#you’d think I’d be used to them by now

[gold-onthe-inside]

swallows and ravens

n. def: operatives who use sex as a tool; to engage in sexual activity with the targeted person and gather the intelligence either through pillow talk or blackmail.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: after getting caught in the rain after a bookstore date, you and spencer have the perfect moment to take things to the next level. content warnings: smut, oral (f recieving), penetrative sex, softdom!spencer, brat/brat-tamer dynamics if you squint, no use of contraceptives (please use protection people), no use of y/n, NSFW MDNI 18+ ONLY word count: 4k (no judging) a/n: based on the prompt "you look good on your knees like this", written for my 1k event

The only protection you have from the rain is a pair of newspapers, clutching your bags of books as you and Spencer run from the subway exit to his building, before you end up having to spend the night in the tunnels waiting for the rain to stop. You’re shivering beside him, watching him fumble with his keys to open the door to get you both inside. He lets out a triumphant noise as the lock clicks and he hurries you inside and out of the rain.

Once the pair of you are safely inside and out of the rain, Spencer takes the soggy newspapers from you, folding them neatly and leaving them to dry out, then pulls his bag off his shoulder, dumping it in the floor, toeing off his sneakers beside it, and peeling off his mismatched socks.

You tugged off your coat, teeth chattering as you hung it on a chair, looking down at your long black dress, soaked and clinging to your skin. You shake out your wet arms, sweeping damp hair back and out of your face as you look at your boyfriend. God, that was still so new to you. Spencer Reid, your roommate's team member, the guy you used to tolerate, now your boyfriend. You don't know how to get used to that idea.

“I really didn’t think we’d get caught in the rain,” he was saying, grabbing the throw off the couch and walking over to wrap you up in it. “I knew I should’ve gotten us to leave earlier, but that classics section was like a wormhole. A-and to be fair, I was only looking for Moliere because I thought you’d like his work—”

“Spencer, breathe,” you reminded him, trying not to laugh as he zealously rubbed your arms to warm you up. “It’s rainwater, not acid.”

Spencer pouted but did as he was told. He did have a tendency to ramble, he’d been trying to tone it down for a while now. He settled for running his hands over your arms and then pulling you just a little closer in the hopes that his body heat might just help to warm you up a bit faster. “You’re shivering,” he muttered.

"I think I'll survive," you said, voice muffled against his chest.

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you as close as humanly possible, letting you bury your face in his chest. “We should probably get you out of those wet clothes,” he said.

"Bet you say that to all the girls," you said into his chest.

“Ha ha,” Spencer said, rolling his eyes. “You’re hilarious,” he said, although he couldn’t help the smirk that was spreading over his face, and the way his arms just held you that little bit tighter at your comment. You raised your head, tipping your chin up so he could kiss you.

He obliged, tilting your chin up even farther until he met your lips in a soft kiss. His arms wrapped even further around your waist, his palms splaying out across your lower back, holding you to him as his lips slowly moved over yours.

Spencer gently backed you up until your the backs of your knees hit the edge of the couch, at which point he used that as leverage to push you down onto the couch. He ended up on his knees, breaking away from your lips to pull your boots off.

"You think of everything, don't you?" you asked softly, letting the throw fall away and smiling at him.

"I’d like to think so." He smirked at you, arranging your shoes on the floor beside his bag. His knuckles brushed over your skin as he lifted your bare foot into his lap, fingers working to slowly peel your stockings down your leg from your thighs.

"Or maybe this whole thing was planned," you continued, grinning at him. "Wine and dine your girlfriend, buy her books, get her caught in the rain and then have your way with her."

Spencer was in the middle of tugging your other stocking down your leg, the smooth fabric gliding under his fingers, and he paused, looking up to meet your gaze, an unamused but still playful look on his face. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

"I'm just saying, I'd be impressed," you said, shrugging before reaching out to smooth back damp curls from his forehead.

Spencer chuckled, leaning forward and pressing his lips to the side of your knee, his hands sliding up your leg, pushing the now discarded stocking out of the way. “Can’t a guy just be sweet sometimes?”

"Sure. But you're sweet all the time, which is suspicious," you replied, watching him.

“So, what? I have ulterior motives now?” His hands slid higher up your thighs, now completely discarding the stockings and moving to push up the hem of your dress, up your calf.

"I'd be a little disappointed if you didn't think about it at all," you said, your voice dipping lower as his hands drifted higher, still on his knees in front of you.

“Never said I didn’t think about it at all,” he said, fingers tracing over your skin, his gaze now lingering over your thighs. It was subtle, but he could feel his jeans getting a little tighter as he slowly pushed your skirt up further. “I’m only human, after all.”

You tutted playfully. "And here I thought you were a robot."

He let out a huff, shaking his head. “You’re so mean to me,” Spencer said with a small pout that you know is an invitation for you to kiss away. His lips are soft, if a little chapped, and cool against yours, your hands sliding over his jaw.

“Would it help if I told you that you look very good on your knees like this?” you asked softly and he hummed a little in response.

“Doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, kissing you again, hands firmly placed on your soft thighs, grunting a little against your lips as your hand threaded into his damp hair. His hands cupped the back of your knees, pulling you closer and your legs apart. His tongue broached your bottom lip, seeking permission for entry, and when you part your lips for him, his tongue sweeps over the roof of your mouth. The hand holding your knee comes up to cup your jaw, kissing you until his lungs ached for air. Even then, he can’t stop himself from pressing a few more soft brief kisses to your reddened lips. When his eyes meet yours, there’s a charged moment, as if debating internally whether it was too soon to take this inside.

He looked at you, his thumb tracing softly over your cheek. His breathing was a little ragged, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away just yet, his grip on your thighs still keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted you. His gaze was half-lidded, almost lost in you, but he snapped out of it when a shiver shot through your body, only realising that you were still in soaked clothes. He cleared his throat. “Jokes aside, you need to get out of those clothes.”

"Yeah," you murmured, still slightly dazed, either by the intensity of the kiss or by the lack of air to your brain, but you need a moment to come back to yourself. "Um... clothes?"

He chuckled again, the sound soft and low in his throat. “Yes, those.” He moved to help you up off of the couch, taking your hand in his. “I’ll lend you some of my clothes for now, and you can worry about yours later.” He pulled you along with him toward the bedroom.

You smiled, unable to help the playful tone in your voice, “I knew it, this was all just a ploy to get me alone.”

“You caught me.” His arm looped around your waist, his lips finding the juncture between your neck and shoulder to place a kiss there. “I’m just an evil mastermind, really.”

“Truly the worst,” you murmured, your hand running over his neck and cupping the back of it as he unzipped your dress, pressing soft kisses to your jaw and cheek. He can never seem to stop himself when it comes to you, years of repressed yearning from afar rushing out. But it’s new, this thing between you, and he never wants to push you too far, worried that the bleeding heart on his sleeve would scare you off.

“Want me to stop?” he asked softly, begging in his head for you to say no, relief settling in his chest when you shake your head and he can kiss you again, peeling off the wet fabric and Christ, you take his breath away, in more ways than one. He’s intimately aware that he’s wearing too many layers, rectifying the matter as quickly as he could while also guiding you to the bed and you have to stifle a giggle as his hand gets caught in his shirt trying to tug it off.

“Don’t laugh,” he whined, pouting a little.

“I’m trying,” you reply, defensive as you chase his lips, hands helping him work off the drenched shirt. He sighed into your mouth as he freed himself, hands returning to cup your face as he kissed you, slow and languid, taking his time. You shifted, sliding your hand over his side, shivering as his hand drifted down your neck as you lay back against the pillows. His thumb traced your clavicle, trailing his lips down your jaw again, warm and open-mouthed.

His touch is gentle, reverent, as his lips and tongue move over your skin. His hand on your side begins to trace over the smooth skin there, his thumb grazing the underside of your breast. His lips continue to move in a slow, torturous path down your neck and over your collarbone. As his fingers skim the underside of your breast, he feels you shiver beneath him and he pauses, pulling back just enough to look at you.

Your skin is flushed as you shift beneath him, your pupils slightly dilated. He watches your breath hitch as his gaze lingers over your face, and he feels his heart flutter as your lips part softly. He feels a little heady as he takes you in, the way your hair is splayed over the pillow behind your head, the way your hands cling to his forearms, the way your body is so perfectly molded to his, and he has to swallow before he speaks. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, voice soft and barely above a whisper.

"So are you," you murmured back, smiling at him. He returned the smile, his cheeks flushing a bit at the compliment. His hand moved in time with his mouth, skimming across the curve of your breast and down your stomach. He could feel your breath quickening, your body arching up into his touch, the way your eyes fluttered briefly and it sent a shiver down his spine. His fingers broached the border of your underwear, dipping under the lace, torturously slow.

His touch is slow and careful as his fingers trace over the lace of your underwear, the pads of his fingers grazing over the sensitive skin of your hip. He watches the way your body reacts to his touch, the gooseflesh that pricks up on your skin, the way your breathing becomes uneven, the way your hips shift up just the smallest amount as if asking for more. His fingers linger at the waistband of your underwear, hovering for a moment before tugging them down past your hips.

You shift your hips to help, swallowing as he settled between your legs, his hands pushing your thighs apart a little more. "Please," you murmured quietly, none of the prior teasing on your tongue. It's slightly embarrassing how badly you want him.

He was a little taken aback by the pleading note in your voice, but his hands gripped your legs and tugged you closer. “Christ,” he mumbled, his brain to mouth filter taking a backseat. “Begging already?”

"I take it back, you're awful," you said, but he cut your words off as he pressed his lips to your stomach. He laughed softly against your skin before he continued his path down your body, placing soft kisses over your stomach and thighs, drawing out every touch until you were squirming beneath him. He peppered kisses higher, higher, higher until he was finally right where he wanted to be. He looked up at you for a moment, taking in your ragged breathing, your flushed skin, the way your eyes were darkened and your lips were slightly parted, all because of him.

He lowered his head, lips grazing over your hip, and it felt like you might combust as his mouth traced your skin, closer, closer to where you want him. A small noise escaped you as your body writhed from anticipation, and he chuckled against your skin. “Impatient.”

“Tease,” you retorted, receiving a soft squeeze under your thigh before he dragged his tongue over your folds, guiding one leg over his shoulder, warm, wet pressure taking away any ability you had to form words. He flattens his tongue against you, lapping in long, slow strokes that make you squirm for more, his hands drifting from your thighs to your hips to hold you in place. He flicks his tongue over your clit, taking his time, wanting to hear the noises you make, the way your body moves against his face, desperate for release, and God, he could do this for hours. He can feel his own arousal building, hard against the mattress.

You can feel the way he grinds against the mattress, desperate for some friction, but he doesn’t break his rhythm, tongue still sliding over you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, and he could feel how close you were, the way you were trembling beneath him, the way your hands clenched at his hair, and he knew that you were right there, just needing a little more, and he wanted to hear you say his name in that breathless tone, but he was also worried that it would make him combust right then and there.

“Spencer.” The name falls from your lips in a breathless, wanton moan, and it’s all he has to hear. He redoubles his efforts, his grip on you tighter than before, and it’s too much, too much, and finally, your body comes apart, your vision going white and blank, your chest heaving as you ride it out, his name still on your lips and if he wasn’t completely gone for you before, he is now.

You lay there, boneless and panting. He pulls away, shifting up and crawling over you, body hovering above yours as he stares down at you. His mouth and chin glistened with you, and if you weren’t already spent, the sight would have done it. His pupils are dilated, his hair a mess, the flush on his cheeks obvious as his breathing becomes a bit uneven. You can't help yourself, reaching up to wipe his chin away and pull him closer to kiss.

He went easily, leaning down to meet your lips in a brief but passionate kiss, groaning into your mouth as he settled his body over yous. One of his hands moved up to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling into your hair as his hips rocked against you, desperate for any kind of friction as his jeans grew even tighter. Your hands drift to his jeans, popping the button and unzipping the rain-soaked denim for him, hand slipping underneath to palm his arousal.

He cursed into your mouth as your hand wrapped around him, and he has to break the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as his breathing becomes ragged and he rocks into your hand. He’s trying his best to hold back, but it’s hard when you feel so good, when he feels like he’s gonna explode the moment he touches you. His gaze locks onto yours as he tries to hold himself together. “Please,” he rasped. “Please, I need you.”

You did your best to tug his jeans down, Spencer doing the rest of the work. He kicked off his jeans, leaving him free to press his now bare body against yours, both of you groaning as the skin-to-skin contact sent sparks through your nerves. He’s pressed fully against you, his body flush against every inch of you, and it’s overwhelming in the best way, even more so when you shift beneath him, the contact making him swear. "I don't think I've ever heard you swear," you murmured, one hand caressing his side.

“Are you really gonna pick on me right now?” he mumbled huskily, his hands gripping your thighs and lifting them to wrap around his waist. The contact is too good and he can’t help the way his body rolls against yours, letting out a ragged gasp.

"Pretty much," you mutter.

His head dropped to the crook of your neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin there as he grumbled a little. He took a moment to compose himself before he lifted his head to glare down at you. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

"Yet, here you are, suffering," you retort, smiling at him in satisfaction.

He rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance in the gesture. He was too distracted by the way your body felt against his, the way your legs were wrapped around his waist, the way your hands were roaming over his sides, and he knew he was done for when you smirked up at him in smug satisfaction. “Yeah, whatever. Shut up.”

Despite his words, he shifted, lining himself up with your entrance, his gaze locked on your face to make sure you were still okay with this. He was so close to losing the last of his control, but he was willing to wait if you weren’t ready, but then you were nodding, and then he was pressing into you, and it was all at once intense and hot and overwhelming and he had to shut his eyes and drop his head onto your shoulder.

It took him a moment to adjust, every feeling heightened and overwhelming, and he had to take a deep breath before he could move, carefully pulling out and rolling his hips forward, slow and measured until he found a rhythm that made your head fall back against the pillow, a soft sigh escaping your lips. He leaned down to press a kiss to your jaw, your neck, any skin he could reach, wanting to memorize the way you sound and move and feel beneath him, wanting to brand the image into his mind, needing this to last for as long as possible.

He picked up the pace, his hands moving to grip your hips, pulling you even closer. His head is lowered, lips against your neck, your shoulder, his ragged breaths against your skin sending little chills through your body. You feel like you can’t catch your breath, like you’re drowning in the feel of him, the sounds he’s making, the way he surrounds you, and you desperately cling to him like a lifeline, anchoring yourself to him so you don’t drown.

His name is the only thing you can manage to moan and he is so gone, his heart pounding like a drum, breath ragged, and he feels like he’s gonna shatter into a million pieces, and it’s you, it's you, he needs you, and he can feel the way you’re clenching around him, close, so close. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place so he can give a hard thrust, and you cry out in pleasure, your hands clenching in the sheets, his name pouring from your lips like a prayer, and he’s right there.

He loses what bit of control he had left after that, a strangled moan escaping him as his rhythm falters, his body moving harder, faster, and he can’t think, can’t form words, he can’t do anything except feel. It’s too much in the best way, and he’s right on the edge, about to fall. “I’m so close,” he mutters, his voice ragged and breathless. “I just, I just need, god, I need you, so bad.”

"I’m right here, let go, angel," you murmured, clutching at him, one hand on his side, the other at his neck. He let out a ragged groan at the feeling of your hands on him, your touch on his skin and your voice in his ear, it’s the last straw, and suddenly, he’s tipping over the edge. His body clenches, his brain shutting everything off but you, all of his focus and attention on you as the orgasm rocks through him. He presses himself as close to you as he can, his arms wrapping around you tightly, his face buried in your neck as he trembles through the aftershocks.

He was shaking, breath ragged, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, he just held you close, his grip still tight as he tried to re-remember how to breathe, how to think. He stayed like that for a moment, before he finally lifted his head, looking down at you with an expression that was a mixture of awe and love and exhaustion, his hair mussed, sweat on his brow, and damn if he wasn’t beautiful.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," you breathed out, running a hand back through his hair.

His cheeks flushed, and he leaned into your touch, letting his eyes close for a moment before he looked at you. “Pot calling the kettle black,” he muttered lowly, his hand moving up to cup your face, thumb tracing your skin with a gentle touch. “That was… god, that was something else.”

You hummed in agreement, kissing him briefly. "You're something else." He returned the kiss, lingering for a moment before he settled beside you, tugging you close and nestling you against him. He was still catching his breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and he let out a deep exhale, his body finally starting to relax.

“I don’t think I can move,” he mumbled against your skin.

A chuckle rumbled through your chest, leaning on your elbow to look at him. "No?"

He gave you a tired look, eyes still a little glazed over. “No,” he affirmed, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you down into laying with him, not willing to release you just yet. “You’ve broken me. I have no motor functions.”

"Poor baby," you mocked.

“Hey now,” he grumbled, his tone more playful than annoyed. He pulled you a little closer, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I just did a lot of work. I deserve a break.”

"Yeah, you did," you murmured, sincerely this time. "Seriously, I would have asked you out a lot sooner if I'd known you were this good."

His cheeks flushed at your comment, a mix of pride and embarrassment on his face. “Don’t say that,” he protested weakly, trying to feign nonchalance, but your praise made him feel a little giddy. “I haven’t, y’know, done it in a while. I might be a little rusty.”

"Liar," you claimed. "No way you haven't practiced that."

He scowled at you, the expression falling flat due to his flushed cheeks. “I’m serious,” he insisted, his arms tightening around you. “And I wasn’t ‘practicing,’ that’s a weird term.”

"What would you call it?" you asked, raising a brow.

His brain sputtered for a moment, caught off guard by the question. What was the right answer to that? “Well… I just had… needs…” His explanation sounded stupid in his head, and his cheeks only grew hotter. “God, why do you make me say this stuff?” he muttered.

You can't help but laugh into his shoulder, your body shuddering against his. "You're so cute."

He let out a scoff, half-offended and half-embarrassed, but your giggles made the feeling vanish. He couldn’t stay annoyed when you laughed like that. “Just… stop teasing me,” he grumbled, even as he pressed a kiss to your hair.

"Never," you replied, looking at him again, bright eyes and fond features.

He feigned a look of annoyance, but couldn’t keep up the expression when faced with your gaze, and his irritation quickly softened. He let out a sigh, but a small smile was starting to form at the edges of his mouth. “You’re a menace,” he said, voice low and affectionate.

"M your menace," you murmured, kissing him gently.

His heart skipped a beat at that, and he felt warmth flood his chest as he returned the kiss, soft and tender this time. He held you close, his hand sliding up to gently cup the back of your head, his thumb tracing little patterns over your skin. “Yeah,” he murmured against your lips. “You’re mine.”

[nelle-y]

A love story told through voicelines (Alhaitham ver.) I

C/W: alhaitham x gn!reader, not that slow of a burn, characters find the other annoying, reader is a teacher at the akademiya (Vahumana), they have history (iykyk), one nsfw innuendo, not proofread

Note: my humiliating attempt at writing Alhaitham’s smart ahh attitude >A< anw, lmk how you guys want this story to go! (comments and reblogs are encouraged and appreciated)

(You) About Alhaitham

Scribe Alhaitham? He’s… intelligent. That’s all I have to say.

(Alhaitham) About you

Hm.

(You) About Alhaitham: History I

He and I partnered up in a thesis which, thankfully, got approved by our professors. Working with him was challenging, to be honest. Every idea I had, he’d shut it down with some counter argument—“they’d never approve of that,” or “it has too many defects.” A conversation with him may as well be a debate! Frustrating and infuriating.

(Alhaitham) About you: History I

They are competent, I’ll admit that much. But their ideas? Flawed. Reckless. It’s as if they refuse to consider consequences before leaping into action. Every discussion turned into an exhausting debate—because, naturally, I had to be the one to explain why their half-formed theories wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny.

Really, for someone who specializes in history, you’d think they’d have learned from past mistakes. And yet, they persist.

(You) About Alhaitham: History II

Talking about this in my place of work is not really appropriate. … Fine! Yes, we were in… amorous congress. But it happened a long time ago—when we were still students. Just once. A drunken mistake, that’s all it was!

… Keep this between us, though. I love my job.

(Alhaitham) About you: History II

I’d rather this particular detail remain in the past where it belongs. It was years ago, an irrelevant event. I fail to see why anyone would find it worth discussing now.

Though, knowing them, they’d likely frame it as some dramatic mistake rather than what it was—an ill-advised but ultimately inconsequential decision. Either way, I don’t intend to entertain the conversation.

… You think I should drop by? Hm, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to evaluate their current methodology.

(You) About Alhaitham: Work

It’s inevitable that we cross paths—he’s the Akademiya’s Scribe, after all. I can handle brief interactions, but when he lingers, it’s… bothersome. Always with that unreadable expression, listening too intently to everything I say. I know he’s just waiting to poke holes in my arguments. Ugh. Some things never change.

(Alhaitham) About you: Work

They have an irritating tendency to be vague, as if I won’t immediately notice the gaps in their reasoning. Do they think that being imprecise will make me less inclined to argue? If anything, it has the opposite effect.

I don’t intend to debate them at every opportunity, but when they make it so easy, I see no reason to hold back.

(You) About Alhaitham: Annoyance

Do you know how aggravating it is to give a lecture, only to see him sitting there in the back, arms crossed, silently judging every word that comes out of my mouth? He doesn’t even work in my Darshan! What is he doing there?! “It was on my way,” he says. “I had time to spare,” he says. Liar.

Having the Scribe in my classroom is distracting—both for me and my students. I’d appreciate it if he found a different way to pass the time. Preferably far away from my lectures.

(Alhaitham) About you: Observation

I fail to understand how they manage to get results. Their lectures lack structure, their methods are inconsistent, and yet… their students actually retain information. It goes against all logic.

Still, I suppose there’s something to be said about efficacy, no matter how unorthodox. Not that I’ll be admitting that to them. They’re insufferable enough as it is.

(You) About Alhaitham: A Final Thought

I swear, he only comes to my lectures to irritate me. He just sits there, arms crossed, waiting for me to say something he can nitpick. It’s distracting. The other day, I caught myself scanning the room to see if he was there before I even started teaching. Ridiculous.

…No, that doesn’t mean anything! It’s just easier to prepare for battle when you know the enemy is near!

(Alhaitham) About you: A Final Thought

They’ve developed an odd habit of pausing mid-lecture, glancing toward the back of the room—toward me. If I were to be charitable, I’d say they’re checking whether I have any objections.

But that would imply they value my opinion. Which, of course, is absurd.

(Your student) About you and the Scribe

… So, uh. Are those two dating or something?

[emsdevs]

FUCK I DID THE LAST ONE WRONG, SORRY i missed the present 😭

happy birthday, i hope you have an incredible day, and congrats on 300 !! you deserve every single one <3

could i request #7 with luke? 🎁

a/n: you're all good nonnie! thank you for requesting!! also I'm def using this as a way comfort everyone after the last celly req i answered 😬 anyway enjoy some lukey fluff!!

Prompt 7: "I want you, only you."

Birthday Celly 2025 Masterlist | masterlist

When Luke dragged you out to the dock at the lake house to watch the sunrise, you really didn’t think much of it. He was the type of guy to do cheesy stuff like this all the time. He loved buying you flowers as much as you loved to receive them. It never bothered him to be teased by his teammates or brothers about being whipped for you. He was. He’d gladly admit that, and then he’d happily tell them all that if they weren’t whipped for their partners, they just weren’t doing the whole relationship thing right. He loved making your relationship feel like all the best parts of an old rom-com, so really, barely a thought crossed your mind when he made you roll out of bed to go watch the sunrise, not even when he insisted you should wear something cute and do your makeup first. 

You’d been at the dock for just a few minutes when you wanted to tell him how much you loved sunrises at the lake, looking toward him to find him on one knee behind you. Your hands flew up to your mouth, and you could feel the teas now in your waterline, thankful that you’d miraculously chosen waterproof mascara for the day. 

“I know we’re still fairly young, but I’ve been in the NHL for five years now. I’ve been with you even longer. We’ve lived enough that I think we can settle down, and there’s no one else I’d want to do that with. I love you, and I want you, only you. I’ve known since our second date that you’d be the one I marry, the one I’d grow old with. You mean so much to me, and I never want to lose you. Will you please marry me, so I can keep showing you how much I love you for as long as I live?” He’s crying too, and he’s holding the ring box out for you. Honestly, you don’t care much about it, only wanting Luke.

“Yes! Oh my god! Yes!” you’re jumping up and down, unsure what to do with all your excitement. Luke grabs your left hand, slipping the ring onto it, before pulling you in for a soft kiss. You’re both giggling through it, basking in the happy moment. 

You hear Jack and Quinn barreling down the backyard toward you both before you see them. Soon, they’re engulfing their brother and their soon-to-be-sister-in-law in a group hug. They had woken up early to go work out and saw the two of you at the dock, waiting patiently until the proposal was complete to come congratulate you both.

taglist: @heartsforjh @alex-wotton @devilinpradaheels @juxmi @macklin-celebrini-71 @puckmedude @alexxavicry @dancerbailey3 @madebyhappymeals @beenucks @lukey-pookie-hughes43 @huggyyy43 @alilstressyandlotdepressy @pucks-goals-penalties

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[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 39 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇warning, suicidal themes

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The door to the cabin slammed open so hard it nearly flew off its hinges. “WE WON!” Eurymachus bellowed, stumbling in first, already waving a half-full amphora of wine over his head.

Behind him, Druses, Cassander, and Pisistratus poured in, all grinning like madmen, their armor still smeared with blood and dirt, but their spirits higher than ever. Acrisios was being guided carefully by Antinous, his blinded eyes still adjusting, but even he wore a smug grin. “By the gods, I never thought I’d see the day!” Druses declared, tossing himself into a chair as he reached for another jug, ignoring the way it nearly tipped over.

Cassander was already pouring drinks, his hands steady despite the chaos, while Pisistratus simply sighed and shook his head at the madness. Telemachus, still seated on the bed beside his wife , exhaled through his nose and pinched the bridge of it as if trying to summon patience.

“Really?” he muttered.

“Yes, really!” Eurymachus slurred, shoving a drink into Telemachus’ hand. “We finally kicked those Skiaphos bastards into the dirt, and now we’re celebrating, whether you like it or not!”

Y/n, still curled up with Phebie in her lap, looked up in bewilderment as Cassander plopped down on the floor near her, tipping his cup in her direction. “And you, my lady,” he said dramatically, “have the honor of being our most hard-won treasure.”

Antinous, standing stiffly in the doorway, scowled. “She’s my sister, Druses.”

Cassander raised his hands innocently. “Fine, fine. I’ll drink to her as a survivor, then.”

“Enough talk,” druses interrupted, shoving another amphora into Eurymachus’ hands. “Drink!”

A loud clang echoed as someone slammed their cup against another, and just like that, the entire room erupted into a full-blown victory feast. Telemachus, still holding his untouched drink, glanced at Pandora. She was watching the chaos with wide, almost uncertain eyes, the noise and rowdiness so vastly different from what she had grown used to. But then, slowly, her lips twitched into something small—a ghost of a smile.

For the first time in years, she was surrounded by the voices of home.

——

The ship rocked gently on the waves, but that didn’t stop the chaos unfolding on deck. Eurymachus and Cassander, already deep into their victory celebrations, had somehow managed to round up a small group of women—skiaphos camp followers who had been brought along to tend to wounds, cook meals, and now, apparently, entertain.

Eurymachus had a woman draped over his lap, laughing as he dramatically poured wine into her mouth, only for half of it to spill down her chin. “Ah, my beauty, you must learn to drink like a warrior!” he teased, wiping it away with his thumb before taking a deep swig himself. “A true war hero deserves a feast and fine company!”

Cassander, meanwhile, had two women on either side of him, his arms slung around their shoulders. “Eurymachus, I think you’ve been holding out on me. Where’d you find this one?” he gestured toward the dark-haired woman currently toying with the strap of his tunic.

“She found me,” Eurymachus said smugly, leaning back. “What can I say? War makes men irresistible.”

Druses, sitting across from them with a disapproving scowl, rolled his eyes. “You’d think the two of you actually won this war by yourselves the way you’re acting.”

“We did,” Eurymachus retorted without missing a beat, grinning. “We fought, we bled, we conquered. Now, we celebrate.”

Cassander raised his cup in agreement, while the woman on his right giggled and pressed closer. Antinous, standing near the railing, let out a long sigh. “Gods, you two are insufferable.”

“And victorious,” Eurymachus shot back, before turning back to his companion. “Now, where were we?” The ship sailed on, the sounds of raucous laughter, slurred praises, and playful flirtations carrying over the waves.

——

Telemachus wiped the sweat from his brow, still feeling the tension of battle in his bones, before turning to Antinous. “Where’s Acrisios?” he asked. Antinous, who had been standing with his arms crossed, stiffened at the question. His usual sharpness dulled into something more solemn. He didn’t answer right away.

Telemachus frowned. “Antinous.”

Instead of speaking, Antinous simply turned and walked toward one of the cabins. Telemachus followed, his steps growing heavier with each one. Antinous finally stopped in front of a door, hesitating for a moment before pushing it open. Inside, the room was dimly lit by a single flickering lantern. Acrisios sat on the edge of a cot, his posture rigid. Thick bandages wrapped around his eyes, covering the wounds that had stolen his sight.

Telemachus inhaled sharply. Acrisios, upon hearing the door open, tilted his head slightly. “Who is it?” His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension to it—one that made Telemachus’ stomach sink.

Telemachus stepped forward. “It’s me.”

A small, tired smile tugged at Acrisios’ lips. “Ah… I should’ve guessed.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “Bet I look like hell.” Telemachus didn’t answer. He just stood there, taking in the sight of his warrior, his friend—reduced to this.

Antinous leaned against the doorframe, his jaw tight. “He took a strike to the face during the fight. It—it got his eyes.” A heavy silence settled between them.

Finally, Acrisios gave a short, bitter chuckle. “Guess I’m no good to you now, huh?”

Telemachus clenched his fists, his throat tightening. “Don’t say that.”

Acrisios turned his head toward the sound of Telemachus’ voice. “I can’t fight. I can’t even see the damn sea outside.” He exhaled. “So what do I do now?” No one had an answer.

Telemachus felt the weight of Acrisios’ words press down on his chest, suffocating in a way that no battlefield ever had. He stepped further into the room, the wooden planks creaking beneath his boots. The dim lantern cast long shadows along the walls, flickering against the bandages covering Acrisios’ eyes. Acrisios let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “No smart remarks this time, Telemachus? No grand speech about how I’ll make it through this?”

Telemachus swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides. He wanted to say something, anything, to ease the suffocating air of loss hanging over them—but what could he say?

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “I—” He clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply. “You’re still one of us, Acrisios.”

Acrisios gave a humorless smile. “One of you? A warrior who can’t fight? A man who can’t even see his own reflection?” His fingers dug into the edge of the cot. “I should’ve died on that battlefield. At least then I’d still be Acrisios the warrior, not Acrisios the blind.”

“Shut the hell up.”

Both men turned their heads at Antinous’ sudden outburst. He was still leaning against the doorway, arms crossed tightly, his knuckles white from how hard he was gripping his forearms. His usual sharp smirk was gone, replaced with something unreadable.

“You think you’re useless now?” Antinous scoffed, pushing off the frame and stepping closer. “Because you lost your sight? That’s it? You’re not special, man the fuck up.”

Acrisios’ face hardened. “That’s it? Antinous, I—”

“You’re still breathing,” Antinous cut him off. His voice was rough, edged with something dangerously close to emotion. “You’re still here. That should be enough.” Acrisios opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat.

Telemachus knelt down in front of him, resting a hand on his knee. “You think we’re just going to leave you behind? After everything?”

Acrisios let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

Telemachus gave him a firm squeeze. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

Silence stretched between them.

Acrisios eventually sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Damn it,” he muttered, voice cracking just slightly. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Antinous sat down on the cot beside him, exhaling sharply. “Yeah, well. Life’s a bitch.”

Acrisios let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah.”

Telemachus stood up, looking between the two men, before placing a hand on Acrisios’ shoulder. “We’ll get through this. We always do.” Acrisios didn’t answer right away, but after a moment, he gave a small nod.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy @0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl @dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany @i-liketoast

[gaybd1]

I would love to hear more about chinglish 👀

Yes I love it and find myself speaking it quite often but of course, because im supposed to teach in “proper English” at my job, it’s discouraged. Which. I kind of get but ugh.

Anyway here are some examples of Taiwanese Chinglish stuff I’d hear (or even say tbh) on a daily basis:

“Because yesterday is my piano recital, so I didn’t do my homework.” <- leaving off past tense of verbs and using conjunctions in ways that reflect how they are used in Mandarin

Similarly you’d often get something like “When I am little, I go to Japan.” <- lack of verb tense in Chinese means it’s easy for the listener to just know this is talking about the past without conjugating it that way

“He” and “she” are represented by different characters in Chinese but they are pronounced the same. Same with “his” and “her” so you get a lot of, “My mom will be so angry if you tell him that”

Articles aren’t really a thing in Chinese either so lower-level English speakers will use ‘the’ in places it wouldn’t be in other variants and also omit it randomly. Like when asked what they like to eat, maybe they’d say “I like the banana.”

In Mandarin, plural indicators are not always used, so even a more advanced speaker saying they like to eat bananas in general may still say “I like banana,” following that same example.

-s is also frequently omitted at the end of third-person verbs. For example, “My brother go to school in Japan.”

Many verbs in Chinese have multiple English meanings which can lead to sentences like:

“I know!” in response to an explanation that a speaker of another English variant would say “I see” for. (coming from 知道, to know / to realize)

“Do today have a quiz?” for “Is there a quiz today?” (coming from 有, to have / to exist)

“Can you say Chinese?” for “Do you speak Chinese?” (coming from 說, to speak / to say)

“Close the AC! I’m cold!” (coming from 關, to close / to turn off)

“I can’t see! Open the light!” (coming from 開, to open / to turn on)

“Yesterday I look TV” , “I like to see book” (coming from 看, to look / to see / to watch / to read)

Also modal particles like 啊,啦,吧 can be included at the end of a sentence that is otherwise in English, particularly la/啦 to express emphasis or commonly some sort of frustration. Similar to Singlish I guess:

“Stop hitting me la!”

“I already gave it to you la.”

“Yes it is ah!”

Lastly obviously there are always going to be loanwords or concepts like that:

I’ve posted about this before but familial words are quite common in Chinese. An auntie or an ayi is an older lady or perhaps some sort of domestic helper or nanny or something. An uncle is the same for men. (Sometimes younger people can be referred to as sisters or brothers but it’s less common in English. An old old lady will probably be called an ama)

Food words. Some food words just shouldn’t be translated. And people will try but it’s just. Dumb. Douhua will always be douhua, I don’t even know what it would be in English

Place names don’t usually have English translations but predictably even the ones that do might still be in Chinese when speaking English. Using “yushan” when talking about Jade Mountain for example

Swear words obviously. A lot of those are actually Taiwanese words people use in Mandarin that have now come over to English

I can’t think of any other specific vocabulary for Chinglish but just. Cultural stuff, you know. Like a lucky charm, it’s always going to be a pinganfu to me.

Anyway la, im sure there’s much more but it’s nice to get all this stuff down in one place. The point of English variants is that their features are common and intelligible, abd while there’s a huge push to teach “”proper English”” around here, I think people should be a little more lenient and understanding of local features and not be embarrassed to use them.

Taiwan is set to be the world’s first bilingual English-speaking country by its own free will by 2030 (I have thoughts on that lol but that’s in another post somewhere) so this is all fascinating stuff

[iheartlnfour]

in the quiet moments — luke hughes

pairing : luke hughes x oc!character

summary : seraphina returns home, reconnects with luke hughes , and confronts her eating disorder with his unexpected support.

warmings : e@ting disorders

a/n : it’s inspired from my fanfic on wattpad :) Famine of the heart by i4nlovz

# “And I say I don't care, I say that I'm fine but you know I can't let it go I've tried, I've tried, I've tried for so long” — the grudge by Olivia Rodrigo

The familiar streets of her hometown felt strangely foreign to Seraphina as she walked through them. It had been years—years since she had left, years since she’d left behind the memories of simpler times, of a life that felt so far removed from the woman she was now. The woman who was struggling, quietly, with things she didn’t dare say out loud.

The drive from Ottawa had been long, filled with the usual thoughts that seemed to fill the silence of the car—the numbers, the weight, the never-ending battle. But now, standing at the front door of her parents’ house, she was trying to ignore the gnawing hunger within her. The hunger for control, for something she couldn’t define.

She hadn’t expected him to be here. Not like this.

Luke Hughes had been a boy—her little brother’s best friend. They used to run through the streets together, get into trouble, talk about their futures. She’d always seen him like a kid, a little brat who had a smile that could light up the darkest corners of her childhood home.

But now…

Now, he was different.

“Hey, Seraphina,” came the familiar voice from behind her.

She turned, the instant recognition of his voice sending a rush of memories flooding back. There he stood, grown up, taller than she remembered, in the uniform of a star NHL player. His blue eyes sparkled with a warmth that felt so right yet so wrong at the same time.

She was used to being in control, to hiding everything beneath a surface so thick no one could see past it. But Luke? He saw. He saw everything.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” she said, offering a half-smile. She wasn’t sure if it was relief or something else that bubbled up when she saw him.

Luke’s grin widened, that same mischievous glint in his eyes. “Of course, I’m here. You didn’t think I’d let you come back without seeing me?” He stepped closer, and her pulse skipped, even though she told herself she shouldn’t let it affect her.

“You’re not a kid anymore,” she added, trying to keep the distance between them.

His gaze softened, the teasing shifting into something more sincere. “Neither are you, Seraphina.” His voice dropped lower, like a secret shared only between them. “I missed you.”

Her heart fluttered involuntarily, but she pushed it away. She couldn’t afford to feel.

“Alright, enough of this,” Quinn’s voice interrupted from the doorway. The older brother she never had, but who always seemed to know when things weren’t right. “Dinner’s ready. Everyone inside.”

Quinn had seen enough over the years. She had been home for a few days now, and he had already picked up on the subtle signs—the way Seraphina picked at her food, the way she didn’t quite look people in the eye, the way she avoided speaking when it got too real.

Dinner was always an ordeal for her, the part of the day where the hunger within her took center stage, reminding her of the numbers she had to control. But tonight, Quinn was determined to make her realize the truth.

The dinner table was filled with laughter, clinking silverware, and conversation. But Seraphina hardly noticed. Her plate remained untouched, and her eyes darted around the room, trying to avoid looking at the food in front of her. She couldn’t face it. Not yet.

Luke had noticed. Of course, he had. He was paying her way too much attention for her to ignore it. His teasing was relentless, his smile never wavering as he flirted, and each time she looked at him, she felt that familiar pang of guilt. She couldn’t even enjoy his attention without feeling ashamed.

Quinn noticed, too. His eyes flicked between Seraphina and her untouched plate. He wasn’t sure how to get through to her, but he knew one thing: she couldn’t keep hiding like this. She was a shell of the person she used to be.

When the meal ended, Quinn couldn’t hold back anymore. He leaned over to Seraphina, speaking quietly so Luke wouldn’t hear. “You didn’t touch your food.”

Seraphina shrugged, trying to brush it off. “I wasn’t hungry.”

But Quinn saw through it, his brow furrowing with concern. “You’re not hungry because you won’t let yourself be. You’re still doing this, aren’t you?”

Seraphina’s throat tightened, her stomach in knots. She didn’t want to talk about it. She never wanted to talk about it. But Quinn wasn’t backing down.

“I’m tired of it, Quinn,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m tired of being obsessed with calories. I just want to… stop.”

The tears came, unbidden, slipping down her cheeks as she finally let herself feel the weight of everything she had been hiding. The hunger, the control, the overwhelming loneliness of it all.

Quinn reached across the table, taking her hand in his, squeezing it gently. “We’ll figure it out. But you have to let us help, Seraphina.”

Before she could respond, Luke stepped into the conversation, his voice unusually soft. “Quinn’s right. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Seraphina met Luke’s gaze, surprised to see the sincerity in his eyes. He wasn’t the same boy she remembered—the boy who would joke and tease. No, this was the man who had grown up, who had seen the world, and who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind.

He crouched down beside her, his eyes never leaving hers. “I know I don’t have all the answers,” he said quietly, “but I want to help. You don’t have to hide from me. I’m here, Seraphina. You can trust me.”

Her heart thundered in her chest. How could she trust anyone when she couldn’t trust herself?

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “Scared that if I let go, I’ll lose control.”

Luke’s hand reached out, resting gently on hers. “You don’t have to control everything, Seraphina. It’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s okay to need someone.”

Tears filled her eyes again, but this time, they were different. This time, there was a flicker of something else—something soft, something that made her want to reach out, to let herself trust him.

Luke stayed with her, patiently, quietly. And as the night grew darker, as the moonlight filtered through the windows, she realized something she had been too afraid to admit.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

Later that night, when everyone else had gone to bed, Seraphina found herself standing on the porch, the cool air brushing her skin. The stars were out, twinkling above, and for a moment, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time: peace.

Luke appeared beside her, as if he had been waiting.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and comforting.

She nodded, her heart still racing from the conversation. “I think so.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he repeated, stepping closer, his presence steady and sure.

Seraphina looked at him, her breath catching in her throat. The man she had once seen as a little brother was now someone who made her feel safe, who saw past all the walls she had built.

She couldn’t help herself. Without thinking, she reached for him, her lips finding his in a gentle kiss.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t a confession. It was simply a moment—a moment of trust, of vulnerability, of realizing that maybe, just maybe, she could let go of the hunger. Let go of the control.

For the first time in years, Seraphina felt full—not of food, but of something much more nourishing.

Love.

[myuareustillsleeping]

My only love

→ ceo! yu jimin x wife!reader

synopsis: although jimin is a cold hearted ceo and boss to others, to y/n she’s her loving wife. so she will do anything for her.

warnings : fluff, jimin being frustrated with her workers, kissing, hugging, (name)’s ex working for jimin and gets fired.

(lowercase intended!)

wc: 711 words

“I TOLD YOU I NEEDED THIS DONE BY TODAY!” jimin’s, more known as karina, voice bounced off the walls as she pinched her nose in frustration. “just get out.” she sighed. she had a bad day today, partly because of the coffee machine being broken and she couldn’t have her coffee before starting work. being a ceo sure has its perks but also its consequences. her father had passed down his position to his heir, jimin, when she was 19. she’s 24 now and happily married due to an arranged marriage requested by her father.

a knock was heard from the door. “come in.” she said in a firm voice not even looking up. the woman walked in and put her arms infront of her in a polite manner.“ms yu, there’s someone here for you.” the assistant’s monotone voice ringed in jimin’s ear in a irritating way. “let them in.” she said while typing something. yu (name)’s head can be seen peeking from outside the door as if she was hiding.

the assistant nodded and opened the door abit more. jimin looked up and it was as if all her bad feelings were gone and stuffed in a hole never to be seen again. the assistant immediately headed out the door once (name) had entered the room. the assistant gently closed the door and got back to her work. “(name) darling, what are you doing here?” she stood up and said in a sweet soft voice.

“you left me in the bed alone with ice cream.” (name) pouted and crossed her arms in a jokingly manner. ice cream was their dog which they had adopted 2 months ago. they treated it as if they were their real child. “i’m so sorry, there was an emergency i had to fix.” she held out her arms and (name) walked into her arms. (name) buried her nose in jimin’s neck, inhaling the scent of the perfume that she always used.

“it’s okay.” (name) looked up and smiled at her. (name) giggled, that giggle turned into a laugh. jimin had a concerned and confused expression on her face. “why are you laughing?” she chuckled, finding this adorable. “you know, i heard you yelling at your workers.”(name) giggled like a child. jimin’s eyes widened. “oh.” was all she said.

(name) giggled, “i didn’t know you were like this.” jimin smiled and squished her cheeks, “that’s because i never do it around you, you don’t deserve to hear me yelling at people. i love you too much to do that.”

“i was hoping to hang out with you today, but it seems like you are too busy.” (name) pouted and puffed her cheeks out. “nonsense, i’ll cancel all my plans today.” jimin kissed (name)’s cheek. “you’d do that for me?” (name)’s eyes lit up. “i’d do anything for you.” jimin gave a small peck on (name)’s lips.

there was a knock on the door.

(name) immediately sat down on the chair infront of jimin and tried to look as professional as she could. “come in!” jimin’s voiced boomed. the door creaked opened revealing a man wearing glasses, he was one of jimin’s assistant.

“ricky?” (name)’s eyes widen as she saw her ex standing at the door. ricky’s eyes widen as he looked at (name). he gulped before looking at jimin. jimin was giving him a cold glare to hurry up and leave them alone. “ms yu-“ “did you just ignore (name)? who do you think you are.” her voice judging and questioning him. “ricky, get out. i don’t want to see your face anymore.” (name) said turning her head away from him.

jimin looked at him expectingly to get out. “ms yu-“ “GET OUT!” her voice loud and clear as she stood up. ricky nodded urgently and rushed out of the room closing the door behind him. jimin sighed, “who does he think he is?”

“he’s my ex.” (name) said in a quiet voice. jimin’s eyes widened and quickly called her other assistant to fetch ricky and bring him to her office. “dear, i’m so sorry, i didn’t know-“ “it’s okay jimin.” (name) cut her off and kissed her on the forehead.

soon a knock on the door could be heard, “come in.” this time, jimin didn’t shout. “ms yu, i have brought him like you requested.” she said in a monotone voice. “thank you, you may go.” jimin dismissed her and the assistant closed the door. “you.” jimin said pointing at him. “who do you think you are to talk to MY (name) like that?” her voice loud. “i-i-..” he stuttered and his fingers fidgeting.

“you’re fired.” she said coldly. ricky just stood there looking at (name) for help, unfortunately for him (name) was avoiding his gaze. “well what are you still doing here? do i need to get security on you?” she asked looking at him harshly. “n-no ma’am.” he shook his head and opened the door with his sweaty palms. the moment the door had closed, (name) lashed onto jimin’s lap and kissed her deeply. jimin was shocked but nonetheless her hands were on (name)’s waist.

“i love you.” (name) whispered under her breath.

“i love you too.”

[ahotchnerssa]

Stolen glances S.R

Author notes : this is part of celebration for @mggslover 1k celebration congratulation on hitting 1k in so proud of you it’s well deserved thank you for always being so kind to me and everything. Make sure to follow her she’s amazing mutual I respect in glad we are friends

I hope you like this I find writing for Spencer can be hard sometimes so I try my best with him . This makes me miss him more

Summary : you been dating Spencer for a few weeks after pinning for him for a year and every minute with him felt so surreal it was a secret from the team but half them already knew

Paring: fem!reader Spencer Reid

Content: pure fluff

Content warning: Includes kissing and affectionate touching in a workplace setting. Centers around a romantic relationship between you in Spencer Mentions past longing and emotional buildup before the relationship started. (Garcia) walks in on you and Spencer kissing, leading to an awkward but humorous moment.

Word count : 590

The late-night hum of the BAU office was familiar, comforting in its own way. Most of the team had already gone home, save for the few who always seemed to linger.

You had been dating for a few weeks now, though it still felt surreal. After nearly a year of pining for him, of stolen glances across the briefing room, of watching the way his mind worked like a finely tuned machine, you had finally bridged the gap. It had started with an accidental confession—your words slipping out between exhaustion and adrenaline after a particularly grueling case. You had expected rejection. What you got was Spencer staring at you like you were the most fascinating thing he had ever studied, and then, a quiet, "I think I’ve been waiting for you to say that."

Sneaking around with him had become something of an unspoken thrill. You weren’t exactly hiding—half the team already knew or at least suspected—but you liked the game of it. The thrill of stolen moments, whispered conversations in dim hallways, the brush of his fingers against yours as you passed each other in the bullpen. It was intoxicating.

The gun range had become your favorite excuse to spend time alone with him. You weren’t terrible with firearms, but you let him teach you anyway, just to hear his voice go soft as he corrected your grip, just to feel the warmth of his hands guiding yours.

Tonight, though, it was the record room.

You weren’t supposed to be here, not really. You’d come under the guise of retrieving an old case file, but Spencer had found you there first. One moment, you were reaching for a binder, and the next, his lips were on yours, hands bracketing your hips, pressing you back against the shelves.

It was slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing every second. His fingers tangled in your hair, his breath warm against your skin as he murmured, "I should be looking at case files right now."

You smiled against his lips, tightening your grip on his sweater. "Then why aren’t you?"

He exhaled a quiet laugh, his forehead resting against yours. "Because I’d rather be here. With you."

A warmth spread through you at his words, something deeper than just the thrill of sneaking around. It was the way he looked at you—like you mattered, like you were something he had no intention of letting go.

You traced your fingers along his jaw, voice softer now. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. How long I’ve wanted you."

Spencer's expression softened, his hands tightening at your waist. "I think I do," he admitted. "You used to find excuses to talk to me. Like asking me about probability statistics you already knew the answers to."

You groaned, burying your face in his shoulder. "That was terrible, wasn’t it?"

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair. "Endearing."

The moment stretched between you, something weightier than just stolen kisses. And then—

"Oh my God!" Garcia’s voice rang through the room, making you jump apart like guilty teenagers.

She stood in the doorway, eyes wide with something between amusement and triumph. "Are you two seriously making out in the record room?"

"No!" Spencer said too quickly, pushing his hands into his pockets.

Garcia gave him a look, then turned to you. "Uh-huh. Sure. Carry on, lovebirds. Just remember—sound carries in here."

With that, she winked and disappeared, leaving you and Spencer standing there, breathless.

You let out a groan, covering your face. "She knows."

"She definitely knows," Spencer agreed, but his lips twitched into a small smile. "Do you care?"

You thought about it for a moment before shaking your head. "Not really."

Maybe sneaking around wouldn’t last much longer. But as long as you got to keep this—keep him—you didn’t really care.

[fearcutsdeeper]

Hi, I’ve really been enjoying your Temeraire posting! I saw in the tags of one of your posts recently (I think the one about the Laurence+Rankin friendship era in book one) that you read Laurence as autistic and the idea really tickled my brain! I’m a new fan of the series and I haven’t thought of him that way before, but now that you pointed it out it makes so much sense. I was wondering if you’d be willing to elaborate a bit on that reading of his character? It’s a super interesting idea and I’d love to hear more of your thoughts if you feel like sharing!

Absolutely!!! The first time I read the books I was really flying through them and too caught up in the character arc I could feel taking shape before my eyes to really dwell on the character as he is, if that makes sense. I'm reading more slowly this time and really considering his thoughts and actions in context, and they feel... like, very relatable to me in a specific way.

(Disclaimer: this is a personal reading, not trying to claim this is an objective truth about the character or anything, etc)

One thing about the way a lot of people discuss autistic or perceived-as-autistic characters is that they'll recognize them as autistic based on straightforward expression of symptoms/traits that you might read off a list. This isn't doing it wrong or anything, and the characters in question can easily be read as autistic! But those aren't usually the characters I see myself in.

I'll pretty often start seeing a character as autistic not because they're outwardly showing symptoms, but because their behavior strikes me as learned compensation for symptoms. Data from Star Trek is very frequently seen as autistic coded not just because of his frequently expressed lack of understanding for social conventions but also because he then explicitly writes himself new subroutines to account for what he learns. A lot of autistic people (including myself) go through their lives kind of accumulating "scripts" – like, oh, I seem to have missed that X was a signal, but the person's reaction tells me that the appropriate response would have been Y. Next time I encounter X, I will do Y.

Now, Will Laurence builds his ENTIRE LIFE around the elaborate rules of British propriety and honor and duty. He tells us that he enjoys Society – "conversation, dancing, and friendly whist were his favorite pursuits". All three things listed are, in Georgian wealthy society, things with a strict and learnable structure and rules – he likes when what he's supposed to do is clearly laid out for him! He's in I think his late thirties when the series starts. I'm basically reading him as an autistic man who realized that people didn't make sense to him the way they did to other children and then spent his entire life Learning The Rules so no one would notice.

Every time he's engaging with propriety and Proper Behavior, he's thinking very consciously about it. And when someone else violates his understanding of the rules, he's internally scrambling for the proper response, because his script has been disrupted. (My personal favorite it when he'll go "the only satisfactory response would be a challenge to duel but I'm not allowed anymore")

So, he's been doing this all his life, he's learned all the rules for the life track he's put himself on (which is a highly structured one!), and then, boom, the plot hits.

The Rules of aviator society are totally different. Laurence is affronted and scrambling. I find it notable that Berkley basically plows right through Laurence's attempts at propriety and immediately starts talking to him like he would any other aviator, and it WORKS. Laurence is kind of taken aback, because his rules would interpret the way he's being spoken to as an insult, but Berkley certainly isn't acting like he means to give insult, so Laurence doesn't respond like he's received one. There's also the bit where he notes that the woman serving him has violated protocol by greeting him instead of being silent – but he returns the greeting and isn't offended.

He's mirroring like hell! (This is a common autistic trait.) He's working out what the expected behavior is and returning it as much as he can manage. And when he's with Rankin, he reverts to his society scripts, with so much relief that he ignores some warning signs.

And this makes his whole arc of disillusionment with the British Government SO interesting, because Laurence, I think anyone would agree, takes the honor that the government pays lip service to dramatically more seriously than most members of the government and Admiralty. And, until he gets the truth shoved in his face, he has enormous trouble conceiving of that. It really reads as autistic to me – like, what do you MEAN the elaborate system of morals you told me to structure my personality around is only window dressing to you? It's sure as hell not window dressing to me!

In this reading, in addition to all the other incredible things that his story is about, it's also about an autistic guy becoming increasingly uncomfortably aware that the systems of rules and parameters which he painstakingly learned and have successfully guided him through most of his life are fundamentally in conflict with each other, and eventually being forced at gunpoint to decide which of those rules really truly matter, throw out the rest, and rebuild from scratch.

Which is to say: my man is in hell. At least he has a dragon?

[so-much-for-subtlety]

I’ve been dreaming a bit more about Japan and thought I’d share what I’ve learnt today.

There are over 6 million abandoned houses in Japan (due to shrinking population, and kids who inherit the property don’t want it) they’re called Akiya.

There are various websites that list them in English language eg https://www.akiya-mart.com

You can visit Japan for 90 days twice a year, as a tourist, so essentially you can live there 6 months a year on tourist visa. Anyone can buy property in Japan (you don’t have to be a resident).

Some of these properties are livable, some might require cosmetic repairs, others might require very expensive repairs. Traditional wooden Japanese houses might have termite damage (especially if they’ve been abandoned). It might need earthquake proofing.

You can get a startup visa which will allow you to get residency (and to open bank account etc that tourists can not do) but you need to be able to either invest about $30k USD or hire two Japanese nationals. With this start up visa you used to only have 6 months to get business operational, and were limited to specific areas of Japan, but stating Jan 1 2025 they have expanded this start up visa to all of Japan and now allow 2 years for business to be operational.

My understanding is that after this period you switch to a business manager visa which needs to be renewed every year (and I believe the condition is that your business is profitable).

here’s a post about a couple who went though this process and invested into opening an inn for tourists that they rent on AirB&B

They did this when startup visa was just 6 months, and they purchased while they were on tourist visa and started renovations then so they could be in shape to open and start operating on time.

they have a post about some of the changes to startup visa and they mention that although technically these new easier conditions started 1/1/2025 it might take some time for each local region to get up to speed with offering this.

They purchased on a small island and along with the inn are doing beekeeping for honey and it sounds like although they are foreigners that have only basic Japanese language that they have been warmly welcomed by community and the city has been supportive of their venture.

But if you have ~$30k (I guess you actually need a fair amount more than that because you’d need flights and temporary accommodation etc) and want to live in rural area of Japan it’s a pretty interesting option!

I don’t think I’d want to run an inn, but I can imagine having a small bakery/coffee shop, and if you can get an Akiya in either a tourist area or a residential area I imagine it would be pretty easy to be profitable.

I’ve never even visited Japan, but I guess something to dream about!

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: teen? cw: swearing, relationship drama, trying to talk things out but failing, mentions of show typical horrors, mentions of migraines, hints of nightmares tags: established relationship, red string of fate, robin's pathetic love life, steve's a romantic, the boys are on two different pages, but they get it together, grand gestures of love word count: 3685

written for @steddiebingo's Kissing Booth Card "soulmates"

huge, huge thanks to @hbyrde36 for the push that got me to where I needed to be with this! you're the best!!

read it on ao3

-

In an unfortunate tradition forming in their house, Steve and Eddie laid in their bed not yet ready for sleep but knowing they both had early shifts tomorrow and should be sleeping. Since sleep wouldn’t come, they laid in the dark and stared at the ceiling. That got old fast and was always followed by Steve filling the air with his thoughts. 

That was the best part, it made the insomnia worth it. Never did Steve speak so freely as he did when laying there in the dark. Sometimes it was an in depth analysis of why Han Solo really is cool and not a loser but other times it was childhood stories and big worries. Both were welcomed but Eddie liked the latter more. 

They’d landed somewhere in the middle this time. A conversation that started out simple enough; Robin had been lamenting her “horrible” love life again. Steve was always trying to win the best best friend award because Eddie would have locked Robin and Vickie in a room by now and told them they couldn’t come out until they kissed. 

He still might. If only for his own sanity because Steve brought this shit home every time Robin was feeling low about it. 

Steve dutifully listened to every repeated worry she had. Never complaining. He was a good guy. Better than Eddie deserved, that was for sure. Probably better than Robin deserved but who was worthy of a guy like Steve? Robin and Eddie were the ones lucky enough to be picked by him. 

Or, like Steve’s conversation led to, brought together by fate. Them being cosmically meant to be wasn’t something Eddie had expected tonight but maybe dating the sort of guy who could only drink store brand cola when his team played or else they’d lose was the kind of guy to have thoughts on destiny and fate and other made up magic made to sell things. 

The skepticism wasn’t welcome and Steve asked, “So you don’t think we’re tied together?” 

Eddie sighed, all too aware that this teetered on being a thing. The sort of the thing the other mechanics complained about on smoke breaks but Eddie didn’t understand fully. Until now, that is. If he didn’t say the right thing, there was going to be a problem. 

If only the thoughts in his head matched the words coming out of his mouth. “No! How would that even work? What if you lived in China? We’d never find each other!” 

“What if I decided to visit America and then I was a tourist going around Chicago and your band was playing that night but you and Jeff were bored so you wandered the town and we both got pizza at the same place? You’d invite me to your show, of course I’d be wowed, and no one would know why we ran into each other but we were supposed to.” 

Steve came with that answer so quickly that all Eddie could do was stare at him in disbelief. Was that a dream he had? Why did he do that so fast? They also needed to revisit that some other time because those storytelling skills had other uses. 

“What if you were a woman?” Eddie asked, prodding the issue a little. 

“Then you’d figure out you’re bisexual a lot quicker than you are now,” Steve scoffed. 

Again, he came with that too quickly. It brought up even more questions than the fairy tale Steve spontaneously composed. Namely what evidence did Steve have to say that in any universe. What did he know? 

Rather than get into that particular discussion, Eddie huffed and pulled the blanket over his head. He took a moment to himself to think about all of these and maybe brainstorm a few ways to make Buckley’s life hell for dropping this on his doorstep. 

It was one thing to whine and complain and pine but when that caused troubles in Eddie’s relationship, something needed to happen. Something more than pushing these hopeless lesbians together. Right now, Eddie’s only thought was getting Vickie dates with anyone else. Really make Buckley suffer. 

Steve didn’t need Eddie’s participation to continue though. That’s how he always talked at this hour, it was what Eddie loved about laying here too tired to stay awake but too awake to find sleep. Steve would just fill the void until sleep came for one of them. Tonight, Eddie wasn’t sure if it was a good thing but he listened. Cautiously. 

“I’ll wait for you to figure it out, it’s not a big deal. I’m not rushing you or whatever and it doesn’t even matter, right? Like, you’re not dating anyone else so who cares.” 

Eddie groaned and tried to roll over to wrap himself up in the comforter completely but Steve must have been holding his end. There was no give in the blanket so Eddie flopped back in place and grumbled again. 

“But Robin says she can feel it, the string that connects her and Vickie. There’s a pull or something and everything leads to Vickie. She was nothing but evidence. Mountains of evidence. No mountain ranges of evidence and I know how you nerds love your evidence but it was too much.” 

“I’m not a nerd,” Eddie deadpanned. Another thing he wasn’t going to get into right now. 

“You are but that–” 

“So are you,” Eddie countered, the same thing he always said in this conversation. On paper, Steve was a way bigger nerd than Eddie was. 

“Anyway,” Steve said forcefully. “I don’t feel that with you. I don’t think we’re connected by a string or anything else. Like it’d probably be chains or something but Robin says that’s not how it works. Plus, I guess, chains are usually a bad thing in relationships. I just thought they sounded cooler than a string.” 

Oh, okay. Someone slapped the metaphorical television and now Eddie was seeing the picture clearly. This wasn’t another long conversation about Buckley’s miserable pining, this was about Steve and Eddie. 

Well shit. Here Eddie was being a brat about the sentimentality and idea of yet another evening dedicated to Robin’s inability to make the first move. Only it wasn’t about any of that. Mental gears needed to be shifted and a bit of recovery was in order. Neither were easy right now. 

To avoid the apologies part, Eddie rolled to his side despite the blanket not coming with him and tried to think this all through. All he could think about was meeting Robin in a back alley and thanking her with his fists. That wasn’t helpful but it was an enjoyable moment. No one caused more problems between Steve and Eddie than her. 

“I’m not even sure how Robin knows she has one,” Steve said and the hurt in his voice stabbed Eddie right in the chest. This stream of consciousness was getting real serious, real quick. 

“Motherfucker,” Eddie said as he shot a glare at the back of the comforter, emphasising the last syllable with every annoyed bone in his body. 

“How’s she know the other end goes to Vickie? How would anyone know where the other end of theirs is? I mean, what if mine goes to Robin? I’ve called her my soulmate so many times before but that’s not the same as, like, you?” 

Eddie knew those questions weren’t asked to have answers, they were part of Steve working this out. He was saying all the things he couldn’t ask Robin in a moment that was about her. Everything he’d held back to be a supportive best friend was spilling out here. 

Not that Eddie didn’t want to be there to help him work things out. Sometimes his answers were better received outside of this sort of spiraling though. Eddie did shift back to his back, no longer trying to freeze Steve out here but he stayed quiet as his boyfriend poured out his worries. 

“But also, why’s she so worried about soulmates? Can’t she just be happy we’re alive and that there’s anyone in town to even have a crush on? That’s really unfair of me to say, I know. I mean, look what I got, but it just seems like the only thing she wants is this whole big grand storybook thing.” 

Eddie caught the wistful sigh, Steve was just as romantic as Robin was. If not more so. Sure it was different flavors of the same soup or whatever but they were the sappiest romantics Eddie had ever met. It was no wonder they found each other. Occasionally, that wasn’t a good thing. This might be one of those moments. 

“And besides, if there were red strings attaching soulmates that people knew about then how come Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler are married? It doesn’t make any sense.” 

“But you want one,” Eddie said, moving the blanket off his face. He easily ignored the comments about other people’s marriages. Loads of people didn’t marry for love but it was that romanticism, Steve thought everyone did. Despite a fine example of people not marrying for love were his parents. 

“Do you think we have one?” 

Eddie lifted his arm to dangle in the air and then yanked it as far away from Steve as he could without falling out of bed. “Did you feel that?” 

“Yeah, dipshit, you shook the whole bed.” 

Whoops, so that wasn’t the right answer. It was marginally better than talking about how dumb Eddie thought the whole concept was but still wrong. He could think of a million reasons that he and Steve were meant for each other, current conversation aside. Why did they need some silly stupid string to connect them? 

The rant sitting on the tip of Eddie’s tongue was too lengthy, they were supposed to be sleeping and maybe part of growing up was learning not everything needed to be an epic speech. Still, Eddie was one breath away from flipping on the lights to explain everything he felt right now. It wouldn’t help anyone, though. 

Maybe in the morning, Eddie would have a more coherent argument. He was sure if he got up now it’d be a lot of incoherent rambling. Angry, incoherent rambling that would probably lead to him sleeping on the couch. 

Neither of them said anything after that. Steve tossed and turned a bit but eventually filled the air with his snoring. Eddie had a tougher time finding sleep as he replayed everything that happened over and over, practicing all the things he wanted to say. 

Starting with a long winded explanation that there was no string connecting Robin and Vickie, Robin just needed to believe it wouldn’t crash and burn if she tried anything while giving herself a reason to not do anything. If they were connected by fate then they’d be pulled together when the time was right. 

A wonderful thought that would lead to nothing. Eddie couldn’t take on the insurmountable task of explaining that to either of them though. It didn’t matter who believed in mysticism and bullshit meant to make marriage look better, what mattered was Steve believed this. He wanted a soulmate and, apparently, wanted that to be Eddie. A terrifying thought if ever there was one. 

Steve should probably aim a little higher. Maybe find someone who believed there was a string tied between them. 

The alarm rang out way too soon. Eddie hadn’t worked this all out or gotten any rest. Nowhere in Steve’s fairy tale version of being in love did it talk about staying up all night because of irrational worries one’s partner had. Or how life had to go on after some weirdness. Bills still needed to be paid. 

—-

It’d been two weeks since Steve laid awake struggling over where his red string of fate was. They hadn’t talked about it again but it’d been a constant in the back of Eddie’s mind. Every idle moment it’d shuffle to the forefront and he’d grapple with it again. 

Not that it’d been a fight between them, at best it was Eddie saying the wrong thing and they were used to that, but Steve was kind of right. Something Eddie was okay with admitting, he just had to find out a way to do it. There needed to be more than an apology but if Eddie was good at one thing, it was making a production out of something. 

Soulmates hadn’t ever been anything Eddie was looking for in his life. He didn’t dream of a prince charming or even like rom coms. If the club tried to force romance into their quests then Eddie would kill someone’s character and get them back on track. He wasn’t sappy like the rest of them. 

Every couple of months or so Eddie would fall into some sort of funk thinking Steve was going to wise up and get out. Even as he had his own little love story, he didn’t buy into it all the way. His invisible hand wasn’t tying strings anywhere, it was waiting to pull rugs out from under Eddie. 

However, in the days since the subject came up, Eddie realized how almost unbelievable it was that he ended up here with Steve. There were so many points in their brief history together that one tiny decision would have pushed them apart. That over and over and over again fate stepped in and kept him in Steve’s Harrington’s path. 

Which was all a little too serious for Eddie. He spent an entire day thinking about how sad it was that Steve was destined to be with him out of all the people in the world. Which was followed by several days of thinking about how fucking lucky Steve was. Not that his soulmate was right where he was but that it was Eddie!

So, yeah, they didn’t rescue each other from some tall tower to prove this was real but maybe there was a little something to Buckley’s stupid belief. The jury was still out if the other end of her string went to Vickie or not but as thanks for creating this mess in Eddie’s life, he decided not to point that out to her. 

Once Eddie got himself on the right side of this debate, he started to think about ways to help Steve over this little hurdle. That brought up some other feelings and prolonged anything as Eddie struggled with it too. Not in the same way as Steve though. 

Why wasn’t everything he’d done good enough to show they were meant to be together or that Eddie was very, very happy with Steve? Why did they need some mythical string tying them together when Eddie could pick up on Steve’s migraines before Steve could? Or that Eddie could make Steve’s favorite dinner better than anyone else? What about the fact that he didn’t hang up a sword on the wall in the living room? 

There were so many things that screamed out love while Steve was looking for a whisper. In the recurring self doubt, Eddie realized it was a difference in language and sometimes he had to communicate in a way Steve understood. If this was something he needed then Eddie would wrap a string around the planet all so Steve could find his way back to him. 

Unfortunately that wasn’t in the budget and after a few days of brainstorming and a couple of Girl Scout books from the library, Eddie found the answer. An infinity knot bracelet. It wasn’t complicated or expensive but when was a gesture of love about either of those things? It was well within Eddie’s skill set and did exactly what he wanted it to.

With his photocopied directions and practice string, Eddie got it worked out in twenty minutes. It’d have been faster but the directions were a little misleading. They made an incredibly simple thing seem like weaving a whole tapestry. Those poor little girls. 

He made a matching set but made sure to make one end longer than necessary, that was the part that went on and connected to the other. Eddie road tested it one afternoon while Steve was at work and it didn’t get in the way. It was long enough to show it was deliberate but not to endanger them. 

From there it was figuring out how to give it to Steve. Like someone waiting to propose, Eddie carried the bracelets with him everywhere he went, hoping Robin’s sad string would come up again or…well Eddie didn’t know what else. If the universe was so invested, it’d give him a good moment. 

Instead, Eddie got a dead tired Steve who plopped himself face down on the couch to groan and whine about customers. Eddie brought in sodas and sat cross legged on the coffee table to listen to every complaint. They were always the same but if Eddie had to deal with customers he’d have committed a real murder and not just been accused of one. Listening to their crimes was the least he could do if it kept Steve (or him) out of prison. 

“This can’t be the rest of my life,” Steve moaned, a sentiment so common it was baked into the apartment walls at this point. 

Why that was the moment, Eddie will never know, but he sprung from his spot and ran to his jacket. Soda nearly spilled all over the entryway as he searched the pockets to grab that now familiar handful of red rope. Once he found them, he ran back to Steve. 

Eddie launched into an answer despite the gap in time. “Look, whatever. Sometimes life is dumb, right? It gives you a stupid job and, I don’t know, fucking monsters man. It’s given us some shit, god, but it’s not all bad.” 

Steve pulled his face up from the couch and looked at Eddie like he was speaking another language. A fair reaction, Eddie was sure that didn’t make a lick of sense. 

“Okay, lemme try that again? I think the universe tells you stuff but you don’t know how to listen and I think it’s been screaming at you to go to college. You’re not supposed to work at a register all day, man. I really think you gotta do something else like be a teacher or, I don’t know, a hand model. Something really important.” 

“Why’d you have to run around the house for that?” Steve asked after shifting to lay on his side. 

“Oh!” Eddie shook his head and held out his hand. “Because you thought you didn’t have a red string like Robin. You thought we didn’t and if you can’t see what the universe is giving you, I’m going to make it undeniable.” 

With that Eddie held out his hand, two tangled up bracelets tried to spring to life from where he’d been clenching them together after retrieving them. 

Cautiously, Steve sat up and inspected the pile. He pulled one out and Eddie immediately tossed his to the side and snatched Steve’s back. A little too aggressively, he took Steve’s hand and slid the bracelet on before he pulled it tight. Then put his own on to hold up to Steve’s. 

“See,” he said. 

Steve sat there and turned his wrist back and forth, Eddie slid to the end of the table and tried to read this look he’d not seen before. Unsure if he’d done the right thing and was dying inside waiting to hear anything from Steve. 

When he couldn’t wait anymore Eddie tried to help the situation. “I made these parts longer so you know that’s the part that’s connected to mine and stuff. I don’t know, man. I don’t think there’s any doubt in my mind that you’re the one for me but if you can’t see that, I’ll help you out. Always.” 

Steve sucked in a few breaths so quickly that Eddie thought the guy was hyperventilating. Eddie put his hands on Steve’s knees, ready to launch into the “nightmares protocol” here but after a few of them, Steve started to breathe normally again. 

“This is so fucking sappy,” Steve said, his voice choking on the words. 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Well you’d know. Good god, if there was an expert on the subject…” 

With the weakest hand, Steve shoved at Eddie’s shoulder but instantly pulled it back to go back to staring at his newly decorated wrist. 

There were a few beats of needed silence before Eddie leaned in and said, “I mean it though.” 

Maybe he wasn’t the best at saying what he was feeling, even now when the moment called for it, but all Eddie could do was try. Judging by the way Steve looked right now, that was enough.

Butterflies filled Eddie’s stomach, the same way they did before him and Steve did anything. Back when they thought they’d just be friends and Eddie didn’t want to be in the same room as him because he couldn’t stop undressing Steve with his eyes. Or, in the stuff he wouldn’t admit, wanted to take him to the movies and fancy dinners and shit. 

It was the sort of feeling that Eddie wanted to crawl inside of and make a home. And how did he tell Steve any of that? It was hardly a beautiful poem or whatever romantic people liked, though it would make a good song. One Eddie started mentally writing, wishing for a notebook nearby or something.

Steve struggled with his words too. Which was kind of nice, in a weird way. So they sat there for a long time, together and not saying anything. Until Steve dragged Eddie to the couch and curled up against him. 

They didn’t bother with reruns or the nightly news, they just sat together. What else was there to do when someone made the proclamation of a life together forever? And there wasn’t a single doubt in Eddie’s mind that he would be with Steve until the day he died. Maybe the universe did know a thing or two. They just had to listen a little closer. 

[they-call-me-whiskey]

All the bitter truths

pairing: Sirius Black x fem!reader

summary: knowing the truth doesn’t make it hurt any less.

warnings: angst; probably some ooc; English is not my first language.

author's note: sorry not sorry. here's the link to the previous chapter.

Sirius has no idea how you found out about his initial intentions, and honestly, he doesn’t even care—all he wants is to fix things with you, but he doesn’t know how, and it’s driving him mad.

he tries to reach you that same day, but you lock yourself in your dormitory and refuse to come out. he considers asking one of your roommates—who is also your close friend—about you, but the moment she sees him, the first thing she says is, “what did you do?”

apparently, you haven’t spoken to anyone. all she knows is that you’d been happy that morning, gone on a date with Sirius, returned early—completely broken—and refused to talk.

Sirius knows that if he tells her the truth, she will never help him. in fact, she will do everything she can to keep him away from you. So he doesn’t.

the next day, he waits outside your classes, hoping to catch you alone. but you either never turn up, or you somehow find another way to slip past him. by lunchtime, it’s clear you’re actively avoiding him.

by dinner, you aren’t even sitting in your usual spot in the Great Hall.

the ache in Sirius’ chest grows heavier with every passing hour. he isn’t used to feeling helpless—he’s always the one who can talk his way out of anything. but none of his usual tricks will work here. you don’t need his charm or his grand gestures. you need the truth.

the problem is, he doesn’t know how to give it to you.

because, technically, you’re right.

at first, he pursued you with the sole intention of winding up his family. dating a Muggle-born, parading you around Hogwarts, making sure everyone saw how much he adored you—it had been an act of defiance, another way to prove that he was nothing like them.

but somewhere along the way, it stopped being about them.

he isn’t sure when it happened—maybe it was the first time you ran your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, or the time you hexed a Slytherin who insulted him, or the way you always saved him the last piece of toast at breakfast. maybe it was all of it.

all Sirius knows is that, before he even realises it, he has fallen in love with you.

and now he’s losing you.

he can’t let that happen.

so, that night, Sirius does the only thing he can think of.

he writes you a letter.

it’s messy, rushed, but it’s honest.

when he slips it under your dormitory door, he hesitates for a moment, fingers lingering against the wood. part of him wants to knock, to force you to face him, but he knows better.

so he steps back.

he doesn’t sleep that night.

every creak of the dormitory floorboards makes him lift his head, every shift of the wind outside makes his heart lurch. maybe you’re reading it. maybe you’ve already thrown it away.

but maybe—just maybe—it’ll be enough.

darling,

I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, and I wouldn’t blame you if you burned this before reading it. but I need you to know the truth, even if you never speak to me again.

yes, in the beginning, I wanted to piss off my family. I was angry, reckless, and you were— Merlin, I don’t even have the words for what you were. brilliant. fearless. everything they hated. I wanted to shove it in their faces. to show them I could love someone they’d never accept.

but here’s the part I don’t know how to make you believe:

it stopped being about them a long time ago.

I fell in love with you. I didn’t plan to, didn’t expect to, but I did. and I know that doesn’t erase how we started. I know that if I’d been a better person back then, I would have seen you for who you are instead of what you represented. but I see you now. and I swear to you, there isn’t a single thing in this world I care about more than you.

I don’t expect you to forgive me. but if there’s even the smallest chance that you believe me, that you could maybe—not today, not tomorrow, but someday—let me prove that this was real… then I’ll wait.

forever, if I have to.

Sirius

the parchment crinkles in your hands as you finish reading. the words sit heavy in your chest, but all you can focus on is one thing.

“I know that if I’d been a better person back then, I would have seen you for who you are instead of what you represented.”

because that’s exactly it, isn’t it? if he hadn’t needed to rebel, he wouldn’t have looked at you twice. he can say he loves you now, but would he ever have loved you if not for them? if not for spite?

your throat burns as you fold the letter, setting it aside like it might hurt you if you hold it too long.

you don’t sleep that night.

your mind won’t let you. not with his words echoing over and over, not with the question you don’t know how to answer.

does it even matter?

the morning after, Sirius arrives at breakfast, hoping to see you. his eyes scan the Great Hall, searching for any sign of you, but you’re nowhere to be found. his chest tightens. did you even read the letter? did you toss it aside without a second thought?

the uneasy feeling follows him all the way to first period. then, just as he and the other Marauders head down the corridor, he spots you.

before he can think, he moves towards you, but Remus catches his arm.

“wait, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Remus asks carefully.

Sirius shrugs him off. “I just want to talk.”

before anyone else can stop him, he’s running after you.

he catches up easily, reaching for your wrist, and you freeze at his touch.

“can we talk?” his voice is quiet, almost pleading.

you hesitate, your eyes darting to the students passing by. then, shaking your head, you pull away.

“I’ll be late for class.” the words are clipped, and before he can protest, you turn and leave.

Sirius stands there, stunned. he thought the letter would fix things—or at least help. instead, it feels like nothing has changed.

behind him, James places a hand on his shoulder. “give it time, mate.”

Remus sighs. “just… give her some space.”

Sirius doesn’t reply. he can’t.

but he doesn’t listen, either.

in class, he tries to catch your attention, but you keep your gaze forward, refusing to acknowledge him. when he leans closer, whispering your name, you sigh.

“fine,” you murmur. “after class.”

it’s not much, but it’s something.

the moment class ends, Sirius is at your side. “listen, I’m sorry, I—” he doesn’t waste time, doesn’t give you the chance to slip away again.

you glance around. “not here. let’s talk somewhere private.”

he nods immediately. “alright.”

you walk in silence until you find an empty corridor, away from prying eyes. the tension is thick, pressing against Sirius’ chest, and he hates it. he hates the distance, hates the way you’re looking at him like he’s someone you don’t quite recognise anymore.

“I wrote you a letter,” he says when you stop.

“I know. I read it,” you reply.

“I meant every word,” he rushes out, his voice urgent. “I love you. I—”

“I believe you.”

the words stun him into silence.

he expected resistance. doubt. maybe even anger.

but this?

“then why—”

“because that’s not the point.” you take a deep breath, looking at him like you’re waiting for him to understand. “you love me now. but if you didn’t need to prove a point—if you hadn’t needed an easy, convenient person to use—you would have never even looked at me.”

Sirius shakes his head. “that’s not—”

“think about it,” you cut in. “really think about it before you say anything.”

silence stretches between you.

and then, without another word, you turn and walk away.

Sirius watches you go, a sinking feeling settling deep in his chest.

because he does think about it.

and for the first time, he doesn’t like the answer.

[roanofarcc]

PEACE

pairing: sasappis x ghost!reader

summary: being somewhat new to the afterlife left you hanging on the outside of things. you liked the quiet and to keep to yourself. and despite sass history, he found himself interested in your quiet nature.

warnings: some sass fluff for you all on this fine day. gn!reader

word count. 830 | masterlist

You found your afterlife companions quite entertaining. Their schemes and ploys kept them entertained, but you enjoyed watching them from the outside. Sometimes it became overwhelming, their boisterous nature and need to fill in the gaps of quiet with something other than stewing in their thoughts. 

You, on the other hand, liked being alone and relishing in the lack of need to be productive, build a future, and constantly keep moving. There was no need anymore; you were dead, and you wanted death to be peaceful. So, you observed and kept to yourself. 

The other ghosts started to understand how you operated and left you to your own company unless they could pique your interest with some plot, then they eagerly kept you in the loop. Otherwise, you spend your days wandering around the home and the property enjoying the quiet of your mind that finally had some time to relax without the pressure of life pressing down on it. 

“Hi.” A voice broke through your thoughts as you sat cross-legged at the edge of the pond. Glancing over your shoulder, you were met with a shy-smiled Sasappis, who rocked back on his heels. 

“Hi,” you greeted. 

He cleared his throat, flickering his gaze between you and the rippling water that was being enjoyed by a family of ducks enjoying a mid-day swim. “Mind if I join you?” 

His question surprised you. Sass had been a ghost for a long time; he seemed to enjoy the chaos of the house to fill his time. It wasn’t often that you spotted him alone or quiet. He liked to talk, he liked to gossip, and he liked to fill his time with doing things. You understood, to an extent. Being a ghost for as long as he and Thor had probably came with years of quiet, and he probably didn’t want that anymore. That was why you didn’t believe you and him were as acquainted as you were with Hetty or Flower, both of whom enjoyed some peace and quiet now and then. Flower enjoyed meditating and Hetty enjoyed bird watching.

Swallowing your surprise, you nodded and patted the grass beside you. Sass lowered himself to the ground, his hands instantly playing with the slightly overgrown blades of grass that surrounded the pond. 

“You’d think after as long as I’d been here, I’d come out here more,” Sass said, gazing out at the water. 

“It’s nice,” you said. “Peaceful.” 

Sass chuckled lightly. “Unlike inside?” 

Your eyes widened slightly. “No, that’s not what I mean.” You knew sometimes quietness could come off as rudeness, but that wasn’t how you felt. You were never annoyed at your ghostly counterparts, you just enjoyed being alone sometimes. “Is that what you think?” 

Sass shrugged. “I wouldn’t blame you. It can get a little chaotic in there, with us. We’re not exactly always a chill group to be around.” 

“I like being around you,” you replied, earning a quick turn of Sass’s head toward you. “All of you, I mean. But I also like quiet, sometimes.” 

“Quiet,” he repeated before taking in a deep breath of fresh air. “Am I ruining that right now?” 

You smiled. “No.” 

Sass relaxed, lifting his chin up to the sun and closing his eyes for a moment. You watched him, finding it endearing the way his hands never seemed to stop fiddling and how the air buzzed around him. Being a ghost for so long probably made one antsy, bursting with sound and movement. 

He only sat still for a minute or less, before he peeled his eye open. “Is it going to annoy you if I say something?” 

You shook your head. “You could never annoy me.” 

He narrowed his gaze. “You sound sure of that.” 

“Just because I don’t talk much doesn’t mean I hate when other people do.” In fact, if you had to listen to anyone in the house, Sass was at the top of the list. You found him intriguing. 

That was just the catalyst, that day at the pond. From that point on, Sass always found you when you slipped off to another room of the house or the pond. He seemed to know when you wanted his company and when you needed some time alone, and he always honored it without a word. How he understood you so well, you didn’t know, he just did. 

He liked listening to you when you spoke and began understanding your liking for the quiet. Sometimes you two would sit, not a word said, but the silence spoke all it needed to. You opened up to him and he relished in the comfort of stillness with you. A calm, slow relationship bloomed in space between you two, much to the other ghosts' surprise. You and Sass weren’t too alike, but that made it a nice match; there were things to learn from each other and not an end in sight in which you’d have to stop doing so. 

[arcxnumvitae]

Every time I make a post about my fae being dramatic or them being weird, please know that I’m doing so because I’m also in stupefied awe at it.

[redflannelsheets]

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[itsdelicate]

how is it taylor is as popular as she is now but i still don’t have a single friend who’s also a huge fan 🤨