings for, and she's an incredible doctor and woman. I'd pick her. Gen: *pouts* Okay, you're right, I don't like this question, it's stupid. Ethan: *laughs then kisses her cheek* Don't worry, love, I'm sure Tobias would steal her from me again.
Bonus Round:
Speaking of exes, describe each of your spouse’s exes using three words only. Go!
Gen: Cam; smart, philanthropic, inspiring. Harper; intelligent, beautiful, iconic. Anna; funny, compassionate, cheerful. I'm only naming those three, because they're your most serious relationships. If I name all the woman you dated for less than two weeks, we'd be here for like another ten minutes. Ethan: I feel insulted. Gen: Your turn. Ethan: Patrick; polite, lack-luster, tall. Jackson; rude, unintelligent, vain. Ryan; narcissistic, vacuous, cowardly, cruel, predatory -- Gen: Three, babe, they said three. Ethan: Fine, moving on. Nate: small-minded, cynical, disorganized. Gen: How is Nate small-minded? He's a doctor, who works at the Mayo Clinic. Ethan: Because he refused to be sympathetic or understanding to your trauma from Ryan. Therefore, he's small-minded. And a whole host of other words. Gen: *giggles* You hate all of my exes. Ethan: Not all of them, Rookie. I don't hate Patrick. Gen: Fine.
That last one was so fun to do. I love over-protective-hates everyone Ethan. Someday, I'll write the fic where he meets Patrick, takes place like right before the attack in book 2.
(tagging separately because that seems to be the only way tags work lately)
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Finally, You’re Back
Part 1: ‘There You Are’
Karl Heisenberg (Resident Evil 8: Village) x Reader (Gender Neutral)
Warnings: Mentions of Injury and Human Experimentation, Insecurity, Swearing, Spoilers for RE8
Genre: Angst, Romance, Some Humor and Fluff too
Summary: And there they are, back in that village half a decade later to retrieve what’s theirs but unaware of what they’ll find in place of what they remember.
Requested by one Anon and the idea was modified by another Anon, so thank you both so much for sharing your creativity with me, it’s really been a huge honor to write a fic inspired by such a beautiful idea. Love you both! 💕
If again is what he hoped and prayed for, why is he damning it now Why does he resent himself for having hope When he previously wished nothing but to have it Why does their presence hurt When it used to heal him Why do they remind him of how much of a monster he is When previously they were the only one making him human Why is he worthy of their presence When he’s only become worse They upheld their promise But the person they are coming back to is no longer alive He’s taken his place and he hates himself for it He’d kill himself to get him back He’d do just about anything Just to prevent those eyes from seeing them differently Just so he can greet them with open arms and say:
“Finally, you’re back“
But as of now all he can say is:
“You’re back, but the one you’re searching for will never return“
He was made aware of their presence the day of their arrival in the village. He knew all about their venture, going around the village asking for him to be looked at with terror by the villagers they came across. He watched as all the people refused to tell them his whereabouts, claiming they didn’t know or they couldn’t tell. No matter what bribery or convincing method Y/N tried to use, the villagers refused to stand down from their determined ground.
They refused to give up though, going against his prayers that they would. They might have felt discouraged but they never, not even for a second, thought to give it up. Never did they even consider forgetting him as an option. It’s been half a decade and they still remember him, they still have the will to look for him despite all the time that has passed, despite the odds that aren’t in their favor, despite the lack of help from anyone.
They keep going, keep trying. They keep driving the sword deeper into his chest, piercing his heart.
If only they could accept me like this. If only they could look at a monster the same way they looked at that boy they met five years ago...
His mistake, although blatantly obvious even to him, is not something he’s willing to correct. He doesn’t want to give them a chance. And the answer to the question many - even he himself - would ask ‘why’, that answer he doesn’t want revealed.
Because he knows it and would do anything in his power to keep it from swimming to the surface.
The answer? - It’s because he’s afraid. Terrified really.
What of? That’s the part he’s not sure about. Is he afraid of them being scared, disgusted and repulsed by him? Or is he afraid of the complete opposite - that they won’t bat an eye at the change he’s undergone. That latter option leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth, his stomach turning. He doesn’t believe he deserves that reaction, after all he’s done, after becoming the monster he is now, he’s done his best to not even think about them - attempts that have failed miserably. Not a day has gone by that they haven’t been on his mind. He thought getting rid of the dog tag necklace - the promise - would cleanse his system of their memory that’s etched itself so deeply within his mind and soul but his hands refused to cooperate when his brain kept telling them to lift that necklace off his neck. He couldn’t do it, and he hated himself because of it for a while, but if he’s being honest he felt more relieved than anything else. He doesn’t want the only real memory, the only pleasant memory of his human days gone. He doesn’t want to wipe Y/N from his mind, they’re the only thought that still sends his heartbeat speeding in a positive way. He knows he’s a coward for what he does, hiding in the shadows and watching them waste their time with the villagers who think they are downright insane for going around looking for Karl Heisenberg whom the entire village knows as Lord Heisenberg. Not using his title each time they ask never fails to bring a smile to his face. It’s a relief that they at least have a nice picture of him that has stuck with them. And if it’s up to him, that’s the picture that will remain, they won’t see him like this, this new him won’t replace the old him in their mind. He’d do anything to make sure of it.
That being said, you can imagine the massive shock and mini heart attack he experienced one day when his motion detectors picked up on someone entering the factory in broad daylight. Rushing to the camera display, the briefest glimpse was enough to make out who this foolish person looking for their death was.
Goddammit, Y/N!
It was no longer a danger to his sanity, their presence at the factory was an even worse danger for them. His creations wouldn’t think twice about slicing their tiny frame in half with their implemented chainsaws, designed to do exactly what he’s hoping they won’t get the chance to do this time. Running to the elevator, all he can do is silently pray he reaches them before they come across one of his minions.
What he’s going to say to them? How he’s gonna greet them? He hasn’t got the slightest clue, all he knows is that he has to get to them asap.
Running out of the elevator once it settles on the ground floor, he almost crashes directly into them, eyes wide with shock as the adrenaline is still pumping throughout his body despite the immense amount of relief he feels wash over him. He doesn’t notice at first, but when he does his heart sinks: their gaze is empty and their face unreadable. He can’t bear to have them looking at him like that, it hurts more than physically hitting him. Hell, it hurts more than the experiments Miranda did to him.
“How’d you find me?“ He decides to end the silence for his sanity’s sake, his heart heavy and aching in his chest.
They shrug, “Wasn’t easy, I’ll have to admit, you’ve trained the villagers well, none of em wanted to give me even a clue.“ They give him a small smile before looking around at the factory walls and everything lining them, “And then I put it together on my own. It was a bit of a stretch...“ they trail off, their eyes scanning him from head to toe, “...but I see it was a lucky one.“
He can’t help but huff, more out of disgust for himself than anything else, “If you call this lucky you’ve gotta have a few screws loose.”
Much to his surprise, this remark earns him a genuine, wholehearted laugh from Y/N, “Oh Karl, didn’t you pick up on my loose screws back when we first met? That’s odd, people usually take one look and can already tell.”
He scoffs, letting a small smile slip onto his face before he chases it away, forcing himself to maintain the seriousness, “I can’t believe how foolish you are. Didn’t you, even for a second, think there was maybe a good reason why people didn’t want to give you my whereabouts?”
“Oh I didn’t need to think about it!“ They say, lifting a pointer finger in the air as if to emphasize their point, “They were pretty clear when they were calling you stuff like ‘monster’ and ‘cruel Lord’ or whatever.“
Heisenberg’s eyes widen in an instant, “So you knew? You knew I was...I wouldn’t be the same as you remember me?” He asks, his jaw almost reaching the floor.
They nod nonchalantly, “I mean, I was sure of that part, it’s been half a decade, after all. Of course, I didn’t expect such a drastic change but it changes nothing. The villagers made it all sound super scary and dramatic...”
Karl doesn’t get confused often. However, right now, they’ve got him completely flabbergasted. “You were told about me...about me being what I am and you still showed up and walked into this place everyone fears like you own it? Where the fuck is your self-preservation instinct?!”
With an eye-roll, Y/N pushes past him, entering the elevator and walks over to the buttons to choose a floor, “Up your ass, Heisenberg. Right next to the stick that’s got you in such a foul mood. Is this how you welcome back an old friend?” Though the words themselves were harsh, they spoke them in such a way and with a sincere look in their eyes that they had the complete opposite effect of what they’d usually have. Hell, he wants to laugh at the vocabulary on its own, it’s so refreshing to hear someone use those terms and speak so freely around him, unfazed by his powers. To be fair, they’re probably not even aware he has any.
Looking at them now, their intense gaze telling him loud and clear that they’re completely unfazed, has him going soft. They’re still his connection to the humanity he’s lost, he’s still clinging onto it thanks to them. And while he still believes he doesn’t deserve to preserve any last piece of it, he’s glad that he’s not the judge of that. The punishment is not his to decide. It’s theirs. And who knows, allowing him to keep a tiny fragment of his humanity may be the ultimate punishment but he doesn’t know it yet. Regardless, he’s happy with it as long as it means he has them by his side to carry said punishment out.
When all they get in response to their words is a laugh they too let a smile lighten up their features, “There you go, knock some humor into you.” They turn to look at the buttons briefly before locking their gaze onto him once again, “I like what you did with the place. Care to show me around?”
He shakes his head as his laughter dies down, “You won’t like it.”
Y/N rolls their eyes yet again, “Leave that up for me to decide, old man.”
A frown comes across Heisenberg’s face, “Old man? How dare you?”
The sound of their laughter almost manages to wipe the frown off his face. Almost. “Old man who can pull off even a century old dog tag necklace.” They say, sizing up the necklace resting over his chest which he automatically reaches out to touch as a result of her remark. “You can keep it, by the way. I don’t need it back. I’ll be sticking around for some time after all.”
Before he can even process what they said, they’ve pulled him into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, looking out of the open side of it to be able to see the inside of the factory as the metal box keeps climbing, carrying them with it. Their back is turned to him so he can’t see the look on their face but he can only hope it’s not one of horror or disgust. If he were to receive that look from them his heart would shatter on the spot. So he’d rather they don’t turn around - both for him not to be able to see them grimacing and so they can’t see him staring at them with that look in his eyes.
Look of adoration he’s never given anyone before nor will he ever give to anyone else. And so, all the pieces of his soul have found their proper spots.
Thanks to Y/N.
Finally, you’re back.
#resident evil 8#resident evil#resident evil heisenberg#resident evil village#resident evil 7#re 8#re village#karl heisenberg#karl heisenberg fanfic#karl heisenberg x reader#karl x reader#resident evil karl heisenberg#karl#heisenberg#re8 heisenberg#re heisenberg#karl heisenberg x you#karl heisenberg imagines#fic#fanfic#fanfiction#fandom#fluff#request#requests open#x reader#reader#video game#video game fanfic
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In (Gold) Sickness and In Health
Pairing: Human Female!Reader/Thorin
Request: @anjhope1 requested a human reader with Thorin for the prompt: “I’m done. We’re done.”
Brief Summary: After the Battle of the Five Armies and Thorin’s actions under the Gold Sickness, you wonder if things between you and Thorin will ever be repaired.
Warnings: Violence and injuries
A/N: Gold sick Thorin is a gold mine (pun intended) for angst. Thanks to @anjhope1 for being so so patient and kind!!! I’ve never really written anything other than headcannons and I really enjoyed this!! I have a long list of fic ideas that I hope to write after school ends and this really got the ball rolling! :D
@fromthedeskoftheraven (who inspired me to actually start writing <333)
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“Thorin?” You called into the seemingly empty castle. Your voice echoed hauntingly. No response. You turned the corner and ventured into the treasury, though a part of you hoped you would not find him there. It was the only place he ever seemed to be, and not for good reason. You followed the sound of digging and hushed whispers. There you found Thorin talking to himself in furious murmurs, his voice tinged with hysteria. He seemed to be digging through the millions of glimmering treasures, bringing each item close to his face for a thorough inspection, and then scoffing angrily and throwing it over his shoulder at the discovery that it was not, in fact, the Arkenstone. You approached him quietly, gnawing on your bottom lip worriedly. You were soon only a few steps behind him, his back to you, yet he made no notice of you.
“Thorin?” He didn’t even flinch. You, about fed up with all of this, put your hand on one of his shoulders and lightly shook it. He whirled around instantly, a mad expression on his face that only eased slightly when he saw you.
“Ah, (Y/n). How have you been?” He asked absentmindedly, his gaze still stuck on the gem in his hand.
“Well, I’ve been better I suppose. Things are not looking good out there Thorin. I worry.” You made sure to keep your voice as non-confrontational as possible, because if you were being honest, you were a bit afraid of Thorin at the moment. You weren’t sure if you even recognized the dwarf in front of you. He finally raised his eyes to look at you. His lips curved into a slightly mad smile, one that showed altogether too many teeth. “You have nothing to worry about, my love. Once I have the Arkenstone, everything will be taken care of. The world will finally put itself to rights.” His eyes seemed to reflect the very gold covering the floor. You frowned at this response.
“Thorin, I know finding the Arkenstone is important to you, but I don’t know if it is the… greatest concern at the moment. The people of Laketown need our assistance, and there is talk of an orcish army heading our way.” Thorin’s head snapped up, and he took an intimidating step forward. You were almost nose to nose.
“Finding the Arkenstone is my one and only concern, as it should be yours,” he snarled. “Are you not on my side? Do you not want to see me as King?” You took a tentative step back.
“Of course I’m on your side, Thorin. I only want what is best for you.” Your voice turned stern. “But a King should be generous and fair, should know when to help others.
“A King,” he growled, “is measured only by the amount of wealth he has. If I don’t have the Arkenstone, I have nothing but these pathetic jewels.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Your stomach churned at hearing the words he spoke. This was not Thorin. The man you knew and loved, who once spoke so passionately of honor and loyalty. Your sadness and grief were soon overpowered by anger. Not only does he speak such horrid, greedy words, but he would dare be so dismissive and uncaring towards his own beloved?
“You have nothing?” You asked in disbelief, your voice hard. “What about me? Your wife, remember? What do I mean to you? We have spent almost no time with each other since Laketown, I am surprised you even remember my name,” you said bitterly. Thorin’s eyes seemed to lighten a few shades. But it was still not your Thorin. And his next words only proved that.
“I have not forgotten about you amralime. I will have you. Seated on a throne next to mine. Adorned in precious jewels and fine cloths. My most prized possession.”
You suddenly lost all of your fear. Fists clenched tight at your sides, you spat out, “I am not a thing to be had! I am my own person.”
“You are my wife!” He roared back, “You will do as I say, and you will like it!” Your lip curled in disgust and dismay at this.
“Is that really what you think marriage means?!” Your tone, while still angry, held a hint of desperation, as if you were hoping Thorin would apologize for whatever sick joke this seemed to be. But alas, that did not happen. He only stayed silent, his eyes unfocused. Whatever clarity they had gained earlier had once again vanished.
The harsh silence created a lump in your throat. You swallowed once, and in a shaky voice said, “Well, then. I am afraid I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know who I am looking at. Who even are you? This is not the Thorin I know and love, not the Thorin I married!”
His mouth opened in outrage, prepared to no doubt yell back, but you continued before he could get a word in. “You know what? I can’t do this anymore,” you started. You grabbed your marriage bead- elegantly and thoughtfully crafted by Thorin, and once so tenderly braided into your hair- and harshly ripped it out. You definitely pulled out quite a few hairs along with it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at the moment.
You curled your shaking hand around the small bead, and spoke. “I’m done. We’re done.” In a fit of intense anger and disappointment, you chucked your bead straight at Thorin’s head. You instantly ran as fast as you could in the opposite direction, fearing his reaction. You figured he did not see that coming, and was frozen in shock and confusion for a moment.
As you sprinted down the vast empty hallways, you heard Thorin’s enraged roar in the distance. You ran and ran and ran. You quickly gathered your belongings when you passed the room you had been staying in, and made your way out of the mountain. You said goodbye to none of the company. You ran and you didn’t look back. You squinted your eyes, trying to find your way in what was left of the daylight.
Tears ran in rivers down your face, and they didn’t stop. Not when you found Bard in Laketown. Not when you reunited with Bilbo and approved his plan. Not when you came across a small room to spend the night in.
You slid down the wall of the room, sobs tearing at your throat, as you looked at the split pieces of hair that once secured your marriage bead. How could everything have gone so wrong so fast? Smaug was dead. The mountain was reclaimed. Everything was supposed to be back to normal. You were supposed to be living happily in Erebor with Thorin.
But you weren’t.
You screamed into the night, “Why? Why?” Why did things have to happen like this? Why did Thorin have to be struck with the Gold Sickness after everything he had been through? Why did you two not gain happiness and peace? Did you not deserve that?
There was no answer. The universe was silent.
You were not only angry with Thorin. You were angry at yourself. Were you a coward for reacting the way you did? Did you give up too easily, running right when things got hard? Maybe you were a coward, but you simply couldn’t stand to see Thorin like that any longer. It made you sick to your stomach and tore at your heart.
With a wet laugh, you thought back to your wedding, which took place only about a month earlier. It is odd how things can change so much in so little time. That day had been the happiest of your life. Now here you were, at your lowest, with not even your husband to comfort you.
The company had been staying in Laketown for the time being. After a much needed relaxing night (free of the stress of orc attacks), you awoke blearily to Thorin’s smiling face. His rough hands tenderly cradled your face.
“Will you marry me?” He asked it in such a soft tone, and you were still so tired, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a strange, albeit wonderful, dream. After clarification that it was not, in fact, a dream, and a discussion with Thorin, you two decided to get married that very night. After all, you two were each other’s Ones. Why should you not? You were crazy in love, and you two hadn’t known contentment like you did during this resting period of the quest. There was also the lingering fear that one, or both of you wouldn’t survive for much longer.
After your affirmative response to Thorin’s question, tears of joy were shed by both of you. That day was full of warm, fuzzy feelings (and frantic planning by Dori and Balin, who despite being quite pleased with the decision, were extremely frazzled with the short amount of time left to prepare). You didn’t have an expensive, ornate dress (you borrowed one of Sigrid’s). There wasn’t a huge crowd. Just the company (plus Sigrid, Tilda, and Bain- Sigrid and Tilda because they wanted to experience the romantic declaration of love and commitment, and Bain because, in his words, his sisters “forced him to come”).
But it was perfect. It was all you could have wanted. Kíli, ever the jokester, insisted on being the “flower girl.” Fíli was the bead bearer (like a ring bearer, but with beads, because you and Thorin wanted to do it the dwarrow way). Balin was the justice of the peace. Bombur made a wonderful cake, especially considering the lack of resources.
It was a magical day. Your wildest dream had finally become a reality.
You remembered the vows from your wedding. You remembered the promise you made on that day. ‘For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.’ You couldn’t help but snort at the unfortunate irony of that.
You wondered what Thorin was thinking right now. Was the gold sickness still plaguing his mind? Or was he too thinking back to your wedding day, to the broken promises left between you two?
You crawled into bed and tried to calm your thoughts, to no avail. You laid your head on the flat pillow, feeling oddly numb. You let your eyes flutter shut, a lone tear escaping to trail down your now puffy face.
No sleep was had that night.
———————————————
Around you, the battlefield raged. You had arisen early in the morning, for the orcish army was no longer just a rumor, but a promise. A promise of war. The knowledge of the bloodshed the future held electrified you, helping you to use your fear and anger to aid your fight. You wielded your sword with ferocity and confidence, a scowl on your face as you quickly swiped at the blood that dribbled down the side of your face. Your head swiveled at every sound as you frantically looked to see if you recognized any faces around you.
You plunged your sword into an approaching orc, making a face at the horrid squelch it produced as you pulled out your blade. You ran across the battlefield, swiftly killing any orcs that dared get in your way.
What you saw in the far distance, through squinted eyes, made your heart drop into your stomach.
You saw Thorin, fighting Azog on the ice.
You watched as the pale orc fell off of the chunk of ice he stood on, and into the murky abyss. You prayed to all of the Valar that he was dead. But fate was not on your side. You watched in horror as a knife plunged upwards from below the ice and impaled Thorin’s right foot.
You heard his guttural roar of pain, and your body moved into action. You ran as fast as you could, your chest and legs burning. But you were still too far away. Everything now seemed to be happening in slow motion. You could still hear the echo of Thorin’s cry in your head.
Suddenly, Azog jumped out of the water and landed on his feet. Thorin was on his back blocking each strike from Azog to the best of his ability. All that you heard was the sharp clang of metal against metal and your own blood roaring in your ears.
You felt something harden within you. You were no longer afraid. You had only one job, and that was to save Thorin. Azog’s blade was now only inches away from Thorin’s chest. Thorin grit his teeth and gasped deeply, using every bit of his strength in an effort to block the attack.
You were sprinting straight towards Azog’s back. You had absolutely no plan. Common sense and battle strategy had officially left the building. Yet your rage towards Azog, who had already taken so much from Thorin, fueled your fight.
You propelled yourself up, in a strange burst of strength, and clawed your way up Azog’s back, clinging to him. He grunted and twisted his head around. But before he could do anything more, you drove your sword into his back with all of your might.
Azog’s roar seemed to shake the very ground he stood on. Your hands, slick with sweat, burned as they tightly grasped the hilt of your sword. Your heart sped up as you tried to pull your weapon out to strike once again, but it was stuck. Azog turned, his face now pulled into a sickly sneer, and he slashed at your shoulder with his sword. You hissed in pain, and jerked yourself away. You saw Thorin breathing deeply and attempting to get up out of the corner of your eye.
Go, you screamed at him in your head. Go, my love. Leave and get to safety.
Seeing Thorin in pain, thanks to Azog, filled you with a boiling rage. It filled you up from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head- a fiery, molten lava swirling inside of you.
Your lips twisted into a ferocious snarl as your hands tightened on the hilt of your sword. You twisted the sword further into Azog’s wound, plunging it deeper into his mangled flesh. As you twisted one last time, you pulled it out with a hard gasp. Azog’s stinking, black blood splattered your neck and arms.
You still clung to the pale orc’s back and shoulders, your nails digging into his scarred skin. He thrashed and blindly slashed at you, but you held tight still. You kept your mind sharp, blocking and ducking to avoid his stabs. Reaching your hand into your bloodstained tunic, you hurriedly patted yourself down, frantically searching, until your hand was greeted by your hidden blade.
You grabbed the hilt of the sharp knife and whipped it out. You positioned yourself so that your feet were pressing into Azog’s back. You drew your arm back and threw the blade, with masterful precision, into the back of Azog’s neck. He roared once again, his head spasming, and made to grab you.
Unfortunately, this time, you were unable to avoid his grasp. His sharp nails dug into your neck as he grabbed you and pulled your body off of his back. He held you in front of him with only his right hand, the blade at the end of his metal arm pointed at your throat. You felt the pressure building on your throat, and a low buzzing noise started to take over. The blade dug painfully into your flesh, and you felt it begin to break the skin. All of your previous confidence had vanished. You were now at the mercy of the pale orc.
Azog gave a sickening smile, his pointed teeth glistening with blood. He issued a raspy chuckle that chilled you to your core. Time seemed to slow down once again as he drove the blade of his arm into your side. You gave a sharp intake of breath, as if you could not fathom what was happening, before you let loose an ear-splitting yell of pain. Your voice crumbled and cracked as you screamed until your vocal cords were weak. In the back of your subconscious, you registered a voice, desperately screaming your name. You struggled uselessly, trying to escape the pain. The blade felt hot, as if your insides were being lit on fire and seared open. You wondered for a moment why he did not completely skewer you, and quickly rid himself of your bothersome presence, until it hit you. He wanted your death to be agonizing. Slow and painful. You felt the blade being slowly pushed deeper in, creating a sickening puncturing sensation, and you could do nothing. It must have been almost halfway through you at this point. He tightened his other hand around your throat, and you saw spots floating at the edges of your line of vision.
You were dancing at the edge of oblivion, barely holding onto consciousness, when you felt your hand which dangled at your side, still clutching your sword. A glimmer of hope sparked inside you. With a guttural cry of pain, you used your last bit of strength. Your arm elongated at your side and rose before you swiftly cleaved Azog’s head from his shoulders. Your face was promptly sprayed with his blood and innards, before his hold on your neck loosened, his grasp slack. His severed head hit the ground with a satisfying klunk, his eyes glazed over. His body collapsed to the ground with a loud thud, bringing you down with him.
You gave a low groan of pain at the impact. Azog’s arm, still impaled in the side of your torso, left the two of you attached. You slowly took your sword, whimpering softly at the painful stretching the motion caused, and sawed off the small bit of flesh that attatched the metalwork to his body. You were left sitting on the ice, a blade sticking out of you, as a ringing filled your ears. You heard your name being called, and a blurry figure made its way into your field of vision. You squinted your eyes, trying to see who it was. Once your vision cleared, you breathed a shaky sigh of relief.
Thorin was here.
He hobbled over to you, his wounded foot dragging behind him. He lowered himself to the ice slowly. He looked at you with such sorrow as he scooted closer and cupped your face. His warm hands grounded you to reality. You felt every callous on them as he softly ran his fingers along the sides of your face, his touch only a whisper.
“Ghivashel,” he started, his voice cracking. “I-
“No,” you interrupted, your voice hoarse from the abuse it had endured. You gave a pathetic cough and said once more in a slightly stronger voice, “No. Not right now.”
Tears ran down his face, their clean tracks a stark contrast to the dirtied skin it ran down. “I am so sorry. So very sorry. I cannot even begin to apologize for all I have-“
You reached forward and put your finger against Thorin’s lips. You gave a soft smile. “I know,” you replied. You brushed his hair out of his face gently. “We have much to discuss. Many things have been left unsaid.” You gazed into his warm blue eyes, “But right now, just be here. Be here with me, my love.”
Thorin’s lips quivered slightly as he gave a sad smile of agreement. He gently positioned you so that your head was resting in his lap. You gazed up into his face. The soft cloth of his tunic tickled the back of your neck. The warmth of his body was much more comforting compared to the harsh cold of the ice you both lie on. The pain would have been almost unbearable, but Thorin’s presence was like a balm to both your soul and body. He took on a tinge of panic as his eyes locked onto the blade sticking out of your side. Knowing he should not simply pull the weapon out, he quickly tore fabric from his body and wrapped your side with it, securing the sword into place, so it wouldn’t move and cause more damage. You reached out and grasped his hand, your fingers shaking slightly as they ran over his bloodied knuckles.
“Thorin,” you rasped. “You are here.”
“Aye,” he replied softly, his eyes glistening in the light.
“My bead,” you begged. Thorin looked confused for a moment, before understanding lit up his eyes. He pulled out your marriage bead, that you had thrown at him not long ago, from inside his tunic. He had evidently kept it on himself. He took your hair into his hands, and quickly wove a small braid into your hair, placing the bead at the end of it. He moved aside his own hair, showing you his marriage bead that still lie in his own braid. You gave a watery smile as you clutched at his hand.
After a pause, you spoke. “You are mine, and I am yours.”
“Always,” he replied, his voice strong. “My wife,” he added after a moment, the word an unspoken promise. My husband, you thought warmly. He ducked his head down to meet your own, and placed a soft, lingering kiss on your lips, his hand cradling the back of your neck. You responded in kind, deepening the kiss. You felt as if the part of yourself that had broken earlier had been sewn back together. You were whole again. You let out a soft sigh of contentment as Thorin pressed his forehead gently to rest on your own, his eyelids fluttering shut in the moment.
The King slid himself down, so that he too was laying down. Your head rested on his chest. His large hand rubbed soothing circles gently on your back as you breathed shakily in and out. You gazed out over the ice and saw eagles flying in the distance. You gave a grin of relief and squeezed Thorin’s hand. Healers were rapidly bustling about, gathering the wounded and tending to them. You had no doubt that you and Thorin would receive the help you required soon.
But for now, you were here. And he was here. You were together at last, once again. Your hands intertwined in each other’s, your head tucked under his chin as he planted soft kisses on your head and murmured soothing words into your hair.
“My King,” you said softly, petting the soft hair of his beard as your hand ran over his jaw.
“My Queen,” he responded, his voice full of emotion, as he pulled you into one more kiss, your bodies melding closer together.
The eagles were coming. And all was well.
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A/N 2: I hope you guys liked that! I am very new to writing, so I know I have lots of room for improvement, but I really enjoyed writing this. By the way, I do not picture Thorin and the reader dying at the end, but it is kind of a vague ending, so if you want to imagine that happening, no problem! (It would be quite tragically romantic, them dying in each other’s arms). Though personally, I like to imagine that they both eventually recover from their injuries and everyone lives happily ever after in Erebor with their beloved King and Queen under the mountain! :)
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I decided to send you a fun ask and you don't have to answer them all with huge paragraphs, but here you go:
Your honest opinion on all the Might ships listed?? (Some of them are cursed and I added some of my opinions too :D)
EraserMight (OTP, it's a comfort ship and has a lot of emotional connection and potential, beautiful, so sad it's not cannon)
PresentMight (Eh, okay, but my ears are bleeding just thinking about these two. Doesn't really click to me)
ToshiInko (Adorable! One of my first ships, Dadmight confirmed)
NightMight (Night Eye is too young in my opinion, but cute.)
MidnightMight (I don't know the official ship name with Midnight but SPICY)
AllForMight (Wtf??? This man almost ripped poor Toshi's heart out, and not in a romantic way!! But this would be hilarious in a crack fic for some laughs.)
DekuMight (HURRK-! 🤢 Dadmight version tho 😏)
ShieldMight (Cute, friends to lovers vibe. Not my thing, though)
Nana x Toshi (WHYYY???)
Endmight (This one is okay, Endeavor is married tho... 😬)
You can add any other ships that you want but these I'm pretty sure are the general ones. I hope it's fun to give your opinions!
I love most Might ships so I’m excited >:3
EraserMight: beautiful. Two broken people helping put each other together. I love this so much. Toshi being there as a listening ear to Aizawa’s past, something that he rarely speaks about, and provides comfort when the memories become too much. Aizawa helping Toshi through his own physical struggles, but also helping the man realize the weight he carries, and his fragile state of mind. They’re made for each other 😭
PresentMight: adorable! I imagine pm would be eager to show off different things to Toshi that the older hero hadn’t had time to enjoy. And likewise! Toshi would reel Hizashi in when he got too overly excited, and Hizashi would help Toshi keep his confidence up when he questions himself.
Toshinko: These two 😭 adorableeee. Not including their mutual interest in Izuku, I feel the two would have a lot in common. They’re both in bodies and situations they didn’t plan for, and are adjusting in that reality. They can both be insecure at times, but are also ready to stand up for each other and others at a moment’s notice.
NightMight: also cute. Funny you mention him being young?? Nighteye was is 38, and therefore probably one of the closest age wise to All Might himself. I do think the two have chemistry. Nighteye was obviously an obsessed fanboy, but it was clear how much he cared for Toshi’s wellbeing beyond that, even so much as to recommend retirement. Nighteye was Toshi’s only sidekick, and learning to put trust in another person must have taken Toshinori some time. He undoubtedly grew closer to Nighteye as a result.
MidMight: Sexy. Oh the thoughts I have with these two 🤤 mainly involving Midnight dominating Toshi and showing his completely inexperienced tush the ropes. I love these two together and I wish we could have more interactions between them! I love their dynamic! I also choose to believe that Midnight was bluffing about not liking older men hnnnngh
AllForMight: ...my secret guilty pleasure. It’s dark, sick, and twisted, and yet I can’t stop thinking about it. AFO initiating, and Toshi disgusted by it, yet also having conflicting emotions spiraling within him, and can’t help how his body reacts. wow i’m sick
DekuMight: Father/Son? YES! I just want them both to be happy and together as a family!! 😭 As for the couple...Given the controversy surrounding it, and knowing I’ll cause negative reactions no matter what I say, I won’t comment. I want to keep things neutral and peaceful here.
ShieldMight: Ah college sweethearts💕 I love how David admires Toshinori so intensely. Toshinori most likely feels humbled by it, but also probably awkward/intimidated. It wouldn’t affect how and what he does, but when David speaks so passionately about it afterwards, there’s certainly that anxious fear in the back of his mind about screwing up and ruining the perfect image David has in mind for him. I do love their dynamic and want to see more of them.
NanaMight(?): I prefer seeing them as mother/son. I see their relationship as a mother taking in a child just a little older than her own son, and raising him to be the hero that can save everyone, including the son she can’t. I imagine she sees him as “weird” considering his conviction at such a young age, but also inspired by him as well. Toshinori most likely is incredulous a hero would even listen to somebody a nobody like him. He’d inspire to do better every day, proving himself to her and expressing his appreciation at being listened to, considered, cared for.
EndMight: Ooooh another guilty pleasure. They’re rivals, Endeavor most likely holding some form of hatred for All Might, while also respecting the power the man holds. All Might having nothing against Endeavor, except how aggressive he is about being better than him. Endeavor completely shocked and confused at All Might’s sickly body, and perhaps secretly terrified at realizing the weight of the responsibility on his shoulders. All Might ashamed of his body, especially around his rival who always hated him for his strength. He’s unsure how to act around Endeavor now, weak and slowly dying. Endeavor demands answers, and lets himself enjoy dominating All Might, something no one’s had the pleasure of doing before. All Might submits, lets him feel in control and regain his confidence. All Might doesn’t take crap though, and makes sure Endeavor knows that as he lets Endeavor have his way with his ruined body. 💦
#lover talks#ask me#anon#ships#thanks for the ask!#this was fun#now you all have a look into my twisted mind#lol#All Might#Toshinori Yagi#I p much ship everyone with Toshi tbh
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Prompt 89 for Brettsey 🙂
This fic is partially inspired by @katie-049's fic "Sprucing Up Chicago" (which is a very good thing because wow I'm obsessed with her AU seriously go check it out). Hope you enjoy this :)
89. "You're holding back."
Sylvie swears she isn't a violent or angry person.
It's three weeks after Julie's died. She'd cried in Matt's arms, been comforted by Stella-- hell, she's been comforted by her own damn parents. And it's helped, sure, but there's still residual pain left over. She's still processing the fact that she's gone. That after a lifetime of getting nothing, of always wondering who her birth parents were, Sylvie only got a month with her before she passed. It makes her angry.
People can't control when they die. Julie didn't mean to die, didn't choose to leave like this. But Sylvie deserved time from her, and she can't help but feel like Julie for dying before at least giving Sylvie a proper amount of time with all the answers she'd needed. It's not Julie's fault though. It truly isn't. So why is Sylvie still so heartbroken? And why is she mad?
Matt texts her on one of their days off though, tells her he wants to meet her somewhere. She agrees to it, not because he insists that it will help her, but because she really just wants to see Matt. He's always there for her when she needs it the most, to the point where she finds herself needing him a lot. Hell, who is she kidding? It's not just a need anymore. She wants him-- in every sense of the word, unfortunately.
But that's not the point of today. Today, according to Matt, is about helping her heal a little.
She pulls up to the address he'd texted her to meet him at and is a little surprised. It's some random, run of the mill house except it has tarps on its windows and the white picket fence is severely damaged.
"Hey," he greets her from the front porch of the house. He's in jeans an a t-shirt, which isn't out of the ordinary for Matt, but he's sweaty and there are subtle streaks of dirt on his arms and shirt. It makes him look rugged and messy-- and admittedly, very attractive.
"Hi," she replies in a mousy squeak. "What, uh. What are we doing here, exactly?"
"Right," he remembers, pointing back at the house while keeping his eyes on her. "Well, this is one of my projects for my contracting business."
"And you thought I'd like drilling things? Being a working man, sing a few Springsteen songs?" She guesses amusedly.
"No," he laughs breathily. "This house is being renovated completely. Come on, I'll show you."
What happens next is a terrifying, wonderful surprise. Matt motions toward the house with his head, then grabs her by the hand and leads her inside. His hand doesn't let go the entire time, even as he's opening the door. It's calloused and sweaty from the work she knows he must have been doing on the place, but it's warm. It fits perfectly into hers and it makes her heart skip a beat.
The moment's over before she can even register it though. He pulls his hand away when they walk inside the house and up to the series of bare walls and counters surrounded by tarps and sawdust.
What the hell is happening?
"It's demolition day," he explains to her with a slightly proud smile on his face. It makes her chuckle a little.
He picks up two sledgehammers and protective glasses off one of the counters. "I figured," he explains as he hands her one of the hammers. "This might help you blow off some steam. Normally, I take Severide on these kind of things but his life's not all that bad right now. You need this more than he does."
"Wow," she awes, looking around at the place. "I... I don't know, Matt. I'm not really one for smashing."
"It's a lot more fun than you think, I promise," he assures her. He hands her the second pair of goggles and she gives him a hesitant look for a minute. Eventually, she caves in. Who knows? Maybe this will be fun. She's trusted Matt before and has never once been disappointed, she doesn't see why this will be any different.
"Ok," she sighs amusedly. "Let's do this, Matt Casey."
Matt moves to inspect one of the walls they need to demolish and, when he finds the proper hollow spot through a series of knocks, he points at the spot and then backs away. "You can swing right there. Give it your best shot, Brett."
Sylvie giggles, moves to the wall, and whacks it with her hammer-- a little half-assed, if she's being honest. She's still adjusting to this lovably strange idea Matt had, so she isn't in the full swing of it yet.
"You're holding back," he points out, tilting his head to the side in mock disapproval. "Come on, hit it hard, Sylvie. I know you can do it. You're angry, right?"
"I'm not angry," she protests meekly, her eyes drifting off seriously. "You can't be mad at someone for dying, that doesn't make any sense."
"Of course it does," he counters supportively. "It's okay to be angry, that's part of the grief. Don't shy away from it. Own it."
"Right, okay." She nods, hyping herself mentally. "I can do this."
She stares at the wall intensely, until she locks eyes with the spot she needs to hit and sends the end of the sledgehammer through the wall with a loud, cathartic thwack!
It's a blur of rage. She whacks it once, then twice, three times. When she pulls away, there's a huge, gaping hole in the wall where a cluster of paint and drywall used to be. She stares at it in shock.
She hasn't done something like that since she was a teenager, helping her dad out with farm work in Fowlerton.
She hasn't done this whole "smash therapy" thing before. It's strange, but delightful. It helps the residual pain, anger, and grief flood away into the air along with the specks of dust. Eventually, she forgets the anger ever existed.
"Did I just do that?" She asks, pointing at the hole in the wall in bewilderment.
Sylvie turns to Matt and sees him staring at her with delightful surprise. "You did, yeah," he nods.
"I did that," she repeats, soaking it in. "I actually did that."
"How did it feel?"
"Ugh, so good!" She's ramped up on excitement and adrenaline and, before she knows it, she's practically slamming herself into Matt and wrapping her arms around him in a hug. He laughs, but it quickly becomes awkward so she pulls away. "Sorry," she apologizes after a while. "I got excited there."
"No need to be sorry," he replies bashfully, scratching at the back of his neck and clearing his throat. "I'm just-- I'm glad I could help."
"Yeah," she nods, smiling warmly at him. His gaze is intense and for a moment, she's reminded of just how much she truly cares for Matt. And, admittedly, just how much she wants to be with him-- even if she'll never admit it.
He really is just glad he could help. He means that. He always is.
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Hello there, people of Romione. Nah, second fic. It's inspired by 'a walk to remember', the novel coz the movie did not give book the justice.🙄🙂
I hope you people will like my romione version, and thank you to everyone who gave their time to 'The Trojan Princess', update is not far away on that one 😉😉.
A Tale of Ron and Hermione.
FFNET: 👇
https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13926524/1/A-Tale-of-Ron-and-Hermione
AO3: 👇
The first chapter is here 👇.
English is not my first language so I hope, you people can adjust. Coz if I didn't have my sister to help me, you all would have been suffering my disheveled English 😅😅.
Please read and review and visit it on ao3 and ffnet. Thank you. 😊😊
Chapter-1
(President Granger) Hermione Granger sighs as she sat on the bench outside the office of professor McGonagall's office. She is frustrated because of the upcoming bloody Halloween Ball. She had to be present at the ball, not because she is the Head girl, it is because she is the president of the Student Council which was officially created by the Ministry of Magic to find the best upcoming talents who are capable of leading Britain as the best magical country of the Wizarding World. She was one of the first student who was selected for the group, because of her habit of being at the top of the class in the last six academic years of her. Though it was a surprise for her when professor McGonagall called her and informed her that she wants her to be candidate from Gryffindor who will compete against the other candidates from the other three houses for the post of the president. To be honest, she never expected herself to win as she was never the popular student, but as Merlin have blessed her that she got Harry Potter as her best friend. Harry is unofficially, the most popular student of Hogwarts. His wonder of securing place in the quidditch team when he was just a firstie, and being the youngest seeker of the century was a huge endorsement for his famousness. Then in no less a time Gryffindor team became unbeatable and he was the best seeker of the Gryffindor team after Charlie Weasley left and being James Potter's son, one of the most wealthy and successful businessman of the Wizarding World, has its own perks as he was showered with high class quidditch material by his quidditch enthusiast father. Harry was one of the first ever person to befriend her. It was her first year and she had asked the way to the Platform 9¾ from the Potters and from there her friendship with Harry started and she believed that it is because of Harry, she had made friends in their year. She had Lavender and Parvati, who at first did not liked her much but warmed later and they created a great bond together. Seamus and Dean are no exception as they were there for her before she befriended any female from Gryffindor house. She had asked Harry for his help in the campaign for the voting and he had enthusiastically took part in her campaign for everyone's glee and her embarrassment as he once created a wall sized poster of her, with bold words engraved on it. VOTE FOR HERMIONE GRANGER THE FUTURE OF THE WIZARDING WORLD She still receives teasing for that incident. She surprisingly won the voting defeating the candidates of the other houses. Though it was hard work regarding the other candidates of the other houses were brilliant in themselves too. Daphne Greengrass was the Slytherin candidate, she has the honorary title of the Hogwarts' ice queen but is respected by many because of her unbiased views on everyone, even on the Gryffindors. She also received the best prefect award in their fifth year and she also beaten her to the top in the fifth class as she received one mark more than her in their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s, though she and Greengrass never had a real conversation, there is a unspoken mutual respect between them. Terry Boot was the Ravenclaw candidate and he was also one of the best students academically in their year, but he is not much of a person of interacting and perhaps it was the reason he lost. She blessed Harry as he was the one who forced her to put her book down once and introduced her to the thing called fun or she would have faced the same fate as Boot. Zacharias Smith, she laughed as Smith came into her mind, after all Smith was one of the main causes which made her the winner of the voting. Smith, though good in the academics, is not in the good graces of many people around Hogwarts, including his own house fellows. Sweet Professor Sprout, certainly made a mistake choosing Smith as her house's candidate. Perhaps she never heard of Smith's infamousness between the students. He was disliked even in his own house by many and that is the reason they choose to vote for her as they didn't know
much about Boot and Greengrass must have faced the consequences of Professor Snape's biasness toward the other houses. "President," said a soft voice, she turned her head and a fourth year Hufflepuff girl was standing there and the door of Professor McGonagall's office is opened. "Professor McGonagall has called you inside," said the girl, Hermione nodded and stood up. She walked inside the office closing the door behind and noticed the girl has gone now. "Miss Granger," said a stern voice in greetings. Professor Minerva McGonagall is sitting behind her desk with a stern expression and her cat like eyes scanning her whole features. Professor McGonagall had given her the responsibility speech when she chosen her, the Gryffindor candidate. She had made sure Hermione fills the both responsibilities of Head Girl and President of Student Council decently. "Good afternoon professor," Hermione greeted back. Professor McGonagall nodded and motioned her to take a seat while she rummaged through some papers spread on her desk. It was something surprising to see, for Hermione at least as she had always noticed from their first year that there is no messiness you can expect from Professor McGonagall. Though Hermione don't eighter blame the old professor as there are at least fifty different sheets of papers around the table. Some of the sheets are the grading papers which are thrust into a register, and there are is a huge poster covering the whole table and everything present at the table is doing the work of hiding it. She can figure out the color of poster, it is dark blue reminiscing the color of night. "So," said Professor McGonagall a little firmly, indicating that whatever is going to discuss between them now means business. Hermione straightens her spine unconsciously. "You must be busy with the preparation of the Halloween Ball nowadays, Miss Granger?" asked Professor McGonagall. Hermione nodded stiffly, as the reminder that she, the Head Girl and the President of The Student Council, is dateless two days before the ball came into her mind. "Then you must be also informed that even after upcoming the ball, you're not going to have much free time," Professor McGonagall said, and Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion. Noticing her expression, the professor sighed and dragged a poster up, which was hidden under the mess on the table until now. The poster is large, a size of a huge television. And in the center of it, in huge bold words, there was written 'THE DRAMA FESTIVAL'. Hermione looked at the poster with a frown appearing on her face, but she suddenly turned into the expression of indifference. Professor McGonagall rolled the poster and put it on the side of the table, not very tenderly. Which told Hermione, that the professor also isn't pleased with this, whatever Drama activity it is. "The Headmaster," a frown of frustration appeared on Professor's face, "had accepted the request of Professor Lockhart's permission of hosting the Drama Festival this time at Hogwarts." Professor Lockhart? When in the hell did that man became a professor. Gilderoy Lockhart was famously known for his roles in Wizarding Dramas since he passed from Hogwarts. He was also known for the famous plays he had acted and directed himself, they were regarded as special because they were inspired from the old tales of Wizarding World. She had a stupid crush on him when she was twelve, Parvati had shown her his photo and she always blessed merlin that she soon recovered from that crush, because Harry had made her life hell when he got the wind of her crush back then. "Any questions, Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall asked, breaking her musing. She stared at her for a moment, Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrow. She blinked a little and realizing that she had been staring at the Transfiguration Professor's face for five minutes. "Uh-Ah, yes exactly," she said awkwardly and mentally slapped herself realizing how dumbly she is speaking now. "Yes, professor. I mean when will Hogwarts is going to host this event?" "It is going
to be held this December. On 19th of December before the start of Christmas holidays," McGonagall said with her voice a little softer as she is going to inform her everything about the upcoming event. "The Drama as I have informed is based on the famous 'Tales of Beedle and Bard'," said Professor McGonagall. "There will be five plays, which are based on the five stories of the book and the five stories will be played by the students of different years." "The third year students will start with the first play and other plays will be played by the students of following years in the chronological order," McGonagall sighed a little which made Hermione feel that something horrible is coming. "And," the professor drawled a little, "all the arrangement of the festivals are the responsibility of The Student Council." "What? Why!?" she asked a little loudly and flinched when McGonagall sent a pierce glare on her volume. "I mean, why!?" she asked softly. "Because," said Professor McGonagall softly, "Student Council's work is to help students in increasing their skills, and by skill we didn't only meant their academic skill but also their extracurricular skills which not only includes sports but other activities like drama too." Though the points her head of the house gave her are reasonable and adequate, but it still did not take the ridiculousness from the situation she's stuck in. "I know you are not pleased with the events but you must realize that it all is your responsibility as the President of the Council and I don't want the Boards of Directors feel disappointed from the choice of the Hogwarts, now please go and rest Miss Granger. The ball is day after the tomorrow and might need some rest because the tomorrow is going to be a hectic day for you." Professor's words indicated that she's not in a mood of a debate and is really tired. "You're dismissed." Hermione stood up and after wishing the professor a good night she turned and left the professor's office and strolled directly towards Gryffindor common room, where she thinks she might find her friends. She nearly ran towards the seventh floor. Her mind is full of thoughts of the stupid Drama Festival which she had to prepare for nearly two months. Wasn't the bloody Halloween Ball enough!? Her mind is screaming to itself and with the thought of Ball she got the reminder of the absence of a date and it will be pretty embarrassing if the president of the Council turned up alone for the Ball. She huffed, she didn't sign up for any stupid ball and drama fests. "Hippogriffe feathers!" she said the password rather loudly as the portraits around the entrance startled on the loud voice of hers. Entering the common room, she noticed that there are not many students present but the group of her friends was still present on the couches near the fireplace. Dean was the one to notice her, "Hiya President!" he said cheerfully and everyone's head turned towards her. They repeated Dean's words as chipperly, "HIYA PRESIDENT!", umm well too chipperly. She walked and collapsed at the empty space beside Lavender and leaned on her, "Hectic day, I guess," Lavender mused. "Don't even ask," she muttered. "Why does your voice sound so dull, deary?" asked Seamus teasingly, "Is it because our dear President still doesn't have a date?" he laughed. Hermione flipped the small cushion on Seamus's face. Bullseye. "You still didn't find a date?" Lavender asked, a little disappointed as Hermione promised her that she will find a date by evening. "I was so busy, first the preparation and all of the arrangement of the food which I had to arranged with the elves," she closed her eyes and said tiredly, "I really didn't got the time." "Too bad, because nearly everyone is booked now and you're going to turn up alone," Harry chipped in. "Even Neville?" she asked. "Yup! Didn't we told you, Mister Longbottom is getting pretty cozy with certain Hufflepuff name Hannah Abbott." Parvati said. "Arrgh! What in the name of Merlin am I going to do now?" she asked desperately to her friends. "You
can spend the whole night talking to Luna though. She'll be delighted to spend the Halloween night with you," Harry sniggered, Hermione's closed eyes shot wide open at the aspect of spending a whole night in the party with Luna. Everyone laughed at her expression and she started to run her mind to at least find one date, so she will be spared having a night just of controlling the students and conversing about Luna's antique. "Well Hermione," said Seamus loudly. "I would not have done it for someone else but after all you had a special place in my heart." He forwarded a thick book to her which she is encountering for the first time. "What's this?" she asked. "It's the yearbook, I stole it from McGonagall's office," she gasped and Harry shushed her, "So you might get some ideas from it." Seamus said smugly, looking proud of himself on stealing the book from the office of keen-eyed Professor McGonagall. The subject quickly diverted to the quidditch matches, leaving her and the yearbook alone. Though she was little uncomfortable as after all her 'great' friend had to steal it for her. She closed her eyes and started rummaging through pages and after a great search her eyes landed on one name, she knew who probably not had a date by now, Ronald Weasley.
#romione#romione fanfic#romione fanfiction#ron weasley#hermione granger#ron x hermione#a walk to remember#au fic#no voldemort au#jily lives
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Anyone in the mood for Steve/Tony secret identity shenanigans with a dash of mutual pining?
Behind the scenes I've been wildly obsessed with this ship since about April, and the other day I wrote something that I'm fond of enough to share. It's not a fic really, more of just a treatment with some dialogue scattered about. 2.4k-ish words, present tense because that's the way my brain works. Inspired by a slew of fics I've been devouring this week, but hopefully not close enough to be ripping anyone off.
//
Okay so, it's one of those versions of the Avengers where nobody* knows that Tony Stark is Iron Man. They know he built the suit and is the Avengers' sugar daddy and resident inventor, but they think Iron Man himself is a separate guy, hired by Mr. Stark to be a bodyguard and pilot for the armor. His identity is Top Secret. Heck, at first everyone thought he was a robot. That cat got out of the bag, but it was true enough to tell everyone that he was just pretending to be a robot to protect his secret and not let enemies know of a potential weakness; i.e., that he's squishy under the armor. Plus, if people knew Iron Man was really a man, they'd try to figure out who he is. And Mr. Stark is very serious about wanting to protect his employees. (*Pepper and Rhodey know, and probably Happy? But no one else.)
Well Steve ends up falling for Iron Man anyway. Even not knowing his real name, his face, or even his true voice because it's always modulated (in an obvious way; it's tinny and robotic, part of the Iron Man branding). He gets him in private one day and confesses, in a very adorable and awkward way. Tony panics because honestly he's fallen for Steve too, but he can't let him know that, at least not now as Iron Man. He doesn't quite reject him the way he should-- that is, he doesn't directly say he's not interested. He knows Steve would be able to see straight through the lie, so instead he just keeps insisting that he "can't" return his feelings.
They go back and forth a bit about possible roadblocks.
"Is it because I'm a man?"
"What? No, that doesn't make a difference to me."
"Is it a trust issue?"
"Of course not, I trust you with my life."
"Is it because of your boss?"
Iron Man hesitates because… well yeah! Technically it IS because of Tony Stark.
Steve sees the opening and presses on, "Would he… let you go if you revealed your identity to me?"
Iron Man chuckles, to Steve's consternation, "No, he couldn't do that. It's just… he… it's complicated."
Steve opens his mouth to continue his inquiries, but Iron Man cuts him off. "I'm sorry, Cap. I really, really am." And he flies away, feeling like a jackass and a coward.
Steve meanwhile just feels determined and suspicious. Iron Man isn't afraid of being fired, but there's clearly something to do with Mr. Stark that's holding him back. Steve decides to pay a visit to the Avengers' benefactor to get some clues.
//
Later, Tony is down in an Avengers lab, brooding about the latest fine mess he's found himself in. This secret identity thing is getting to be a real pain in the ass. And if Cap has been paying attention to Iron Man enough to think he's fallen for the Tin Man, then surely he's been paying attention enough to notice how rarely Iron Man and Tony Stark are in the same room together. The armor has an autopilot mode, but it's not so convincing now that people know that Iron Man is a real guy in a suit and not just a robot.
So Tony has set himself at the task of improving the autopilot. The AI part isn't actually so hard; he's made some pretty personable AIs before. But JARVIS is just a voice; Iron Man also needs to move. Getting the subtleties of natural movement into the armor is tricky business. He runs analyses on video footage of himself to nail down things like how he shifts his weight while standing around, how he gesticulates while speaking, and how he interacts physically with his teammates on the battlefield (a friendly shoulder pat, a hand up, flying with a passenger, etc.)
The movements of the autopilot are getting smoother, but there's still a little lag to non-battle actions, causing the beginnings of a gesture or sentence to seem a bit stilted. Tony uploads his latest iteration of the code into the suit and starts putting it through its paces.
//
It's certainly not the first time Steve has walked in on Mr. Stark working on the Iron Man suit. Between fixing battle damage and adding upgrades, there's usually some pieces and parts scattered around the lab. But today it's the whole suit, assembled and standing apparently of its own accord in the middle of the room. A few wires are connecting it to the ceiling and nearby computers, but they're slack. Data cables and fall-arrest lines maybe, but nothing actively keeping the suit upright. Steve freezes, half hidden behind one of the partitions used to divvy up the lab space. He hasn't announced himself yet, and Mr. Stark is clearly wrapped up in his work.
Steve stares at the suit, wondering. It's standing unnervingly still, but that doesn't negate the possibility that the pilot is inside, being careful and patient as Mr. Stark circles him and taps various joints. Tony moves to stand in front of the suit, hands on his hips, looking up into the glowing white eyes. Steve's gaze rolls over the pair, noting in an absentminded way that Iron Man's height advantage is at least partly due to the large rocket boosters in his boots. Steve has always known Iron Man to be the same height as himself, if not slightly taller, and he suddenly wonders where the pilot stands without those boots.
Tony lifts a hand and knocks lightly against the chestplate. "Relax, buddy."
The suit shifts, and Steve inhales sharply despite himself. It's like watching his fellow servicemen go from parade rest to at ease; not a huge move, but an assortment of loosening muscles that breathes life into a simple standing pose. Iron Man shifts his weight slightly onto one foot, cocking a hip. His shoulders relax, and his helmeted face tilts down to better meet Mr. Stark's gaze.
Tony grins. "Hey there." He sounds pretty pleased. "Let's do a voice check. Give me a catch phrase."
"If we can't protect the world, you can be damn well sure we'll Avenge it." Iron Man's voice seems extra robotic, syllables not quite falling where they should. It hitches as well, the last word dissolving into static. Steve frowns along with Tony.
"Oh, gross. That was awful. Downgrade from the last test for sure." Tony cups Iron Man's jaw with one hand, encouraging him to tip his head back. "Bad coil too, sounds like." He taps Iron Man on the neck with one finger, where his Adams apple would be under the armor. Steve swallows reflexively as he watches. "I'll have to get that from the inside," Tony mutters, more to himself than to Iron Man, Steve feels, but then Tony has a habit of doing that to just about everybody.
Tony reaches up to hold Iron Man's jaw in both hands now. His fingers slide along the metal almost like a caress as he tilts the helmet down to face him again. Something twists in Steve's stomach. It's an awfully familiar way to touch another person's face, even though a helmet. Tony's index fingers sweep up and catch in the seam where the golden faceplate meets the red jaw. There's a soft click, one Steve is sure he couldn't have heard if he didn't have enhanced hearing. His breath stops.
Tony is going to lift the faceplate. He's going to reveal the man underneath. Of course he can, of course he knows who the mysterious pilot is. But they don't know that Steve is there. He's not supposed to know. He promised he'd never pry. Should he announce himself? Run? Just close his eyes?
The faceplate has only come away from the helmet the barest inch when Tony stops. For one wild second, Steve thinks he's been made. Surely one of Mr. Stark's computers picked up his presence.
"This isn't priority," Tony declares, pressing his thumbs to the corners of Iron Man's mouth slit and closing the helmet with another audible click. "A broken voice box is excusable. Need to make sure you can move right first."
Steve leans on the room divider he's still mostly obscured by, feeling almost dizzy. His stomach twists again, and he's not sure if it's from relief or acute disappointment. He'd never want to break Iron Man's trust, or Mr. Stark's for that matter. But… he'd been so close… he could have finally known… He shakes his head, refocusing on the pair across the room.
Tony has retreated to a nearby workbench, picking up a rubix cube. He tosses it at Iron Man. "Reflex check." The armored man catches it easily. "Let's see your dexterity," Tony prompts next. Iron Man starts twisting the cube, but quickly gets jammed as the blocks don't quite get flush with each other before he tries to twist in a cross direction. Tony chuckles. "It's not a race, buddy. JARVIS, increase finger sensitivity by ten percent." Iron Man pauses, then reassesses the cube, feeling around the sides and smoothing the blocks into place before choosing his next twist. Steve finds it slightly odd that he's not looking down at the cube as he manipulates it, but he supposes that the point is the hand motion and not to actually solve the puzzle. It's important to have spatial awareness even without your eyes, after all.
Tony grins wide again. "Much better." He takes the cube back and tosses it uncaringly over his shoulder. "Let's work on your people skills. Oh!" He throws his hands up in mock despair, pitching his voice in silly melodrama, "There's danger afoot! Save me, Iron Man!"
Iron Man tilts his head to face his employer, and Steve would swear he could read fond exasperation in the slight pause before he responds. Or maybe Steve's just projecting his own feelings about Tony's antics.
"Fear not, citizen," Iron Man deadpans. "Iron Man is here to rescue you."
Tony bursts out laughing, but is interrupted as Iron Man wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in. Steve can't help but smirk at the honest to god squeak that Tony emits as Iron Man tucks him tightly into his side. Tony squirms, smacking Iron Man's chest with an open palm as he gasps, "Too tight!! Ease up fifteen percent!" The metal arm around his waist loosens slightly, and Tony slackens with it. He huffs, laying his cheek on Iron Man's shoulder, forehead against his neck. "Careful with your psi there, Romeo. I don't need any civil suits on my hands over cracked ribs."
Iron Man pauses again before replying, "Okay." He shifts his head, looking down at Tony. "Are you injured." His voice still has a bit of a flat quality. Steve hopes Mr. Stark fixes that "coil" in his voicebox before their next team-up. It's hard enough to pick up some of his more subtle inflections through the modulators on a good day; Steve doesn't want to lose any more of his true voice.
"Nah," replies Tony, shifting against the metal arm that's still wrapped firmly around his waist. "Fit as a fiddle. Fit to fly, in fact. Passenger test. Low hover."
Iron Man adjusts his stance, free hand flattening palm-down to activate the flight stabilizer. He lifts Tony with his other arm, helping the smaller man step up onto his metal boots. Tony slides his arms up, wrapping them securely around Iron Man's neck. Steve's stomach does yet another odd twist as his brain supplies him with the word, "embrace."
"Hold on tight, citizen," orders Iron Man, activating his rocket boots and sending them straight up, about two feet off the floor.
Tony is laughing again. It's a light, mirthful sound; not the derisive scoff Steve is used to hearing from him. "That's too cheesy, oh my god. You sound like Cap in an old news reel." Steve startles at the mention of himself.
"I'll ease up on the cheese by fifteen percent," replies Iron Man, echoing Tony's previous comment.
Tony's eyes sparkle. "Much better. Love to hear that good humor."
"Easy to have good humor with such good company."
"Oh ho! Careful with the flirting out in the field. Can get a guy in trouble."
Flirting.
The word bounces off Steve's brain, rebounds against the inside of his skull, and then sinks in like a throwing ax lodging into a tree with a 'thunk.'
Flirting.
Iron Man was flirting with Tony Stark. Tony, the only one on the team who knew his true face. Tony, who so carefully tended to the armor that kept the man inside safe. Tony, who caressed Iron Man's helmeted face, laid his head on his shoulder, twined his arms around his neck. Tony Stark, the most eligible bachelor in the world, who was never known to have the same date twice, let alone to ever be in a real relationship.
The revelation crashed into Steve as if Iron Man himself had tackled him. Iron Man couldn't not date Steve because of his secret identity. He couldn't date him because of his secret relationship. Iron Man and Tony Stark were involved, and hiding it from the world. Iron Man by hiding his face, and Tony by acting the flighty playboy.
Steve was so shocked, so utterly distracted by the parade of emotions stampeding through him, that he didn't register that the hovering pair was slowly revolving on the spot. At least, not until he heard Tony's alarmed yelp of, "Steve?!" and looked up to find him staring directly at him, wide-eyed, over Iron Man's shoulder.
Tony Stark was not a man who embarrassed easily. In fact he was self-described as shameless. On the surface there was nothing suspect about the sort of tests he was running with Iron Man. Steve would bet bottom dollar that in any other circumstance, Tony would cheekily play up the potentially questionable nature of their current pose, reveling in the salacious humor. But instead he was panicked, caught out. And that clinched it for Steve. He'd stumbled onto a secret affair.
Steve realized his mouth was hanging open, waiting to say words that his brain wouldn't provide. For a second, Tony seemed equally dumbstruck. Then color rushed to his face, and he barked, "Get out!!"
Steve didn't need telling twice.
#Stony secret ID plotbunny#dakity yaks#i don't even know which reality this is an AU of tbh#i had old comics vibes in my brain but#it's however you'd like to read it really#long post#in case the cut doesn't work#stevetony#stony#super husbands
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Enter freely and of your own will [GNR, Sluff AU]
I know, I know, I've written vampire AUs before… Several times. But I had to write something about what a nerd Slash is for vampire fiction! Mostly inspired by interviews Slash gave after gnr covered Sympathy For The Devil for Interview With A Vampire (so any digs at the movie adaptation are based on Slash’s opinion, not mine – I’ve never seen it!). Occasional mentions of blood and stuff, but not particularly graphic. This fic is expanding on an AU I originally drew here.
~~~~
In my mind, it all played out like the plot of a paranormal romance novel. I’ve gotten familiar with those lately, thanks to the collection hidden in the bottom shelves of Slash’s library, buried below the gothic horror classics, the crime thrillers, and about a mountain of nonfiction. Hell, I could probably write my own! “Tall blonde unexpectedly falls for rock and roll bad boy with a dark secret,” yeah, the readers would eat that up. Of course, our love story didn’t really start when the unsuspecting protagonist moved to a new city, or when the leather-clad love interest showed off his supernatural shredding skills. No, I’d say it started a couple years later, when I found out Slash’s other deep, dark, embarrassing secret.
It wasn’t a dark and stormy night… but it was a movie night at my place, a tradition for Slash and I. Whenever we needed a break from the so-called rockstar lifestyle, we’d get together for a night in, smoke some pot and put on a movie. Slash laid back on my couch while I dug through a cabinet packed with VHS tapes and listed off a few options:
“Let’s see, we have Jurassic Park, Alien, Interview With a Vampire – Uh, sorry, I guess that would be weird huh?” Slash made a sour face.
“Ugh. I hate that movie, it’s such a bad adaptation. Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt, seriously?”
“Wait,” I dropped The Empire Strikes Back and Blazing Saddles onto the growing heap of tapes and sat back on my heels to look at Slash in surprise. "You’ve seen it before?”
“Uh…” Vampires may not be able to blush but I'd known Slash long enough to tell when he’s flustered.
“And you’ve read the book?”
“… Yes?” I laughed, Slash ducked and hid his face, obviously feeling self-conscious, but I didn’t mean to laugh at him. It was just…
I’d assumed that a real-life vampire would roll their eyes at the cliche, over-romanticized movie interpretations of their kind. Instead, I learned of Slash’s (nearly) indiscriminate love for all things vampire, anything from Carmilla to Buffy The Vampire Slayer. He was a sucker (hah, get it?) for dripping fangs, swishing capes, even those crazy accents, ever since he was a kid. And I can’t lie, it was pretty endearing. I wasn’t in love with him yet, but the more he told me about his obsession, the more warm and tingly I felt, charmed by how genuine he was – Hell, I barely even teased him about it! Somehow, that conversation felt even more personal than finding out he was a damn vampire. I was really touched that he felt comfortable sharing his interests with me, that he trusted me with his softer, nerdier, more romantic side.
I resisted the temptation to press for more details that night, but a month or so later, I caught him in the act! I remember waking up in the afternoon after crashing at his place so late it was early the night before. I wandered around his big, spooky house until I found Slash curled up in one of his fancy antique armchairs, his legs dangling over the armrest and a paperback book cradled in his lap. I couldn’t make out the curlicued script on the cover, but from the captivated look on his face it was a favorite – his eyes were bright as they darted across the page, and his lips curled into a warm, gentle smile.
I couldn’t stand to disturb him, so I snuck off before he noticed me in the doorway, and headed down the hall to the room he’d transformed into a tiny library – The man had a library in his house; between that and the subtly gothic decor it was hard to believe I never noticed that Slash was playing up the vampire aesthetic, consciously or not! Anyway, I poked around until I found where he hid his collection of vampire lit, and snatched a few that were, shall we say, not quite as acclaimed as Dracula or even The Vampire Chronicles. I don’t remember the titles, but there were a couple paperback romances and a horror novel with a badass-looking dude on the cover.
I had to see what all the fuss was about, you know? Yeah, this kind of thing wasn’t exactly up my alley, but Slash usually had good taste, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to check it out. Plus, if it was important to Slash, I wanted to know about it! And not just the well-known classics either; I wanted the guilty pleasures, I wanted to see what it was that could make Slash smile like that when no one was watching.
I’ll be honest, it wasn’t bad. I wasn’t a big reader at the time, but I raced through the horror novel in just two days, and trust me, I barely slept the night in between! The trashy romance was more enjoyable than I would ever admit; even with all the cliches and melodrama there was something compelling about unraveling the tangled web of forbidden love in a world full of the supernatural.
At this point, I was very cautiously beginning to entertain the idea that I might see Slash as more than just a buddy and a bandmate. As friends, were were closer than ever, hardly spent a day apart, and I was beginning to notice things that I hadn’t noticed before. Things like the way he always smiled at my lame jokes, the way he leaned on my shoulder when he was pretending to be drunk, the way he tossed his hair on stage… And I couldn’t help wondering whether Slash identified more with the heroine or the love interest. Did he want to be the cool, mysterious vampire lover, or the unsuspecting protagonist who gets drawn into an alluring new world?
I got my answer a couple months later, in town again after a leg on the road. It was a steaming hot summer day back in L.A., and Slash was dozing on his couch. This wasn’t unusual in and of itself, Slash’s sleep schedule had been fucked for as long as I'd known him. No, what made this instance significant was that I was also on the couch, reclined with my feet over the armrest and Slash draped across my chest. Tales From The Crypt played at a murmur on a brand-new TV set, but I wasn’t paying any attention.
See, at this point I’d recently learned that, when Slash focused hard enough, he could hear a living person’s blood pulsing in their veins and detect changes in body temperature. And that had me wondering: Could he tell that my heart beat faster when he leaned against me on stage? Could he tell that my ears got warm every time he turned a smile my way?
Could he tell how much I was affected by his weight on top of me?
He was like a huge cat in my lap, relaxed from head to toe. If you paid attention, you could tell that he was breathing more slowly that an ordinary human should be and his bare skin was slightly cool. Other than that he looked completely normal… Except for his teeth. His mouth was slightly open, allowing his pointed, knife-sharp teeth to scrape against his lower lip.
To Slash’s chagrin, they weren't gleaming white, perfectly straight fangs; instead they more closely resembled a shark’s jaw, crowded with small flesh-tearing blades. It was rare to see them exposed, Slash was careful to limit himself to tight-lipped smiles and mumbled dialogue whenever his secret was at risk. Even in private he was self-conscious about it, and I considered myself lucky when he grinned openly in my presence.
“Hey, Slash?”
“…Hmm?” Languidly, he shifted until he was looking up at me. Midafternoon sun leaked through the blinds brightly enough for me to make out a hint of red in his eyes, the other (un)dead giveaway that was usually obscured by his sedately lidded gaze.
"You know how you said the other day that you have really strong senses? Well... I was wondering what other, uh, non-human traits you have. How true are the myths about vampires, really?”
“Well… Hm. My eyes are pretty sensitive to daylight. And technically I’m nocturnal. But I don’t have fangs, I don’t really look like a vampire and I don’t have superpowers.” I swear to god, he pouted a little. "All things considered I didn’t really get any of the cool stuff."
“No super-strength? Or mind reading? Can you shapeshift into a bat?”
“Don’t you think I’d tell you if I could turn into a bat? At least I don’t have any of those stupid weaknesses, I can be in the sun and eat garlic and whatever.” He paused ponderously. “…You know, I might be immortal, I was around a long time before Tony and Ola took me in. Guess I’ll find out in a few decades.”
“That would be pretty cool.”
“Yeah, maybe."
“So... do you enthrall your victims?” I prodded, in a spooky, menacing voice belied by my goofy grin.
Slash snorted a laugh and shook his head at my antics. “No, I can’t do that either. Well, I don’t know, do you feel enthralled?”
I laughed awkwardly and counted my blessings when Slash didn't notice that my unspoken answer was an empathetic Yes.
Slash chuckled with me, then sighed. “Fuck, I wish vampires like that were real, though…” he confessed softly.
“Like what?”
“You know, badass, seductive, awesome powers…” He waved a hand toward a pinup poster on the wall with a corset and fangs, then let his head fall back to my chest. He mumbled into my shirt, “Is it really so much to ask for a sexy vampire to come and sweep me off my feet?”
“Slash, I hate to tell you this, but…” I couldn’t make it through the sentence with a straight face.
He swatted my bicep – pretty hard too, was he sure he didn’t have super-strength? “Fuck you, Duff, you know what I mean."
And, yeah, dreaming of being wooed by a beautiful, badass, intelligent and darkly mysterious vampire? Who appeared in my life and changed it forever, who blew me away with his capability and his passion? Who could captivate me with just a look?
Yeah. Believe me, I could relate.
~~~~
Happy Halloween!
#don’t think too hard about the timeline in this au#my sincerest apologies to any of you who is sick to death of my vampire aus#hell I’M not even that into vampires#I’m just into slash being into vampires…#slash#saul hudson#duff mckagan#gnr#guns n roses#guns and roses#halloween#gnr fanfic#guns n roses fanfic#sodafics
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What are some of your favorite writers/fics? Can you link them? I’m new to the fandom and I love your writing but can’t find some other things that are as high quality of yours :)
Hey there! I absolutely can, I love to the spread the love and there are so many talented writers that deserve all the recognition. To be honest, since I returned my blog (after 3 years away haha) I haven’t been reading a huge amount of fan fiction, mainly because I’ve been too busy focussing on my own projects, but there are still a few writers whose work I have been loving lately! I’ve also included some writers who, to my knowledge, are no longer active/don’t plan to write for MysMe anymore, but I wanted to mention them because they are the ones who inspired me to write and hold a very special place in my heart.
Ahhh you’re so sweet, thank you so much for love and welcome to the fandom! I hope you feel at home here xxx
Favourite MysMe Writers!💛
Active writers:
@sunshinejihyun - This gal has only started writing for the fandom recently, but damn she is killing it. She has such creative ideas and they are always executed so beautifully. She somehow manages to make me fall deeper in love with these characters and I ain’t mad about it.
Favs:
The Three Times He Realised He’s in Love (Zen x MC)
Open Secrets (Seven x MC)
Where You’re Meant to Be (V x MC)
@truth-be-told-im-lying - Everything this lovely lady writes is so unique and written with so much care, and there’s also a great mix of work. You get fluffy, sexy, angsty…the whole package! She’s also currently doing a ’50 Types of Kisses’ project at the moment and I don’t know how she does it but every single one I’ve read has been brilliant.
Favs:
You and I (Seven x MC)
The Garden (Saeran Choi)
50 Types of Kisses
@abbyologie - I’ve just followed this blog and I’ve only read ‘Compromise’ so far but it was gorgeous! A perfect mix of sexiness and sweetness, and they manage to really bring out Jumin’s kind and more sensitive side. A lovely read!
Compromise - Part One (Jumin x MC)
Compromise - Part 2
Inactive blogs/No longer writing for MysMe:
@serensama - This wonderful lady right here is the reason I started writing. Her writing is absolutely golden, and she has such a gorgeous way with words and it always leaves me in awe. If she’s writing angst, it’s heart-wrenching; if she’s writing fluff, it’s teeth-rotteningly sweet; if she’s writing NSFW, it’s electric. I wish I showed her more love 3 years ago, because she is truly phenomenal and (if we’re getting personal lol) her writing made me feel something at a time when I was really struggling. Basically, if she wrote a book, I would be the first to read it. I think she is planning one last MysMe fic, and I am preparing to ball my eyes out.
Favs (oh man don’t make me choose😭):
Saeyoung: To Help #5 , Saeyoung: To Help #5b (this one, good grief this is my favourite fic of all time)
Jumin: To Promise #4
V: To Promise #7
EXTRA (bc I can’t help it) I love you. Not. (Jumin x MC)
@spacechip707 - My go to place for Choi boi feels. Every fic was so sweet and just always gave me the warm fuzzies. This has made me want to go back and re-read them all because it’s been so long and some of my favourite fics ever were written by this person.
Favs (from my memory):
Sweetness of You (Seven x MC)
You Are My Sunshine (Seven x MC)
Broken Nights (Seven x MC)
@thirstyfortom - QUEEN of series. I remember when the High School Band AU series was being written and everyday day I would refresh their timeline waiting for the next chapter. I was constantly on the edge of my seat when reading their work, and I’m just jealous that you get to binge-read them all for the first time.
Favs:
High School Band AU (series) - Prologue
18C Apartment (Vanderwood x MC)
Seven Minutes in Hell (Seven x MC)
I’m terrified that I’m missing someone, but I hope you enjoy the work of these brilliant human beings! I’m infinitely grateful for how each one has managed to lighten my mood or helped me find an escape in their writing, and I can only hope that I can do the same for others. Happy reading, anon! 🧡
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