#Write ing very quick

[itspileofgoodthings]

I love the rhyming on ttpd. can only think of two examples currently but I know there’s more.

[yunsound]

The Third Installment to the Oubing Saga- Yunbing

PRIOR EXPERIENCE NEEDED!

Entry ticket: reading this post and acknowledging that the following is about to be 18+. No, I'm not writing anything explicit, but it's going to be some mentions of sex. Move on.

After finishing Ne Zha 2025 (or the 2019 version if you're a real one), did you feel overcome by the gayness? Did you wonder why the fuck anyone would ever look at their best friend like that? Did shoujo anime music start playing in the back of your head?

...yeah you're not alone.

As previously mentioned, Oubing is currently China's biggest fandom ship (I stay hopeful that this wave of hype will last longer than it did in 2019). I also trust that you all understand why that is.

Seriously, I've never seen any piece of Chinese media except for straight up BL THIS gay.

Let's count on one hand how many BL tropes these movies include.

Red/blue

Soulmates

Only friend

Enemies to lovers

Friends to lovers

Oh oops, we ran out of fingers! Next hand.

Friends to enemies to friends to lovers

Forbidden romance

Demon x angel

Two halves of one... thing

...bondage? I suppose? If you know you know THE scene.

Oh wow look at that we ran out of fingers again. MOVING ON TO THE NEXT HAND-

Okay, I'll stop here. All of this makes Oubing technically a very vanilla ship (ignore the bondage that's mostly a joke. Though you WILL see a lot of art involving Ne Zha's red sash in... different usages) and very sweet. Pure love, I suppose.

Do you know about Shangmei Oubing, a variation on Oubing featuring different adaptations of Ne Zha and Ao Bing? Well now you do. Read this post to figure out what I'm talking about.

If there's a spectrum of the wholesome-ness of Oubing ships, Shangmei Oubing is in the middle. Yes, it's very toxic, but technically Ne Zha does really love Ao Bing a lot, just in the wrong ways.

On the OPPOSITE end of that spectrum, we have Yunbing.

Yunbing is the ship between Ne Zha and Ao Bing from the 2021 movie New Gods Reborn: Ne Zha. The movie itself is on Netflix- it's kind of a mid movie, I'm NGL, but the animation is pretty good.

I haven't watched the whole movie (how do I know it's mid? Because I saw some clips and they made me sigh out loud) so I'm maybe not the most reliable critic, but it's just not peak storytelling, okay?

Yunbing is 80% made TF up (headcanon ships are the best ships) because in the movies they hate each other, like TRUE hate, not gay hate. I'm talking GENERATIONAL hating.

If you ignore canon, though, (my favourite thing to do), you are left with Yunbing, which is honestly really fucking yummy.

Here's a quick overview of the background and dynamic of the ship/movie/characters without spoiling the plot of the movie.

The main character of the movie is called Li Yunxiang (remember that Ne Zha's dad is Li Jing, so technically his full name is Li Nezha prior to him fucking himself up via sashimi-ing his flesh from his bones).

Li Yunxiang is the reincarnation of Ne Zha in a modern setting in the fictional East Sea City (Donghai City). He doesn't know or remember being Ne Zha. He works as a deliveryman I think, or a smuggler or something low-paying and dangerous I think.

In East Sea City, water is in shortage due to the Dragon Clan (now a rich family business) hoarding it. The third son of this Dragon Clan (his name is De San) is, you guessed it, the reincarnated Ao Bing.

Actually I'm not sure if he's reincarnated or if he's just been here the whole time hating.

De San, unlike our polite nice Ao Bing from Ne Zha 2019/2025, or the terrified victim Ao Bing from Shangmei, is a huge bitch. He's also a girlfailure. He's not some mass-murdering psychopath, but he's a spoiled rich brat who lives and breathes capitalism and privilege.

Look at his stupid face. Isn't he punchable? No, despite the blonde hair, the director has confirmed he isn't mixed or foreign, he's just an idiot who bleached his hair.

He was supposed to be some sort of dominant playboy daddy character but the entire nation of China just immediately saw the potential for girlfailure brat bottom and I guess that's where my brain went too.

After Ne Zha pulled his tendons out, his dad paid some SERIOUS money to make him a mechanical tendon. Let me tell you I don't know why but this shot of his metal spine is SO fucking sexy

Sorry for thirsting on main, IDK what it is but it's getting to me.

De San still wants revenge on Ne Zha for pulling his fucking tendons out so he spends like 10000 hours trying his very best to kick Li Yunxiang's (confused) ass and never manages to get there, it's so funny.

See, the main reason this ship is so delicious is the dynamic, not their interactions because this is ACTUAL hate, I'm talking they'd kill each other in an instant with NO hesitation. The sexual tension is through the roof. Okay, they're both straight, but you DON'T HAVE TO BELIEVE IN THAT DOCTRINE.

Mild spoiler alert!

There's a scene in which Li Yunxiang gets one over De San by making him crash his car. As De San goes flying out of the car in intense pain, he glances over at Yunxiang, who's looking back at him.

Instead of giving him a middle finger or a thumbs down, Yunxiang fucking gives him a finger heart. IK it's supposed to be mocking but it's so funny, especially the BLATANT rage on De San's face afterwards.

The appeal of this ship is just the hate sex. This is a ship 100% meant for gooners, if you'd prefer sweet vanilla hand-holding and blushing you probably want to go back to regular Oubing.

Why does De San have such pillow princess potential? First of all, look at him. What the fuck is that waist to shoulder to leg ratio?

Second, in the Cantonese dub, he calls his father (Ao Guang) "daddy" (in English btw). Sorry, what? You are a twenty-something year old fully grown man. It is fairly common for rich Cantonese people to call their father daddy (according to my rich Cantonese friend) but it's a little much.

Third, he's such a failure it's hilarious. Spoiler alert: there's a whole scene in which his father calls him a failure and he's like "wait what". He's kind of dumb and pathetic despite being arrogant and proud.

Very princess-like. Chinese version of Drarry, basically. They also both really like cars! TBH if they weren't Ao Bing and Ne Zha's reincarnations they'd probably be really good friends.

Generations of hating each other is such gay behaviour, WHY is that other man on your mind over thousands of years??

Some of the popular headcanons for Yunbing:

Yunxiang calls De San "third princess" or "princess" because he's such a... princess

In the middle of like, fistfighting each other they somehow transition to having sex without knowing how

De San slaps Yunxiang in the face and he's like "on the other side too"

"Only I can be the one to kill him, fuck off!" *surprised look* "No that's not what I meant-"

Inappropriate usage of the metal spine (which is probably more sensitive and delicate...?)

I recommend, if you're looking for Oubing content (of the decidedly not workplace friendly variety) and if you like ENEMIES to lovers (emphasis on the enemies part) that you go through the AO3 Yunbing tag (云冰, I'll link the AO3 tag here directly).

If you want recs please ask me, I am so passionate about all three iterations of Oubing.

To quote a XHS user:

Oubing: Pure love

Shangmei Oubing: Pure fear

Yunbing: Pure hate

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually. 

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body. 

You pretended to be dead. 

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky. 

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly. 

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands. 

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it. 

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.” 

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up. 

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening. 

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest. 

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.  

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort. 

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.” 

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character. 

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it. 

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up. 

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood. 

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?” 

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull. 

Missions were rarely a failure. 

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.” 

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?” 

“None. Just us.” 

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.” 

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway. 

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it. 

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it. 

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation. 

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room. 

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly. 

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off. 

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin. 

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction. 

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.” 

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue. 

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in. 

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight. 

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends. 

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore. 

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him.  “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh. 

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why. 

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden. 

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions. 

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them. 

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too. 

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue. 

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch. 

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined. 

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you. 

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like. 

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse. 

This couldn’t continue. 

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side. 

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.” 

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air. 

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met. 

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires. 

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?” 

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?” 

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up. 

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.” 

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth. 

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas. 

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless. 

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds. 

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up. 

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though. 

On the second week, it got easier. 

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area. 

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over. 

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table. 

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally. 

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails. 

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind. 

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you. 

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces. 

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair. 

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse. 

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up... 

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring. 

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!” 

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp. 

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor. 

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers. 

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated. 

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug. 

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly. 

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air. 

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure. 

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.” 

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly. 

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward. 

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game. 

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching. 

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet. 

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table. 

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?” 

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.” 

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you. 

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss. 

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.” 

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it. 

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking. 

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second. 

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos. 

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat. 

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages. 

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out. 

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.” 

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?” 

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room. 

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out. 

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently. 

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.” 

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation. 

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.” 

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back. 

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat. 

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney. 

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly. 

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful. 

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand. 

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing. 

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.” 

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair. 

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back. 

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine. 

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts. 

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high. 

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river. 

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask. 

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare. 

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it. 

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh. 

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge. 

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already. 

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk. 

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…” 

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be. 

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.” 

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip. 

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able. 

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second. 

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table. 

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion. 

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?” 

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer. 

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix. 

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob. 

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.” 

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality. 

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer. 

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.” 

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own. 

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies. 

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep. 

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.” 

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though. 

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect. 

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt. 

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you. 

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back. 

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw. 

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms. 

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile. 

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.” 

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting. 

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial. 

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action. 

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot. 

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad. 

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you. 

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute. 

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

[acexsmhking]

hello can u write an eyeless jack x gn reader fluffy comfort story? U have all the freedom i just like fluff :3

𝐌𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧

(𝗮𝗱𝗷.) 𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹

: ̗̀➛ Eyeless Jack x GN!Reader

Summary: Coming back home from work, you feel absolutely drained. Your demonic mate decides to help cheer you up

Warning(s): Fluff, soft content, slight angst, inner turmoil, descriptions of deteriorating mental health, descriptions of Jack being a big back

Your feet dragging on the ground as you walked into your home. Shoulders drooped and an ache in your neck, everything felt sore and tense. You wanted nothing more than to eat some food and take a relaxing shower. Before you could even turn around from the door, Jack had already snatched you up holding you in his arms. He cooed and chuffed at you as he, forcibly, adorably nuzzled his head into you. You giggled, running your hands through his long hair that you had managed to actually get in a very healthy and shiny state. You didn’t even bother trying to wiggle out of his arms as he carried you to the kitchen, your feet too sore to complain. Jack only put you down once he was certain he placed you in front of the fridge.

“Thank you, Jackie.” You mumbled, rubbing his arm before digging into the fridge. Thankfully it seemed Jack had been well behaved and not sneak any treats. Deciding on making yourself a quick sandwich you grabbed some grapefruit to snack on. Opening the jar of grapefruit Jack’s ears seemed to perk up as he sniffed towards it. A low, almost pathetic whine as he dipped down nudging you. “Oh my god, yes yes, I know you glutton.” You chuckled, shoving his face away before feeding him a few pieces.

You had been quick to learn that Jack actually enjoyed a few fruits in particular. One being grapefruit. He didn’t even chew the pieces before swallowing them, you shook your head at him in disbelief as he slinked off to the couch. Finishing up your sandwich, a cooking a few more extra pieces of bacon for Jack, you joined him. He was more than happy to sit you on his lap as you ate, settling into a comfortable silence full of mostly chewing sounds. Though, the chewing was mainly from you, Jack just inhaled everything. Greedy creature.

The rough pads of his fingers rubbed against your knee. His hands disregarding as they roamed your body, squeezing parts of you here and there. Jack loves just exploring you, it was different from when he’d hunt and searching for conjoined body parts. You were so soft and palatable as his claws gently grazed your skin. He nuzzled his head to the back your neck, right where that balling knot is. His corse, barbed tongue trying to gently lick your skin. You hummed in appreciation, he was also so attentive to your needs. Was it possible to sniff out cramps? You sure thought so with how good he was at finding them.

Jack pulled back slightly. A big yawn escaping his lips. You watched fascinated as his mouth opened. It was.. huge, opening up completely with the corner of his lips going as far to his ears. Sometimes you liked poking his tongue, a little prank that always amused you. Just before his mouth could close you gentle grabbed his top row of teeth, halting his movements. He was unmoving as you practically shoved your face in his mouth, ooo-ing and aww-ing. Salvia dripped from walls, creating a weirdly pretty sheen on his teeth and tongue. Your fingers reached back, poking at his second jaw.. row? of teeth. They were more hooked, almost like talons.

Jack was patient as you played with his mouth, completely unfazed by your still childish amazement. He held his jaw open further, scared pulling back you might knick your head. Once you did, he closed his mouth. Your eyes still wide as how perfectly hidden the seems of his mouth were. “Little spooky surprise..” You murmured, Jack nodded, holding you closer to his chest. You laid your head on his shoulder, arms wrapping around him as you relaxed into him. He was so warm compared to the freezing winter chill outside. You couldn’t wait for spring, and you were sure Jack couldn’t either. He began being a bit more sneak with his attempts are burrowing in the past month, clearly missing a cozy case to pile food in.

Now finally being back home, Jack spent his hibernation with you. In a cozy warm bed he barely left. “Nap nap?” Was all you had to say before he was spooking you up and prancing up the stairs. His teeth gently pulling at your clothes as he rushed you into some more comfortable nap time gear. “I’m going, I’m going!” You laughed, pulling on a sleep shirt as you climbed in bed. Jack trilled wrapping his arms around you, legs entangled as you buried your face in his chest. The days tension slowly leaving your body, that biting chill finally thawing from your bones.

You reached up, pressing a kiss to Jack’s nose as you settled in. “Thank you, honey.” He purred, curling around you. Nuzzling his face into your head as he drifted off. Assured that you were home safe and sound, if not just a little bristled and tired. “Love, too!” He chirped back, his second paid of eyelids closing as he rested, your hands rubbing his back as sleep over came you both. The shower could wait just for a few.

: ̗̀➛ Sorry it’s so short but I wanted it to be cute! Just Reader coming home after a long day of socialization and napping with their critter demon boyfriend! Thank you so much for the ask ANON! — Ace

[literaryvein-reblogs]

A Writing Refresher: Basic Grammatical Terms

Adjective: A word which qualifies or modifies the meaning of a noun; as in a 'red hat' or a 'quick fox'. They can be used to complement the verbs 'to be' or 'to seem' ('Sue seems happy today'). Adjectives are sometimes formed from nouns or verbs by the addition of a suffix such as '-able' (lovable), '-ful' (heedful), '-ic' (heroic), '-ish' (foolish), '-ive' (combative), '-ous' (famous), or '-y' (needy).

Adverb: A word which qualifies or adds to the action of a verb: as in 'he ran quickly', or 'he ran fast'. Adverbs can also qualify adjectives, as in 'the grass is intensely green'. They are usually formed by adding '-ly' to an adjective: 'playfully', 'combatively', 'foolishly'. They can also sometimes be formed by the addition of '-wise' to a noun ('the hands went round clockwise).

Clause: The word is often used but very hard to define. It is a sentence or sentence-like construction included within another sentence. A main clause might be a simple noun plus verb ('I did it'). A co-ordinate clause is of equal status with the main clause: 'I did it and she did it at the same time.' A subordinate clause might be nested within a sentence using the conjunction 'that': 'he said that the world was flat.' Here 'he said' is the main clause and the subordinate clause is 'the world was flat'. Relative clauses are usually introduced by a relative pronoun: 'I read the book which was falling to pieces'; 'She spoke to the man who was standing at the bar.'

Conjunction: A word used to connect words or constructions. Co-ordinating conjunctions such as 'and', and 'but' link together elements of equal importance in a sentence ('Fish and chips' are of equal importance). Subordinating conjunctions such as 'because', 'if', 'although', connect a subordinate clause to its superordinate clause ('We will do it if you insist'; 'We did it because he insisted).

Noun: A word used as the name or designation of a person or thing, such as 'duck' or 'river'. Abstract nouns denote abstract properties, such as 'invisibility', 'gentleness'. Proper nouns are nouns that designate one thing, as, for example, personal names.

Object: Usually the thing to which the action of a verb is done. More technically a substantive word, phrase, or clause, immediately dependent on, or ‘governed by’, a verb, as expressing, in the case of a verb of action, the person or thing to which the action is directed, or on which it is exerted; that which receives the action of the verb. So 'the man patted the dog', 'the woman was reading the book'. An indirect object of a verb denotes that which is indirectly affected by an action, but wihch is not the immediate product of it, as ‘Give him the book’, ‘Make me a coat’.

Participle: a word derived from a verb which functions like an adjective, as in 'let sleeping dogs lie'. More technically 'A word that partakes of the nature of a verb and an adjective; a derivative of a verb which has the function and construction of an adjective (qualifying a noun), while retaining some of those of the verb'. Present participles usually end in '-ing' and usually describe an action which is going on at the same time as the verb: so in the sentence '"Go and play on your own street," she said, kicking the ball', the saying and the kicking are simultaneous. Past participles usually end in '-ed' or '-en' ('the door was kicked in'; 'the door was broken'). They are used in two main ways: combined with the verb 'have' they form a past or 'perfect' tense (so called because it describes an action which has been completed or 'perfected'), as in 'I have smashed the plate'. Past participles can also be used in passive constructions (which describe what was done to something rather than what something did), as in 'the plate was smashed'.

Preposition: A part of speech which indicates a connection, between two other parts of speech, such as 'to', 'with', 'by' or 'from'. 'She came from China', 'He gave the chocolates to me'.

Pronoun: A part of speech which stands for a noun: 'he', 'she', 'him', 'her', 'them'. Possessive pronouns express ownership ('his', 'hers'). Reflexive pronouns are 'herself', 'himself', 'myself' and are used either for emphasis (he did it all himself'), or when an action reflects back on the agent who performs it ('he shot himself in the foot'). Relative pronouns include 'who', 'which', 'that' and are usually used in the form 'he rebuked the reader who had sung in the library'. Interrogative pronouns ask questions ('Who stole the pie?'; 'Which pie?'). Indefinite pronouns do not specify a particular person or thing: 'Anyone who studies grammar must be mad.' 'Somebody has to know about this stuff.'

Sentence: This is a term which professional linguists still find impossible to define adequately. It is usually supposed to be 'A sequence of words which makes complete sense, containing subject, object and main verb, and concluded by a full-stop'.

Subject: Usually the person or thing who is performing the action of a verb. More technically the grammatical subject is the part of a sentence of which an action is predicated: 'the man patted the dog'. It can be a single noun, or it can been a complex clause: 'the bald man who had just picked up the ball gave it to the dog.'

Syntax (Greek 'together arrangement'): a term designating the way in which words can be arranged and modified to construct sentences. Writers characteristically use syntactic sub-ordination when they aim for a highly formal effect, and syntactic co-ordination when they aim for a simpler, more straight-forward effect.

Verb: Usually a word which describes an action (such as 'he reads poems', 'she excels at cricket'). More technically 'That part of speech by which an assertion is made, or which serves to connect a subject with a predicate.' This technical definition includes the most frequent verb in the language: the verb 'to be' which can be used to connect a 'subject', such as 'he', with a 'predicate', such as 'good at hockey'. There are verbs which take an object ('he raps the desk'), which are called transitive verbs. Other verbs do not, and are termed intransitive verbs ('I sit, he lives'). Some verbs can be used either transitively or intransitively: 'I sing' is an intransitive usage; 'Paul McCartney sings "God save the Queen"' is a transitive usage. The main verb is the verb on which the structure of the sentence depends, and without which the sentence would not make any sense. In the following sentence the verb 'fell' is the main verb: 'The boy, who had run too quickly, fell'.

[destiny-smasher]

What do you like about Nemona

Gahhh, fuck me, that's a bit hard to summarize.

But I have been meaning to do a write up to explain it to people in my personal life. Maybe this is a good excuse to get around to doing so. I'll try to cover the important stuff while not getting as deep into specifics as I honestly could. It'll still be an informal short essay, though, lol

In Pokemon SV, the player enrolls in a fancy Academy on a remote island nation of sorts (inspired by Spain). They meet Nemona after choosing their starter Pokemon, and Nemona offers to the school's director to adopt a starter herself to 'coach/mentor' the player character. You see, unlike any other 'rival trainer' before her, Nemona is already a Champion. Before your character sets foot in the Paldea region, Nemona has already gone through the entire song and dance of Gym Battles and all that, and attained the highest rank a trainer can in the region. She's completely obsessed with Pokemon battling and has become bored of being 'the best' because no one wants to battle her, for various reasons. So she views you, a newcomer, as an opportunity to test herself as a 'mentor/senpai/big sis' figure as well as essentially 'New Game+-ing' herself for sheer love of the game that is Pokemon battling.

People consistently call her 'the girl Goku', but I ain't seen Dragonball Z, so I can't comment on that much. But she is a very enthusiastic, cheerful, determined, battle hungry person who is very into self-growth and self-improvement. At the end of the day, she wants a true rival, someone she doesn't need to hold back with, and who she can look to as a consistent figure in her life. She is very eager and hyperactive about connecting with people through battling.

A lot of people who play the game get offput by her, and she gets branded as a 'yandere' archetype (ie obsessed with the player character to a horror-inducing degree). She gets meme'd as being 'creepy' and 'obsessed' and all that, depicting her eagerness as mental illness and a bad thing.

(gif from a fan animation)

When her behavior stems from positive emotions and a desire for mutual growth and connection, not specifically ownership or possession -- to Nemona, a person who just obeyed whatever she would want of them would defeat the point. That's not what a rival does -- they push back, after all. Within the context of the SV plotline, she is bored of being Champion all by herself, and wants to train someone else to reach her same level, which is why she is so invested in you, the player character, following you around everywhere and being that 'big sis' archetype. There's some selfishness in there, for sure -- she wants a proper rival for herself, someone she never has to hold back with -- but given her social obligations and reputation within the Academy/region, she also I think wants to prove she is capable of handling herself as a mentor figure, prove to herself that she didn't become a Champion by luck or accident (if she can help someone else do what she did, then it wasn't just a fluke, she really does know what she's doing, etc.), and also help prove to her fellow students that she's really not as intimidating as they think she is.

And yet, people both in AND out of the game are quick to write this intense, protective behavior off as 'insane' and 'creepy' -- and as someone who very regularly got called a 'creep' through to the end of college for literally just trying to make friends,' I almost take it personally when I see people label Nemona as a 'yandere' type. It has its comical use and all but I still find it kind of hurtful in a way.

(Art by MagDraws)

Because that's the thing -- if you pay attention to what little story there is in SV (it's not exactly a complex narrative), Nemona's character is essentially a metaphor for neurodivergent/queer people who have hearts bursting with affection and passion for their hobbies yet who struggle with loneliness and isolation as they put off most people from keeping them around.

But at the end of the day, Nemona is just neurodivergent, her special interest is Pokemon battling, and she is simply desperate for human connection -- and battles are just the way she feels most comfortable doing that.

And the world would be a better place if people like me or Nemona were able to become self aware at a young enough age to start managing our behavior, (which she is shown to be learning to do!) while ALSO having a general population that is more open-minded and understanding to the idea that 'oh huh that person's brain is electrically overcharged and they love people and hobbies maybe way way more than I do but that's FINE as long as they're not hurting anyone'

As a youth, I just... kinda got great grades, made honor roll, etc. And it felt like I wasn't really trying? So adults around me thought I was 'gifted', or 'naturally talented'. But in reality, I think I was just neurodivergent, and since I struggled to make friends, and physically wasn't able to see them outside of school due to various factors, I just... ended up focusing on my schoolwork instead. So that's one way I relate with her retroactively -- she is a model student, yet ironically has a bad reputation amongst many.

(HOWEVER, Nemona comes from a RICH family and I came from a poor one, there was some big racial tension dynamics at play in my early gradeschool years, familial breakup shit, soooo there's some very different dynamics at play there)

Another thing I adore about her and connect with in a way no one else in my life does -- she loves one-on-one competitions with others through battles. I don't love physically fighting people, I'm a super non-violent person in reality. But I love fighting games, it's my favorite genre. And there's specific philosophical elements to enjoying fighting games that I think most people don't click with that she and I do.

She is here to GROW, to learn, to improve, to have fun regardless of winning or losing, because the act of spending time engaged with another person, figuring each other out, testing yourselves mutually, is enjoyable and edifying regardless.

That 'warrior's path' of self improvement and enjoyment and growth regardless of the outcome of battle is something I very much connect with and it's great to see a character who feels likewise while also having elements of interpersonal struggles in spite of or even because of the way she functions differently than other people. Again, I don't know much about Goku, but I get the impression he is good at making and keeping friends, while Nemona is bad at it.

On top of this, Nemona has extra wrinkles to her character -- she's physically disabled. The game is vague about it, as Pokemon always is. But she wears an arm brace because she throws a LOT of pokeballs with all the battling she does, and she seems to have some kind of issue there, physically. Also, despite how GOOD she is at battling, she is terrible at catching Pokemon, and seemingly at doing the exploration aspects of being a trainer. She canonically has poor stamina and wears herself out easily -- which, given how high-energy she is as a person, probably happens constantly. So it's also strongly suggested that she spends time not just training all of her Pokemon (she juggles multiple teams, yet another fighting-game esque thing I relate with, as I tend to juggle many characters and not stick to a single main or team), but she also trains herself, physically, to try and keep up with her 'mons, but also as a means of self-growth/improvement in general.

I won't post the examples but trust me, there are many subtle but intentional nods alluding to her being physically disabled, and being BAD at core elements of what we expect a Pokemon trainer to be -- exploring the wilderness, catching Pokemon, etc. But she's so passionate about it, she doesn't let her limitations stop her,

So it creates an interesting internal tension imo because she is not only very queer coded, very neurodiverse coded, but ALSO disabled coded. But she hides her internal struggles by essentially avoiding having to confront them, generally speaking (which itself is ripe for narrative development). Sadly, the game never brings this to a head in way (it's Pokemon, so of course it doesn't). But the ingredients are all there, especially when you add characters like Penny, Arven, and Scarlet into account -- as well as implied expectations from her rich family, or from the leader of Paldea, Geeta, who implies she wants Nemona to be her protege. And I haven't even mentioned that Nemona is Class President, meaning she's actively taking on social responsibility for her peers even though she gets shit talked behind her back for being so obsessed with battling and getting in people's faces with her over-eager desire to bond with/battle them.

This right here -- this is the specific core element of her character I personally connect with that, somehow, no fictional character I've met so far has put into the exact right words with enough context for me to believe them.

From my youth to even now as a full grown adult, I have experienced this feeling my entire life, whether with family, at school, at the workplace, even in most online spaces -- an 'invisible wall' between me and everyone else, and for a VERY LONG TIME I had convinced myself it was because something about me was 'broken' and 'not right'. But now, in part thanks to characters like Nemona, and the discussions around/about said characters, I can see that my brain just functions differently from other people, and a I grow and self-teach myself how to manage my own behaviors/expectations, I can better appreciate all kinds of relationships in life without needing to let go of or sacrifice that internal flame that used to threaten to consume most people I cared about -- that fear of being 'too much' or 'too intense' in my own ways (ways better expressed through text interaction than in person, to be fair, but again, MOST of my social life has been online my entire life, so yeah).

Like Nemona, I found people in my life who accept me for who I am, and blablabla all that cliche shit. But in Nemona, as I do with a rare few other characters in media (Vi from Arcane, Luz from The Owl House), I see a specific element of myself I don't elsewhere, and sadly did not see often growing up. A balance between ferocity and determination paired with unending affection and love. A desire to never give up on people, no matter what, and to be open to change both internal and in others. In Nemona's case, specifically, that element of neurodiverse passion matched with sheer loneliness -- that 'invisible wall'.

No matter what, she never gives up, in battles or socially.

I could go on into specific examples but I've said enough here to get the ideas across, I'm sure.

Oh, and as a sidenote, I think she has a great character design -- it's SIMPLE but recognizeable. The combo of color-coded gear (red/white/black, my favorite outfit color scheme), a arm brace, and accented hair. Her design feels like a plausible human being, but with a bit of 'anime bangs' syndrome.

I should probably mention -- I don't like Pokemon SV as a video game! I am like 160k words of fanfiction into telling a Pokemon story and I think the game itself is stinky garbage barely holding itself together with duct tape and a corporate prayer.

But unlike any other generation of the franchise, Pokemon SV presents a cast of characters with defined personality strengths, weaknesses, and varied backstories, who start the game as strangers, and by the end begin to dip their toes into 'found family' territory. For the first time in the entire franchise, I actually give a shit about the characters, about seeing them grow and connect with each other, because the overarching theme of SV's story, what little it has, is about isolation, outcasts, loneliness, and how found families form.

And Nemona's kind of the heart of all of that, the endlessly hopeful, energetic, eager one that will never give up on you, that irrationally throws affection at you, seemingly for no 'good reason' -- because just being a person who tolerates her and her 'too much'-ness is itself reason to be grateful for your presence in a world where she feels isolated from most everyone else simply by being herself.

Maybe this answers your question!

[shmaptainwrote]

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄 [𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐘]

PAIRINGS —  Mark Darcy x fem!Reader

SUMMARY —  Mark and Reader meet on a dock in Greece and the rest is history

WARNINGS — difficulty conceiving, pregnancy, allusions to sex

NOTE — Okay the beginning and end of this are definietly Mamma Mia-esque but TRUST ME it fits the vibessss- anyways I hope you guys like it :3 Also a big thanks to @/mystic-writings for beta-ing!

Mark wondered what had brought him here that day. There he was sitting on a dock in Greece, reevaluating all of the decisions he had made in recent days. He found it very hard to stay hopeful when that very much could have been the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with on that boat, sailing towards an island he didn’t know the name of with a ferry that wouldn’t allow him to chase after her until two days later. 

He was about to get up and turn around, find the nearest airport that would get him out of the sunny Mediterranean country, when he felt someone tap on his shoulder. 

He squinted against the sun, trying to get a better look at who it was, but it wasn’t clear until you stepped in front of him. 

“You miss the ferry?” you asked him and he nodded his head. “Shame,” you sighed and took a seat next to him. You introduced yourself and offered a hand for him to shake. He took it and introduced himself in return. 

“I don’t suppose your travels have also been…” he chose his words carefully, “subpar?” 

“Actually, they have,” you leaned back. “This was supposed to be some sort of girls trip.” 

“And?” 

“Well, you don’t see any girls around me do you,” you motioned to the empty dock. 

“No I don’t suppose I do.” 

You sat in silence for a moment, the sun beating down on both of your backs before you chose to speak again. 

“Have you done much sight-seeing yet?” 

“None. I just got here, and I think I’ll be leaving first thing tomorrow,” he admitted. 

“Leave Greece without seeing even one sight? You’re an interesting man, Mark.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” he sighed and pushed himself up off of the bench. 

“You know,” you started, “If you change your mind and want to see some of the sights before heading back to wherever you’re from, come find me. My hotel’s that one over there,” you pointed to one of the buildings overlooking the water. 

Mark nodded his head and wished you a good day before grabbing his bag and heading towards the main street, he’d call for a taxi and maybe his choice would be more clear to him the next morning. It was hard to think in the midday heat, because right now, for some peculiar reason, your offer seemed awfully enticing.

—

The next morning you awoke to a knock on your door. You checked the time, it was half past seven which was far too early for housekeeping. 

With a confused look on your face, and a just-in-case large vase in hand and ready for whatever was on the other side, you approached the door. In a quick motion you unlocked the door and swung it open, the vase held as threateningly as you could until you realized that you recognized those eyes and that tall frame. 

“Mark?” 

“You said if I wanted to get in some sightseeing before I go I should come to your hotel. You didn’t tell me what room though. I made a few awkward mistakes before landing on your door.” 

“What compelled you to do this at half past seven on a weekend?” you chuckled. 

“I could ask the same about your vase. Not normally something you greet someone with at the door,” he commented. 

“Just playing it safe,” you said, now lowering the vase and returning it to its place on the table. “Why don’t you give me two minutes to get dressed then I’ll properly invite you inside.” 

Mark nodded his head and you quickly shut the door, rummaging through your suitcases until you found what you wanted to wear, changing into it and reopening the door and allowing Mark to come inside. 

“So, what changed your mind?” you asked. “You seemed awfully set on leaving.” 

“I thought maybe it was time I took a break. I can’t remember the last time I took a vacation,” he admitted. “And it crossed my mind that perhaps you were right.” 

“About what?” 

“It would be a shame to leave Greece without seeing at least one sight.” 

You grabbed your bag and shoved a few things in it, looking back up at Mark. 

“Then let’s find a sight, shall we?” you offered your arm to him and he took it as you exited the room together. 

After you sorted out where you wanted to go you found yourselves on a hot overcrowded bus, trying to understand what the stops were and continuously looking at the map and your surroundings to determine where to get off. 

“So Mark, where do you hail from? I’m guessing England, but whereabouts?” you asked, over the loud engine. 

“London, currently,” he said. “And yourself?” 

“Currently? Also London,” you said. 

“But-,” 

“I don’t sound British?” you looked over at him and he chuckled. 

“Exactly,” he nodded. 

“I’m there for work. I’m an art curator,” you explained. “Brits bring pretty good business.” 

“That I can believe, and I think this is our stop,” he pointed. 

“Oh goodness, HEY! HEY! Stop the bus!” you called and stood up, waving down the driver with your hat. He slammed on the brakes and you jerked forward, almost falling into the seats in front of you if it weren’t for Mark quickly grabbing you by the waist and pulling you back down into your seat. “Man, let’s get the hell out of here.” 

Mark couldn’t help but give you a little smile as he helped you up from your seat and you exited the crowded bus as quickly as you could. 

“Good grief,” you sighed. “I would have gone flying if it weren’t for you. Thanks, Mark.” 

“Don’t mention it, all part of the Greek charm I suppose,” he shrugged as you began to walk down the quiet countryside street, looking for the entrance to the beach. 

“What about yourself, what do you do for work?” you asked. 

“I’m a lawyer,” he said. “Human rights type stuff mostly.” 

“Oh so a true London hotshot then,” you chuckled. “Come on, I think it’s right down here,” you motioned to a small trail opening. 

“Well, I don’t know if I’d say hotshot,” he said. 

“Oh don’t worry, I’m just teasing,” you said as you slipped on some loose gravel only to have Mark catch you again. 

“You’re quite clumsy.” 

“It’s a part of my charm,” you grinned. 

From there you both silently decided maybe it would be best if you held on to Mark so as to not fall again, and you walked a short distance in comfortable silence until you came to the opening of the beach. 

“Wow. Mark, this is really a sight,” you grabbed his arm and dragged him further so he could see the full view. 

The cove was secluded and the pristine water gently lapped against the shore along the white sand. 

“What do you think?” you asked. 

“I’m glad I stayed,” he said with a smile. 

Still hand in hand, you found a comfortable spot in the sand and laid out a blanket you had packed to sit on for the time being. 

“Do you have anyone waiting back home for you, Mark?” 

“Not aside from my parents,” he shook his head. “And yourself?” 

“Unattached currently,” you said while grabbing a water bottle from your bag. “My girlfriends would say this seems to have the making of a summer romance.” 

Mark found himself curious to see if you thought so too. Certainly he thought that seeing Bridget go off into the sunset with someone else would be the end of his romantic life, but perhaps he was mistaken. 

“Well, we’ll have to see if they’re right,” Mark said simply and you chuckled. 

Spending time with Mark was easy. It was as if your friends hadn’t all bailed on you and this was your plan all along. The days quickly melted into one, then two, then three and it was an easy routine for Mark to join you at your hotel in the morning. 

You were both too caught up in a whirlwind of tourism filled with adventures and flirting that you barely even noticed your departure date approaching. 

“Has it already been ten days?” you sighed, leaning into Mark’s side as you sat along the beach just outside of your hotel. 

“Went by a lot faster than I expected,” he admitted. “Feels like just yesterday I was so forwardly introduced to you.” 

“Shut up, Mark. You’ve had a good time,” you laughed. “Now let’s do one more fun thing before we go back to the doom and gloom of London.” 

“What do you have in mind?” he asked as you stood up and walked with him towards the water. 

“Hmm, have you ever tried the opposite of skinny dipping?” 

“Which is?” he frowned. 

“This!” you exclaimed while pushing him into the water, fully clothed, but not before he grabbed onto your waist, pulling you down with him. 

You squealed in surprise, falling on top of him in the shallow water. 

“Did you really think you could get away with that?” Mark asked and you shook your head with a laugh. 

“It was either this or you’d get up and chase me and throw me into the water.” 

“We could do that too if you wanted,” he moved one of  the wet strings of your top off of your cheek which it was currently stuck to. 

“No, I think I kind of like it here,” you said with a whisper. 

“Good, because then I can do this,” his thumb moved from your cheek to your chin, pinching it between that and his index finger and bringing your face closer to his before finally pressing his lips to yours. 

You brought yourself as close as you could to him, your hands holding on to both sides of his face. You could feel the water’s crests and falls and tasted its salt on Mark’s lips. 

When he gently moved away, giving you both a moment to breathe, he said, “I had to make sure I gave you a proper kiss goodbye.” 

“Could I perhaps entice you to make that a regular occasion?” you asked. 

Mark kissed you again, this time shorter before giving you a thinking face and then nodding his head. 

You chuckled and grabbed his hand, standing up yourself first before pulling him up with you. He trailed behind you as you walked towards your things, pressing a kiss to your temple from behind, then your neck until neither of you could help it and turned around to kiss properly again. 

“Why don’t you stay in my room tonight,” you murmured. “And maybe if we’re lucky the vacation will continue when we’re back in London. Any objections?” 

“No, sustained,” he kissed you again and you giggled at his joke. 

“Save something for the room, Mark,” you teased as you pulled away, “If we stay out here much longer we’ll be putting on a show for the tourists.” 

“And?” he raised a mischievous brow. 

“Mark!” you exclaimed with a surprised laugh, quickly grabbing your bag while he grabbed the blanket, shaking out the sand before grabbing your hand and heading back to the hotel, prepared for whatever this summer romance would bring. 

—

A few months later…

“Mark! I’m here, are you home yet?” you called into the townhome as you stepped across the threshold, throwing your keys on the table and slipping off your coat. 

There wasn’t an answer so you assumed he hadn’t arrived yet, but when you climbed up the stairs you saw him lying down on the couch with a pillow over his face. 

You chuckled a little and quietly bent down and removed the pillow only to be met by a soft, 

“Hey.” 

“Last I remember, you asked me to come over after work,” you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his nose. “How was your day?” 

“Exhausting, can’t you tell?” 

“Yes, quite clearly,” you nodded as you sat on the edge of the couch. “So, did you miss me?” 

“Dreadfully,” he nodded and beckoned you to come lay down with him. “How was work?”

“It was alright,” you sighed. “I think I’m getting tired of working for snooty rich folk. Maybe I need a change of scenery.”

Mark kissed your temple and you hummed, 

“Or maybe I should stay like this all day.”

“I wouldn’t complain,” he teased. 

“But alas, there’s work to be done. Come on, we have to make dinner,” you pushed yourself up and took Mark’s hand, helping him up and dragging him to the kitchen.

You had agreed earlier on what to make for dinner so you easily fell into a rhythm of preparing things together. 

Even though the clouds were grey and it was perpetually raining in London, when you were with Mark, everywhere felt like Greece. 

“Mark, how am I supposed to get any bloody work done when you keep distracting me?” you asked just as he finished pressing yet another kiss to your neck. 

“We could forget about work,” he suggested. 

“As much as that sounds enticing, I’m starving,” you sighed. “And I think we both know what happens when I haven’t had enough to eat.” 

“Yes, I believe we’d like to avoid that,” he nodded his head and went back to chopping up some vegetables. 

“Mark, can you pass me the pepper and paprika please?” you asked, pointed over to his spice cabinet as you walked away from the stove for a minute to go grab something to drink. 

As you bent down to check what was in the fridge, something caught your eye on the counter and you quietly closed the fridge to inspect it. 

“Mark, what’s this?’ you asked, picking up the small box and opening it as he protested only to stare blankly at what was in front of you. 

“Ideally,” he started, “this would not have happened.” 

“I-I just…” your voice trailed off. 

Mark sighed, “You see I was worried this would happen, you’d see this and get scared and run away, and I’ve ruined it, haven’t I.” 

“You mean this is meant for me?” you pointed to the ring, then to yourself. 

He nodded his head.

“When did you get it?” you asked. 

“The day we left Greece,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “See I told you, you would think I was insane-.” 

“I never thought that,” you were grinning, looking up at him. 

“You-You don’t?” he confirmed. 

“Since I’ve ruined the surprise, why don’t you ask me the question and see what my answer is.” you suggested. “Go on.” 

“I-Darling, are you sure you want to do it like this? I could plan something more romantic than being in my kitchen in the middle of making dinner.” 

“No,” you shook your head. “It’s perfect.” 

Mark took a deep breath and walked up to you, taking your hands in his, saying your name in the way he did that made you feel like it was his magic spell that would fix all his problems. 

“Will you-,” 

“Yes,” you interrupted him, unable to even contain your own excitement. 

“You didn’t even let me get the question out,” he chuckled. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you shook your head. “Say it again.” 

“Will you marry me?” 

“Mark Darcy, I would love to marry you,” you grinned and he quickly pulled you in for a searing kiss. 

When you pulled apart, Mark took the ring from the box and slipped it onto your finger. 

“Your parents are going to think we’re insane,” you laughed. 

“And yours won’t?” he poked. 

“Oh I’m sure they will, but-wait, what’s that smell?” you frowned. 

Mark turned around and you looked past him seeing the smoke coming from the pan. 

“Shit!” you exclaimed and quickly went to turn the stove off and move the pan off the hot element. 

You both examined the burnt food and then looked at each other. 

“Take out?” you suggested and he nodded. 

“Thai?” 

“Nah, what about Mexican?” you asked and he shook his head. 

“Indian?” Mark landed on and you nodded. 

“That’s the one.” 

Mark easily reached out his hand and took it in yours before grabbing your coats and heading out the door. 

As you walked down the lit streets, Mark lifted your hands so you could both see the ring glimmering under the streetlamps. 

“I think it looks complete with a ring,” you said. “Don’t you?” 

“I surely do,” he nodded and pressed a kiss to your hand. “I love you, my darling.” 

You smiled fondly at him, “I love you too.” 

—

Several years later…

Mark never got tired of going to sleep and waking up next to you every single day. If anything, his heart longed for you to be next to him when he was away on trips for work. 

Tonight was no different, except it was a little sweeter on this occasion, it always was when he was coming back from being away. 

He quietly got changed and slipped into bed next to you and you jolted awake, turning around excitedly. 

“Jesus, Mark! When did you get here?” you asked. 

“Moments ago,” he chuckled. 

“I tried to stay awake,” you yawned. “I really did.” 

“Well, you’re up now,” he kissed you. “And I suppose that means we can fall back asleep together.” 

“Yes, but before we do that, I have something I wanted to ask you,” you started. “I’ve been thinking about this when you were away and I was wondering what you think of maybe having a little one join us?” 

“You mean like Lucy?” he looked over at the corgi sleeping at the foot of the bed. “I suppose we could get another puppy-,” 

“Mark, not a puppy,” you laughed. “A baby.” 

“A baby,” he hummed thoughtfully. It was something he always assumed he would have, it seemed like the next logical progression of things, and when Mark thought of having a miniature version of you running through the hallways of your home, he was sold. “I think, if you’re ready of course, maybe we should start trying.” 

“Really?” you grinned. 

“It’s an easy decision,” he kissed your nose. “I would take any chance to bring more of your light to the world.” 

You gently reached out for Mark’s cheek and looked at him lovingly. 

“Funny, I was thinking the same about you.” 

You both shared a sweet kiss, and Mark let his lips stray away from your lips, kissing along your jaw then your neck. 

“You know, we could start trying now,” he murmured. “No harm in getting a head start.” 

“Well, I am awake,” you raised your brows and squealed playfully while he pulled you on top of him. 

After a little bit more discussion in the following days, you and Mark had gotten yourselves as prepared as you could for life as a family of three. Mark was determined to make sure your finances were in line and what both of your work lives would look like once a baby came into the picture. With that sorted you began trying, and weeks turned into months, which turned into a year, and then another, still with nothing. 

Mark could see how difficult it was getting, each time you went in with a little light of hope in your eyes, but it continuously became dimmer and dimmer with each negative result. 

At this point, you both wanted it so badly, but nothing you were doing seemed to do the trick so to speak. 

Mark waited patiently outside the washroom while you went in there with another test, by now you had both lost count. When you came out he could see that the test still wasn’t done, so you both waited in silence by the kitchen counters for the three agonizing minutes to pass. 

When your watch beeped, you hesitated before lifting the test up to your face to see what the results were. Mark was standing across from you and he watched as all hope and energy drained from face and how quickly your shoulders began to shake while you covered your face with your hand and began to sob. 

Mark quickly came to your side and wrapped you up in his arms, taking the test away from you and placing it on the counter, allowing you to feel the weight on your chest, but also lean on him. 

“I-I’m so sorry, Mark,” you shook your head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he shook his head. “It’s just a hurdle, we’ll jump over it like we always do.” 

“I don’t know how much more I can take,” you cried softly into his shoulder. “It’s been two years since we started trying, Mark.” 

“Then let’s press pause,” he whispered and kissed your temple, he could feel a few tears welling in his own eyes, not only was his heart crushed by the state you were in, but regardless of how much he let on, he wanted this too. 

After a few more moments in silence together you told Mark you were going to call in sick at the museum and just take the day. 

“Do you want me to stay with you?” he asked. 

“No, you have important things to do at work, you should go,” you said as you walked back into your room. 

Mark watched from the doorway as you walked to your side of the bed and slipped back under the covers. 

“Are you sure?” he checked again. 

“I’m sure,” you nodded. 

He came in and kissed your temple once more, whispering a soft I love you which you returned. 

Mark gathered his things and headed out the door, calling a taxi to come and pick him up. As he sat in the car and an overwhelming feeling came over him, he was about halfway to work when he couldn’t sit with it any longer. 

“Can we please turn the car around,” he asked. “Just take me back to where you picked me up,” he told the driver while dialing a number on his phone. 

“Hello?” a man’s voice on the other line responded. 

“Paul, it’s Mark, I’m not going to be able to come to work today, something came up at home and I have to be with my wife.” 

“I’m sure the world won’t burn down without you for one day,” Paul assured him. “Go be with your wife. You both barely took any time off for your honeymoon anyways.” 

“Thank you, Paul. Call me if you need anything that I can do from home.” 

“I won’t. Like I said, go be with your wife.” 

Mark chuckled and they hung up the phone. He’d always had a hard time letting go of work, but sometimes it was a little easier when it came to you, and you both agreed there were a few things in your relationship that not even an urgent case could pull Mark away from. In his opinion, this was one of them. 

When he entered the house again, he tossed his keys on the front table and slipped off his shoes while loosening his tie. 

Coming back into the room again, he could see you were still curled up in the bed and Mark came carefully placing himself behind you and wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“You came back?” you asked. 

“This is more important than work,” he said. “Someone else can save the world today.” 

You turned around and pressed your face into his chest, holding him so tightly. 

“Thank you for coming,” you mumbled. “It hurts a little less when you’re around.” 

“I feel the same,” he kissed your hairline. “And regardless of how things turn out, whether you get pregnant, or we adopt, or decide not to have a baby after all, we’ll still have each other.” 

You looked up at him with a small smile, 

“No regrets?” you asked, but he could tell you were teasing. 

“Never,” he leaned down and kissed you and you knew he meant it. 

—

A few more years later… 

Mark stood outside the front door to his home, looking down at what was in his hands in contemplation. What would be the best way to break the news to you? He could just come in and show you, but perhaps it would be best to tell you slowly, he could manage that, he just had to use his skills as a lawyer and it would be easy as pie, you wouldn’t even know what had hit you. 

With one last deep breath, Mark swung the door open and stepped inside. 

“Darling, I’m home!” he called. 

“Oh good!” you called, “I have something I want to tell you.” 

Mark frowned curiously, and thought to himself what could it be that you had to tell him? 

He hid his one hand behind his back and climbed up the stairs, meeting you in the living room. 

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” you asked when you stepped into the room from the hallway. 

“What did you want to tell me?” he asked in return. 

“Maybe we should go on three?” you suggested and Mark nodded. 

“1…” 

“2…”

“3.” 

“I bought another dog.” “I’m pregnant.” 

Mark’s jaw dropped as he now held the baby dachshund puppy in front of him. 

“You’re-You’re what?!” he repeated. 

“You bought another dog?!” you looked with surprise at the puppy in front of you. 

“I just thought Lucy was getting lonely, and we could use the extra energy in the house, but wait,” he paused, placing the small puppy on a soft spot of the carpet. “You said you’re…” 

“Pregnant,” you smiled. 

“But I thought-,” 

“We couldn’t have kids?” you filled in for him and he nodded. “Turns out impossible sometimes means: very, very, very, very unlikely.” 

“We’re going to have a baby,” Mark said softly to himself. “My God, we’re going to have a baby!” 

He scooped you up in his arms and pressed a smacking kiss to your lips and you joked, 

“Took us long enough.” 

To which Mark laughed and said, 

“I know right.” 

“Now, I think someone on the carpet wants our attention,” you moved over to pick up the small puppy who was wagging its tail excitedly. “What’s your name, little one?” 

“Maisie. She’s a rescue,” Mark said, wrapping his arms around you again from behind. 

“A baby, and a puppy,” you shook your head. “It’s perfect, don’t you think?” 

Lucy barked and you both laughed. 

“Someone certainly thinks so,” Mark commented before bending down to pick Lucy up so she could meet her new sister. 

“It will be a full house, that’s for sure,” you kissed Mark’s cheek, “but something tells me that’s what will make it fun.” 

—

Nine months passed like a whirlwind and before you knew it, your beautiful baby Ana was here with minimal complications, leaving you with a very healthy baby. 

The first time Mark held her in his arms you knew it was love at first sight, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen him smile that big.

“How am I supposed to go back to work when she’s growing every second,” Mark sighed and whispered as you held the napping baby in your arms, sitting up in your bed. 

“You could try it out and see what it’s like,” you suggested. “Or maybe you could do consulting from home for a bit, until she’s a little older. Do you think they would let you do that?” 

“They might,” he nodded. “They’ll probably call the police to report a missing person first.” 

“Come on Mark, you’re not that bad,” you chuckled. “Okay, maybe you are, but you’ve always made time for what’s important. Trust me, especially if you talk to Paul, he’d be surprised if you didn’t quit.” 

“I’ll call tomorrow and speak with the firm to see what they’ll allow,” he said.

“Are you sure you won’t miss working cases too much, and you won’t be too cooped up in the house with us?” 

“I’m sure, and like you said, if it works out I can always reevaluate when she’s older.” 

He looked back down at his daughter and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“Don’t you think she’s just the most beautiful baby you’ve ever laid eyes on,” you sighed, leaning into your husband’s shoulder. 

“The most beautiful indeed,” he turned his head and kissed your temple. “Just like her mother.” 

“Mark, I’m literally a week postpartum after a geriatric pregnancy, no one looks good after that,” you laughed. 

“You have the glow of motherhood,” he insisted. “And your smile still hasn’t changed,” the corner of your mouth with his thumb. 

“Sweat and delirium, my love,” you responded. “But either way,” you looked down at Ana once more. “I still can’t believe she’s really here.”

“Neither can I,” Mark spoke softly, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. “Our daughter.” 

“Have you thought about what you want her to call you?” you asked. 

“I was thinking Papa, but I’m not sure it suits me, but she’s far too young to be training her.”

“Speak for yourself, I’ve already started to teach her how to say mum,” you teased which made Mark chuckle. 

Ana started to move and shift in your arms and you could sense she was waking up to be fed. 

“Unfortunately, I can’t be much help for this,” Mark said. “But I can go into the kitchen and warm up one of those lasagnes your mother made when she visited so that we can have something to eat.” 

“Sounds splendid,” you kissed your husband’s cheek and exchanged quick "I love yous" before moving on with your respective tasks. 

No matter how tired you got over the next couple of months, you both would never forget that feeling, the one of gratitude that by some chance of life, you were able to create the little human being in your arms. 

—

“Sweetheart, are you sure you’re okay to do today alone?” you asked. 

“I’m sure,” Mark insisted, “look at us,” he pointed to the baby carrier fitted with a recently one year old Ana. “I’ve got phone consultations lined up for the day and some simple casework. You should go before you’re late.”

“Goodness, you’re right,” you looked down at your watch. “They really don’t tell you how hard it is to leave.”

Mark quickly kissed you goodbye and you kissed Ana, lingering a little longer, not knowing how you’d last a full day without your little girl. 

“Alright, goodbye my loves, I’ll miss you,” you blew them both kisses and Ana giggled which made you smile as you headed down the stairs and quickly ran out the door to get into your taxi. 

Back inside Mark slowly began to get into the groove of things. 

“Today is Papa and Ana banana’s day,” he smiled and kissed the top of her head, listening to her babble. She’d do that whenever he called her Ana banana and sometimes he’d do it just to hear her little attempt at speech and communication. “Alright, shall we get to work?” 

Ana bounced in her carrier, smiling brightly. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Mark grinned. 

Having already felt with breakfast, Mark put on an earpiece and began making his necessary phone calls, walking around his home office consulting on matters pertaining to different cases he was consulting on. 

After about an hour or so Ana began to get a little fussy and Mark assumed she wanted to move around a bit, so he took her out of her carrier and placed her inside an enclosed play area in his office while he did some paperwork. 

He loved any time he would get to spend with Ana, even if it meant working from home. 

The rest of the day went by in a flash and by the time you got home both Mark and Ana were taking a nap on the couch. Ana was lying on top of Mark’s chest drooling on his shirt and Mark still had his bluetooth in his ear. 

It was a sight to see and you quickly snapped a picture before either of them awoke. 

Carefully you took Ana off of Mark and went to place her in her cot and woke up Mark, knowing if he stayed asleep any longer he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night.

“Where’s Ana?” he asked immediately and you chuckled. 

“I put her in the cot. Your father-daughter day go as planned?” 

“Exactly,” he nodded and you kissed his cheek. 

“Come on, I brought home dinner. You can tell me all about it.”

You took Mark by the hand and dragged him to the kitchen, making sure to turn the baby monitor on in case Ana woke up. 

You grabbed your takeout and sat on the counter, eating your food, watching Mark and listening to him recount all of the cute things Ana did throughout the day. 

Even though more of your meals had become store bought and you were running around in every direction, it was always all worth it when at the end of the day you could sit together and visit, especially with Ana at your side. 

—

“I think we should go, don’t you?” you placed the invitation back on the table. “It’s a good excuse to go on vacation again and it’s around the area where we met. It could be romantic.”

Mark looked skeptical. 

“I’m not sure it’s the best idea, perhaps we could go another time.”

“Isn’t this your friend getting married?” you asked. “Come on Mark, please? Right Ana darling? Don’t you wanna go too?”

“Yes Papa,” she stood up in her chair and clasped her small hands together. “Please!” 

Mark looked over at his wife and daughter and shook his head. 

“Alright, I’ll look into the tickets,” he said and you grinned and Ana clapped. 

“Your first real vacation Miss Ana, what do you think?” you kissed her cheek. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I’ve never been on vacation.”

Mark chuckled and picked up his now six-year-old daughter, 

“Well, your mum and I met on vacation,” Mark told her. “She was very clumsy.”

“And your papa was very-”

“Handsome,” Mark tickled Ana and she squealed. “Now before your mum can correct me, why don’t we go look for flights, Ana banana.”

“Alright, Papa,” Ana agreed. 

“Ah ah ah,” you scooped Ana out of Mark’s hands. “After she finishes her dinner.” 

Ana quickly jumped out of your arms and went to eat her food as fast as she could so she could join her dad. 

“Slow down, sweetheart you’re going to choke,” you chuckled as she pushed her plate away from herself, saying,

“Done!” with her mouth half full of food. 

In the end you got what you wanted because three short months later you had landed in Greece and were on your way to the location of the wedding being held for Mark’s friend. 

“Mark, isn’t this the dock where we met?” you asked, looking around at the benches as scenery that looked very familiar. “Yes, I think it is, look, there’s that hotel I stayed at.”

“Mum, this is where you and Papa met?” Ana asked and you nodded. 

“What a lovely coincidence that is,” you smiled and kissed your daughter's cheek. 

Mark just gave you a small smile as you awaited the ferry and after you boarded the crowded boat, you squished into a few seats with Ana sitting half on your leg and half on Mark’s. 

“I guess you finally have the chance to take this ferry,” you laughed a little to yourself, but you could help but notice that Mark was awfully quiet. You figured you’d ask him about it later, maybe once you’d settled in your hotel room, but first on your list was to mingle with the rest of the wedding guests and the bride and groom in some of the hotel common areas. 

All three of you couldn’t have been more happy to get off that boat and Ana was excited to have a little run around before coming back and holding one of your hands and one of Mark’s. 

“Did you and Papa come here, Mum?” Ana asked while swinging both her arms. 

“No, we didn’t,” you shook your head. “I guess we were just waiting to come with you.” 

“Well you waited a long time.” 

That made you both chuckle as you finally finished your walk and arrived at the hotel. 

“Should we check in or-?” 

“Mark!” you all turned when you heard his name only to see a bright smiling blonde woman coming your way. “Mark, it’s so good to see you, I’m so glad you could make it.”

She gave him a big hug before taking a step back and introducing herself to both you and Ana.

“I’m Bridget,” she said. “It’s so nice to meet you all, you must be Mark’s family.”

“Yes,” you grinned. “And you’re the bride!” 

“Guilty,” she laughed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come or not, but I figured I’d throw the invitation out there.” 

“Oh, why wouldn’t he come?” you asked curiously, not noticing Mark’s tense reaction. 

“It’s just, after Mark and I broke up I came to Greece, oh what was it, around ten fifteen years ago, and I just hoped it wasn’t a sore subject still, but I can see it isn’t,” she pointed at you and Ana. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

You wanted to respond, but your mouth seemed to stop working. You heard Mark do it for you and quickly excused you all so you could check into the hotel. 

You could hear your name being said a few times when finally a gentle hand on your shoulder pulled you out of your trance. 

“Ana, can you do Papa a favour and go over there and spend time with aunt Jude?” he asked. 

“Okay,” she nodded and chased after her father’s friend’s wife leaving just you and Mark. 

You turned to him with a hurt look on your face, 

“You came to Greece to chase after her didn’t you,” you said quietly. “That’s why I found you on the dock; that’s why you were waiting for the ferry.”

Mark chewed on his lip and nodded. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me she was your ex before letting me convince myself it was a good idea to come here?” 

“Darling, you were so excited and I didn’t think it mattered-,”

“Mark, please,” you shook your head. “I just-,” you paused and took a breath. “I need some time.” 

You took some of your things and went to the front desk to check into the hotel while Mark went to join Jude who had Ana in her arms. He made friendly conversation until you were done and you collected Ana and went upstairs to your room in silence. 

“Ana, how are you feeling, my love?” you asked. 

“I’m a little sleepy,” she admitted. “Is it bedtime soon?” 

“Mhmm,” you nodded. “We’ll all get ready and tuck in early, how does that sound?” 

She yawned, “Good.” 

Once you got in the room, you started to help Ana get changed while Mark got out your toiletries and easily took over when it came to teeth brushing. You took the time to get changed and settled, giving Ana a book to flip through while you and Mark both silently got ready for bed and slipped in the bed on either side of Ana. 

You slept close to the edge, your back turned away from the centre so Ana naturally decided to curl closer to father. 

“Is Mum okay?” Ana asked in a quiet mumble. 

“I hope so,” Mark kissed her head. “Why don’t we go to sleep, maybe we’ll all feel a little better in the morning.” 

You hoped deep down Mark was right. 

—

“Why isn’t Mum coming with us to the beach?” Ana asked while Mark helped her put on some sunscreen. 

“She just needs some time to herself,” Mark said simply. “You know how Mum and Papa sometimes like to have alone time.” 

“Yeah, but we’re on vacation,” she tilted her head. “Do you think she’ll come later?” 

“Maybe Ana banana, I’m not sure. I think Papa might have hurt her feelings by accident,” he admitted. 

“Did you say you were sorry?” she asked. 

“I did, but sometimes we need to say sorry and give some alone time, too.” 

Ana nodded her head thoughtfully, “Okay, then let’s go to the beach so she can have her alone time.”

Mark nodded his head and took his daughter’s hand in one of his and grabbed a bag in the other and they headed out to the beach together. 

Ana was adamant on starting off with a sandcastle, but both her and Mark found out quickly it was a little harder than it looked in all the movies, so they quickly abandoned that task to go for a swim. Ana had always enjoyed being in the water and Mark loved seeing how much she was enjoying herself. He just wished you were there to see it with him. 

He tried to keep his focus on Ana for the time being, knowing he would hopefully have a moment later to talk to you, but the day passed so quickly and before he knew it you were back in bed resting to prepare for the rehearsal dinner the next day. 

The next morning, Mark made a point to speak with you before you went down for breakfast, knowing if he left it he may not catch you until dinner. 

“I spoke with Jude,” he started, “she can look after Ana this afternoon so we can talk.” 

“Alright,” you nodded. “We can meet on the terrace.” 

Mark agreed and before you left, quickly reached for your hand to give it a squeeze. 

You chewed on your lip before squeezing it back, he was still your husband and you still loved him regardless of your hurt. 

The afternoon couldn’t come fast enough for Mark, he waited anxiously by the terrace after dropping Ana off with Jude, at least she’d have fun playing with her friends. 

“Mark,” you waved him down by the stairs. “Come on, let's walk,” you suggested. 

He jogged to catch up with you and you walked side by side down the stairs and further along into the streets, busy with traffic and locals, just going about their daily business. 

“I figured I should probably tell you the whole story of how I ended up in Greece,” Mark said, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

You nodded your head and motioned for him to continue. 

“After Bridget and I broke up, for the second time mind you, I thought I had to chase after because in my mind I thought she was the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with,” he said truthfully. “So I wound up on that bench on the dock, mourning my losses as she came to the island and I was stuck on the mainland.”

“You wanted to marry her?” you asked. 

“I thought I did,” he clarified, “but then I met you.” 

“Mark-,” 

“You know me, darling. I’m terrible with emotional declarations, which is probably why I never managed to tell you how quickly I fell in love with you,” he admitted. “I was set to pack my bags and go home, but you convinced me, somehow just in your demeanour to stay, and so I did and spent ten of the most wonderful days of my life by your side. It made me realize the reason I came to Greece wasn’t for Bridget, I came because I had to meet you.” 

You looked up at Mark and saw him staring down at his shoes. 

“It never occurred to me to mention her because of how clear my future looked with you in it. How clear it still looks.” 

“And how does it look?” you asked. 

“Well,” he sighed. “Ana grows up and becomes a lawyer of course.” 

You chuckled at that. 

“And as she grows we retire eventually, move into that rundown cottage in the countryside we always talk about buying. They come up with some way to keep dogs alive forever and we grow old, fixing our cottage with Lucy and Maisie and Ana visits us on weekends, eventually with a husband and our grandchildren. It’s quiet and simple, but it’s us.” 

You smiled a little to yourself and leaned your head against his arm which he easily wrapped around you. 

“How uncomfortable was that for you?” you asked, knowing your husband wasn’t often fond of talking about his feelings.

“Unbearable,” he said, “but worth it.” 

“Good,” you turned his head to face you and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I’d love to grow old with you, Mark Darcy. Although I’m already convinced we have a little bit, the hotel bed is really not doing it for my back.” 

“That’s funny, I was going to say the pillows for my neck,” Mark teased and you nudged him a little. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.” 

“I’m sorry I doubted you had a very romantic reason for not telling me,” you joked while circling back towards the hotel. Ana caught both of your eyes and she waved at you, rushing down to meet you at the bottom of the stairs, much to Jude’s worry. 

“Mum, is your alone time done?” Ana asked. 

“Yes it is, my dear,” you laughed and bent down to kiss her forehead. 

“Good, cause you need to come see this trick I learned!” she exclaimed, grabbing both yours and Mark’s hands and pulling you up the stairs. 

@/iceman-kazansky

[crescenthistory]

Second part for this fic? https://www.tumblr.com/crescenthistory/768959098903527424/can-u-do-a-remus-x-reader-where-they-are-best 😋😋😋😋😋

hi darling! i think you're asking me to comment on the fic for my 2k celebration, which i will happily do<33 but i won't write a full-fledged part two, mostly because i don't think there's that much more to write for them!

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will COMMENT on "A Little Push" with remus lupin

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

At the end of the fic, Remus and reader decide to become official and kiss to seal the deal – and then we have a little "post-credits" scene where Remus thanks Sirius

I've always found it funny to picture how Remus goes about getting from the confession scene to the hug scene

A suggestion:

Remus can't seem to get enough of your kisses now that they're free for him to take – though his hands are still trembling from the adrenaline, you're laughing into each other's mouths and kissing over and over happily.

"I cannot believe it," Remus murmured, moving to hold you tight against him in an embrace that resembled the hugs you used to share, but this time crossing the boundary into intimate that he always dreamed of. "I- I just cannot believe it."

"I mean, if you want I can just leave–" you began to tease, but were cut off by another onslaught of kisses and giggles.

"Cheeky minx," he laughed against you, holding you closer so you couldn't escape. "Do you want to know what's worst?"

You hummed in approval, letting your fingers glide up into his hair.

"That, after all this time, this – us – was Sirius' doing."

You snorted, pulling away just enough to look at him. "You should be thanking him really, because I had no idea."

Remus frowned and ducked his head to hide in the crook of your neck, nose burying into the soft skin there. "I kinda have to, don't I?"

You furrowed your brows. "You don't actually have to–"

Your brushing it off was yet again cut off, but this time by Remus pulling completely away from you and grabbing your shoulders. He gave you a dead-serious look, nodding gravely. "I'll be right back, my love."

With a quick kiss, he was out the door before you could think, leaving you to shake your head over how dramatic this group of friends was.

Downstairs, Sirius was steeling himself, prepared to get scolded and maybe even jinxed for his meddling

When he received a tight hug and confirmation instead, this boy did what he did best – he was loud, hollering and screaming with joy

I believe these were the reactions around:

"Sirius, what the fu- wait, are they finally together? HELL YEAH!"

Consequently, all witnesses joined in on the mini celebration, leaving Remus very flustered and red

At this point, the party has tied down, leaving mostly their close 7th year friends

This was not what Remus intended, though he probably should have expected it

I imagine you're sitting on Remus' bed when you hear the hollers and get a fond, lovestruck grin plastered all over your face

You walk out and lean over the bannister to the common room, looking down at the scene with an arched brow

"I assume everyone knows now?"

All attention turns to you and Remus opens his mouth – probably to apologise, poor boy – but he gets interrupted by Sirius whoop-ing loudly

Remus, now red as a beet, wrenches free of Sirius' grasp, stopping only to rough up his hair before running towards the stairs

He takes them two-three steps at a time despite his creaking hips and once he reaches you, he spins you around in his arms and carries you away towards the seclusion of his dorm

His laugh is carefree and boyish for once, seeking refuge from the watchful eye of his mates

You're utterly in love

[lumosatnight]

23 Fic Recs 2023!

This year has definitely been a year. I've devoured so many wonderful fics by so many amazing authors. Thank you @hprecfest for the super fun rec categories and for some fic inspiration! Here are 23 fics that I read and loved in 2023 (although some are quite a few years older) ordered by ship.

🌼 - fluff | 💔 - angst | 🔥 - smut

—

💫 DRARRY 💫

1. A post-canon fic

The Discreet Gentleman's Connection by pluto (gayrights420) [Drarry, E, 80.4k] 🌼🔥 I had the absolute pleasure of beta-ing for this fic, so when I say it is amazing, it truly is just that. Fast burn on the smut via Floo sex, slow burn on the in-person falling in love. Satisfying in all the best possible ways.

2. A fic that made me laugh

AITA for being "obsessed" with my childhood nemesis? by @rainstormradish [Drarry, M, 4.3k] 🌼📲 Draco on a reddit forum is hilarious just on its own, but the banter and formatting really bring this fic to life. Amazingly creative, had me in stitches!

3. A comfort fic

The Eighth Tale by @letteredlettered [Drarry, E, 12.0k] 💔⏳ An oldie but a goodie. I constantly find myself coming back to this fic and having my mind blown every single time. Time travel timey-wimey angst.

4. A fic with art

Dating Draco - A Visual Game by @itsphantasmagoria [Drarry, M, Video Game] 🌼🎮 This is a fic in video game form!! Amazing art and lovely story where YOU get to make the choices for Drarry's happily ever after.

5. A favorite series

The Journal of Dreadful Things by @lilbeanz [Drarry, G, 112k, WIP] 🌼📖 Hilarious, witty, AND COMES WITH ART!! Lilbeanz draws and writes a wonderfully delightful series starting from Draco's First Year. His characterization had me in hysterics. Book 4 is starting soon!

—

💫 COMMON SHIPS 💫

6. Fic with the hottest smut

Moonstruck by @prettyremus [Wolfstar, E, 3.8k] 🔥🐺 Found this gem while scrolling through the werewolf smut tag (don't judge me). I love the switch in dynamic with Sirius taming Remus's wolf through, ahem, rough sex.

7. An unreliable narrator fic

Sea of White by @dividawrites [Harrymort, E, 8.6k] 🔥🤍 Deliciously hot, creepy, and strangely sweet. Love their dynamic here, the unrestrained lust. Harrymort "die" and lose their memories, so, of course, then they bang.

8. A fic that made me cry

Far Apart, Far Away by @unmistakablyoatmeal [Hinny, minor Drarry, T, 1.6k] 💔💍 Infidelity angst has never been this good. I love the layers of emotion in this fic. Quick punchy sections that really pulled me in.

9. A Muggle(?) AU fic

Pleasant Hope by @ac1d6urn, @sinick [Snarry, E, 41.6k] 💔⛪️ Pastor Severus!! The angst, pining, and self-discovery in this fic is superb! I love the interwoven magic and detailed world-building of this little town.

—

💫 RARE PAIRS 💫

10. A fav amongst faves

The Last Trial of Peter Pettigrew by @sleepstxtic [Prongstail, M, 20.8k] 💔 🐀 Holy moly, this fic!!!! Is this my new favorite fic?? Possibly. The concept is brilliant, so creative and nuanced. The Peter character study using outsider perspectives is genius. Seamlessly balances canon and new scenes.

11. A pre-canon fic

Careless by @tax-onomic [Luther, E, 1.5k] 🔥🪞 Lucius/Arthur my beloved rare pair!! I am captain of the Luther ship, and Tax's fic hits all the right spots. The pining, the sniping, the prickly personalities with emotional vulnerability underneath! And all in the middle of a hot smut scene. Perfect.

12. A canon-compliant fic

Scottish by thepadfoots [Chedric, G, 749] 💔🌟 Lovely Cho character study focused around her Asian identity and the boy she loved.

13. A fic rated G (more like T though)

Lion-Hearted Girl by MinnieQuill (odainath) [Minmione, G, 4.5k] 💔🦁 I know the large age gap might scare some, but their relationship feels very organic in this fic. The setting is grim, but there is always hope in the darkness!

14. A fic rated T

You're So Vane by @patriceavril [Romelina, T, 6.8k] 🌼💄Romilda is so delightfully characterized, I was smiling through the entire fic. Angelina is the perfect foil (and love interest) to Romilda's attentions.

15. A rare pair fic (less than 2000 fics on AO3)

Snakeskin by @cntrl15 [Bellastoria, E, 3.7k] 🔥👠 Talk about a rare pair! Astoria/Bellatrix only has 2 tagged fics on AO3: this fic and the drabble I wrote based on it. But read this fic, and you'll see why I felt the need to write more in this universe.

16. A fest fic

Master of None by @nanneramma [Snormac, G, 5.5k] 🌼🧘 Severus is so wonderfully cranky, and Cormac is fine AF. The surprise pairing of 2023 that I never knew I needed and now I'm obsessed with!

17. An under-rated fic

Sun, Shadow, Shade by @naomijameston [Snuna, G, 700] 🌼☀️ Post-war fluff. Sunshine Luna is the perfect match for sullen Snape. A short and sweet fic for this underrated ship.

18. A canon-divergent fic

but somebody's gotta do it by nocturn [Pangulus, T, 920] 😄🧟‍♂️ This fic will make you say WTF but also huh, okay that totally works. The concept is WILD but Lyra executes it wonderfully. Pansy drags Regulus out of the inferi lake and they flirt a little while he gets de-corpsified lol.

—

💫 POLY SHIPS 💫

19. A dark fic

In his embrace by @loneamaryllis [Snarrymort, het!Snarry, E, 48k] ⚡️👀 Dark and dirty but so so good. A Voldemort Wins AU where fem!Harry is taken as prisoner. Snape's mindset as he tries to save her (and is forced to rape her) is so twisted and mesmerizing. Mind the tags!

20. A thought-provoking fic

Icarus by @thistlecatfics [Millvansy, M, 20.0k] 💔🍾 War trauma, addiction, codependency! This fic is messy with emotions but has a strong, beating heart underneath. I am in love with Parvati as she deals with Pansy's addiction and Millicent's denial — three beautiful, imperfect girls.

21. A holiday fic

A Time, Dark and Divine by @moonflower-rose [Dronarry, E, 17.0k] 🔥⛱ HOLY FREAKING FUCK!! The sexual tension in this fic is off the freaking charts. Drarry seducing Ron while on vacation in Portugal. Sign me the fuck up!

—

💫 GEN 💫

22. A favorite fic under 5k

The Scrunchie by @saintsenara [Lightning Era Girls, G, 4.5k] 💖👭 Such a lovely look into some of the female background characters, all following the path of a single scrunchie. Lisa, Padma, Parvati, Hannah, Sally-Anne.

23. A fic with an ending I can't stop thinking about

Through the Middlegame by @sandervansunshine [Astoria & Peter, T, 6.6k] 💔♜ Devastating, heart-wrenching, tragic. 10000% would recommend. Kylee has already heard me screaming in the servers about this fic. If I could get a fic tattooed straight onto my brain, this would be it.

—

💫 BONUS RECS! 💫

A podfic

Plenitude by @wilfriede, written by eldritcher [Amelmione, M, 14 min] 💔🥀 Amazing voices, amazing music, amazing ambience. Wilfriede really brings one of my fav Hermione/Amelia Bones fics to life in this podfic!

A comic

War Prize by @mrviran [Snegulus, Reggiemort, M, Comic, WIP] ☠️🐍 The panels are awe-inspiring. I am HOOKED on this comic. The murder and the TENSION. Ughhhhh so good. I am so invested in Severus's arc!!

A self-rec (completely self-indulgent)

For I Have Found Salvation by @lumosatnight [Snarry, E, 7.1k] 🔥✝ My first time writing Snarry! Priest Kink, church sex, and blasphemous religious imagery. Priest Severus is oh-so-tempted by Teen Harry. So fun to write and even more fun to go back and read as a guilty pleasure.

—

⚡️ Want more fics to read? ⚡️

Try my rec tag: #lumosinthelibrary

Year in Reading, b-day oneshots, WLW Library

[yellowocaballero]

Hey bestie love seeing your fic finally being released into the world quick q tho: what’s a no chip AU. Is that something you created yourself? Fanfic of a fanfic? Fandom trend??

I know almost nothing about a star war but am very proud regardless that The Fic you’ve been working on is now ready <3

Seek hello!!! Thanks for being supportive I love you too :)

You know, I said "No Chip AU" in the summary because saying "AU where there are no brain chips" is awkward, "AU where the clones aren't brainwashed" is misleading, and "Everybody Chooses To Be Insanely Evil AU" is both misleading and makes it sound like we're dealing with everyone's evil doppleganger. I realize it makes it seem as if this is a fandom trope. So far as I know, it's not. I haven't read a Clone Wars 2008 fanfic set in the clone wars where the clones murdered the Jedi voluntarily. Who would do that. Teehee.

In a paragraph, in Episode II of the Prequel Trilogy every Jedi is drafted into a war and given millions of identical human men to fight the war, and in Episode III the identical human men were revealed to be A Sith Plot and sleeper assassins when they assassinated all the Jedi. The Clone Wars TV show spent a lot of time humanizing, characterizing, exploring, and hero-ing the clones, to the point where it felt really out of character for any of them to kill their best friends, so it did some retcons and said that they all had an evil brainwashing microchip in their heads that made them kill everybody. Star Wars.

I wrote another fanfic where the war ended early, the clones survived, and Obi-Wan had to struggle with how his best friends and found family betrayed him and murdered everyone he loved. It was fine, but I was basically unsatisfied with it. Because the characters basically had no culpability, and it felt unfair for Obi-Wan to blame them when they technically didn't do anything. He hated his father figure for trying to kill him, but there wasn't a satisfying emotional resolution - because he found out that it wasn't his fault, and he had to shrug and hug him at the end. It wasn't satisfying and didn't feel right.

So I made everyone evil. Because I wanted to actually deal with all of that. In writing you want to do the juiciest and richest possible thing, right!!! But yes it span off me being unsatisfied with some stuff, like all good fanfic. Thanks for asking :)

[scribbledghost]

Hi!! okay so this may be kind of a weird ask and im not very good at english-ing despite it being the literal only language i speak so bare with me here.

ive been obsessing over your inhuman!polyvessel headcanons and i was kind of wondering, how do you think the vessels would deal with a partner with ocd? like actual ocd, not the whole perfectionism shabang and more like someone who struggles with paranoia or intrusive thoughts. (especially considering thier whole telepathy thing)

i know this is kind of a heavier topic, so if your not comfortable writing something like this i'd totally understand.

sooooo full disclosure here: I also have OCD! Diagnosed, meds, therapy, the works. It sucks. I hate it. But all this is to say this ask isn't too heavy at all, and I'm more than happy to give my insight on it. I'm gonna try to make this as vague as possible with regards to the compulsions/intrusive thoughts, just because there are so many different kinds of OCD that I don't want to pin it to just one subtype.

I like to think all of the vessels would be very gentle with you on this. They'll notice some things here and there, like repetitive behaviors, constantly checking on things, etc. But when it really hits them is when Vessel starts to explain to you about the mental connection they all share (and the fact that they can peek into your mind) and those intrusive thoughts come screaming in like a freight train. He doesn't have to look into your mind to see how distressed you are about the idea, and he makes quick work of reassuring you that it's not something they're constantly tuned-in to. Sure, they can usually sense vague feelings, but they can only hear your specific thoughts if they intentionally try to. But the damage is done, and Vessel (plus the others after a while) spends the better part of an hour struggling to help you calm down. Once they help you through that particular episode, they'll probably sort of sit down with you and try to ask you, essentially, "what the fuck was that".

Almost immediately after you explain what's going on and what OCD is, II's off to the library to see what he can dig up about it. Particularly what sorts of things helps with it, what kinds of things make it worse, and maybe what he can do to help. Sleep is already manifesting a few journals and studies for him while he's on his way. The others stick around to talk to more about it, as they want to get an idea about your specific experiences with it. I think quick deal is also made here: none of them will ever tiptoe into your thoughts unless they ask you first. It may not help the paranoia as much as they'd like, since they can still sense feelings, but it's the most they can offer: a genuine promise to respect those boundaries.

To say it'll take some getting used to and some trial-and-error is a bit of an understatement. They have the absolute best intentions, but we all know that doesn't mean things won't go sideways sometimes. They may interrupt your compulsions at first, thinking they're helping you to stop doing them but as a result they just make you more frantic and upset. Or they might endlessly reassure you any time you ask, completely unaware that they're essentially playing into your compulsions and making them worse.

Over time, however, a smoother routine develops as they all become more aware of your OCD and the ins and outs of it. Any sort of help they can offer, they'll gladly do so. They want to know how they can best come to your aid the next time the urge to do those behaviors presents itself. They'll stay by your side, and help you no matter what, all you need to do is talk to them and tell them what you need.

Sometimes what you need is help slowing down the compulsions or help doing them less. I think II is best here, as he can be more firm and would be a better guiding hand to hold you accountable. Did you decide beforehand to only do your compulsion [x] amount of times? He'll keep count, then gently work with you to steer you away when you hit that limit.

Sometimes what you need is to be left alone to do them, then offered comfort and care afterwards. I think this is more IV's place, where he can simply stand by, keep an eye on you to make sure you don't cross the line into being dangerous to yourself, then making sure you're taken care of when you start to come down.

Sometimes what you need is a soft, quiet presence while you resist doing the compulsions at all, just sitting with your anxiety and waiting for it to dissipate naturally without the help of those behaviors. Vessel is good at this; he won't say a word unless you indicate you want conversation. He's more than happy to simply sit nearby or hold you through your fear, making sure you're not doing this alone.

I think III can be a bit of a wild card, and can flip between being good at helping you slow down your compulsions and sticking close by when you resist doing them completely. I think he'd struggle sitting idly by and letting you run the course of them, just because he'd want to pull you away or interrupt you in some manner.

Overall, I think they also try to keep things as normal as possible without making you feel abandoned or alone. They don't want to center everything around your OCD and constantly remind you of it, but they don't want you to think they don't care about your struggles with it either. Above all, they want you to feel safe with them. They want you to feel secure, and they want you to know they've got you.

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Hey queen, love your dragon!hybrid au so much. it’s so creative and just like always so well written. I just read the jealousy hcs and I wanted to ask if you could do one where they react to like someone making an unsavory comment towards the reader. Like for Aegon and Daemon it could be like some knight or lord they went out drinking with. Like that scene where Aegon made that comment towards Baela during the dinner. Idk feel free to ignore if this is like weird. Love your work though 🫶

Hey Queeng ((pronounced: kwe-ing) Queen/King/both/neither)!

I'm assuming you're not the same anon as the injuries ask, and so I will refer to you as the 👑 anon from now on.

Thank you so much. I'm so glad so many people like it (and like my writing too :)) I hope this is what you had in mind for the headcanon/image. Since you've mentioned Aegon and Daemon, I've written for both of them.

Masterlist

Dragon!hybrids masterlist

Aegon:

So, since Aegon keeps you a secret for the most part, those who actually know about you would be some servants and knights. Therefore, the unsavory comments would come from the whispers and gossips of the help. 

He might not tell you about them. In the best-case scenario (in his head), you’ll never be aware of how the help thinks of you. He’ll either have the person responsible for the rumors removed or he’ll have an accident. 

Aegon rarely let Sunfyre take over—well, not let per se; he couldn’t, usually. But this time, it felt like he (Aegon) wasn’t in control of anything. It hadn’t been clean, nor quiet. A miracle that it happened in the courtyard after a flight, really. 

He’d already been in an awfully sour mood, thus prompting a flight session. What utter disaster for the kitchen boy to be in the same place as Aegon/Sunfyre passed over the castle. He was just thinking about how to deal with the whole situation. 

It had been quick, really, and barely anyone was in the courtyard at that time. Sunfyre lunged toward the ground and chomped on the boy swiftly before bringing him up in the hair and tossing him back down. Waist of perfectly good meat, but the boy didn’t deserve to be the king's meal. Not after alleging you were simply pleasure, he’d bought... Gratified whore, was it? Well, who was to confirm that now?

Daemon:

He’ll cut a bitch. Given that he’ll wait to see your reaction first (Vaemon scene), if you take it well (ignore it), he’ll just hurt them very badly. If it makes you flinch, lower your head, or even wet your eyes, this person is not gonna survive.

The burning of tears at the brim of your lashes made your chest constrict with shame, and you lowered your head to prevent other people from seeing it. Maybe it was fatigue; maybe it was the sudden realization that everywhere you went people thought that Daemon was using you as nothing much more than a hole. It surprised you how little it took to make you break this time. Probably the accumulation of it all.

It’s the sound of a knife cutting through something hard and a scream that made you look up from the dazed gaze on the table. Daemon had sliced through the man’s hand without a flinch, his eyes set on you, not a care behind his purple orbs. 

“My partner shall be addressed with the respect deserving of their station or not at all.” He says it loud and clear for everyone else in the pub to hear. His knife is now being cleaned against the fabric of the other man's clothes, the one with the now severed hand. There’s a grumble elevating from around you two, discord brewing after his feral action. From under his cape, a scaly tail makes an appearance, and the grumble dies down to quiet once again. 

Daemon smiles at you with his usual, cocky smirk, and he offers you a grape of fruits; you accept it with a smile back. “I should have something made for you to recognize. Can’t have my little soldier all defeated with rumors.”

Taglist : @lady-dragon-rider

Anons : 👑😵‍💫

[camillathe6th]

WIP Wednesday(!!!)

@glitchy-npc very very nicely tagged me for a WIP, thank you so much for thinking of me 🫶🫶 and LOOK, it's actually Wednesday this time, I'm nailing this shit.

Anyway, my next chapter is a conversation about telepathy and names and interpretation between Romare (they/them) and Daniel, and these are the only lines that make sense as of now (curse commute and putting stuff in my notes without being able to write them in full, I hate having ongoing wips.) Most importantly, I'll tag @punkranger, @kittlesandbugs, @the-rebel-archivist of course, and @westealtoys, @wonda-fhr, @silvery-bluish, @ladyshivs, and @thenightdayblogger if you feel like sharing something (from any source by the way, doesn't have to be FHR). And anyone else who wants to, too!

WIP.

“But it’s not the same, right?” I ask, breathing too fast now. Leg day sucks. “Between digging into one’s mind and the foreground thoughts…”

“Surface thoughts.” Just a glance, tinged brown-honey in the smog-sun. Do they feel it too, this sudden vertigo, this falling sky, when our eyes meet, and meet and meld? “That’s what I call them.”

“Surface thoughts,” I hold their gaze, and the gaze skitters away, scorched golden. Maybe they do. “I like that. Impulses and masks. Something to peel back.”

“You’re wrong,” they say, as they usually say, knowing I’m not wrong. “There’s nothing to peel back. Surface thoughts are as true as they get, and then they get muddled with consciousness and justification and all that bullshit. What you get if you dig is not the self, but what people try to verbalize to better shy away from themself.”

“Do you think so? Impulse is not truth. Neither is thought.”

Just in time, I dodge their treacherous leg, a trip-up away from having to start from the top; behind the dark lenses, they watch me hard, crouched low against the wall: a breath away from attack, a clench away from heat.  

“Go faster,” they order, slash as a whip.

“Of course, Rom,” I grin, jumping the rope faster. “Punishment is sweet.”

Quick, before it slips, they catch their smiling back, and give me a glare instead. Dirty little shit (not my thought).

“I hit you that first day,” they fling, keen on bruising. “That was impulse. That was the truth.”

“And then you held your hand out to help me up,” I catch, unscathed. “Also the truth.”

“What, are you nature versus nurture-ing me right now?”

“No.” The rope hits the ground, under my feet, one, two, three, one, two, three. “I don’t think violence is nature. I don’t think connection is nurture.”

“Oh, please! Shut up.”

“Right…,” I smile, my mind a simmer, their mind its burning. “Because I’m wrong?”

[sir-renaissance]

What Color?

Jester and Caleb are deciding what color to paint their unborn child’s room. Jester has one thing on her mind. Caleb has several. The key difference is that Caleb is very good at hiding it.

Haven’t written in a while and this idea came in a flash. So rather than make it a whole to do, I decided to just write it like a prompt giving myself fifteen minutes to complete it. I gotta say I’m pretty happy with how it turned out! Enjoy!

•••

Caleb worries.

There’s nothing new or significant about that fact, but he does. Caleb Widogast worries. He’s a worrier. He worries so much it’s sometimes a wonder how he thinks about anything else. What was actually surprising, however, is how in the past six months it had become so much worse.

“Pink will be the accent color,” Jester said after a moment of thought, paintbrush in hand, “but what about the rest of it? We can’t just have it be boring old white.” She was standing atop a short stool in a painters smock, not taking her eyes off the circle she had just finished filling. Its color was the inner world of an empty conch shell.

“My room was ‘boring old white’. For most of my life actually,” Caleb replied, minding the tightness of his tone, not looking up from his book, “Why not just paint the whole room pink?”

Jester���s nose scrunched and her mouth twisted, dissatisfied. It was, on occasion, a goal of his to get her to make that face. Even at the cost of saying something he knew she’d instantly disagree with. Sometimes being wrong had its rewards.

“It’s not like pink is a bad color or anything. I love pink—!”

“You don’t have to defend the color as if you’re about to say something risqué about one of our friends, blueberry.”

“—but just one shade? For a whole room? What happens when he draws on the walls and wants to use red? It’ll look terrible and then he’ll stop drawing and he’ll give up on art and he’ll get into…fishing or something,” Jester, in the process of laying out her case against the mono color on the walls, had begun the process of tying her hair with a white ribbon. Which of course meant the paint brush was stuck between her teeth and lips. Further meaning everything she had just said was done with effort to get through the obstruction.

Caleb, having understood her perfectly, replied cooly while continuing to look down at his book, “Fishing is a noble career to have. She could also indulge in the library. Perhaps her mind will be more like mine, hm?”

Jester hummed to concede, the paint brush now being cleaned with a well worn and dirtied cloth. “Still! He should get a chance at least. But what color goes good with everything? And not white. White is bor-ing. Maybe light purple? But that wouldn’t work with red either. We could do something like…grey? But wouldn’t that just be close to white? At least with this kind of pink grey would look so drab, especially on rainy days. Oh shit! I didn’t even think of that! What color looks good in any kind of weather? We haven’t had a rainy day yet since we started figuring out the colors so I haven’t seen the walls when the sky is cloudy and the windows are so big and they let in so much light—“

Jester stopped herself when her eyes caught on Caleb’s leg. She stared. It was jostling, up and down at a rapid fire tempo. The rest of him however looked perfectly still. His face the picture of steady focus. He was sitting in the rocking chair he and Beau had made, had argued for hours over the best shape and angle of curved bottom. The book he was gripping hard to was the latest in a long line, all of them memoirs or journals or instructive manuals on childcare and the general rearing of children.

Jesters lips gently quirked at their edges and from them fell a soft sigh.

“Caleb?”

“Hm?”

“We can stop talking about the colors if you want.”

“No. Why?” He asked, replying back too sharp and quick, still not looking up, “It’s important. They say the color you choose can have great influences on personality. It affects the subconscious part of the mind apparently.”

His leg still moved at rabbit speed.

Jester gave another sigh, this one out of some exasperation as she realized she would have to elaborate. “Caleb—“ she had begun to say, though whatever she was going to say next was cut off by a misplaced step. She had barely begun to realize she was falling off the stool before a series of quick events occurred.

A word had bellowed out of him at alarming volume and suddenly Jester’s world was silvery mist. She only had the briefest sensation of falling before landing into a familiar set of shapes. The rocking chair across the room was rocking back and forth while empty. The book had been thrown onto the floor, its poor pages bent.

The mists disappeared and from them, above her, was Caleb.

Jester had to blink in order to refocus her vision again. And upon doing so she was able to study him, if only briefly. Able to see what he had been hiding inside that book. Lips parted with shaky breaths, cheeks raised in a few shades, eyes bright with adrenaline. Some hairs he kept tied back fell out of place, framing his face. His hands gripped tightly at her back, arms firm and surrounding her. His stomach just barely pressing against her swollen one.

A whole spell he had used, just to save her from a small fall. Albeit a simple spell, but still.

Jester felt a pang in her chest. How had she not seen it before?

“Hey…” she began, soft like to a cornered animal, “Caleb. It’s okay. We’re okay—“

“I told you the stool was too small,” he croaked out, throat tight, “What if I hadn’t been here? What if you both had—“

“Bruised an elbow?” She cut in, guiding him with her body and arms to raise them both back up again. “It’s barely a foot off the ground. I’m not that bad of a cleric, you know. I can handle healing myself.”

“I…that’s not what I—“ He struggled to find the words, blinking and standing up straight alongside her. His arms were still around her, still holding on tight. Jester’s hands found their home on his cheeks, the stubble of his jaw tickling her palms. Eventually his eyes slid shut and he took a breath, holding it for a heart beat before letting it go. Despite herself, Jester waited patiently for him to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, keeping his eyes shut, “Everything feels…loud. All the time lately. It was like when I went on the run as a boy and everything was danger. Everything a threat. Even my own shadow. I…I’m—“

“Afraid?” Jester finished. His lips pressed into a thin line and his eyebrows drew together tightly.

“Ja,” he let out in a breath, shoulders beginning to sag, “Ja, all the time, Jesse. It’s…I didn’t want to worry you. Especially not now.”

Jester shook her head, thumbs running across his cheekbones, “I should have seen it sooner. I’m sorry, Caleb. But you know— you don’t have to hide that from me. I’ve seen you scared before. Like lots and lots.”

“Ja, but,” he stopped himself, thinking his words through, “you should not be forced to carry my burdens when you’ve got a great deal on you already. If I can ease you in any way, I will.”

“Even if it means hiding yourself from me?”

Caleb finally opened his eyes, breaking from his worry for confusion. “That’s not—“

“Does it look like I’m at ease right now, Caleb? Listening to you tell me that you’ve been on edge for months and you’ve been hiding it from me?” Her tone was mildly scolding, but there was no loss of love. In fact that was a great amount always threatening to burst from her at any given moment, but most especially now. “When you asked me to marry you, do you remember what I said?”

“Hm,” he worried his bottom lip not in trying to remember, the words were perfectly archived in his mind, but rather in hesitation, “you had said you didn’t know much about being a wife. A good wife. You were worried you wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Well I’ve had lots and lots of practice since then,” she said, beginning to smile, “and I know for sure one thing I will always do is help you, Caleb. No matter what. I promised you that, didn’t I?”

Caleb was helpless in the face of that smile. Infectious thing that it was. “Ja. You did.”

“Right. Okay. So,” Jester pressed her stomach fully against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Within her, gentle movements occurred which they could both feel. As if Caleb being close was a known thing to the child. “Let’s take a break for the rest of the day until dinner. Something to help you relax, even if you just want to talk that’s okay too. We can talk about colors tomorrow.”

He nodded after a moment of hesitation, loosening his grip and placing his hands at her hips. In the quiet, Jester lifted herself up by the toes and stole a kiss from his unsuspecting lips. Though surprised, it took but a fraction of a second for Caleb to melt into the embrace. Despite his ever present worries, they seemed so distant now. They always did when she was near.

When they broke apart, Jester gazed up at him before her expression froze. The worry came back to him at near instant speed. “What?” He asked, voice cracking slightly.

Jester didn’t answer, though instead she moved closer until they were nose to nose. She stared deeply into his eyes.

Before he could ask her again, her face burst into joy as she exclaimed, “That’s it!” She pulled away looking rather pleased with herself.

Caleb was at a loss. “What’s it?”

“Your eyes!”

“My…eyes?”

“That’s the color we’ll use for the wall! It goes with everything!”

And to Jester’s slight surprise and full on delight, Caleb burst out laughing.

END

[shubblelive]

— BLOWN IT

summary : so desperate to make wilbur’s first night at your apartment perfect, you take any hiccups as a sign of failure. too bad wilbur’s more than content just the way things are.

genre : fluff (angst if you squint really hard like, it's BARELY there i promise)

warnings : reader is described to be physically smaller than wilbur, reader has a tiny anxiety moment but they're okay

pairing : cc!wilbur soot x gn!reader

pronouns : they/them

featuring : cc!wilbur soot

requested : @mysticalsoot domestic sweet fic about all the first small moments reader

word count : 911

note : connor my love!! i couldn’t fit everything you asked into one fic in a way that i liked, but i hope you like this!! my wifi was down for maintenance so this took me a second because i’d rather die than write on my phone but i hope the wait is alright <333 mwah (also if you haven’t you need to go check out connor @mysticalsoot his boarding school au is so wonderful and he’s so lovely)

your bathroom lightbulb blew last week. you hadn't had the chance to replace it, and the second you left the bathroom it would disappear from your mind. you'd swear under your breath at night when you'd go in there to brush your teeth and wash your face, but other than that it never crossed your mind.

your house had been extensively cleaned, from the welcome mat being shaken out over your balcony (with a yelled apology to peter, the elderly man who lived below you), to the sections in between your couch cusions being vacuumed, and still you didn't remember the damn light globe until wilbur called out to you. "darling? your bulb's blown."

damn. you kept forgetting about it and now all that effort of making sure everything was perfect for the first time your boyfriend stayed over was out the window and onto peter's balcony along with month's worth of dust from your welcome mat.

"want me to run out and grab a new one?" you were sitting at the kitchen counter, working on your laptop, with wilbur ducking out of the bathroom to place a kiss on your head.

"no, no. you're alright, i'll go. you hang here and you can have your shower in just a sec." you stood up, wilbur's hand on your shoulder. you went to press your lips to his jaw as a quick goodbe, but his eyebrows furrowed.

"woah, woah, woah," he placed his other hand on your other shoulder. "why're you in such a rush? do i smell that bad?" he chuckled self-depricatingly, using his thumb to stroke the skin over your top.

you giggled, looking up at him. he had a stray curl hanging over his forehead, glasses perched on the top of his hair in anticipation for the shower he was about to take. "maybe just a little."

wilbur gasped, mock offended. "wow, i was going to ask my lovely partner if they'd come with me to buy a lightbulb for their bathroom and they made fun of me." he moved his hand to your side, trying to poke you.

"okay, i'm sorry!" you laughed. "will you come with me to the store?"

you watched as he pretended to consider your offer. your heart swelled up watching his over-dramatised thinking; index finger scratching on his chin, humming and ha-ing. "i guess i'll come with you, because i love you so very very much." a kiss was pressed to your nose before you even registered, wilbur grabbing your hand gently.

he, very graciously, let you drive to the shops, his hand wrapped around yours the entire time. it was nearing closing time, so the store was mostly empty. he’d typed out a little list on his phone on the way there, noting that you were running out of eggs, which were a key ingredient in the breakfast he was planning on making you as a thank you.

he dragged you around the store, his hand wrapped securely around yours. the low flickering light wasn’t doing you any favours you were certain, but it showed every hollow of wilbur’s face, completely enthralling you and stopping you from notice that wilbur had payed for your groceries and had now reached your car.

“you okay, lovely?” he asked, worried at your quietness. you nodded, sure of yourself, and his face softened. “what’s goin’ on?”

you took a somewhat shaky breath in before speaking. “i just wanted everything tonight to go smoothly. i wanted you to have as nice of a time at my house as i did at yours, i guess? it’s dumb.”

wilbur’s eyebrows shot up towards his abyss of curly hair hanging over his forehead. “that’s it?” you worried for a second that he had confirmed your anxieties. it was dumb. but you looked up at the man above you, his thumbs ghosting over both of your knuckles, small smile on his face pouring affection. “oh, lovely. i’ve been having the best time,” he said it so sincerely that you had no choice but to believe every word he said.

“i know it wasn’t what you expected we’d do,” you answered honestly. “still, i’m sorry.”

wilbur laughed. “i expected that i’d get to spend time with you. what are we doing right now?” he didn’t give you the chance to reply, instead speaking up again. “there’s only one thing i’d want do to,” his smile was so soft and earnest that you expected the kiss he went to plant on your lips. you were sorely mistaken, unfortunately, as he disconnected your hands and turned towards the shopping trolley. the two of you were almost alone in the carpark, which gave wilbur a lot of room to give the trolley a running start before jumping, lifting his feet off the ground and using the momentum to glide roughly across the gravel. he did that a few more times until he reached the trolley bay, you laughing in bemusement by the boot of your car. “all done!”

you gave him an exaggerated thumbs up, unable to stop the beaming smile on your face at the sight of him, and he started sprinting at full speed across the carpark towards you. he didn’t seem to have any intention of slowing down as he neared the car, but you refused to move, wanting him to chicken out.

he got right up in your face before he managed to stop himself, and then you got your kiss.

[coraline-piange]

since you asked for more: 🎸

i absolutely did 😌

"You better only have sprained your wrists." Granted, these aren't particularly nice first words to say upon entering a hospital waiting room, but Charles can't really be bothered to think about being sensitive right now. Besides, it's kind of Hunter's own fault. What kind of idiot jumps blindly into a group of people, expecting to be caught?

It's only when he gets no answer that he takes a second to actually look at his bandmates. Crystal sits in a chair, her arms crossed and a frown on her face. Brad's still holding onto the dripping ice pack. A little puddle has formed next to his feet and Charles winces when he notices. Someone needs to clean that up before anybody slips and he has a feeling it won't be Brad volunteering. Or even acknowledging it.

And then he sees Hunter. Hunter, who sits slumped down in his chair, his arm cradled to his chest. It's in a cast that goes over his elbow up to the middle of his upper arm.

"Shit," Charles says.

"The doctors said it'll take almost two months before the cast is off. And then Hunter will need physical therapy to regain full range of motion," Crystal informs him. "But he should be able to make a full recovery."

"Fuck," Charles says. He presses a hand to his forehead.

make me write!

i also saw your tags on my other snippet and just wanted to address that real quick: you're absolutely right that in the original movie (systemfehler - wenn inge tanzt) the song that max writes about inge is mocking. it unfortunately leans quite a bit into some sexist stereotypes (saying how she doesn't shave her armpits is unsexy "for a girl". yikes!), it's very much giving 2013 era misogyny. i think part of the movie's and especially max's arc is to actually learn to appreciate all these things he made fun of at the beginning and fall in love with inge because she's the way that she is. so the intent/tone of the song sort of changes from mocking to appreciative, though the lyrics stay the same. i absolutely do not think charles would ever write anything genuinely mean. the song definitely will poke some fun at edwin and his peculiarities, but i don't want charles to be a dick. i haven't written the actual lyrics yet, because i am struggling with writing lyrics in general (hey, if there's any experienced song writers out there... hit me up? shdhdbd), but also because it's quite difficult to find the correct balance of having a bit of a laugh and yet not crossing that line into cruelty. but it's definitely something that i'm conscious off and trying to navigate! i can't promise it'll be perfect, ofc, but i'm trying haha. i hope that eases some of your worries <3