#might as well just tag these posts the same way i suppose?

[ao3userforgets]

okay, here is the first thing i wrote of john in my gale centric clegan fic, not sure when this takes place, just that gale’s psyche has been doing the mental equivalent of punching him repeatedly in the head :) daddy issues don’t care if you’re fighting in wwii, they Will get you :) and so will the voice of your dead mother :)

“John, a ways down the bar, John, as broad shouldered and flare bright as he gets. His mouth is whiskey wet around a canine sharp smile and his narrow eyes shift away from the cluster of baby faced airmen huddled around him, the flick of his eyes too fast to be searching, knowing Gale is right where he left him.

Just like your daddy. It’s Mama’s voice, inflected with Gale’s own self accusation.”

[aemiron-main]

like how do people not realize that doug ford was canadian trump before trump was trump. before 2016. doug’s ALWAYS been a slippery two faced lying POS who’s willing to sell out canada for one corn chip. why are canadians forgetting this. you guys get ONE drop of “canadian patriotism” in your brains and throw logic out the window. your stupid generalized “we’re smarter and better than them/all americans are stupid,” superiority complex over all americans is sending you RIGHT DOWN THE SAME PATH THAT AMERICANS ARE GOING DOWN and you cant even see it!!!

[unproduciblesmackdown]

payoff of being embedded in a unit of authoritarianism since birth is sure then being able to go like "wow this is just like dynamics & phenomena i experienced up close & personal, repeatedly, in many contexts & configurations in my first two decades of life" plus also beyond that in abuse culture world & the noncoincidence that even interactions beyond the confines of the home(tm) reinforced / did not contradict the hierarchy & concomitant abuse within....but then like hey yeah also the Larger Units of hierarchy & abuse / authoritarianism (ft. their logics & practices necessary for continuously & continually shoring up that hierarchy) can also make it like hey yeah the Two Parent abusive nuclear family more like the Two Party [the US is also a one party state but in typical american extravagance they have two] where right wingness is defined by the degree of directly embracing white supremacy & "left wing" is "anything else" hence like wow The Left is always infighting (everyone with any ideas besides "umm christofascist white ethnostate?" so like yeah there are many other ideas) vs The Right's admirable cohesion (simply re: the white supremacy idea which also necessarily embraces all other Out Group / Nonperson paradigms & practices b/c that's what all already has been necessary for shoring up the [when has the US been a nongenocidal non white supremacist non oligarchy])

like obviously individual experiences & contexts vary but like narrowing in on [the Family as immediate relations ideally cordoned off into nuclear households] ft. [Parental Authority the top priority of which is preserving that authority, ideally patriarchal, an abusive mother e.g.? hey, that ought to be the father] times it's like, think people tend to struggle re: having the "nicer" / "safer" parent who was also shitted on as well but also at the end of the day would always side with the "meaner" "more dangerous" parent, even in whatever terms most sympathetic to the abused parties, with the underlying logic that we're always just going to have to deal with them so some secret strategic mitigation is the best that can be done, perhaps the equivalent of being sent a ":(" after an Onslaught Of Expressed / Enforced Authority(tm) event....the tendency to see the best in any lack of actual intervention / protection on the assumption That Could Never Happen Anyway & forever At Least that the one parent isn't as bad as the other [the Not That Bad / Could've Been Worse infocation, like free bingo square in manifestations of minimization if not outright abuse denial] & all the sympathy for, you know, being human & doing their best(tm) &c which sure might all be true but the abused parties (oft children, more vulnerable than adults, by virtue of being children i.e. considered legal property of some specific adults & theoretical property of any adults in general (the paternal logic in any "protect [xyz]" like maintain one group's supposed ownership / control over [xyz] "for their sake" then? great) & also generally smaller & newer at being alive in this world) but who are liable to not extend that sympathy to themselves (or certainly not be extended that sympathy....when is "they're doing their best / they're only human / they mean well or whatever / they love you, they're family" successfully deployed the Thwart an abusive parent like it is to tell an abused child to not be too resentful of this situation, when is it actually deployed toward the abusive parent at all really. & again in the lack of boundary between the authoritarianism within many individual family households & that of the state they exist in (here re: the US) like that naturally one encounters the logic of abuse expressed just as "common knowledge" & the Assumptions of other people, e.g. the rejection of a parent having zero access to a child, the reinforcement of automatic apologia deployed for whatever a parent could possibly do, argued for "family", yet not deployed the same way to automatically defend anything thee child(tm) could do, thinking emoji lol....see: like the non boundary between [the Patriarchal home/family(tm)] & capitalism when uh oh capitalism the system of continuously maximizing exploitation Needs various forms of labor to be unpaid, uh oh another lack of boundary when white supremacy is used to also shore up the patriarchy that shores up the white supremacy, e.g. that even if in some "inferior" class it's treated as More Important that at least you're not that And black, the theoretical ideal/normal white man is a person while a white woman is a woman while a black woman is black, white women could have any legal property via chattel slavery which needed white women's participation to help enforce, the specter of sexual violence all coming from nonwhite & especially black men & it's up to the genteel white man to Protect Women (see prev, implicitly white or you'd have to specify otherwise)

anyway that is to get around to pointing to the Two Parent System wherein so shockingly the results are the same as the One Parent System re: abuse maintaining The Family (properly, i.e. unquestionable & certainly undeniable parental access to children, & "ideally" ofc again the patriarchal Father as ultimate authority w/ownership over the Mother, who in turn is theoretically honored for that motherhood (at least you own your children, insofar as it doesn't contradict w/what the father wants to do with his superior claim to ownership) & then finally all the obviously shittiness from being in that position in a patriarchy is in turn dumped on The Children who are ungrateful & owe the mother everything Because of what the broader society & immediate personal expressions of that abuse have done to her. see also ofc that two adults likely don't have the resources to raise a child in time or money or energy, maybe there's only one but also even an extended family's worth of adults aren't enough, is it enough when a child is sent to school for some other adults to be in charge most of the day, or even if someone is hired to look after them beyond that, all this ofc with the assumed premise that a child is always limited to the various Domains of The Adults In Charge, & from there i segue into how naturally being in gay baby jail unless & until adults are no longer recognized as Legally In Charge Of You (the grand like 5 minutes it's relatively been since the ideal timeline of a woman's life wasn't being legal property of her father until asap passed along to legal property of her husband. still considered ideal ofc but like with "maybe you can have a bank account" now & "maybe you can become 29 before you're in Old Maid danger" Maybe, i said, Maybe....anyway that obviously adults(tm) being divided up (atomised. spritz) into Households isn't even supposed to be enough to live on their own, re: necessitating Marriage, much less uh oh having kids who are stuck with their parents who are stuck with them, but then all the obvious actual problems & abuses inflicted on Adults to have to have their family households & exploited jobs are dumped on the children who Must appreciate & be loyal to the parents (i.e. never Deny Access) while yknow kids have Fake Problems they're whining about, the one Real Problem of having to pay a bill gets the payoff of leverage to tell your children to shut the fuck up or perhaps the more vulnerable spouse

hm didn't segue right into "so shoutout to like The Ratchet Effect diagrams lol, the "Two" Party System where its supposed left wing Blocks Movement To The Left, right wing Moves Everything To The Right" but even that is like, mm, conferring a passivity to what democrats do in the continual movement to the right (won an election? lost an election? the lesson either way is The Right Is Right; exact same logic as in "winning or losing" "the war on crime" like the collection & analysis of whatever statistics show the trend of some "crime" is increasing in frequency or magnitude? show that it's decreasing? the lesson either way is Cops Need More Power) like the institutional effort of democrats to push a candidate nobody wants through primaries (did we even do that this time around. oh great that the assumed candidate even graciously agreed to not force themself as The Candidate, & now like 5 min left with the Next In Line candidate dumped on everyone now with the lesson for the left(tm) to shut up already lol) & then it's up to Grassroots Voters. it's up to Unity & well we all Need to listen to the white supremacists, points were made, in the "elections" with voting as limited as possible & with the electoral college & supreme court as Safeguards against democracy & here's the senate, eternally thus, & again the conclusions will always manage to be moving To The Right, paraphrasing from twitter like democrats are about to be or already at the point of "in the name of unity we will no longer be running against republicans; it's too divisive :(" which yknow is already The Statements of all of yesterday from various like "i'm the republican official white supremacy agree-er now" after also the entire campaign of "no, I'm the fascist" where like wow shocking that the appeal to the fascists didn't win a) the fascists who will ofc want the even more overt fascism, why wouldn't they or b) the people who want antifascism actually, and do not want fascism; who could have foreseen? & it's always the fault of being Too Antifascist for the actions of the fascists or the Diplomatic Comprimises the other party makes with the fascists &/or their Failure to thwart them....the Nicer, Safer party in power is surely doing their best & at least they're not the Meaner, More Dangerous one but at the end of the day they'll always side with that party over america(tm) & those bearing the brunt of the actions of State Power can be told to keep their chin up or else to stop acting out b/c how do you expect that state power to respond, cmon, you bring it upon yourself, & you Have to work with them & understand all their feelings & your role in resolving those feelings by being lesser inferior property, you do Have to understand, b/c in the end this is All About Family, surely Good & Necessary, whoops i mean in the end this is All About America

anyway yeah i'm like damn my "nicer" (also shitty) father who was also the even more sexist & racist (& certainly no Less ableist, queerphobic) parent was basically the democratic party of the Two Parent System of Family Government lol. b/c we Need to perpetuate this Family, no other logics much less actions are acceptable....& people struggling with the Parent / Adults in their life like that who were the "safe" & "protective" ones who markedly failed to protect & minimized the harm afterwards but also in general, never to confront the reality of the situation, or do damage control like "aw some points were made at all :( ah i see you have Feelings about this :( hmm yes the Parental Power is gonna have to make some changes" & then as soon as possible (assuming reeling in the party who was deviating too much) these changes(tm) are already compromised or diminished if done at all, & then oops things incrementally might be right back to how they always were, no guarantees it won't be Worse b/c the Power is even more insecure / aware of weaknesses, & the only way this is thwarted is if the Wayward Parties can actually leverage new boundaries / less vulnerability, not b/c the supposedly sympathetic parties, who never came through where it counts & likely would also become overt antagonizers / wielders of whatever power within the Family hierarchy / turn on the more vulnerable parties to Get Them In Line, actually came through. movement Away (more disruptive to the maintenance of The Family, The State) is blocked, incrementally only ever moving everything back, & then Further....& despite this being what the power structures are, & do, the Disruptive parties liable to be scapegoated lol, can't believe the scapegoat child is ruining everything for everyone, this Family would totally improve & start being everything it could be otherwise & we ignore who actually has the power & is actually enforcing the hierarchy harming everyone to point to that scapegoat; can't believe thee left is destroying america (republican voice) can't believe the left is destroying america (democrat voice) So You See? The Undeniable Consensus. just like how i believe it was my fault my family unit was Like That & i had those experiences, according to the vast majority of Input from that family & even others who, knowing nothing, would say how Lucky i was to be relatively close to home, or just of course that oh well parents love their children & mean well & try their best. just like how i believe that being treated like i've been generally as a neurononconforming person, i.e. hated & the interpersonal abuse & bullying & ostracization & [attention possibilities: ignored, responded to but negatively, interacted with to get something from] & actually rewarding interactions or just actions being liable to get Deluxe authority responses as disruptive(tm) & ofc disobedient(tm) like hell fuckin yeah lol. just as i don't think that other people who have similar experiences or ones i don't have, i.e. assessed race being automatically seen as wrong / inferior, being isolated & undermined from all around? well gotta be their fault then, cmon lol....Abuse is actually normative, not extraordinary, in every Arena of interactions, & so are the logics / apologia / assumptions

anyway lol re: like yeah people struggling with the like betrayal of the "nooo i'm on your side, i sympathize, i'm the one who's nicer & you Need so that things aren't even worse" party, not even One Big Novel betrayal, but rather that that's what's Been done the whole time & doesn't stop. that supposedly if you have Any sympathy for that party you have to be like aw :( keep doing your thing (necessarily reining everyone in) or if you have Any sympathy for the people who also want things to improve but blame & take it out on the more disruptive parties (more disruptive to an abusive family e.g., btw. & not like i see Cohesion as necessarily some Good rather than neutral? when i'm autistic / my existence is supposedly antithetical to this? or when i'm able to look at a zillion hypothetical or actual situations & recognize how "cohesion" isn't the best goal / a destructive one / a vague concept anyways like cohesion Between Whom? on what basis? recognized & pursued how? why? up next: same as vague shit like "family" or "community" &c) then it's like yep gotta be Responsible for their feelings too if you're at all sympathetic & capitulate, The Only Possible Action, vs the idea of those in power actually making things shit stopping, much less being stopped / having to stop in the various ways that can happen....one way being "oh no, adult children who choose to be no-contact with parents" which is seen as A Tragedy, & sign of a Deteriorating Society, take me back. ah jeez oh no, look at the divorce raaates....Oh No, twentysomething women aren't pursuing marriage enoughhhh....again the undetectably identical echo when people peak vaguely talk about "conflicts" that thwart "community" or whatever, ugh nobody will date anymore, commit anymore, be friends anymore, hang out as coworkers anymore, talk to me if i want to talk to them anymore, &ccccc....

the real tl;dr is like wait ""two party"" (one party) US electoral system, just like ""two parent"" maintenance of thee family lol. ratchet effect raise your hand if you've only ever experienced Movement Away from the abusive family blocked, forever incrementally ratcheted back in to the desires & pursuits of those most in power / top of the hierarchy / thus of course most invested in the abuse, that's what the power & hierarchy is made of, sustained by, perpetuates....sorry doing our best :( sorry that's just all that's realistic, no other choice Really. cmon. kind of Your Fault if you don't agree to that & whoops now Everything is the fault of whoever doesn't agree & cooperate enough :( now look what you've done & brought upon yourself :( & we'll just forget the eruption of violence suppression happened & will happen again & be the overhanging threat all in the meantime

[pencil-n-pen]

I’M STILL TRYING EVERYTHING

⋆° 𐙚 ₊🧦☕🧸₊°⋆ ೀ₊°⋆

previous | kofi | masterlist

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

₊ ⊹

I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.

-mirrorball, taylor swift

₊ ⊹

summary: you’ve never had a date or a relationship that either didn’t work out or end in disaster. now that you have spencer, you’re determined not to let it happen again

cw: referenced bad past relationships, very very vaguely referenced past domestic abuse that honestly could be taken a different way, referenced child abuse (readers parents are STILL not it) again this is a criminal minds fic so references to graphic violence

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort (do i even need to say this? you all know who i am) insecurity, like one line of misogyny and it’s in the past and not brought up again, spencer being soft n worried, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, spencer is just as gone for reader as she is for him honestly he's just a sap

a/n: back by popular demand !! seriously guys, you have no idea how much the support and comments and reblogs and asks means to me 🥹 the overwhelming amount of love for the first fic made me so happy when people started asking about a sequel i knew i had to !!

read the crossword on the collage for a surprise :)

this one goes out to all my girlies who’ve ever felt like they needed to be less in order to get a boyfriend or keep one. we’ll have our soft love just the way it was meant to be

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Spencer is a really good boyfriend.

Like… a really good boyfriend. You’re not sure if this is how having a real boyfriend is or if Spencer is just like this.

He’s so good to you. He’s just so- so him. You can’t explain it. Can’t put it into words.

He’s very patient with you. You’ve never explicitly stated it, but he’s picked up on your previous relationship experience- or more accurately, your lack thereof. The morning after you’d gone home with him, night consisting of nothing but easy sleep and warmth, he’d asked you out for real. Asked you if you’d go on a date with him, and you’d agreed, a giddy smile fixed firmly on your face.

But you still worry.

All it takes it one conversation with your parents to push things over the edge.

“Yes, dad. He’s very good to me.”

A laugh crackles over the line. “I tell you, your mother and I never thought we’d see the day.”

The words twinge uncomfortably in your chest. “Hey, I’m not that bad. I’ve just been focused.”

“More like uptight.”

“Dad—“

“You know, you still haven’t come out to visit your poor old parents since getting this so-called cushy job. And now you’ve got this boyfriend. You’re too young to settle down. Don’t you think we should meet him?”

Sometimes conversations turn so quickly they leave you stranded— scrambling to pick up pieces of what you thought was going to happen and piece them together to make something new. Something for the new route the conversation has taken.

You couldn’t hold back your sigh if you tried. “We haven’t been dating for that long dad, I don’t want to spring this on him—“

“Sweetie, if we don’t meet him now, why might never meet him. Who knows how long he’s gonna stick around?”

(Sometimes, in moments like these, for just a split second, you wonder how a father could say something like that, to his daughter. You wonder why, wonder what you did wrong. And then, you imagine Hotch saying those same things, and you can’t, and it almost makes you feel a little better.)

Your blood runs cold. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“Well, you know how things have ended in the past. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him before he’s gone."

You don't dignify his words with a response.

"Come on, honey. I'm just joking with you."

"It's not funny."

"Don't be like that--"

"Goodbye."

You hang up, snapping the phone shut with a sigh.

The older you've gotten, the more conversations with your parents end up like this. You suppose it's the way you 'wasted your potential' or 'never made something of yourself.' They've always held resentment ever since you decided to become an agent. So you know not to take what they say to heart, because their words only come from a place of disappointment and displeasure. It's not a reflection of who you really are or what you've really accomplished.

Or at least, that's what Hotch told you when he'd overheard one of your phone calls. It meant more than you'd let on.

But your Dad's words linger in your head. They're irritating and sharp where they claw around in your head because they're true.

You can count on one hand the amount of romantic endeavors you've had. And from those, they all ended horribly. Your parents lost sympathy towards the end of your attempts, muttered words of needing to try harder to keep them, that you should be satisfied that somebody wanted you at all, that you should try to be less... you.

Try to be less... you, dear. The books and the facts- nobody wants those. Put some more effort into your appearance. Otherwise you'll end up all alone.

You'd tried to take their advice, of course. But the relationships that were fathered your parents direction were not loving. There was nothing soft or gentle or warm about them. You'd never felt more unlovable.

So when the incident with the shooter happened and you were lying on the lecture hall floor, blood coloring the carpet deep scarlet, you'd vowed to never let it happen again. That you were going to use your intellect and wit and passion for what you wanted to do- you'd promised yourself that if you survived, you would try to make your life your own, one step at a time.

This, of course, is easier said than done.

It's easy enough to refuse to let yourself get involved with men who are clearly only interested in your for your badge or your body --though the latter happens so rarely you really don't have to worry about it-- because you don't care about them. They're blips on your radar.

But Spencer? Sweet, sweet Spencer who makes you hot-cocoa and binge watches Doctor Who with you, even the later seasons, which you know he doesn't like as much but you love. Spencer who always has a grounding touch to offer, or a quiet command when you need him. Spencer who puts you first.

But there's a limit to these things, right? As far as you've seen, romantic relationship's are transactional, or conditional. Sometimes both. He can't just... keep doing this forever. It's too kind. Too sweet. It'll come to an end soon. Like, like the honeymoon era in early relationships. That's all it is. Plus, he's older than you, and you have no illusions about your unavoidable impulsiveness and naivety.

You've been told that your standards are too high before. "Struck by the hopeless romantic's arrow," your brother had said once, back when you were still in school, crying over a boy who'd told you that he didn't want to date you because you were too smart for a girl.

"That's not being hopeless romantic. There's no such thing as being too smart for a girl."

"There isn't," He'd amended, "But you're not going to have an easy time finding a guy. You of all people can't really afford to be picky."

He'd been right, in the end. So you're just... having a hard time figuring out how genuine Spencer's actions are. Guy's don't really act all romantic in the context of you. You've been told your whole life to be happy with what you get, and what you've had in the past is decidedly not lining up with how Spencer treats you.

It's a nasty little thing in your ear. Is it real? Does it matter as much to him?

When is it all going to end?

--

Rossi make's an offhand comment during a mission that you talk a lot when you're excited about the subject at hand.

JJ agrees. "It's a little unnerving when the subject is the bruising patterns of strangulation."

That little voice comes back.

Too much too much too much too much too much--

"It's useful," You protest, mouth dry.

JJ snorts, "I'm not sure about that. We need to know that the victim was strangled, not what happens to the body during blunt-force asphyxiation."

You'd grown quiet then, let the chatter and musings of the rest of the team wash over you.

Is that something Spencer finds annoying? You have always found things other's view morbid and disturbing fascinating. But JJ is right. No one wants to hear about that.

You brush the comment off, square your shoulders, get back on with the case.

Be better. Try harder.

You don't seen the furrow of Spencer's brows from where he's been watching you, or the quick look he shares with Hotch.

--

You'd never really thought about how clingy you can be before Emily makes an offhand comment about it while the two of you wait in line at a coffee shop. There's a couple in front of you, the girl all over her partner, kissing and giggling and hugging them close.

"Ugh," Emily groans once the two get their coffee and move on. "I could never understand the appeal of all that. I mean doesn't it feel stifling?"

A little stab of ice in your stomach.

"I don't know. I think it's nice."

"No, thank you. If I were her partner, I'd feel smothered."

You think about that conversation every time you take Spencer's hand or lean into his simple touches. They're invasive little things, the thoughts. It's not hard to pull back on all the touching. You never really ask for them in the first place- always too nervous to come off clingy. But you suppose just taking, taking, taking is just the same.

A quick shake of your head, not leaning in, a quiet "I'm fine." and that little nagging fear of smothering begins to quiet. It doesn't leave, but it does get quieter. For a little while, at least.

--

The hard part is trying to be less without noticeably being less. Spencer's smart- and he's a profiler. If you pull back too much too quickly, he'll notice, and you don't want to talk about this yet. You just need to make sure he'll stay. That things won't—

That you won't find out too late that you don't mean as much to him as he does to you.

That's the kind of thing that can't happen again. But ascertaining his true feelings and desires is difficult, because this is all kind's of new territory for you. You want to believe it's real. You really, really want to believe it's real.

But it's never been real before, so why would it be real now?

--

You've asked around (subtly and carefully, of course) about the type of girl Spencer's dated or drifted towards in the past. You know he said he wanted something soft and sweet, but you can't help but think that you're not really either, nor are you in line with his type. All things considered, you're a mess. Something tired-eyed and hollow is how you feel most days. Some sort of creature perhaps? You're honestly not sure what you are. You've spent your entire life being singled out or otherwise othered- always too smart or too different or too weird or too much or too loud or too quiet or too shy or too, too, too. Always too something. You have never been called soft or sweet. In a demeaning way, sure, but never with the quiet reverence that Spencer said it with that night.

It feels like a balancing act, a bit. Holding all those too much parts so close to your chest with one hand and shoving the ones you think Spencer wants with the other hand.

You could probably drop the one hand. The one holding the bad parts. But you're just not convinced he'll stay. You're not sure that he won't look at them with some form of disgust or pity or something else terrible.

You know the balancing act isn't sustainable— you'll fall eventually, and everything will come crashing down, but until then, you just keep trying. Trying to see if he'll stay, trying to see what to do if he won't. How to ensure he will, if that's something that's possible.

--

The act does not hold up for as long as you hoped it would. It comes crashing down with a glass. Literally.

You and Spencer are in the kitchen on a rare weekend off, cooking and drinking wine and swaying to some little old love song.

It should be perfect, except you're worrying that you look ugly while you're dancing, and you're probably singing off-key, and he maybe wants you to shut up so he can hear the song or dance in peace.

He reaches towards you and you just— your brain shrieks for a moment, all senses going into overdrive and you jerk backward, and your elbow knocks into your wine glass, and it falls, shattering behind you with a deafening crash.

Your entire body tenses, waiting for yelling or sighing or something, because you broke the glass, there's crystalline shards everywhere, the wine red and it looks like blood, maybe it is, maybe you're bleeding because the glass was really close to your foot when it fell but you're not sure because you can't really feel your feet or your fingers or—

"Don't move," Spencer says, voice serious, and tears well in your eyes, because this is when it all ends isn't it? "I don't want you to— honey?"

"Yes?" You croak.

His eyes are swimming with concern as he takes in your hunched shoulders, shallow breaths, and scared expression.

Understanding flickers in his features, and you resist the urge to hold your breath.

"Nothing is going to happen to you because of the glass, okay? Everything is fine. We're fine. I'm not mad. See? I'm not mad. I just don't want you to cut your feet on the glass. I'm going to clean this up and get your slippers, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe, voice hoarse. You wring your hands nervously as he leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies to clean the mess, heart beating so fast and so hard you're shocked you can't see it through your shirt.

He's not mad. He's not mad. You're not in trouble. Your parents aren't here. You're not grounded. You're not in trouble. He's not mad.

You're silent while he cleans, focused on getting your breathing under control while he babbles quietly about the history of glass making and the significance of types of wine glasses. The facts and history wash over you in steady waves, easing the tension in your shoulders bit by bit.

"I didn't think you were going to hit me, Spencer."

He continues cleaning. "It's okay if you did. I would never blame you for that."

"But I don't," You say, suddenly desperate, "I know you wouldn't, I've never been hit, not like that."

He's quiet for a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with how you've been acting recently?"

You freeze. "What do you mean?"

He looks up, leaning back on his knees. Making himself smaller, you realize. He's trying not to scare you again.

"You're dating a profiler. Also, I speak fluent you, and you've been chewing all your hangnails again. You only do that when you're stressed and pretending like you're not."

Your finger's twitch at your sides.

His hands come up slowly, and he rubs the length of your waist and hips. "We don't have to talk about it right now, but I think we should soon. I don't want you hurting all by yourself. You've had enough of that. That's what I'm here for."

He finishes cleaning up the glass, and finishes cooking dinner- he'd assured you he'd turned off all burners when the glass hit the floor, so nothing's burnt.

Once you've both eaten, he steers you towards the couch and wordlessly puts on Doctor Who.

The Pandorica is just about to open when you finally decide that if you don't start talking, you never will.

"My parents think you're going to leave me."

Spencer makes a wounded noise in his throat. "Why do they think that?"

"Because it's happened before. I'm, um. I'm not very good at getting into relationships. Or keeping them."

"But that's not your fault."

You sniff hard, rubbing your face with your sleeve. "It is though, isn't it? At least a little. I know I can be a lot. I know I'm not easy to—"

You cut yourself off, but the words hang in the air anyway; unsaid.

I'm not easy to love.

"Anyway," You say, pushing through the lump in your throat. "I just thought. I don't know. I was worried that you'd get fed up with me."

"No," He whispers, voice raw and full of something a lot heavier than fond. "No, no baby. I like that you're clingy and you ramble when you get excited, because it means that we get to talk about something together."

He shifts on the couch, sitting criss-crossed, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. "You know what else I like?"

You scoot over, mirroring his position. "What?"

"I like that you always know when I need you. Even when I don't think I do, you're there. Because I do need you. This isn't a one-way street."

His words hit you straight in your chest. "Oh."

He smiles, brows a little scrunched, brown eyes a deep pool of fondness and a splash of concern. "Yeah. And I'm thinking you need me a little more than you want to let on."

The seam of your pajama pants suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Amazing, the wonders of a sewing machine.

"Maybe."

"Mmm," He hums, "So if I need you, don't you think that you're allowed to need me?"

Your fingers pick and twirl a loose thread around. "...Yes?"

A large, firm hand covers your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. "Yes. Not only are you allowed to need me, I want you to need me. Cause you know how you're always worried about being the best girlfriend? Well, I'm always worried about being the best boyfriend."

That makes you look up. "Really?"

He chuckles again, a little puff of air fanning your face. "Yes, really. I assure you, contrary to your past experiences, this is one of those bare minimum things in a relationship."

"That does not," He continues, immediately catching the brief flicker of doubt and shame on your face, "Mean that it is your fault at all for how you were treated in the past. You wouldn't expect me to suddenly become an expert in veterinary medicine just because I've been to the vet's office a few times, right?"

"When did you go to the vet's—"

"Shh, I'm being a good boyfriend," He holds up a hand, lips quirking up when you can't suppress a tiny giggle, "But seriously. You had no frame of reference, right? And you were being told it was your fault. But it wasn't. You didn't deserve that."

He lets his words hang in the air for a little while and allows you time to process this new information.

"What do I do now?"

"Well," He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, curls tickling your forehead, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here. Just three things. You have to keep letting me need you, let yourself need me, and one last little thing."

"What?"

You're so close your breaths are mingling.

"Let me show you what this is supposed to look like. How a man is supposed to treat a pretty girl. His pretty girl."

"Oh, well," Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach doing flip-flops, "That sounds pretty hard. I don't know how I'll hold up."

His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb sweeping strokes under your eye.

"You say that now, but I know what happens to you when I get romantic. You swoon."

You laugh. "I do not swoon."

"You will."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It isn't a kiss-kiss. He's kissing you just to kiss you; just to let you know that he's here, that you have him.

It's sweet and perfect and exactly what you need.

--

Letting yourself need Spencer is marginally easier now that you know he needs you. Now that you know you're not going all in for someone who isn't.

He also starts needing you a bit... louder.

It's late evening, and most people have gone home except you and a couple other members of the team, all still working on paperwork.

Except Spencer, who's decided to drape himself over your shoulders like a cat, his chin resting on your head.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Either finished it or it can be done later."

You shift your shoulders, smiling at how his grumbles vibrate against your back.

He moves his head, pressing his cheek to your head instead of his chin, heaving a deep sigh.

"Your hair smells good."

"Like what?"

"You're shampoo. Yours always smell better than mine."

You continue to work through your paperwork, Spencer a continuous and solid weight against your back.

"Is this even comfortable for your back at all?"

"Doesn't matter. Need girlfriend time."

He can't see it, but you're sure he knows how hard you blush.

--

Spencer's cooking the two of you a late breakfast in the kitchen of his apartment, hair still all mussed from sleep. He's quite the sight. You can't stop staring.

You're sitting on the counter, still dressed in your pajamas, legs swinging.

"You wanna know something cool?"

"You know it,"

"Butterflies and moths can drink blood and tears. There's nutrients in them. Purple Emperor butterflies are especially known for this. It's called mud-puddling."

"So you're telling me I should make sure I bandage any open wounds before I go to a butterfly house?"

"I guess. I can't imagine they'd be able to drink enough blood to actually cause any damage."

"Maybe we'll have to go to a butterfly house. For research."

"Should we get dinner afterwards?"

"We'll deserve it, you know, for all the hard research we'll have done."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."

--

Spencer's bed is infinitely more comfortable than your bed. You're pretty sure it's a combination of the fact that it's the only thing in the entire world that smells so much like him and the fact that he spent part of his large FBI paycheck on a fancy mattress. Back support is very important to him.

You're doing a little reading before bed, shamelessly sprawled all over him while he does his own reading. You've got a leg hooked over his hips, the other tangled with his legs, and your arms and head pillowed on his chest. You move a little every time he takes a breath, and more than once you've paused in your reading, mesmerized by the feeling.

He shifts under you, setting his book down on his night stand and making himself more comfortable.

"Should I move?"

"No," he says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him, face pressed to the crook of your neck. He breathes deep, scruffy stubble scratching against your skin. "Like you close. Good for sleep."

Even with the lamp on, and your book in your hand, you fall asleep soon after him.

--

It's an ordinary evening for the two of you. Discarded dishes sit on the coffee table in front of the t.v, neither of you paying them any attention, wrapped up in each other and eyes glued to the screen.

You look up at Spencer who's watching Doctor Who with the focus of a man who's never seen it, even though you know for a fact he's seen it before, several times in fact.

"I want to know the things you like," He'd said simply, the one time you'd asked why he takes your nightly Doctor Who watching so seriously.

And tonight's no different. Tonight, he looks... well, he looks like Spencer. His face illuminated by the TV screen, his hair all mussed from you running your hands through it earlier.

And it just kind of all hits you at once. You know.

"I love you."

He looks down at you, his expression soft and surprised. When your words register, his expression is so sickeningly fond and happy you can't help but lean in, burying your face in his chest. He rubs your back consolingly, then presses a little kiss to the crown of your head.

"I love you too."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

taglist: @topsecret101 @slowdownpal @leeknowpegger @sunbl3achedfly @hiireadstuff @paige0103 @private190104 @beautyb1ade @coraline-jones353 @pleasenter-sandman @sttvrdustt @gluchie @thomasintheshadows @dessamira1001 @bbleeeeh @hufflely-puffly @bippityboppityboob1tch @buggys-space @redxfangirl @liauchiha147 @dreaming-potato @meandyoulollz @jobrosimp

[vxnuslogy]

﹙💌﹚ letters hidden in starlight.

       ��                        half your heart, buried in his arms.    ୭౿

⸻ order has been shipped out! to @knnichs who ordered one venus' looking glass + aeipathy, amaranthine, and mellifluous for phainon.

𐔌  warnings: none        ♡     the sender has a message! i feel like i strayed a bit from the prompt so i hope you don't mind it too much zira TT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! <3

     ━━━  banner credits. vxnuslogy        ♟         tags. @starcharmed @mikashisus @https-sourlimes @dazaisms @powchakko @pneumosia @gl4di0lus; if you'd like to be tagged please fill out the forms in my pinned post !!

                               🏹 the nameless king, phainon — the chrysos heir was earnest in his ways of showing affections, you on the other hand prefer more subtle—magical—ways to show it.

to say phainon was enamored with you would be an understatement—he was head over heels for you. 

great hero of the chrysos heir, losing all his valor and might the moment he sees you walk in the room with a pretty smile and a few scrolls from the archive. the subject of his yearning—you draw his attention faster than any moth to a flame.

it was almost laughable at how easily he melts at your presence actually. much to mydei’s distraught, he's always the first to witness the snow-haired’s helpless pining; knees buckling and threatening to give out when you compliment his form during sparring sessions, words tumbling and stuttering like a vehement storm crashing against a window, and don't even mention the carnelian river that drowns his cheeks paired with a smile that mydei's sure would shatter his cheekbones.

phainon was hopelessly in love with his archivist.

tribios would argue it was cute with the goldweaver quietly chuckling to herself, hell, even castorice would crack a small knowing smile every now and then. all of phainon’s poor attempts at wooing you always left mydei with a drowning feeling of embarrassment. so many unsent letters filled with poorly written verses, gifts ranging from random to expensive shipped to your doorstep, and not to mention the way he follows you around like a lost puppy when he’s supposed to be working. mydei has had enough.

“oh for the love of titans,” mydei gruffly said, a scowl tugging at his lips as she crossed his arms over his chest.

there sat the man in question, a crooked smile on his lips as he tried to pathetically hide the many pieces of parchment in his room.

“mydei, my friend! what brings you here?” phainon greeted, voice still the same tone when they normally talked but there was a slight shake to it. he’s been caught red-handed—vulnerable in the presence of your love. and he was also neglecting his duties.

mydei only raised a brow and slowly walked into the room. as phainon was busy scrambling and spewing weak excuses, the blonde haired warrior only rolled his eyes and rounded his table.

“wait mydei, don't!”

but it was too late. mydei had already picked up the opened envelope and pulled out the neatly folded letter with a nimble grip (he may be tired of phainon's puppy love, but he was no idiot to handle his things without care). 

mydei feels his lips twitch into a teasing smirk, “well, well, well, who knew you'd have the guts to actually send something so… scandalous.”

the snowy hero flushed to the tips of his ears and quickly snatched the letter from his hands. tucking it inside his coat and coughing into his fist, he avoids the pair of gold eyes dissecting him.

“okay, it may look bad but—”

“why would you start with “to my beloved star whom i look for every night”? what are you, a child?”

“BUT!” 

noticing his outburst, the color on phainon's cheeks deepened in shade. he cleared his throat and adjusted his clothing. tugging his sleeves lower, smoothing out the non-existent creases in his coat, and tugging at the collar at his throat. he suddenly feels too hot in this room.

“ehem,” he starts, “i assure you, it's nothing scandalous. i’m just… following a routine! yes, a routine.”

mydei raised a brow in question—he did not believe phainon's excuse.

with a sigh, his shoulder slumps like a child's. dropping to his chair, he covered his face with his hands and mumbled a string of words mydei didn't catch.

one final click of mydei's tongue, he turned around and made his way to the door. “yes, a routine. of course. it's only natural for you to send love letters to someone who's not even yours. absolutely normal. meeting is at twenty.”

phainon could only muster a small nod and let the door magically close as mydei left. when he's sure mydei was gone, he quietly took out the letter from his coat and quietly threw it in the small pile of unsent letters in the corner of his messy room.

he just sat there, motionless and contemplating, for a while before he picked up a sealed envelope. a seal with an eight pointed star greeted him and phainon is sent to the moon when he sees your name written on the back. you've been using the wax seal he got you, which is good.

“To my dearest, hero.”

four words in and phainon has already stopped reading to quietly collect his bearings. the contents were nothing astonishing—a simple report on your findings with tribios on the mission he sent you. but what he looks for the most is the hidden messages in your seemingly formal message.

phainon does not attend the meeting. instead he waits for dusk to arrive and stars glitter in the sky. he stood up from his chair and lounged by his balcony. letter in hand and watched the letters and words reform itself right before his eyes. 

magical. you're abilities were taken straight out of a fairytale he could've read as a child.

“To my other half, whom I left at home.”

he smiled. so brightly he started to consider that maybe mydei was right about his cheekbones shattering.

for the night, he abandoned his duties as a chrysos heir to indulge in your love. you weren't as open to your affections to the public as him, but this? this was your own way of flirting with him.

“To my other half.”

“My beloved, hero.”

“My dearest, Phainon.”

“To whom I've buried my heart to.”

every salutation, punctuation, and sentence reformed to show your love, it sends phainon into a giddy fit. in your presence, he's taken back to the times where he would waste gazing at you longing from the palace sparring grounds.

“To the hero who's captured my heart.”

“My star, how I miss your presence.”

the way your cheeks would flush whenever he caught your stare, scramble to pick up the papers flying out of your hands when you bumped into each other, and when you smiled so brightly when he showed up to the archives with a bouquet and a poorly written letter.

“My heart.”

“My deliverance.”

you were shy with your affection, but they were undying.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[moongothic]

Crocodad AU where immidiately after having left Dragon and his baby boy Crocodile finds an 11 year old Robin. And while he's 100% only recruiting her so they can make a beeline for the Poneglyph and Pluton in Alabasta by the two of them... Crocodile accidentally sorta kinda adopts Robin.

At this point Robin's been running for her life from the Government for three years so her deep trust issues and fear of betrayal are starting to take root in her little heart. Like perhaps they haven't taken fully over yet, and being still a child I'm sure Robin might've still had that genuine hope that she could find a safe place to stay in. But I'm sure the though of "what'll he'll do with me once he gets what he wants?" would be nagging at her at the back of her mind. Meanwhile Crocodile's struggling between the pain and hurt he's already gone through and given him his trademark trust issues, as well as the aftermath of The Dragodile Divorce. But he also has his Fresh Paternal Instincts and probably misses his baby. So when given a small, scared child who is running for her life, being chased by the very same Government that'll want his son dead if they ever find out about him... Yeah that might fuck with your brain a little

You know this post was supposed to be just that first paragraph and just a few footnotes from the following two paragraphs. And then I kept on Having Thoughts. And I kept on writing them down. And oh no what happened when did this post get so long (Look I was going to either kept on writing my Additional Thoughts in the tags or I just put them in the actual fucking post)

Like considder this: based on this one SBS, we can kinda tell that if Crocodile was given a chance to raise a child, that child would be a spoiled little shit, right

So in this scenario, where Crocodile's looking after lil Robin, would he be kind of torn? Unsure how to feel about her?

Because on one hand, this strange child would have the potential to not only ruin his plans, strip him of his Shichibukai Privileges by outing him and his plans to the World Government, but also put his son in grave danger by extension (if she found out about him having been involved with the Revolutionaries and/or having a child). But on the other hand, his paternal instincts could make him want to spoil this poor little girl rotten. But only because he needs to (perhaps literally) buy her trust so she'll behave. No other reason, he doesn't feel sorry for her one bit, no sirree. (But maybe he did feel sorry for her, since his son could very well end up exactly like her. Poor little thing) (Which is why he needs to nuke Marijoa out of orbit as soon as possible, no matter the cost, and this child can't get in the way of Crocodile protecting his son) (But also this is a child. Like how bad could she be. Besides all he really needs to do to win her trust is be nice and make her feel safe, right?)

Of course, while I'm suggesting Crocodile could have some parental instincts, realistically, he hasn't actually spent any time being, you know, a father to a child (looking after his newborn for an unknown though short amount of time aside), so it's possible he wouldn't even know how to parent Robin even if he wanted to, would he? (Like taking care of a newborn and an 11 year old kid aren't the same either) So if he was kind of just emotionally flipflopping between No Trusting Ever and It's Just A Kid for God's Sake, Crocodile trying to be nice to Robin to make her feel safe and then telling himself to stop being so soft and vunerable... Yeah that would make for an absolute mess of a relationship. (Not to mention, let's be real, dude's a scary motherfucker too, and a bloody giant compared to itty bitty baby Robin. He could keep on accidentally scaring the shit out of Robin (who would be On Fucking Edge To Begin With) by just Being Himself. Like for example, can you fucking imagine if he caught Robin trying to cheer herself up with a little "dereshishishi" only to tell her to stop because "it was stupid"? 'Cause I can imagine him doing that, and boy howdy would that make Robin feel bad)

Or who knows, maybe Crocodile was just Born To Be A Dad, maybe he just Fucking Gets It. Like Crocodile is canonically pretty good at manipulating people to do what he wants them to do (see: how he played Vivi like a fiddle), so knowing Robin's position and understanding how she feels, maybe he COULD completely nail how she needed to be treated. Not being too familiar but still making her feel safe and happy, knowing exactly when to be stern and when to spoil her, etc. Dude just goes off and wins the Dad of the Year Award while being a deadbeat dad himself. The only thing Crocodile would have to worry about then would be making sure HE doesn't get too fond of her. And certainly that could never happen, he's so in-touch with his own feelings and so grounded, he's not a softie, get outta here. Or maybe he does but never realizes until it's too late and good luck backpedalling on those emotions now dumbass

Alright so, the reason I went on that whole rmble is just that like. I'm so interested in the relationship Robin and Crocodile already have in canon. I'm so facinated and curious about how the two feel about each other, considdering they did spend 4 whole years of their lives together as criminal business partners, though neither ever trusted the other. A partnership that was only ended because Robin betrayed Crocodile, out of her own trauma. (God, I want to see these two "reunite" so bad, I want to know how they feel about each other now after the timeskip and Robin joining the idiot in flipflops who foiled Croc's plans)

My question here is just that... if they had met 13 years earlier, would things have been different? Especially if Crocodad Real? Because as I mentioned in the begining, Robin would've been on the run for only 3 years by this point, as opposed to 16 years before running into Crocodile. Simultaneously, this would be before Crocodile went onto spend an entire decade all alone, slowly losing his marbles in his emotional solitude. They'd both be emotionally traumatized, yes, but would it have been as bad in this scenario? Like I did start this post kind of joking about Crocodile adopting Robin, and for clarity's sake I don't think they'd have like a father-daughter relationship nececarily. But it would be a strange relationship still, because we'd have two broken people, both struggling to trust anyone. One who had lost her mother and her only friends, leaving her all alone and afraid while running for her life. The other a father who had just given up his son whom he probably missed dearly. Both having these holes in their hearts from loss of family, holes that could not be filled with replacements. But could they find comfort in each other anyway, because they still as people occupy similar roles to their respective loved ones? If they both could just get over those trust issues?

Okay I've been going off on the Emotional Side Of Things for this AU Concept, THERE'S PLOT TOO

So if Crocodile did pick Robin up like 19 years ago, that should be before he set up base in Alabasta, long before he had built is homebase and financial empire etc.

Now the thing is, while we don't know when, where and how Crocodile learned about the Ancient Weapons, Pluton specifically and how the lead on it would be in Alabasta... Considdering Crocodile did once upon a time aim to become Pirate King, it would make perfect sense if he had learned about Poneglyphs during his past adventures, as he would have needed to get the Road Poneglyphs to find One Piece. And while the World Government did bury the truth about why Ohara had been burned down and why Robin had been given her bounty (remember, the WG claimed it was because she had sunken a fleet of battleships, which she had not, it was because she could read the Poneglyphs), considdering this is a Crocodad AU specifically, you could totally make an argument Crocodile could've learned about what actually happened to Ohara from Dragon and co. So, just to make this AU work, you could just assume Crocodile learned about the concept of the Ancient Weapons from Dragon. And who knows, maybe he overheard the truth about why Robin had been given her bounty from Dragon too (maybe Dragon was able to get intel from Garp in secret) or while going to Marijoa himself to attend a Shichibukai meeting or something IDK.

Maybe he learned about Pluton being in Alabasta before finding Robin by accident, and maybe they made a beeline for Alabasta the second Croc recruited Robin. Travelling takes time and the guy would've most likely had to find an Eternal Pose to Alabasta just to get there (also canonically Robin didn't enter the Grand Line until her 20s so they should've met in West Blue probably, since that's where Ohara was) Or maybe Crocodile had to haul Robin around for a few months while looking for That Missing Piece of Information that would lead him to Alabasta. (Imagine the two travelling from like island to island, library to library, Crocodile trying to find that leads while Robin's just so excited about ALL THESE BOOKS (she's helping too with the research) (but to her, research is playtime, so she's just having the time of her life) (Also, notice how Crocodile's Theoretical Child is a fucking loser ass nerd? Yeah Crocodile would encourage Robin reading and studying, surely. And that would be fucking cute))

But like, once they set sail to Alabasta...

Sure, Crocodile could try to do it The Slow Way that we know he tried in canon, building trust and creating his little empire etc. But also, in canon, Crocodile couldn't have jumped into action head first because without Robin, even if he had found the Poneglyph he couldn't have read it and found the location of Pluton. Crocodile choosing to do it the slow way may have been partially because he didn't have much of a choise and it could've felt like the smarter move long-term.

But in this scenario, he already has Robin. Yes, he could do it the slow, secure way.

But what'd be there stopping him from infiltrating Cobra's palace and kidnapping him (in the night, when nobody suspects a thing), demanding Cobra to spill the beans lest Crocodile kills him and/or his pregnant wife* (*Vivi was born 10 months after Luffy so depending on how long it's been between Crocodad leaving Luffy behind and this scenario... Yeah either the wife is there, still pregnant, or there's a newborn Baby Vivi)

Like it'd be a risky move but depending on how ballsy Croc's feeling and how confident he feels in being able to kidnap the king without being noticed... Yeah he could probably do it. And I'm sure he'd have no problem killing Cobra either, if anything it'd be required if he didn't want the Government to find out he was out to find Pluton, and god knows Cobra would tell on Crocodile if left alive. I could see Crocodad being maybe a little iffy about killing Baby Vivi though (it's not like the newborn baby could report him to the WG anyways), but if nothing else, he just needs to be able to pull off the bluff of his life to convince Cobra to do as he's told. And we all know Crocodile's good at convincing people.

The only question is, how would Robin take that?

Watching Crocodile go into Full Murder Mode, hearing him say he'd kill a pregnant woman/a newborn baby if he didn't get what he wanted? Like yeah, I'm sure 11 year old Robin would be fine with that, that wouldn't make any alarm bells go off in her head at all, it'd be fiiiine. IT WOULD NOT BE FINE, SHE'D BE SCARED SHITLESS. That fear of "what will he do with me when he gets what he wants"? Well, Robin may not have found the answer to that question in particular, but she certainly found the answer to the opposite question, and it's not good

So say Cobra, kidnapped (perhaps with Baby Vivi) by Crocodile in the night, guides the two to the Poneglyph under the tombs. Crocodile puts Cobra out of his misery because he's not needed anymore. And he asks Robin to read the Poneglyph for him.

Robin, who has spent the last little while, be it weeks or months with Crocodile, him having become her "guardian", the thing keeping her safe. Crocodile, who has now shown how cold blooded and cruel he can be. Robin, who might be scared out of her mind. Of him.

And the Poneglyph says Pluton, the thing Crocodile wants, isn't there. It's in Wano.

What's she going to do?

EDIT: I wrote a sequel post, enjoy

[navybrat817]

Puppy Dog Eyes

Pairing: William Miller x Female Reader

Summary: Will feels betrayed by someone he thought was his ally.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Fluff, humor, established relationship, talk of threats and interrogation, slight feels (it's me, okay?), William Miller (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by this post @ghotifishreads tagged me in. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Will counted the seconds in his mind as he stared his adversary down. Someone he should've considered an ally. Maybe even a friend. But now? He didn't recognize the beast in front of him.

He was used to people playing dirty behind enemy lines, but this? Betrayal in familiar territory? The sting was like a bullet to the gut.

“Before you test my resolve, I want you to know that I have forty three confirmed kills.”

A huff was the only reply he got.

Crouching down so he was at eye level, he huffed, too. His enemy was much smaller in size, but looks could be deceiving. “Now, I’m not going to hurt you. It wouldn't do either of us any good,” he said, tapping a finger against his thigh. “I just want to know why.”

He didn't get an answer. Only a defiant stare. The silent treatment. That was fine. Nothing he hadn't faced before. He had ways to make enemies talk if it came to that. And the puppy dog eyes wouldn't garner sympathy from him.

Battle had hardened him too much for that.

Shut down. Control. Manipulate. That’s what he did with his human instincts until he completed his mission.

Will continued the staring contest until the smaller one whined. It wasn't an answer, but it was a start. “You made this personal, you know. And I’ll throw you out in the rain if you push your luck,” he threatened, tilting his head to maintain eye contact. “No. You don't get to look away. Not after what you did. After I took you into my home.”

And how did he repay him?

“Honey?”

Your voice pulled Will’s attention away from the task at hand. “Yeah, baby?”

You leaned against the doorway, a smile tugging at your kissable lips. “Are you interrogating Bandit?”

Bandit, the puppy Benny got weeks ago. The puppy you offered to watch since his brother was going out of town for a few days and he didn't want to board him. The same little rascal who chewed up a pair of tennis shoes. New tennis shoes.

And hadn't touched a single one of his chew toys.

Will nodded to his ruined shoes. “You saw what he did.”

“I did and I'm sorry,” you said, though you had no reason to apologize. It wasn't like you chewed them up. “He’s a puppy and they’re going to do those kinds of things from time to time. Is it really worthy of an interrogation?”

“Yes, it is.” Bandit swung his head toward you and whimpered. “No, don’t you-”

“Aww. Is the former Captain bothering you?” You walked over and scooped him into your arms. The light golden puppy snuggled close, but looked at Will like he was taunting him. You had a soft spot for dogs and Bandit sensed that. Used it to his advantage.

“Taking his side?”

“I’m always on your side, Will,” you said, softening his resolve. “Now, Bandit, you know you aren't supposed to do that. Play with your toys, not shoes. Okay?”

Bandit barked. He actually barked for you. How did you do that?

“And apologize to Will,” you urged.

He barked again.

“Good boy,” you smiled as Will stood up and crossed his arms. “And don't worry, we won't throw you out in the rain.”

“I still might just to teach him a lesson,” Will half teased. “Or I can just put him in his cage.”

Bandit whined and hid his face. “Don’t you dare. He’s a puppy, not a soldier. And you were happy with watching him until now. Besides, he said he was sorry,” you said, giving Will your own set of puppy dog eyes.

You had a point. Bandit was a pretty well-behaved puppy, all things considered. He didn't bite. Didn't make a mess when he ate. Went to the door when he had to go outside. And he seemed content to sleep in his dog bed and didn't demand to sleep with the two of you.

“Fine. No cage,” he relented.

“Thank you. And I’m sure Benny will buy you a new pair of shoes once he gets back,” you added.

“Maybe,” he said. He wouldn't hold his breath to get new shoes or money for the damage done. He may be Benny’s big brother, but Benny adored his puppy and would likely blame him for leaving them out in the first place. He had a routine though. He put his shoes in the same spot after he exercised.

To be fair, he should've been more careful. He would be in the future. If anything, he could try to see the positive side of things and use this as a learning experience. That's what you tried to do when you ran into unfortunate situations.

“Is it a bad time to suggest we get our own puppy?” You asked, smiling as you lifted Bandit up higher and put his cheek against yours. “Chewed up shoes and a scratched up couch aside, it might be nice.”

Dogs did make for great companions. He’d be lying if he said he hadn't pictured the two of you having a kid and a dog for them to grow up with. Someone who would be a friend to and watch over his child.

“What do you think?” You smiled when he stayed quiet for too long.

He softly smiled. Most people couldn't sway him to do anything, but you had a way about you. Maybe it was because he loved you. “I’ll think about it.”

You put Bandit down before you leaned in and brushed your lips against Will’s. “Thank you.”

He went in for another kiss, but stopped when the words fully registered. “Wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did you say scratched up couch?”

“...Did I say that? I don't recall.”

“I remember everything you’ve ever said to me,” he told you.

You put a hand over your heart. “That is so romantic.”

“And you said ‘chewed up shoes and a scratched up couch aside, it might be nice’, so what exactly did he do to our couch?”

Your eyes widened as you took a step back. “Run, Bandit!”

And he did.

I couldn't help myself. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | December 2nd-8th 2024

We're getting so close to the end of the year!!! I'm already starting to think about the end-of-the-year rec I'm gonna do! :P

Complete

stay a little longer by oceanofchaos/ @islandoforder (S8E8: Wannabes Coda, Pre-Buddie | 2K | General): “Okay, what’s next on the agenda today anyway?” asks Eddie, pulling Buck’s legal pad closer to him to look at the checklist. “Realtor, about to check that off, email the union, oh that’s a good idea, I always forget to talk to them, lunch? Really, you put lunch on the agenda? Sure, fine. Lawyer? What’s lawyer?” Suddenly, it is impossible to look at Eddie. Buck makes a grab for the notepad, and successfully regains it. - Episode tag to 8x08 Wannabes, where Buck thinks they might as well change the will officially, and he and Eddie argue about it

nursing our wounds by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (S8E8: Wannabes, Hotshots Cameo | 2,8K | General): "Eddie, c'mon," cardboard nurse whines, practically draping himself over Eddie's back. "I didn't know they'd make me Nurse Number One." "Oh, I'm sure," Eddie scoffs, stuffing half a doughnut into his mouth at once. Casey likes him. "Hm," he hums and turns to his friend. "Not as good as yours." Cardboard nurse ducks his head and smiles, a pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks. Interesting. (OR: an exec witnesses the buckandeddie phenomenon and sees an opportunity for tv gold)

You wouldn't want it any other way by paleredheadinascifi (S8, Getting Together, Bitchy Eddie | 3K | Teen): “I’m not saying that he’s bitchy because he’s gay, I’m saying he’s bitchy,” Eddie retorts. “Like his soul is bitchy. He just also happens to be gay — it’s unrelated. I don’t think you should go. I don’t like him.” Or, Buck goes on a date with Josh. It's the worst day of Eddie's life.

we won't have a hard time (you can get what you want) by littleghost/ @ghostlandtoo (Post-S8E6: Confessions, Getting Together | 3K | Explicit): Eddie rolls his eyes, knocks their shoulders together. “What I’m saying is that you deserve someone who wants the same future you do. You want kids, Buck. You want a family. You deserve someone who would be more than happy to let you break their heart, just to get the chance to be with you.” or: another confession on the couch

supposed to be a package deal by joshwrites/ @joshwritesfics (Post-S8E8: Wannabes Coda, Getting Together | 4K | Teen): “It’s really nice. Though, I really should get a new couch,” Eddie agrees before looking down and starting to pat the couch they’re sitting on — the one that holds far too many memories for Buck to count. “A new couch?” “Yeah, I don’t want to go through the hassle of moving this. I was planning on putting it up for sale on Facebook, but I was thinking maybe you wanted it? No offense, but your couch is uncomfortable as hell.” And it’s an innocent comment — one with no underlying meaning under it — but it sends Buck on a spiral to find one anyway. or: A 8x08 coda where Buck believes in couch theory.

you could poison poison by oceanofchaos/@islandoforder (S8E5: Masks Coda, Infidelity | 4K | General): There is a constant tension headache behind his eyes that’s been there for as long as he can remember, and it gets worse every single time someone who isn’t Maddie calls him ‘Evan’. - Episode tag to 8x05 Masks, in which Buck is exceedingly aware that he is increasingly annoyed by his boyfriend.

pulling pigtails by littleghost/ @ghostlandtoo (S7E4: Buck Bothered and Bewildered | 5K | General): Buck is jealous. Buck is a green-eyed monster, a jilted lover, a crying kid who didn’t get a lollipop. Buck can’t even find it in him to push it down because it’s overwhelming. Eddie and Tommy are friends. That’s – fine! It’s totally fine. or: buck is jealous, and 7x04 goes a little differently

🔥I should be pushing daisies by 42hrb/ @exhuastedpigeon (Post-S8E8: Wannabes | 5K | Teen): “I miss you so much, man,” Eddie says as easy as anything. Like those words don’t have the power to breathe life back into Buck’s body and steal that breath back at the same time. “It’s dumb but - I guess I didn’t realize how ingrained you are in my life until suddenly you weren’t there.” “I-I miss you too,” Buck manages to say, though he has no idea if he sounds normal or if he sounds like there’s an anvil on his chest. Eddie smiles at him, eyes soft and fond even on Buck’s iPad screen. “I keep looking over my shoulder to say something to you or to see if you saw something dumb someone did too, but you’re not there.” OR Eddie goes to Texas to fix things with Chris and Buck pines.

slowly sinking (i need you to think i'm alright) by littleghost/ @ghostlandtoo (Established Buddie, BDSM, Hurt/Comfort): Some of his hook-ups liked that Buck was so much bigger than them, even though he wasn’t nearly as bulked up as he is now back when he was having casual sex. They liked when Buck held them down, when Buck reused some phrases he remembers from porn. It was all for fun. Buck never had one of them staring up at him like Eddie is now, like he’s out of his mind. It’s uncharted territory. Buck doesn’t know where to go from here. or: Buck tries to dom Eddie.

black purple and green (i bruise easily) by oceanofchaos/ @islandoforder (S8E6: Confessions Coda | 7K | General): When he gets back to the loft, he looks around it wearily. He had only just reconciled himself to the idea of Tommy moving in, and here he is, alone again in his giant fucking loft. This is so typical. Before he can psych himself out, he pulls his phone out of his back pocket, and gets up the 118 groupchat. just so everyone knows, single again. - Episode tag to 8x06 Confessions, in which Buck talks through whether he should have known that first queer relationships are inherently doomed with his queer friends.

man against man (who's ahead in the game) by littleghost/ @ghostlandtoo (S8, Halloween, Infidelity | 9K | Explicit): But going alone is like—it’s a death knell. And Buck is trying, he really is, but it’s Halloween. You can’t break up with someone on Halloween. He spies Eddie walking up the stairs, totally focused on his phone. Eddie, who is also planless for the weekend barring some natural disaster or miracle of the prodigal son returning home. Eddie, who had gleefully been the Tubbs to Buck’s Crockett—because Buck is totally Crockett, okay?—without complaint. Eddie, who likes dressing up for Halloween. or: Buck wants to do a couples’ costume, and Tommy doesn’t want to do it. Eddie volunteers.

Make this Place your Home series by scarmaddiewrites (Post-S8E8: Wannabes, Getting Together | 10K | Mature):  Eddie leaves for Texas and Buck has the worst times feeling realization in the history of romance. So he adopts a dog about it And then he gets a phone call.

🔥 go and kill, go and die by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Zombie Apocalypse AU | 13/14 | 54K | Mature): The 118 are a group of survivors in a small California town in the wake of a zombie apocalypse. For months they've been isolated and safe. But the arrival of some new players, the search for some missing loved ones, will shake everything up and put their little team in jeopardy.

🔥guess i'm the fool by oceanofchaos/@islandoforder (Post-S7, Eddie Sexuality Crisis | 106K | Explicit): While Chris is in El Paso, it’s Eddie’s summer of Realizing Things, such as comphet, what Buck means to him, and how to let himself be happy.

WIP

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 141/? | 454K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

there is no road by littleghost/ @ghostlandtoo (Post-S8A, Eddie Moves To Texas | 2/6 | 24K | Explicit): Years ago, almost a full decade, Shannon had asked him to move and Eddie refused because he was trying to build a life for himself again. Eddie knows if he asks Buck, he’ll get that same refusal. Worse, Buck could say yes and Eddie would be uprooting Buck from the very life he built for himself. He doesn’t ask, and Buck doesn’t offer, and they pack up Eddie Diaz’s life in Los Angeles into cardboard boxes. Or: Eddie moves to Texas. Buck buys his house. There’s a love story somewhere in here.

[petermorwood]

Hi i have a question!

I just bought myself a decoration sword replica (anduril from lord of the rings) and I've been wondering: aren't swords supposed to be balanced at the point of the hilt?

Because mine isn't, and I'm wondering if it's because of the decoration sword aspect or if i was wrong in my assumption.

I don't know a lot about sword manoeuvrability, and definitely not enough to assess which point of balance might be useful for different uses, but I've been theorising that there lies a potential answer.

I am hopeful that you can help me clear the mystery, and thank you so much in advance!

No mystery IMO - it's almost certainly because of the word you yourself used twice.

What you've got isn't a sword as much as a decoration in the shape of a sword, a specific sword from a famous movie series at that, and to the average movie fan it's far more important for a replica prop to look like what it, is rather than actually work like it.

A really expensive replica "Ghostbusters" proton pack...

...may well have all the necessary blinkenlights and even a sound system for THAT power-up noise, but 99.999% of owners won't expect it to actually tear holes in the fabric of reality.

Of course there's always that .0001%, tinkering away at the back of garages or in basement workshops. If they ever get a proton pack to work properly, we'll all know. ;->

Replica swords, axes, maces etc. are an exception to this general rule. People want them to work, though TBH "work" usually just means "flourish in a dramatic way" (which can be problematic in itself, as you'll see).

Very few take it to the point (or edge) of "take my enemies apart", and those who do have left a trail of weapon bans in their wake. Thanks for nothing.

*****

On the subject of balance, just for curiosity I checked several of my own repro swords - specifically this lot, photographed some years back when they were out taking the air...

...and rather to my surprise, because the amount of metal in the hilts varies so much, the point of balance on Every Single One is more or less the same - a generous hand's-width, say 4-ish to 5-ish inches / 11-ish to 13-ish cm, down from where the lowest element of the guard stops.

This means, of course, that the balance point on the blade is further down on the side-sword (my avatar) and basket-hilt schiavona than it is on the plain cross-hilts, but that aside, one good handspan seems to be the default distance.

Where does your Andúril replica balance? You didn't mention.

*****

Balance point aside, being "battle-ready" (the usual tag for repros intended for clangy re-enactment) really isn't a consideration for movie replicas, since most if not all aren't meant for use beyond decor, posing, cosplay etc.

Swords like these got the nickname "wall-hanger" for a reason.

Decorative replicas are certainly not for fighting with, so whether or not they balance like a real sword is immaterial. I'm sure some do, I'm equally sure most don't.

TBH, posing and cosplay shouldn't include swinging the replicas about in violent combat simulation movements, because they're usually not made like real swords. The nature of their construction (a thing called a "rat-tail tang") means there's a potential fracture point concealed within the grip.

And THAT means the stresses of sword-fighting moves, even without hitting something, might snap blade from hilt. If not noticed in time, the next dramatic swing might send the blade flying off in a dangerous unintended direction.

About 10 years ago I wrote a long illustrated post about that risk. I've seen it happen and though no harm was done, it was a hair-raising (and for one person, almost hair-parting) experience.

*****

The main questions regarding an Andúril replica (or a Braveheart, a Longclaw, a Conan Atlantean etc., etc.) are these:

"Do I think it's an accurate recreation of the movie sword?"

"Do I think it's a handsome ornament in my home?"

"Do I think it's worth what I paid for it?"

"Does owning it make me happy?"

If the answer to those questions is "Yes", then that decorative replica has fulfilled the purpose for which it was made.

Hope This Helps! :->

[reds-skull]

Fanfic Recommendation: Multi-Chapter (Completed)

The comic I'm working on is taking... a long time (understatement of the year, been working on it since July 31st...) so I wanted to make another post like this

Like last time, there's no shared theme between these beside having multiple chapters and being completed (both SFW and NSFW)

As always please check the tags for CWs, and if a link doesn't work you're welcome to reach out!

Every Morning by sauceboss_yahoo - Ghost is back on base with the rest of the 141, ready to fall into his usual routine. Someone else, however, is itching to be a part of it and wants to peel back the curtain concealing him more than he already has, whether Ghost likes it or not.

Mask of my own face by Avidcatperson - Ghost takes great offence to the implication that he’s going to eat his cell mate, who is clearly sentient, with his bare hands. Soap is fairly sure he’s about to die. Chucked into a cell with a human? Pretty much a death sentence…hopefully Gaz can get out at least. [Space AU, multiple works in this series!]

bare my skin by Cristinuke - A study of moments as Ghost learns to trust Soap's touch.

Anomalous by Brigadier - Ghost, a SCP-056, finds a certain human worthy of his love, trust and adoration.

let these hills absolve me by flowersferns - When the news of three weeks’ forced leave reaches Ghost, he’s resigned himself to loneliness in an empty base. That is, until a certain Sergeant offers him an invitation he just can’t seem to refuse. Or: the sheep farming fic nobody asked for [this one hurts so bad but comforts so well]

Punch Drunk by Drolly - If you told Soap the second time he’d see Ghost’s face was in a shitty bar on a shittier block of Chicago… Well, he might have asked for a little more pomp and circumstance. At least then he’d have an excuse for the way he could hear his blood pumping faster in his ears and why he could feel it, hot and burning behind his eyes.

Simon's Gateway by wayfaredsoldier - When things get too rough on retired soldier Simon, his friends help him out and unknowingly provide him a gateway to something, or someone, beautiful. [veteran support hotline operator Soap]

A Bit Too Much by cod_dump - Soap always acts confidently, brave. Almost always has a smile on his face. But the fact is… He’s a bit too much. [locked for non-AO3 users]

Until The Nightfall by Mikhail - Upon realizing their friendship had grown into something deeper and more serious, Ghost is left torn between duty and longing. With each mission, Ghost is reminded of all the things he can't control, and it's becoming clear that this - whatever it is - he has with Soap, just might be one of them.

Philematology by ErlKönig (Herm_own_ninny) - Ghost kisses Soap while begrudgingly playing spin the bottle, and tries to repeat it with other party games.

stick up by amongthebooks - While off base, the 141 are unexpectedly caught up in a robbery. The raiders clock Soap, Gaz and Price as SAS operatives…but without his usual gear, Ghost was seen as just another guy. His team is rounded up, whilst he's treated as a civilian. Can Ghost take down the attackers and rescue his team without exposing his identity?

I Will by lemonwrap - After going missing on a mission, Soap has been gone for an entire year. Ghost finally rescues him, but he’s not quite the same.

The Worthy Vessel by MildLimerence - To take the edge off his maddening attraction to his aloof and inscrutable Lieutenant, Soap decides to try his luck with the local barflies off base. To prevent Soap from fucking anyone else but him, Ghost offers himself up under the guise of mutual stress relief. Soap thinks he’s just taking one for the team, but Ghost has just had everything he’s ever wanted fall right into his lap.

Damaged Goods by Red_Clegane - After an encounter at a club, Soap needs to know if he's actually into men… like into men. In a fit of desperation and homoerotic panic, he arranges a one night stand with a prostitute. It was just supposed to be a one off arrangement. But when Ghost shows up, it sets a series of events into motion that neither men could have predicted. [locked for non-AO3 users]

They Blame it on the Times by WildFlowerSolitude - "We were never anything. You need to get that through your head." Soap laughs hollowly into the empty corridor. I can live with that OR Ghost says some fucked up shit and Soap crumbles.

home is where the heart is by Anonymous - Soap vanishes from base one day. The Captain says its nothing to be concerned about. Ghost disagreed. [literally so so good]

Personal Affairs by sannikovs_bastard_son - Ghost got injured on a mission in Spain and was forced to take a temporary leave, leading to some buried feelings being brought to light, and Soap doesn't make his inner turmoil any easier by being the casual flirt he is.

Tug A Little Harder by puffyfish2006 - Ghost really really really likes Soap's long hair.

Burned and Broken, but Not Beaten by sick_of_sleep - Ghost ends up burning his hand pretty badly and Soap help his lieutenant while it heals. But Soap ends up helping Ghost in more ways than one.

Lofticries by Arodana - The mafia had always escaped John "Soap" MacTavish. No matter what evidence he found, it would disappear. For lack of words, it pissed him off. On top of that, he has to find a serial killer that has been evading the police and any efforts they've made for months. Soap finds himself stuck between his sense of justice when he is offered an opportunity to work with the one man that had been making his police career a living hell. Soap might just get what he wants.

Freely Given by Tatzelwurm - After the stress and danger of Los Almas and Chicago, Soap is finding it near impossible to let go and relax. He can’t sleep, jumping at shadows. Ghost wants to help him, dutiful lieutenant that he is. But Soap can’t bear to take any more from Ghost than he already has. At least, not without feeling exceedingly guilty about it.

Hold my hair up, Darlin (Ice packs on my neck) by JackiboysHorrorHouse - a fic where Soap's wisdom teeth end up having to be removed when he's in the 141, and ghost is the one who takes care of him during recovery!

Misplaced Jealousy by dyn42ty - Soap hinted that he had been crushing on someone within the base to Gaz. Overhearing the conversation, Ghost wonders who has Soap captivated. Not to mention it wasn't him? The more he thought about it, the more angry he had gotten.

lotus flower by exavibus - a new flower shop opens across the street from 141 Tattoo, in london's shoreditch district. one of the florists already seems to have something against him. the feeling's mutual.

Cry by kcisbroken - Ghost always leaves. After an intimate night together, Ghost picks up his things and doesn't look back, leaving Soap to sit in silence and ponder on whether or not it's worth breaking his heart over and over again.

i'm a fire and i'll keep your brittle heart warm by marviless - Soap spends three and a half days in Ghost's house after getting injured on a mission.

used to hide behind a mask by kj_crwn - What a pitiful thought; the scary hound of 141 force turned into a pliant mess by one simple man. “’Bout your scary mug,” Johnny clarifies, as expected. He leans down again and settles against Ghost’s chest, his head resting just beneath Ghost’s chin. “Yer a bloody gorgeous lad, Simon.” Except that Johnny is anything but simple.

We Are Ghost by Murmeloni - Instead of having to crawl out of his own grave, Simon escapes Roba's clutches with the help of Ghost. A klyntar stranded on earth who decided to make Simon his new home. The two of them were content with each other. Until they met Johnny.

Emergency Contact by soapsbeloved - John MacTavish is about as unlucky in love as you could get, never finding someone that would give him enough of a chance for a second date, resorting to sleeping around when he gets stood up. Simon, his best friend, seems to be the only person in the world willing to give Soap a chance, but the dumbass can’t see past the fact that Ghost isn’t very good at talking about things, and is completely and utterly oblivious to how Ghost feels about him.

dicentra by crown_twist - There's someone new joining the 141 and everyone is happy about it. So happy, in fact, that they don't seem to realize one of them is slowly slipping away. Johnny's only all too aware. [I reread this one so many times it's the ultimate hurt Soap fic]

and i wish i could change by SoftKing - Which meant he also noticed when Ghost frowned heavily and murmured, “Not really my thing.” “Oh,” Gaz said with his brows raised. “So you haven’t got one then.” He slapped Price on the shoulder and grinned. “I do.” Ghost interrupted, taking another long sip from his nearly empty glass. “Just think they’re rubbish.” [soulmates AU]

Night Has Always Pushed Up Day by Sillililli - Simon "Ghost" Riley is stuck in a shared hospital room, which has been fine up until then. He'd been alone, alone to fight the shame of having his face uncovered and having failed his team. But they bring someone into his space, a younger soldier, temporarily blind.

Domestic by Sillililli - Simon and John are coworkers. Both ex military, they relate in ways others can't. Soap is facing hard times at home and finds a safe place with Simon.

So Call Me Maybe? by cripplingchips - Ghost is trying to focus on the mission at hand when Soap starts getting a little… strange.

A Kiss For Luck by iamtheidiot - Soap and Ghost start playing gay chicken.

Mission: Cardsharp by nyxite - Soap (accidentally) gets a love reading from a fortune teller.

death is in the air (wish i could be brave) by aetherealmoss - Ghost gets injured severely and is sad and upset about it, until Soap appears at his doorstep and makes it better.

My frozen heart (would melt just for you) by Red_Clegane - After a mission goes wrong in Russia, Soap has to patch Ghost up... and keep him from freezing. Huddled together in a tiny cabin in the middle of the frozen tundra, something warm blossoms. [locked for non-AO3 users]

demolitions threat by amongthebooks - Home on leave, Soap has to instruct Ghost on how to disarm a bomb over the phone. The pair make a good team - but not every mission can end well. Ghost has dug himself out of his grave once already. Can he do it again?

i'm something else when i see you by oh_ellie - The first time Ghost had enough courage to plant his lips against Soap’s they’d both been drinking. They're fairly heavily intoxicated.

In the Middle of the Night by JDigital - “Go!” Came his Sergeant’s gruff exclamation as he threw his elbow into the Shadow’s face, an alarming amount of blood still soaking through his clothes. “Get out of here, go!” A few Shadows stopped their assault on Ghost’s cover to subdue their captive, and he was forced to watch as Soap was brought to his knees by a cruel strike of the stock of one of their rifles. “Ghost, move! Get out of here!”

Racing hearts season by Nuria123 - The F1 COD AU no one asked for SoapGhost style.

Through His Eyes by WhisperedWords12 - Ghost accidentally finds Soap’s sketchbook, is taken aback when he sees a familiar face looking back at him.

Peeping John. by A_BitOfStrange - When he considers it properly, the only person that would be either brave or stupid enough to go into Ghost's room while he’s away would be Johnny. The little fucking shit.

Surviving You by WhisperedWords12 - Ghost forced himself not to feel frustrated, had to admit to himself that Soap might be the most challenging sub he had ever had assigned into one of his units.

Yours Sincerely by LeoDoesGames - Johnny "Soap" MacTavish has been medically discharged following a mission gone wrong, which left him with severe agoraphobia and PTSD. He joins a programme which connects both active service members and veterans through the act of writing letters. Although things get off to a bad start, the connection he forms with his letter mate slowly becomes unbreakable. That is until he gets too close and strikes a nerve. [one of those fics that will not leave your brain for weeks]

Doing Time by MildLimerence - Soulmate AU: On leave from the 141, Soap lands himself in Strangeways prison, home to some of the worst criminals in the UK. When his soulmark activates on the inside, Soap must contend with Ghost, an infamous soulmate-hating killer who seems intent on haunting his every move.

Spiorad agus Corp by Oud_smoker420 - A bet is made between the notoriously reckless Soap and Alejandro to try and get their respective crushes and the most stoic and traumatized men of the 141 in their beds. It definitely has the potential to go so bad.

Smooth Sailing on Choppy Water by coderaven - Soap and Ghost are sent on a mission to the middle of American suburbia to protect a Russian journalist targeted by Makarov. Their cover is that they're newlyweds. And very much in love.

Bathe in Sunlight, Take Deep Breaths by coderaven - Ghost gets honorably discharged after taking a bullet to his shoulder that completely obliterates his rotator cuff and leaves him with nerve damage. He joins a gym to help with his recovery. He meets Soap, ray of sunshine personified, a trainer at the gym. He falls pathetically in love.

Learning Experience by AvaLoren - Soap is forced into a simulated interrogation with his Lieutenant and the information he learns about him isn't what he expected.

If tomorrow you don't open your eyes by Swiftwater_Prawn - Ghost loves Soap but is bad at feelings and gets stuck in a time loop. [multiple works in this series!]

Collecting Strays by WhisperedWords12 - Ghost didn't trust Soap, couldn't know for certain what a year and a half of forced fighting in the pits did to something as volatile as a Wolf. But Price insisted that the man may have valuable intel, might be enough to finally bring down the Fighting Ring where they'd found him.

Driving Myself Home by Aether_Ghoul - Gaz insisted that he was just the thing for Soap. Soap insisted that everyone had a "but" and for the life of him, Gaz wouldn't tell him what this Simon guys "but" was.

all that's said in the low light by headlocket - After a near-fatal injury, John MacTavish finds himself back in his hometown in Scotland. Fresh off an untimely discharge, he's forced to cope with disability, his dysfunctional family, and the lingering knowledge that there are some things he's just not ready to leave behind… [literally if you haven't read this yet what are you doing with your life]

Lay back and think of England by Aether_Ghoul - From the outside, Ghost is well adjusted. He seems like everything recruits and rookies could ever wish to be. Inwardly, he is falling apart. It is when Soap asks him to spend their leaves together, that he makes a decision that will haunt him. Do everything Johnny wants, needs or dreams of because if Ghost is useful, maybe Johnny will finally love him. [this is another one I keep going back to T_T]

Our Time Is Right Now by ChaoticEmeline - A serial killer is making their mark on the newly installed crime factions in London. Smart, savvy, and undetectable in a city covered in CCTV. The man operates…like a ghost. Captain John Price and his team aren't afraid to get their hands dirty and do a little ghost hunting. But what happens when the ghost starts hunting them back?

Spectre-Unit by Zosch - The Spectre-Unit was a task force shrouded in mystery, not much was known about them and it was a rare occasion to witness one of their members in action. Until the Task Force 141 gained a new addition; S-U: 25, John "Soap" MacTavish.

Velocity Of Envy by leathfaic - Soap has a friend with benefits back home in Glasgow and Ghost, Ghost doesn't have a problem with it of course. After all, Johnny is his sergeant and anything else would be unprofessional, wouldn't it?

Crystalline by Sillililli - Soap and Ghost end up captured at the same time and as much as they'd like to save each other, they can't let their captors know they could be used against each other. Easily. Simon concocts a plan to save them that he can't let Johnny in on, hoping the lie won't shatter what little is left of them when it's over.

[temporarywelcome]

Devil's Night, 1946 - James Patrick March

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Many years have passed since you and March have split up, meeting again in the Hotel Cortez when you need him to do a simple task he's been procrastinating on for years... distractions happen

CW: smut, porn with WAY too much plot, fingering, angry sex, p in v, possessive!james, dom!james (kinda), sub!reader (kinda), a slap to the cooter

A/N: they're both vampires it's mentioned like twice it really doesn't matter lmao. Pretend women have some more rights in 1946. I WAS SUPPOSED TO POST THIS ON HIS BDAY BUT ALAS... life.

________

The Hotel Cortez hasn’t changed in the slightest since the last time she saw it.

It still was bustling with guests and patrons, with loud chatter at the bar and silent gossiping in the sitting area. There was a couple seated in one of the love seats, holding hands, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears.

The sight made Y/N grimace. 

It reminded her of how things used to be. How things were between Y/N and James Patrick March, the owner of the establishment. They were practically glued at the hip, her painted black nails always gazing his skin, his hand always firmly on her lower back. Always together. In love.

That was long in the past. 

Striding towards the front desk, Y/N eyed the little receptionist up and down, “Hello, is Mr. March in tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the receptionist, her name tag reading Laura, replied. “He’s currently in a meeting in his office. How may I help you?”

“I wish to see him. Now,” 

Laura raised a brow, awkwardly clearing her throat, “He’s in his meeting, ma’am, he might take some time. If you’re in a rush, you can write him a message?”

Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance, lips curling into a sneer, “Tell him to wrap it up. His wife would like to speak to him,”

____

Within minutes, Laura was ushering her into the office of James Patrick March. 

Like Y/N expected, as soon as James was aware of her presence, he had kicked everyone out of his office, eager to see her. He was seated at his desk, a cigar between two long fingers, wearing his usual white button down, black suspenders, dress pants, and shoes combo. To accompany it was his carefully gelled hair. Y/N remembered doing it for him every morning, a little bonding experience the two of you used to have. 

“It’s been a long time, my dear,” he finally said after a moment, his usual James March smirk appearing on his annoyingly handsome face, “I was beginning to miss you,”

“Hello, James,” Y/N replied, making no move to step closer to him, “It has been a very long time,”

“You haven’t aged a bit since the last time I saw you, dearest,” he complimented, rising up from his seat, “Just as ravishing as ever,”

“How can I age, James? You took that from me,” Y/N laughed bitterly. She adjusted her large black fur coat, eyeing the room. It was practically the same as before, “It’s been twenty years, James. Possibly time to renovate,”

“You’ve always been so kind, darling,” he strode towards her, taking her hand, “Now how may I assist you?” he brought her hand to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to her knuckles. 

“Take a guess,” she snatched her hand back, slipping a hand into her designer purse and pulling out a neatly piled stack of papers. She walked to his desk, and being, well, a man, James’ eyes travelled to her ass, admiring the way her tight black dess esentuated her curves. He was snapped out of his thoughts when she slammed the papers down ont the desk. “Sign the papers,”

“Excuse me?” 

She looked at him over her shoulder, “Sign the damn papers,”

“What papers? I believe I don’t know what you speak of, my love,” he placed his finished cigar in an ash tray.

“Cut the act, James,” Y/N hissed, taking a pen from his desk. She turned to face him, holding it up, “It’s been twenty years. What’s the point of doing this any more?”

“Doing what?”

“James,” she clenched her fists, “It’s been twenty years! I want a fucking divorce!”

A laugh left him, a dark chuckle, “That’s what this is about? The silly divorce? And for a second I thought you missed me,” he opened up a cabinet and grabbed a bottle of scotch and two glasses, “You came to me on this day just to harrass me? On such a special day?”

“Special day?” she scoffed, “What’s so special about it?”

“Oh, my dear,” he brought an arm around her, leaning in,” It’s Devil’s Night,” he whispered into her ear, breath tickling her skin. 

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes, “I remember. However, I don’t give a damn. Just sign the papers and I’ll be out of your hair,” 

“But I don’t want you to go,”

“But I want to go,” she shot back.

James shook his head, taking a drag of his cigar, “You really want to end a twenty year marriage like this?”

Y/N barked out a laugh, “We were only together for a month of it,”

“Yes, till you left me,” he snapped, sudden venom in his tone, “You didn’t even say goodbye. Didn’t leave even a note. Just some blasted divorce papers.”

“So you did get them?” she mused, digging into her bag and plucking out a cigarette, bringing it to her lips.  Despite his anger, James still immediately brought his lighter to her cigarette, like he always did when they were together. She glared at him, dropping her lighter back into her purse and taking a puff, “From that letter you sent fifteen years ago, I was quite confused.”

“Ah, what did I write in that letter again?” 

“Hm,” she pretended to think, “First, I had wrote you telling you to sign the damn papers. You then wrote back saying you never got any papers. You said I would just have to meet with you to sort this out.”

“And you never did,” he pointed out the obvious, politely holding out a glass of scotch for her, which she dd not take, “So why now? Why not continue on with how things have been?” 

“Because I don’t want to!”

“Well why?” he pressed, stepping forward, “What’s so different now than fifteen years ago? Ten years ago? One year ago? What’s so different? What is so-?”

“I’m engaged!” 

There went the scotch.

It fell from his grasp immediately, the glass shattering onto the floor like little puzzle pieces, “...Excuse me?”

Y/N groaned, holding up her left hand, revealing an golden engagment ring with a modest diamond, “I’m engaged,”

James gripped her wrist, examining the ring closely, “How pathetic! You don’t even like gold, you love silver. And this diamond! It’s practically microscopic! How could you settle for a man that not only can’t tell your taste but is poor?”

She rolled her eyes, “How materialistic, James,”

“It’s true! It doesn’t even compare to to the ring I proposed to you with,” To Y/N’s surprise, James yanked up his necklace, revealing the charm that was neatly tucked under his dress shirt. Two rings, one silver with a dark trim and a comically large ruby in the middle, a diamond on either side. The other ring was more modest, still silver, with small diamonds embedded into it. Her engagement and wedding ring. 

“You… you kept the rings?”

“Of course I kept the damn rings!” he scoffed, raising his left hand now. He was still wearing his wedding ring. “Of course I kept the only remembrance I had of the wife who left me!” 

“You turned me into a damn vampire!” she shot back, shoving him angrily, “Did you expect me to be happy with you?” 

“I wanted us to spend eternity together-”

“I didn’t even know you were a vampire!” she shot back, “And you just turned me without even asking me! F-Forcing me to drink your blood, I thought it was some devilish ritual!”

“It was practically a ritual to declare our love!” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Yeah, I felt so loved then. I was terrified! I didn’t know what you were going to do! You… You could have been planning some sacrifice or God knows what, I-”

His lips were then on hers, his body pushing hers against the desk. She gasped, feeling the sharp sting of the hard wood hitting her back. His hands went firmly on her hips, blunt nails digging into her flesh as he kissed her hungrily, her burgundy lipstick smearing all over both of their lips. 

She should have pushed him away. She really should have. Should have pushed him away and just fucking kill him to end this nonsense once and for all, but she couldn’t. Instead, her arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him back just as feverishly. 

“You made me wait twenty years for you,” he growled, lips leaving hers to find her jaw, then her neck, kissing and sucking on the skin with need. “Twenty years without you,”

“N-Not like you missed me,” she panted, fingers playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. 

“How could you say such a thing? I have been patiently waiting. Have you ever seen any reports of the famous James March with a new mistress?” He tugged up her ebony dress till it was at her waist, pushing her onto the desk. He plucked the cigarette out of her shaking hand and discarded it into the ashtray. 

“Well, no-”

“Because there has not been any.” He said firmly, beginning to rub her through her lace panties. She whined out, grip on his hair tightening. “I have not touched a single other woman in twenty years while you've gone around whoring it up with all these other men who mean nothing compared to me,”

James took it upon himself to relieve her of her undergarments, his large fingers rubbing her swollen clit in tight circles, “Well? Who is he? Tell me about this bastard,”

“His n-name is William,” she choked out, hands going to his shoulders to ground herself, “He loves me very much,”

“Yeah? What does this William do for a living?” one of those long fingers slid through her wet folds and into her awaiting heat.

She bit her bottom lip, not just to stiffle her moans but to prolong her answer. “Um…”

“What does he do for a living?” James repeated, pushing in a second finger and curling them inside of her.

“Ahh! He's… A hotel owner…” She trailed off.

He stopped his movements, looking at her with wide eyes, “He's a what?”

“Hotel owner,”

His eyes darkened, “So my replacement is just some cheap copy?” he hissed, utterly offended, “For that you might of well have just stayed with me!” His fingers left her cunt, causing her to whine with need. “Shut up,” Next thing she knew, a large hand was delivering a harsh slap to her sex. 

She cried out, “James!”

“I said shut up,” he grumbled, hastily undoing his belt buckle and suspenders, pulling down the front of his pants and boxers, his leaning cock springing free. With one hand on her hip, he began to stroke himself, “Once I'm done with you, all thoughts of your cheap new fiance will be out the window.”

How the hell did they end up like this? She came here to demand for him to sign the damn divorce papers so she could marry the man she supposedly loved, yet here she was about to get her back blown out on her ex-lover’s desk.

James lined himself up with her entrance, slowly pushing in. He always started off gentle and romantic, but Y/N knew better. This was just the beginning.  “How does that feel, my love? Still thinking about that bastard William?” he said the name venomously. 

“N-No, James,” she whined out, legs wrapping around his waist as he began to thrust in and out of her, tantalizingly slow. He was teasing her, doing it on purpose. 

“Can he fill you like I can? Hit just the right spots like I do?” he continued, nipping at her earlobe, “I bet you don’t get this wet for him, bet he struggles pushing into you because he just doesn’t get you excited enough,” James smirked, both hands grabbing her waist as he sped up his pace, sliding in and out of her clenching walls with ease, “That’s never been a problem with me. You’ve always come to me with open arms… and open legs,”

“Oh, shut up, you bastard,” Y/N grumbled, nails beginning to dig into his back as he found a steady pace, hips snapping repeatedly against hers with each thrust. “We were never able to have normal sex, huh?”

“Well, you never stopped cursing me out,” he replied cheekily, hands going to her large fur coat, and sliding it off of her shoulders, “I think I got used to you berating me while I kindly pleasured you,”

“You got off on it, don’t lie,” she shot back with an eye roll, until he hit that perfect spot and she gasped, “Oh James do that again James please do that again-”

“Ah, that’s what I like to hear,” he mused, angling his hips to hit her G-spot over and over again. His hands went to the zipper of her dress, bringing it down so that the entirety of the garment was bunched up by her waist. “Much better,” he said smugly, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. 

“Ahh!” she whined, playing with her other nipple in pleasure, “Right there right here!”

He began thrusting into her faster, a groan leaving his lips as he plunged deep into her warmth, “Look at that, darling, your cunt is taking my cock so deeply, how greedy,” he teased, admiring the way she involuntarily clenched around his thick length with each thrust, swallowing his dick. 

“Greedy for your cock only, you damn bastard,” she cried out. Couples give each other such endearing or powerful names in the bedroom, but of course that had to be her favorite for him. Bastard. Even when they were madly in love, that was what she called him. “It always filled me up so w-well,”

“Really, darling?” he grinned, reaching a hand between their bodies and gently rubbing her clit. Her eyes snapped open and she whined, lips parting into the perfect “o” shape. “Filled you so perfectly? Then why did you try to replace me, huh? With some cheap copy? Sounds like we know who the real bastard is here,” 

The combination of his dick pounding into her and his fingers expertly rubbing her clit had her seeing stars. She dug her nails into his shoulders, head falling back as she moaned out in pleasure, giving him the perfect view of her breasts bouncing every time his hips met hers, skin slapping against skin. She wasn’t hearing a word he said at this point, digging her heels into his back, ankles locked, urging him deeper into her. Knowing she was still in her blood-red high heels turned him on even more, he used to always love seeing her in heels. 

“Damn you, you bastard, I’m going to cum!” she gasped, biting her bottom lip, “Damn you, damn you,”

James laughed, leaning his head down to bite her pulse point roughly, “You’re gonna cum all over your ex-lover’s cock, my queen? Cum all over my cock and make a mess of yourself? Do it, I dare you,” he lifted his head to survey her facial expressions as he continuously snapped his hips forward, drilling into her in abandon. He then reached out, his large hand going around her throat, and he didn’t even have to squeeze, she was cumming. 

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” Y/N squealed, cunt clenching around him one last time before he felt her thick fluids coat his length. 

“That’s it, my love, cum all over my cock, it’s my turn now, gonna fill you up, make you mine again,” he buried himself inside of her as he came, painting her walls white. Hips sputtering, he came to a halt, arms going around her waist, “All mine, no one else can have you but me,” he nuzzled her nose with his own, waiting for some movement. Signs of life. 

And then her gorgeous eyes opened, looking up at him tiredly, “I came here for a divorce,”

“Damn that divorce,”

“Damn that divorce,” she repeated, leaning her head on his shoulder. 

“Dramatic girl, leaving me all by my lonesome for twenty years just to come back to me,” 

Y/N hummed in response, closing her eyes, “Take that as punishment,”

James let out a soft chuckle, stroking her soft hair, “Have I been punished enough?”

“I suppose,” she pulled away from his neck to look him in the eyes, “Happy birthday, James,”

_____

how tf does one write dominate men sorry I usually like subs

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In Bloom 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, allusions to trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After wasting much of your youth in a toxic situation, things are starting to look up. That’s until you meet a certain flower seller.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Note: My sweet pathetic man.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You clasp your hands in your lap as the car radio buzzes. You’re thankful for the noise as you don’t have much to say. Uncle Morris is nice, always helpful, but you just don’t know what to say. It doesn’t bode well for the day ahead. He’s just driving you to the farm, then you’ll face the real challenge. 

You watch the fields pass. Horses shake flies away with their long manes, cows chew on grass, and crops sway in the wind. It’s peaceful; pastoral as one of your books might describe it. It’s much nicer than staring at the same fading and peeling walls every minute of every day. 

Uncle Morris turns the car and slows the wheels. He squints up at the farmhouse then taps his phone, mounted on the dashboard. He grumbles. 

“Think I got your aunt’s instructions right,” he says. 

“This looks like it,” you assure him. You recognise the painted decoration hung on one of the pillars; a sheep in a crown of flowers. Adorable in an absurd sort of way. 

“Hm, alright. You got everything, kiddo?” He asks. 

He still calls you that despite your age. You suppose he still remembers that quiet little girl who used to hide behind her hands. You probably haven’t changed that much. You still feel just as terrified. 

“Yes, thank you,” you say as you undo your seat belt. 

“Anytime,” he chimes. “I’ll be back in the afternoon to get you. Your aunt’s got one of her club meetings after work.” 

“Okay,” you nod and open the door. 

You get out and step back. You wave at him as he reverses and veers around. He drives off and you take a breath. You grip the handles of your lunch bag. Aunt Beverly bought it for you; purple checkers on white. She also got you a new pair of gardening gloves with sunflowers on them. You brought those in case. 

“Hey,” Cole’s voice startles you as you stare after the rolling speck of your uncle’s car. 

You face him and give another tiny wave. He smiles. He’s always so happy. 

“You’re early,” he says. 

“I...am?” You croak. 

“No worries, better early than late,” he comes down the steps of the porch. “What’s that?” 

He points to your hand. You lift your hand slightly. “My lunch.” 

“Oh. You didn’t have to do all that. Ma left some food in the fridge for us,” he says. 

“Um, sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says.  

“Okay. I’m sorry. I mean--” you stammer, the sweat trickling down your nape.  

At the market, it was you and Cole and all those strangers. Now it’s really just you and him. You wish Aunt Beverly was here. She always knows what to say. 

“You want some coffee or something before we get started?” He offers. 

You shake your head. 

“Tea?” 

“No thank you.” 

“Well, it gets really hot so we’ll get you some water.” He gestures you closer. “Let’s go put that in the fridge.” 

You near him and he waits until you’re up the steps and next to him before he moves. He wears a short-sleeved flannel shirt, unbuttoned to show his ribbed white tank beneath. He turns and opens the door, holding it for you as you enter. You stop inside and he nearly bowls you over. He touches your hip as he slips around. 

“Oop, almost knocked you over,” he says. 

You blanch and put your hand where his had been. He’s not bothered. He didn’t mean to. You shouldn’t be. 

“Here, let me take that,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Everything okay?” He asks you give him the bag. 

You look up the staircase, “don’t wanna wake your mom or anyone.” 

“Oh, she’s gone. Out of town. Went up to see her sister. Dad too.” 

You don’t say anything even as the panic surges through you. The thought, the reality, of being out here all by yourself with just him, in the middle of nowhere... Cole hasn’t hurt you. He’s helped you. You need to stop being so... you. You need to get over it. 

You look down as he goes down to the kitchen. You stay on the mat. You rub the back of your hand where the scar is. The fridge liner sucks as it opens and closes then a drawer slides out. His footfalls thump again and he appears. 

There’s something in his hand as he approaches. He holds out the baby blue cloth. 

“Thought you could use this. Tie it around your head. For the sweat,” he explains. 

“Oh, thank you.” 

“It’s simple work,” he points you back out the door. “I’m sure you know how to plant.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“And prune?” 

“Sure.” 

“I’ll have to show you what to look out for. The rot and all that,” he follows out across the porch. You feel heat along your lower back, like he might touch you again. 

“Right,” you go down the steps. It comforts you when he talks about the flowers. That’s something you know about. 

Like last time, he takes you to the greenhouse. The sun gleams off the glass panels. He opens the door and you enter the stolid building. You tie the bandana around your head, knotting it tight. 

He leads you down the table near the right wall and he stops you by a table of jars. 

“These things always sell well. The novelty of it.” He reaches for a mason jar already filled with dirt and a cluster of petunias. “I try to do a little of each. The bee balm sells well since it attracts humming birds.” He turns the jar. “Tie a ribbon around the top...” he touches the little bow there. “You can use twine too.” 

You nod. You’re not sure you’ll be very good at that part.  

“People like stuff they can reuse, you know?” 

You frown as you fixate on the tidy bow. You lean forward to examine the tails, exactly the same length as each other. You can try. 

“Here, I’ll show you how,” he says. He takes an empty jar. “Jar, fill it with soil, pick your flower.” He works with certainty, “transfer.” He delicately moves the periwinkle over and packs the dirt with his fingertips. His hands are much bigger than yours but precise. “The ribbon... sometimes it’s easier to do that first.” 

He bends down and narrows his sights at the ribbon as he weaves it around and expertly loops it into itself. The bow is just as perfect as the first. You hold back another grimace. 

“Um... okay.” 

“You do one,” he dusts of his hands. “Come on, you can do it.” 

You look at the table, then him, and back to the table. You slowly drag over and empty jar. You add a little soil, like he did, then choose some marigolds. You do your best to pack down the dirt; not to tight. You focus on the work, trying not to think too much about him watching you. 

You get to the last part. The ribbon. You fumble it then manage to get it around the short neck. You struggle to loop it and when you finally do get it to catch, the bow is lopsided and twisted. You step back and throw your hands up. 

“I... I can’t--” 

“It’s okay. It takes practice,” he assures you. “You can try again.” 

You shake your head. 

“I can’t.” 

“It’s really not a big deal.” 

“Can you do it? I can plant them and... you could do the bows.” 

He gives a thoughtful hum, “that works for me.” 

You move closer to the table. You take another jar. He bends to fix the ribbon you contorted. The simple task of rehoming the flowers is easy. It makes being here a little less jarring. 

You hand off the second jar and start a third. The swear streams on your neck and the bandana dampens with your scalp. The humidity inside the greenhouse is made worse by that without. 

You keep a tempo. You pass on the jars, he decorates them with a ribbon and a tag. You wonder how he does all this by himself.  

He backs up and you glance over curiously. He unbuttons his flannel shirt and strips it off. The white tank clings to his sweaty skin. You can almost see the fabric. You avert your gaze, trying not to notice how your own tee shirt sticks.  

He comes back to the table. Your eyes stray again. This time you notice his bicep and how thick it is. He must be strong. Very strong. 

Thinking about it, your hands begin to shake. The thought is not only scary but forbidden. You shouldn’t think about what he looks like. 

A jar slips from your grasp towards the edge of the table. You try to save it but can’t, too flustered to do more but help it in its ruin. It smashes on the ground before your feet and the dirt and petals explode across the floor. 

You back up and bring your hands to your mouth. They smell like soil and pollen. You bat your lashes as Cole straightens and looks at you. You whimper. 

“I’m so sorry. So so sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s okay, sweetie. Are you--” 

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you babble and push your shoulders up as you tuck your chin down. You put out a hand. “I didn’t mean to break it. Please.” 

“Woah, it’s alright. I’m not mad.” He says. 

You suck in a breath and let it out with a shudder. Your eyes sting but you keep the tears inside. You put your hands to your cheeks. Your heartbeat pounds behind your ears. 

“You’re-- not?” You ask. 

“No,” he half-laughs. “Accidents happen. Oh gosh, you know how many of these things I’ve broken?” 

He bends and picks up the bigger shards. “You should back up though. I don’t want you getting cut, okay?” 

“No, I can help,” you squat down and grab for the glass. The slice makes you hiss and recoil. 

“Hey,” Cole says again. “Oh my god,” he drops the glass carefully cradled in his hands. “Oh no, you’re cut.” 

You look down at your hand. There’s a gash across your palm. Your brain buzzes and your skin tingle. You’re no stranger to the sight of blood. Not your own, at least. 

He grabs your hand and reaches for his shirt. He wraps it around to stymie the flow as you whine. He’s touching you. He’s touching you and it hurts. But it’s not his fault. You cut yourself. 

“Ow,” you gasp as he squeezes. 

“I’m sorry,” he tugs you away from the table. “It’s pretty bad. We gotta get it cleaned up.” 

“Oh, uh... oh.” You sputter dumbly, dizzy as muffled voices nip in your head. 

“Are you squeamish? You gonna faint?” He asks with concern as he reaches the door and feels behind him for the handle. 

“N-no,” you wisp. 

He drags you outside and turns you toward the house. He keeps a hold of your hand and his other arm hooks over your shoulders. He marches you up toward the farmhouse. Your legs are stiff and your steps heavy. 

You blink and suddenly your inside. Your vision speckles and clears. It’s like you just lost minutes. You watch him lift the wadded dishtowel and check your hand. 

“Nothing I can’t fix,” he says. “But I’m a bit iffy with blood myself. Still, watched Ma fix me up a few times.” 

“Cole,” you garble. “I’m very sorry.” 

“Please, stop. Don't be sorry.” He says and takes your other hand. “I need you to keep pressure on this while I get the first aid kit.” He clings to you, squeezing until you do the same. “Can you do that for me?” 

You nod. He huffs. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back, alright?” 

He grips your shoulders and you flinch. You just dip your chin down again and again. Your hand barely hurts as the sensation of his touch singes across your skin. The fire spreads and consumes you even as he lets go. 

You lower your head and sink on the stool. You already messed this up. Aunt Bev is going to be so mad. Is she finally going to see what you really are? 

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest and @stobinmonth.

Lake Michigan, 1987

CCF Spring Break Prompt: Ocean & Stobin Month Prompt: Holiday | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | POV: Multiple | Pairing: Platonic Stobin, Pre-Steddie | CW: None | Tags: Post S4, Everybody Lives, Steve's on a Mission to Crash Corroded Coffin's Spring Break Getaway to the Beach, Robin's Along For The Ride

Robin

Robin squirms in her seat. They've been in this car for hours, and she's sweating, legs sticking to the leather. She lifts one thigh, then the other and feels them release, but also hears the little thwap it makes. It's so gross. 

She thought they were supposed to be there by now. 

"How much further?"

"Not sure," Steve says, "look at that map again."

Robin doesn't want to look at the map again. She's not interested in playing navigator. 

"Ugh. This is taking forever."

"Stop complaining, we're going to the ocean!" Steve declares, banging his fist against the steering wheel.

Robin rolls her eyes.

"Lake Michigan isn't the ocean. It's a lake. It's in the name, even."

"Same thing."

"Really not," she says, but lets it go, "How late are we? Because I'm starving and they better have food left. Good food. But I'm not optimistic."

Steve doesn't say anything. 

"Hello? Earth to Steve? Dingus, are you listening to me?"

"I'm listening."

"We're not lost, are we? What time were we supposed to be there?"

"Uh. When we get there, I guess."

"That's not an answer. Do you even know where we're going to meet them? What's the plan? You've been awfully secretive about this adventure."

Steve mumbles something under his breath.

"What?" she asks, twisting the stereo knob all the way down.

"Theydon'tknowwe'recoming," he says in a hushed rush.

Robin flops around in her seat, turning to face him fully, "Steven. Harrington. What do you mean they don't know we're coming?" 

"Surprise!" he says weakly.

Then, after a beat.

"Yeah, we might be lost."

"Steve!"

"Kidding, just don't let me miss the sign for 94 East."

She throws her hands up in the air, exasperated. 

Steve

He didn't know there were this many beaches on Lake Michigan. 

They've checked like a dozen spots, and so far, no Corroded Coffin. No Eddie. He knows they are staying in Indiana.

Well, he thinks that's right. Maybe they changed their minds? Maybe he misunderstood? It wouldn't be the first time.

"I didn't know there were this many beaches," he admits, as they're standing next to his car at a gas station. Robin's continued cooperation paid for with a big bag of snacks. 

"It's literally called the third coast, dingus! Seriously. You thought we'd just pull up to the entirety of Lake Michigan, and what, stumble across Eddie Munson and his band of bozos?! You can't be serious."

That's exactly what he thought. He is a dingus.

"So, we're stalking Eddie Munson?! That's where we are in life now?"

"Stalking is a little exaggerated," he argues. He's been dancing around this thing with Eddie for months.

"Were we invited?"

"No," he admits and she's shaking her head, unimpressed.

This was a dumb idea. 

Eddie

He hears his name being shouted, very clearly. Twice. Which is odd, because everybody he's with is still in the van. He can hear Gareth and Goodie bickering in the back, and Jeff's nose is in a book in the passenger seat. Plus, that was definitely a woman. And women, in general, aren't in the habit of screaming his name.

So, he's hearing things.

Great. This better not be a Vecna thing. 

He swallows. He was trying to get away from Hawkins.

"Psst. Ed. Eddie. Edward," Gareth hisses, and all Eddie can see is his mouth at the bottom of the pop-out window on the back of the van. Ridiculous. 

"What?" Eddie asks, clicking off the gas nozzle in the van. He can't leave it unattended. They have a very strict budget. But he takes a step closer to see what Gareth needs. He clearly crawled over the backseat for a reason.

"Your boyfriend is here," the mouth says.

"Huh? I don't have a—"

Gareth taps on the glass, cutting his thought short, "Steve Harrington. And Robin. Nine o'clock."

Eddie slowly turns his head, and sure enough, Steve and Robin are in the middle of a hand-flailing argument next to Steve's car. He just couldn't see them before, the dispenser was in the way.

So, he did hear his name. 

He turns towards them, and watches. Then, Robin makes accidental eye-contact with him, and he waves. 

She nudges Steve's shoulder, and Steve turns around. And the grin that crosses his face is transcendent.

"Told you, Rob!" Steve declares with gusto, and then he's loping over, grabbing Eddie, hugging him.

"Uh, hi," Eddie says, nose smushed into Steve's neck. Which is definitely fine. For sure.

The side door of the van swings open, and they separate.

Goodie looks them all up and down, and then just says, "No."

Eddie laughs. He's not saying no to whatever this is, "What are you doing here?"

"Stalking you, apparently," Robin says, and Gareth's disembodied mouth laughs as Steve stomps on her foot.

"Ow!" she shouts. Steve ignores her.

"We're not stalking. We were bored, and like, I remembered you said you were doing this for spring break, and I thought, why not? Sounds fun," Steve rambles, and Eddie is very charmed. 

What was Steve's plan? Wander the 1,000 plus miles of coast?

It doesn't matter. If he drove three hours to chase him down, Eddie's not gonna let him slip through his fingers.

"We're camping in the dunes, if you wanna?" Eddie offers.

Steve's nodding while Robin's shaking her head no. Eddie takes Steve's answer, because he likes it better.

Was Steve Harrington chasing him? Is that what this is? That's crazy talk. But…

"Definitely," Steve says, pushing his hair up off his forehead with his hand. "Yeah. Definitely. We'd love to. I'd love to."

He seems nervous.

Holy shit. 

Eddie knows that move. He went to high school with that move. 

Steve Harrington is flirting with him. 

And Robin is disgusted by it.

Eddie smiles, "Let me finish filling up and you two can follow."

"Cool," Steve says, "that's cool."

Eddie steps back, and squeezes Robin's shoulder. He likes Buckley. She'll get over it, and he'll definitely owe her for wing-manning.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to read takes on Spring Break prompts, or to offer up your own!

For more Stobin, pop on over to @stobinmonth to follow along with the fun!

[drtanner]

You know, I think I'm starting to understand why the sharing culture on this site is such dogshit now.

As I mentioned earlier in the week, I spent several solid hours going through my art and writing tags as far back as 2012 and manually deleting everything I found, including all of my own reblogs, because I don't expect my opt out from having my blogs' data scraped to be honoured, and seeing the difference in the way people interacted with my work back then and the way they interact with it now (or the way they don't interact with it at all, more specifically) was deeply and tragically enlightening.

tl;dr, despite having had a fraction of the followers back then that I have now, as well as being an objectively better artist and writer than I used to be 10+ years ago, my work travelled further and people engaged with it more, and they also sent me asks with drabble prompts and questions about my OCs all the time, whereas none of that happens at all anymore. This place was a lot more communal back in that pre-2016 era and generally a lot more rewarding and fun.

There's been plenty of posts going around over the last few years begging people to reblog because that's how this site works, but every one of those posts always winds up lousy with people saying they just click "Like" on things because they like them but not enough to put them on their own blog, or because they don't want to clutter their blog, or because tagging things is too much effort or whatever, and I'm noticing a pattern. There's something that all of these common responses have in common:

All of these people are wholly concerned with themselves and the way their blog looks, or what their blog is supposed to be for, or some other similarly entirely self-centred point of focus.

Listen. Other people have already tried to explain to you that that's not what this place is about or what this place is for or that you can make as many sideblogs as you want if you're trying to curate something specific, and they've had little success in emparting understanding to you, so I'm going to try a different approach.

Here are ten (10) benefits of reblogging that will make this site more fun and engaging for you, personally! ( b ._.)b

You get to keep the thing for yourself, but you also get to pass it along for other people to play with, too! Best of all worlds. How often do you get to keep a thing and share it?

Look in your Activity after you reblog something you enjoy to find other people who like the same things that you do! This is a terrific way to find new people to follow.

Sometimes you'll make a comment when you reblog something and later find that an awful lot of strangers are reblogging it from you directly for some reason. This is usually because someone else later down the line made a much stupider and worse comment and those strangers are now all clicking on your reblog so that they can reblog the post without that other person's stupider and worse comment on it. I like it a lot when this happens. You can get a lot of new followers this way, too!

Even if you don't have the time or spoons to play with jpegs like dolls yourself, your reblog can put the post in front of those folks who do. Playing with jpegs like dolls is half of what makes this site function; give it a bit of time, and the jpegs will cross your dash again with new additions. As it is with anything you love, set it free, and the love will come back to you one hundredfold. 💜

Look in your Activity after reblogging some art or writing to see people going nuts in the tags. You can also go nuts in the tags if you want; everyone loves seeing this when it happens, especially the artist or writer themselves.

Commenting with your reblog is like raising your hand to share your opinion with the whole room, whereas reblogging with your comment in the tags is more like whispering to the person next to you and keeping it between yourselves. Contrary to what you might have been told by others, both are perfectly fine and good and they each have their place. You can do both on the same reblog, even! Take part in the conversation!

If you're too shy to talk, reblogging without commentary is a lot like parallel play. You're all enjoying the same thing quietly together!

When you reblog things a lot, you'll start to see the same people popping up in your Activity feed all the time. These people are your friends whether you actually talk to them or not.

Stuck for something to say? Point out something you liked about the post! It can be something small! Acknowledging things that make you happy out loud is good for your mental health and also your soul.

Reblogging also invites other people who are doing all of these things to find and follow you!

There's so much to do on here beyond checking your dash and occasionally looking at the For You tab. You can discover all kinds of people and things by making a bit of an effort and having a poke around in your Activity feed and on the blogs of people who interact with the posts you're seeing and passing along! I promise you don't need an algorithm to do this for you; the action of exploring the landscape around you on this website is fun in its own right!

Get out there and see who your neighbours are. 💜

[huxhsz]

— weightless paradise

transmigrated non-mc!reader x caleb

prev ch: 24 - graduation┆series masterlist ┆next ch: 26 - departure

This isn’t how the game was supposed to go. You're not supposed to be here. You're an anomaly. But if you’re already here, then… can’t you just enjoy it for now? Just for a little while? Before the main story begins? Before everything inevitably falls into place? ...Right?

cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

CH. 025 — NECKLACE

SEVEN YEARS BEFORE THE MAIN STORY

Packing feels too final.

Your room at Gran's house is already half-empty. Clothes folded into neat piles. Books stacked in boxes by the door. The drawers of your desk sit ajar, hollowed out. The bed is stripped bare except for the familiar weight of your jacket at the foot of it. The fact that the three of you will all be going separate ways for college after spending all your lives in this world together hasn't quite sank in yet.

You sit cross-legged on the floor, sorting through the last of your things, when Eden wanders in. She flops onto the bed without asking, legs hanging off the edge.

“You done yet?” she asks.

“Almost.”

Caleb’s sitting nearby, leaning against the doorframe. His arms are crossed over his chest, expression calm as he watches you. The light from the window catches in his dark brown hair, turning it warm at the edges. His purple eyes are steady, following your movements without saying anything.

You pretend not to notice.

Eden yawns. “We should get food after this.”

“You always want food,” you say.

“You’re leaving soon,” Eden points out. “Might as well make it a big deal.”

“…I guess.”

Caleb’s gaze sharpens slightly.

You try not to think about it too hard. About how this might be one of the last times you’re all together like this. About how he’s going to Skyhaven, and Eden’s staying in Linkon City, and you—

“Hey,” Eden says suddenly, sitting up. “We should get Caleb something.”

You blink. “What?”

“For the trip,” Eden says. “You know. Like a good luck charm or whatever.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “I don’t need a good luck charm.”

“You say that now.” Eden leans toward you, eyes bright. “C’mon, [Name]. You should pick something out for him.”

Your stomach twists.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. In the original story, Eden gives him a necklace before he leaves. You remember it vividly—silver chain, a small apple charm, and a simple inscription on the dog tag attached to it: When U Come Back.

It’s a pivotal moment. A sign of affection. A foreshadowing of deeper feelings.

But Eden’s not saying anything.

And now they’re both looking at you.

“I don’t know,” you say slowly. “Wouldn’t that be… weird?”

“Nah.” Eden smirks. “It’s Caleb.”

Caleb tilts his head slightly, gaze soft. He doesn’t look confused. He looks… patient.

“Sure,” you say after a moment. “Okay.”

“Great,” Eden says, hopping off the bed. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

The jewelry shop is small and warm, tucked into a corner of Bloomshore’s shopping district. You trail after Eden through the narrow aisles, your gaze sliding over the glass cases of rings and bracelets and polished pendants. The shopkeeper smiles at you from behind the counter.

“You sure about this?” you ask.

“You already said yes,” Eden reminds you.

“I didn’t mean it.”

Eden grins. “Too late.”

She pulls you toward a display case lined with necklaces. Gold and silver chains, delicate pendants shaped like stars and moons. Your gaze slides over them, heart thudding uncomfortably in your chest.

It’s not supposed to be you.

But Eden’s not doing anything.

You hesitate. Then your gaze catches on a small silver pendant shaped like an apple.

Your breath stutters.

It’s the same one.

Almost identical to the one from the game. The only difference is the dog tag attached to it—currently blank. Waiting to be inscribed.

“Hey,” Eden says. “That’s kinda cute.”

You swallow hard. “Yeah.”

Eden grins. “You should get it.”

It’s not supposed to be me.

But you pick it up anyway. The apple charm is small, the silver polished and cold against your skin. It glints in the light when you turn it over in your palm.

The shopkeeper approaches with a warm smile. “Would you like to add an inscription?”

You freeze.

When U Come Back.

That’s what Eden chose. In the game. A quiet promise for Caleb to return safely.

Your throat tightens.

“…Yes,” you say softly.

“What would you like it to say?”

You hesitate. The chain slides through your fingers, catching on the edge of your palm. Caleb’s face flashes behind your eyes—steady and calm and always there.

You think about the lab. The cold, sterile air. The feeling of his hand wrapped around yours when you were both too young to understand what it meant to survive. The sound of his voice cutting through the haze when you couldn’t tell if you were awake or dreaming.

What did he say to you?

You remember it—half-awake, barely breathing, and the warmth of his hand brushing over your hair.

"I'm here."

“…Inscribe it with ‘I’m here,’” you say.

The shopkeeper nods, jotting it down.

Eden raises an eyebrow. “Interesting choice.”

You don’t explain.

The shopkeeper returns a few minutes later with the finished piece. The words are engraved into the metal of the dog tag, clean and simple. I’m here.

You curl your fingers around the chain.

The day before Caleb leaves, you find him sitting on the back steps of the house. He’s wearing his flying jacket, the collar pushed up around his neck. His purple eyes are turned toward the sky, the sun catching in the dark strands of his hair.

You sit down beside him. The chain in your pocket feels heavier than it should.

Caleb’s gaze flicks toward you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You hesitate. Then you pull the necklace from your pocket.

“I got you something,” you say.

Caleb’s brows lift slightly. He watches as you set the necklace in his palm.

His thumb brushes over the apple charm. Slowly, he turns it over, reading the inscription on the dog tag.

“…‘I’m here,’” he repeats, voice quiet.

Your heart is thudding painfully.

Caleb smiles, small and private. He lifts the necklace, letting it dangle from his fingers. Then he looks at you.

“Put it on me?”

You freeze. “What?”

Caleb’s smile curves into something warm. “I don’t have hands.”

“…You literally do.”

“I don’t,” he says, completely serious. “In fact, I’m a snake.”

You give him a flat look. “Shut up.”

Caleb grins, leaning slightly toward you. “C’mon,” he says, voice low and coaxing. “You bought it for me, didn’t you?”

“Against my better judgment.”

“Then put it on me.”

You sigh heavily, but your hands are already moving. You slip behind him, brushing his hair away from the back of his neck. The nape of his skin is warm beneath your fingertips.

The clasp clicks shut. The apple charm rests neatly against his collarbone. Caleb’s smile softens. He tilts his head, letting his gaze slide toward you.

“You’re gonna miss me,” he says.

“You’re so annoying,” you mutter.

You don't deny it.

[b38rman]

IS IT NEW YEAR’S YET? *ੈ✩‧₊˚ Ollie Bearman

tags - ollie bearman x afab!reader, meet-cute, beach fic, holidays, strangers to lovers, fluff

synopsis - You’d originally planned the trip as a romantic getaway, but now, stuck alone at a beachside bar and haunted by what could have been, you chose to face the season head-on. Then, a chance encounter with a charming stranger and a stolen drink turns the night on its head.

rating - teen and up

warnings - alcohol consumption, swearing

a/n - the five-minute drink and the overall setting is loosely based on a place called flotsam and jetsam in la union ! here is what the five-minute drink is and here is what the vibe is like 🏝️❤️ merry christmas and happy new year everyone (: based on the sabrina carpenter song of the same name

The holiday cheer felt more like a taunt than an escape. The bar’s radio played another overplayed Christmas song against the crash of the waves in the background, and you fought the urge to groan.

The whole trip was starting to feel like a mistake—everything about this season just reminded you of what you didn’t have. Couples crowded the beach outside, string lights twinkling over beach blankets like some cruel reminder. December was supposed to be magical, but all it felt like was a prison, locking you in with your own thoughts.

“Why am I even here?” you muttered under your breath. Maybe it would all be easier if you could just fast-forward to next year.

This was supposed to be a different kind of trip—a romantic getaway for two, a toast to the year that was, and everything that could have been. You’d booked it far in advance, fighting for one of the few coveted rooms in this hotel with those views. A balcony overlooking the endless stretch of perfect blue ocean, the kind of place designed to take your breath away. It wasn’t easy to get, but back then, it had felt worth it.

You could still remember the way your ex had smiled when you showed him the reservation far before the -ber months. And now? Now that smile only lingered in fragments, fading into the glow of your phone screen as you scrolled past holiday posts you didn’t want to see. The reservation had been non-refundable, but somehow it felt like that wasn’t the only reason you’d kept it.

“One five-minute drink,” the bartender announced, sliding the glass across the counter. You muttered a quiet thanks, your mind elsewhere, watching the waves beyond the window as the opening chords of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” replaced the Christmas music.

A moment later, you reached for your drink—only to find a distinct lack of one.

“Oh, that’s not good,” a British voice muttered beside you. You turned to find a guy holding your drink, his brows furrowed as he realized his mistake. “I don’t suppose this is mine?”

“It’s not,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. You could almost ignore how his hair fell perfectly in waves atop his head or how his eyes glistened like the endless shoreline. His shirt fit him well too—damn it, you were supposed to be furious.

He winced and set it down like it might bite him. “Sorry, I thought service was absurdly quick here. Guess I’ve just nicked your drink.” He smiled sheepishly, an apologetic tilt to his head.

“That was supposed to be my five-minute drink,” you said, gesturing to the glass.

“Five-minute drink?” he repeated, looking intrigued.

“It’s their strongest drink,” you explained. “And the rule is you’ve got to finish it before the song ends.” You tilted your head toward the speakers as Axl Rose’s voice hit another high note.

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Well, that’s quite a rule for a drink. I’ve ruined it for you, haven’t I?” He waved to the bartender before you could protest. “Let me get you another one—you’ve got time to set a proper record before the guitar solo.”

You let him order another five-minute drink for you, and when the bartender brought him a glass filled with what you guessed was his own—dark, smoky, and definitely a classic old-fashioned—you smirked and took it in stride. Once the familiar pink concoction of your own drink arrived, you humored him with a brief “cheers” motion and knocked it back in record time, finishing in far less than five minutes—closer to five seconds, really.

He raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed. “I don’t suppose I’ve had enough to ask why you’re here downing your five-minute drinks all by yourself?”

A laugh escaped you, though it was bitter, not amused. “I guess some people thought I was better off alone this season.”

He paused, his gaze softening as he studied you, the edge of his smile fading slightly. Something in his expression lingered, as if something clicked, but he didn’t press—just kept his thoughts to himself as you quietly sipped your drink, feeling strangely lighter than a few minutes ago.

“Ex?” he asked, gently probing, clearly giving you the space you needed to decide how much to say.

You nodded, letting the edge of a grim smile touch your lips. “Yup. Well, it’s a blessing and a curse that he couldn’t even wait ‘til the air got colder to break up with me.”

For a moment, it felt like you’d given him a little more than you intended—an insight into just how much this holiday season was grinding you down. But, for some reason, his silence felt comforting instead of heavy, a rare feeling among a sea of well-meaning but annoying sympathy.

He shifted in his seat, as if deciding to shift the subject just enough. “I’m Ollie, by the way,” he said after a beat, offering his hand. You gave him a sideways glance but took his hand nonetheless, feeling the casual warmth of it. “I’m here with my family, actually. Parents are off doing their thing, and my siblings are off… well, let’s just say they’re not big fans of hotel bars.” His smile was wry, clearly unbothered by the family activity you might’ve expected to be mandatory for holiday time.

“Ah, the classic ‘doing my own thing while the family enjoys their own’ situation,” you said with a teasing half-smile. “Sounds like a good deal. I’ll trade you—family chaos for solitude, no problem.”

Ollie chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m sure it’s not always that simple, but yeah, I figured I’d come check out the vibe here… and, you know, after seeing someone finish that drink in five seconds, I thought I could probably take a break myself. The family does seem to want some space.” His smile deepened, the kind of easy, friendly grin that was making you reconsider the chance you’d almost passed on by leaving earlier.

“You’re right,” you replied, setting your drink down and meeting his gaze. “It’s a bit of a mess if I’m being honest. But maybe this whole ‘holiday escape’ idea wasn’t a total wash.”

“Well,” Ollie said with a teasing twinkle in his eyes, “I’d say it’s officially turning into a good night. Just don’t finish your next drink in five seconds… don’t want to set the bar too high for me.”

You raised an eyebrow in mock challenge. “You’d be surprised, Ollie. Five-second drinks are practically my thing.”

He leaned back in his seat with a mischievous smirk. “Guess I’ll just have to find something else to keep you entertained.”

You looped your arm through his as he guided you back to your room. Maybe you shouldn’t have let him—especially not when the alcohol buzzed in your head, making you giggly and a little off-balance. But there was something about him that felt trustworthy, like the one stable anchor in the midst of the chaos. He seemed to have a solid head on his shoulders, even though he was caught up in the same holiday madness as you.

“Your ex-boyfriend must have been real boring if he left you while you were this fun,” Ollie said, breaking the silence with a teasing tone.

You tried to suppress the small pleased smile that pulled at your lips, not wanting to be too obvious.

“And you’re fun, huh?” You poked him lightly in the rib, a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Only good reviews so far from what I’m seeing.” He met your gaze with that same steady look, and for a moment, it was just the two of you—no pretense. “Let me guess, he was some super-serious finance guy?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to laugh. “Shut up. Like your job is any better.”

Ollie slowed his steps, pausing in the hallway with a thoughtful look on his face, like he was weighing something. It was brief, but you could tell he was considering what to say next.

“Not really boring no,” he said, his voice softer now. “Well, I’d say my job doesn’t really define me does it?”

“Yeah, well, people don’t always fit the box,” you quipped, still feeling that comfortable sense of ease between you, despite the night’s whirlwind.

As the door to your room neared, Ollie paused just before stepping inside, his hands still holding onto yours. He looked at you like he had one last thing he wanted to say—and then it all happened in a moment.

He kissed you.

It was warm, slow, lingering. Not a rush to start the year or check something off your list. It was simple—something genuine in the press of his lips against yours. When he pulled away, he smirked slightly.

“But it isn’t New Year’s yet,” he said, his voice low with a soft edge.

You hummed in reply, a smirk playing on your lips as you tugged him closer, brushing your mouth against his once more before answering.

“Don’t need it to be.”

With that, you pulled him into your room, the door clicking shut behind you, and a wave of unexpected excitement took hold.

You had no idea what you were getting yourself into—but for once, that didn’t seem like such a bad thing.