#I love soft Arsene so much

[kiaroscuro]

Title: as the world caves in

Warnings: descriptions of violence, major character death

Rating: Mature

Main Pairing: Ren Amamiya / Arsene

Main Tags: post-canon, zombie au, angst, hurt / comfort, road trips

· · ─────── =^.^= ─────── · ·

Arsene goes first, this time, leading Ren towards an apartment complex and then to the higher floors, checking any doors they come across until he finds a locked one. The persona tells Ren to wait, breaks the lock, and disappears inside, and Ren bites his lip in guilt because he knows what Arsene is looking for.

"Everything seems safe," he rasps after the third apartment he's done that, wingtips trembling from where they're winched against his back, and Ren steps forward and hugs him tightly, feeling the tense muscles relax marginally. Ren is allowed to enter the apartment, no sight of any dead around -- the door to what he assumes is the bedroom is tightly locked with a chair placed before it as a warning, and Ren can see from the swirling dust that Arsene was the one to place it there. Ren coughs, once, and Arsene is by his side in an instant, mask lighting up and glancing around in worry.

"I'm fine," Ren mutters, dropping his packs onto the ground next to the couch. The apartment is deceptively normal-looking, no mold and no plant-life intruding into its frozen stillness. Arsene drops down unceremoniously onto the couch itself, dematerializing his heels and jacket until he's left in black slacks and his vest and shirt, groaning and brushing the palm of his hand over his mask, head leaning back and exposing the long line of his neck.

"We should go back-- to the market and get thee a box of facemasks... nonetheless," he rasped, voice cracking dangerously. Ren frowns, steps closer -- unheeding of how dirty he is, because that can't be helped -- and ghosts his fingers over the wire-thin line crossing over Arsene's throat, warmer to the touch than the rest of the persona's body temperature.

"Stop talking out loud, Arsene," Ren murmurs. "You're hurt." He brushes over the reminder of how closely he'd gotten to loosing his persona a second time, lips touching the soft, snake-like skin reverently. They've been dancing around each other like gossamer silk for a few weeks now, tightly-woven as all persona and humans are, dependent on one another unlike they'd been before. Ren doesn't find it in himself to care.

Ah, Arsene sighs, inside their shared mind-space this time. It is not good for thou if thou never hear voices out loud, mon cher. It makes thee feel even lonelier.

I'd rather feel lonely than have you lose your voice, pigeon,Ren remarks, softly. There's not much reason for us to talk out loud surrounded by mutated anyways.

Arsene remains tellingly silent, the fire of his eyes dimming until it disappears, and Ren lets him rest while he glances around the apartment, drawing the curtains shut and finding enough candles to both light their room and stow away some for later use. He examines the signs of life surrounding him, peeks into the kitchen and the bathroom both, finds a baseball bat smeared with blood next to the main entrance. Ren lights a candle and places it on the chair in front of the bedroom, the family picture he'd found next to it, and scribbles down on a piece of paper: here lie Daisuke and Ichigo Morimiya. ��May they rest in peace.

With that done, Ren sends a prayer to anyone willing to listen -- shadow or false god or real god, it doesn't matter -- before he wanders back to the bathroom, eyeing over the bathtub with a critical glance. Everything is western-style, but they're far away from civilization that the possibility of running water is pretty much halfway split. If he's lucky, a dam generates running water for the town, like back home, and a dam can run for longer without human interference than electrical works. Ren tests it out with a quick flick, and rusty water starts running in spurts before it becomes only slightly pinkish, at which point Ren plugs the bathtub and waits for the water to fill it up; he'll take a bit of rust for the chance to properly wash himself, because the last time had been in Konoe's camp a good ten days ago. He foregoes changing clothes because he has no change on him anyways, and while he could raid the closet of the family, that one's in the bedroom and Ren isn't going to go inside after Arsene made sure that he wouldn't see the bodies.

(It is unbelievably worse, seeing the people dead without any obvious signs of struggle, seeing unmarred bodies but for natural decay instead of gaping wounds on flesh. Even the infected and mutated shadows have become able to bleed and decay, the mutagen turning them into something tangible. Ren's run into unaffected shadows, covering from humans and mutated both, had run into people imprisoning shadows and using their natural abilities like fuel, had seen shadows torture humans to death and vice versa, because everyone was afraid of the strange.)

(A slime had stood vigil next to Morgana's grave with Ren, its soft mass deflated in sorrow. It had slinked away into the forest, and Ren doesn't want to know what had happened to it.)

--

Once the bathtub was filled to half, Ren takes off his crusted and matted layers of clothing, carefully and reverently clasps open his choker -- yellow, because it had been Morgana's collar once, before Ren had threaded a little iron chain into one of the bolt holes and the clasp to make it fit his neck -- and sets everything onto a dusty chair. Two candles illuminate him as he carefully wets a towel and wipes the worst of the grime off of himself, scrubbing at his skin until it is pink and raw, and then Ren carefully enters the tub. The water is freezing and smells metallic, but it is otherwise clean in a way that the rivers hadn't really been, and Ren relaxes inside and watches his skin pebble, traces the scars that cover him. Many are from the Metaverse, his skill in phantom thieving translating into his skills of survival for the ongoing apocalypse that they're having, and not for the first time Ren wonders if all of this is happening as a last huzza for Yaldabaoth, the not-god angry enough at its defeat that it would curse humanity. Many more he's acquired ever since the cataclysm, wounds like the five bitemarks, after each of which Arsene begs with him to be more careful, or all of the smaller and larger cuts he's gotten while he figured out how to survive in a wilderness that is trying to kill him.

Fifteen minutes into Ren's soak, Arsene shuffles into the bathroom, mask dimly lit and wings hanging loosely against his back. There's running water? He thinks-asks, surveying everything. Let me wash thine hair, Ren. He murmurs, and Ren blinks at him, at how wrong-footed the persona looks inside the regular bathroom inside of this regular apartment. Okay, Ren says, turning softly, water sloshing, until he can feel Arsene's claws in his hair. The persona scratches over Ren's scalp once, before he finds the shampoo and lathes it into Ren's dark curls, massaging it in until Ren's eyes droop, heavy with fatigue. Arsene doesn't stop his ministrations, slides his clawed fingers over Ren's shoulders and kneads into the flesh there, the only sound apart of the water his heavy breathing and Arsene's feathers shuffling.

You should also soak, Ren says after a while, turning slightly. It'll do you good.

Mh, is Arsene's answer, the persona stepping aside now that he's got no good excuse to keep touching Ren. Finish first, and then we'll see if there's still running water left. With that he's gone, probably to rummage around the apartment as well. Ren sighs, glances at one of the candles for a long moment, before he turns to find the body wash. It takes him about five minutes to feel clean again, and then he washes out all of the shampoo and carefully exits the tub, lets the water drain down before he starts to fill it up again, after which he starts to dry himself with a second towel. That's about when Arsene reappears, clean (if dusty) clothes in hand, and Ren blinks at the persona in surprise. These should be about thy size, he says, softly, and Ren has no words because Arsene had gone back into the bedroom to get those. I made the bed.

"Thank you," Ren murmurs. Arsene puts the clean clothes down, eyes Ren over critically, and then tugs at the towel still in Ren's hands. Ren lets him, watches as Arsene takes it, clutching it between his claws once before he carefully grabs hold of Ren's cauterized arm and gently towels the red skin dry. Ren knows that the persona feels guilty about it, can feel it himself across their bond, and so he lets Arsene do as he pleases. Claws flitter over Ren's skin before the towel follows, up his arm and over his shoulders and towards his other arm. Arsene holds it apart from Ren's body, gently, while he softly pats over Ren's flank and ribs, his stomach, pivoting around the human to dry his back, the pads of his fingers lingering over a nasty cut from a mutated shadow's garudyne that had hit Ren.

A shudder passes through him, a curl of heat low inside of his belly that has Ren's cheeks flush slightly, but he doesn't interrupt Arsene, stands still while the persona carefully patters the towel over Ren's groin, the soft fabric almost ghosting over his cock before Arsene nudges Ren's legs apart to reach at his testes, cupping each gently and continuing. Ren's breathing and heartbeat are picking up, but he doesn't say anything, the towel at his thighs now, Arsene still as careful as before. Only once he reached Ren's calves did Arsene stop, his mask low-lit, fire curling over his horns. "Thank you, Arsene," Ren murmurs as the persona stands up.

"Always," Arsene whispers, and they look at each other for a moment longer, before the persona turns around to put the towel away. The bathtub is full, too, and Ren watches Arsene dematerialize his clothes before he carefully enters the tub, sitting closer to the middle so that his wings don't get crushed by his body. Some of the tenseness in his shoulders leaves while Arsene moves to hug his knees, resting his head on top of them, one wing extended while the other is winched in. He looks tired as well, obsidian skin marred and discolored in patches, specks of white that hadn't been there before. They share the metaphysical scars on Ren's soul, after all, all of the ugly things, and Arsene's own conscience has him become mottled, their shared guilt over having to kill people a heavy weight to bear.

Leave, please, Arsene says, a breath of a thought, and Ren nods after ghosting his fingers along the lines of his flight feathers.

He exits the bathroom, closes the door slightly to allow Arsene more privacy because the persona is vain about his looks and currently ashamed of his appearance and actions, and turns towards the Morimiya's pantry in hopes of finding something edible so that he can stretch his own rations further. Ren's found some slightly stale crackers and beef pâté, both of which would suffice as dinner. He'll have to probably cook something tomorrow, but he doesn't want to disrupt the strange silence of the night. By the time he's eaten his food Arsene emerged, and Ren is staring at the couch -- now with a duvet and two pillows. The chair to the bedroom had been disturbed. "Do you think the couch can be opened?" He asks.

Arsene blinks placidly. Yes. I can also simply dematerialize, though.

Ren knows, but also... Stay. I don't want to be alone tonight.

(They end up huddled together, Arsene on his side and Ren curled into the crook of his elbow, covered in both the duvet and one wing, and it's the best rest he's had in a long while.)

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[ugartecoco]

a common occurrence developing rn is me mumbling 'you dont have to gif this you dont have to post this' under my breath over and over while watching a ruben press conference

[reidmarieprentiss]

No More Misunderstandings

Summary: You have a big crush on Spencer, everyone can see it except for Spencer himself.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Tech Analyst fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: crushing, (un)requited feelings, bad communication, Spencer trying to flirt, gay Elle, Rossi not Gideon, happy ending, Elle is out but reader doesn't know

Word count: 9.4k

a/n: if this man ever asked me to hang out i would say yes in two seconds flat

main masterlist

Every day, you settled into the hum of computers and the soft glow of monitors that painted the walls of the BAU's technical analysis hub, affectionately dubbed the "bat cave" by those who knew it best. Your role as a tech analyst found you working side-by-side with the brilliant and bubbly Penelope Garcia, a woman whose personality was as colorful as her wardrobe. Despite the comfort of being shrouded in the semi-darkness of your tech-laden sanctuary, a certain type of light seemed to elude you—the spark of acknowledgment in Dr. Spencer Reid's deep, thoughtful eyes.

You harbored a crush so palpable that even the air in the room felt charged with your nervous energy whenever Spencer was near. However, your shy demeanor cloaked these feelings in a veil of secrecy that somehow, miraculously, Spencer himself never managed to pierce through. Everyone else on the team had noticed, from the knowing smiles of Derek Morgan to the gentle teasing of JJ, but Spencer remained blissfully unaware, his attention often drifting towards Elle Greenaway with an intensity that tugged painfully at your heart.

Penelope, ever the observant friend, never missed a beat. "Oh, honey," she would whisper, "it’s like you’re sending Morse code with those blushes and he’s living in a blackout."

Her words were gentle, tinged with humor and affection, yet each jest felt like a pinprick to your already tender sensibilities. Whenever Spencer visited the bat cave to discuss case details or gather information, your heart raced as you tried to provide him with everything he needed without tripping over your words or, heaven forbid, your own feet.

"Hey, Spencer," you would start, your voice a careful mixture of professionalism and the warmth you couldn’t keep at bay.

"Hello," he would respond, his eyes scanning the screens filled with data. His focus was razor-sharp, dissecting information with the same precision he used on everything but the emotional currents swirling around him.

Each interaction was a dance. You would inch towards openness, leaning in to catch a whiff of his cologne or to appreciate the subtle shift of his hair when he ran his fingers through it in concentration. But as soon as he glanced up, those hazel eyes like windows to an enigmatic soul, you would recoil slightly, cheeks aflame, words retreating as quickly as they had dared to emerge.

Later, as the screen showed live feeds of the team moving through their environments, Penelope would nudge you gently with her elbow, her voice low and teasing. "You know, if we had a dollar for every time you fumbled around that man, we could retire and buy an island in the Bahamas."

You’d offer a small, embarrassed laugh, grateful for the low lighting hiding the worst of your blush. "I just... I don’t know how to act around him, Penelope. What if he doesn’t..."

"Feel the same?" she'd finish for you, her tone softening. "Sweetie, the heart’s a funny creature. It doesn’t play by the rules of logic that Spencer loves so much. But who knows? Maybe one day, he’ll surprise you and actually look up from those case files and see what’s right in front of him."

The comfort in her voice was soothing, yet each day ended the same—with you watching Spencer, Spencer watching Elle, and Penelope watching over you, a guardian angel clad in technicolor, armed with an arsenal of jokes and just the right words to keep you smiling through the uncertainty.

—

The day had been rolling along as usual in the BAU's bat cave, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards providing a steady backdrop to the glow of computer screens. Penelope had excused herself for a quick bathroom break, leaving you alone amidst the towers of technology. Just as the door clicked shut behind her, the shrill ring of the phone sliced through the quiet, startling you slightly. Calls from the field were usually Penelope’s domain, her cheerful voice a soothing constant for the team. Today, it seemed, you would have to step into her shoes.

“Y/N speaking, what can I do for you?” Your voice wavered slightly, anxiety bubbling up as you prepared for your usual toggle through databases and security feeds.

When Spencer’s voice responded from the other end, a different kind of alertness prickled across your skin. “Hi, Y/N, we need to cross-reference known associates of the unsub with recent flight records. Can you pull up the lists and cross-check for any matches?”

Your heart thumped erratically, his voice weaving through the receiver like a familiar song that never failed to stir your soul. You tried to maintain a steady tone, hoping your voice didn’t betray the sudden nervousness that his presence, even just over the phone, incited. “Sure, Spencer, just a moment.”

As your fingers danced across the keyboard, the professional mask you wore each day slid comfortably into place. You were adept at your job, a fact that never faltered, even under the weight of your emotions. Quickly pulling up the necessary records, you began the process of cross-referencing, your mind briefly detached from the flutter in your stomach.

“Looks like there’s a match. Michael Davidson, on a flight from Atlanta to D.C. this morning,” you reported, a trace of pride threading through your words at the efficiency with which you’d located the information.

“Great, Y/N. Thanks,” Spencer’s voice came through, a hint of relief palpable even through the static of the connection. His appreciation, simple and straightforward, filled you with a warmth that went beyond professional satisfaction.

Hanging up, you let out a breath you’d been holding. Penelope chose that moment to breeze back into the room, her presence as effervescent as ever. Catching the tail end of your smile, she quirked an eyebrow playfully.

“Spill the beans, buttercup. You look like someone just handed you a golden ticket,” she teased, settling back into her chair.

“It was just Spencer needing some quick info,” you shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant as your heart continued to beat a staccato rhythm against your ribs.

Penelope’s smile widened, her eyes twinkling with unspoken understanding. “Oh, just Spencer, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, trying to brush it off casually. “Derek would never betray you by talking to me,” you teased, hoping to steer the conversation away from your flustered feelings.

Penelope’s eyes sparkled even more as she winked at you. “Oh, he’s allowed to have side pieces, my love. I’m a generous goddess.”

You burst out laughing, your nervousness momentarily forgotten as Penelope’s playful banter eased your tension. “I’ll let him know you said that,” you shot back, turning back to your screen, trying to focus on anything other than the residual warmth from talking to Spencer.

Penelope, never one to let you off the hook easily, leaned in closer. “Should I let Spencer know he isn’t allowed to have any side pieces then?” she asked, winking at you again, her tone as sweet as honey but with a hint of mischief.

“Penelope!” you gasped, feeling your face flush all over again. The blush you thought had faded returned with a vengeance as you turned away, hoping she wouldn’t see just how red you were.

She laughed, clearly pleased with herself. “I’m just saying, babe. The boy’s got options, but I think we both know his best one is sitting right here.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as you let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Just doing my part to make sure he doesn’t miss any signals,” Penelope sang, tapping her keyboard lightly, her grin as wide as ever. You couldn't help but smile too, secretly grateful for her teasing. After all, it was these moments that made the crush a little more bearable.

—

During one of Rossi’s famed pasta-making sessions, a relaxed atmosphere filled his spacious kitchen, with the rich aroma of tomato sauce simmering on the stove and the sounds of laughter mingling with soft Italian music playing in the background. Rossi, the consummate host, guided everyone through the steps of making the perfect pasta dough, his hands moving with the ease of long practice.

You found yourself stationed next to Spencer, who was diligently kneading a mound of fresh pasta dough. His hands, beautiful and dexterous, worked the dough with a precision that was mesmerizing. The veins on his hands stood out, accentuating every deliberate movement, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by the fluidity of his motions. It wasn’t just his intellect that drew you in; even his seemingly mundane physical actions had a way of catching your undivided attention.

Derek and JJ, who were partnered up on the other side of the kitchen island, caught your fixed gaze and shared an amused look between them. Derek’s smirk grew as he nudged JJ, whispering loud enough for you to overhear, “Looks like someone’s more interested in the handwork than the handiwork.”

JJ chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she joined in the teasing. “Yeah, I think Y/N’s planning on writing a thesis on the manual dexterity of certain geniuses.”

Flustered, you tore your eyes away from Spencer’s hands, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You attempted to focus back on your own portion of dough, which had begun to stick to the counter more than it should. Spencer, oblivious to the exchange, looked up and noticed your struggle.

“Hey, you need to dust a bit more flour on the surface,” he said, his voice gentle, unaware of the reason behind your distraction. He reached over to sprinkle some flour on your dough and then on the countertop, his fingers briefly brushing against yours. The brief contact sent a pleasant jolt through you, further flustering you.

Rossi, ever the observant host, noticed the playful dynamic and decided to rescue you from your embarrassment. “Alright, everyone, let’s focus on the art of pasta! Y/N, why don’t you help me with the sauce?” he suggested, giving you a knowing smile as he handed you a wooden spoon.

As you helped Rossi stir the simmering sauce, carefully blending the herbs into the rich, aromatic mixture, you couldn’t help but cast furtive glances across the kitchen. There, Hotch had taken up the spot you vacated next to Spencer, now deeply engaged in the art of pasta making under Rossi’s enthusiastic instruction. While Hotch was methodically following Rossi’s guidance, Spencer’s attention occasionally drifted.

Across from them, Elle was rolling out her dough with a confident flourish, laughing at something Hotch had said. You caught Spencer's eyes as they met Elle's, a shared glance of amusement passing effortlessly between them. The ease of their silent communication was stark, their smiles syncing in a moment of private jest that seemed to exclude the world around them—including you.

That simple, silent exchange felt like a punch to the gut. The laughter and camaraderie around you suddenly seemed a bit dimmer, a bit more distant. It wasn’t just jealousy that twisted in your stomach—it was the aching realization of how much could be said in a single look when there was a real connection; a connection you feared might never form between Spencer and yourself.

You turned your attention back to the sauce, the spoon moving mechanically in your hand as Rossi continued to chat about the nuances of Italian cooking. He didn’t seem to notice your distraction, caught up in his culinary passion. But inside, your thoughts were swirling as tumultuously as the sauce you stirred.

Trying to shake off the sinking feeling, you focused on the positives—the laughter of your team, the comforting weight of the wooden spoon in your hand, the delicious smell that filled the kitchen. But despite the festive atmosphere, a part of you remained reserved, quietly nursing the tender hope that maybe, just maybe, one day Spencer would look at you with the same warmth and understanding he so effortlessly shared with Elle. Until then, you resolved to keep smiling, keep stirring, and keep hoping.

—

The BAU briefing room felt unusually empty without Penelope's vibrant presence, Elle's keen insights, and Derek's charismatic confidence filling the space. With them on vacation, the dynamic had shifted, and you found yourself stepping into roles that stretched beyond your usual behind-the-scenes expertise. The weight of Penelope's responsibilities now rested squarely on your shoulders, a challenge you accepted with both determination and a hint of trepidation.

As the team gathered for the briefing on the new case, Hotch turned to you. "Y/N, could you walk us through the case description and the current leads?" His voice was calm, authoritative, yet imbued with a supportive undertone that did little to ease the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Nodding, you stood, remote in hand, feeling every pair of eyes in the room settle on you. Public speaking was not your greatest fear, but it was hardly your favorite endeavor—especially not with Spencer's intense gaze locked on you. It was as if his eyes were a pair of spotlights, illuminating not just your words but every minute reaction and emotion that flickered across your face.

As you began to outline the case, detailing the patterns and possible psychological motivations of the unsub, Spencer's scrutiny never wavered. His stare was not judgmental nor dismissive; rather, it was analytical, perhaps even a bit curious, as if he were trying to read the nuances of your presentation, to understand not just the facts but the person delivering them.

"Based on the geographical profiling and the behavioral pattern, we believe the unsub may be operating within a ten-mile radius of downtown," you explained, pointing to the map projected behind you. Your voice steadied as you delved deeper into the analysis, the familiar terrain of data and evidence providing a solid foundation beneath your initially shaky confidence.

Spencer's focus, rather than rattling you further, began to foster a sense of resolve within you. You found yourself speaking more confidently, your nerves tempered by the realization that this was still your team—your family in all but blood. They weren't here to judge; they were here to listen and to learn from what you had to offer.

As the briefing wrapped up, Hotch nodded in approval. "Good work, Y/N. Keep us posted on any updates from Garcia's systems until she returns."

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Glad it was over, you were already preparing to scamper back to your office when you heard a voice that sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

“Y/N?” Spencer's voice, calm yet inquisitive, caught your attention.

You spun around to face him, trying not to let your fluster show. “What’s up?”

“Can you put the map back up on the screen, please?” he asked, already standing by the large projection screen.

“Ye–yeah, of course.” Your fingers fumbled with the remote as you quickly reactivated the display, bringing the map back onto the screen.

“Here,” Spencer said, still not looking back at you. “Come look at this.”

You walked over to stand beside him, your eyes inadvertently drawn to his long fingers as they traced paths along the map, pointing out specific areas. The same hands that had mesmerized you earlier were now gliding over the screen, drawing you into his thought process.

Spencer started talking about the geographical profile, rattling off information with his typical rapid-fire brilliance. But what took you by surprise was how he spoke to you—not as the team’s tech analyst, but as if you were another profiler, someone he wanted to consult. This was new, and it left you momentarily stunned. He’d never done this before.

“Spencer?” you asked quietly, your voice barely audible in the spacious room. He hummed in response, still focused on the map as he tugged thoughtfully at his bottom lip—a gesture you’d come to adore and envy.

“Why are you asking me about this?” you continued, your curiosity growing along with your nerves. “Why not Rossi? Or Hotch?”

Spencer paused, finally turning to face you, his eyes filled with the same focused intensity he usually reserved for solving cases. “Because you see things differently,” he said softly. “You have a different perspective, and that’s valuable. Sometimes it’s not just about profiling. It’s about how we approach the data, and you… you understand patterns in a way that’s unique.”

His words caught you off guard, but they filled you with an unexpected warmth. You weren’t just the tech analyst who plugged in the data—they saw you, Spencer saw you, as part of the team, as someone with valuable insights.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you held his gaze for a moment longer than you intended. “Thanks, Spencer,” you whispered, trying to suppress the blush creeping up your neck.

He smiled, a small but genuine curve of his lips, before turning back to the map. “Now, what do you think about this area here?” he asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for you two to be collaborating like this.

For once, you weren’t just lost in thoughts of him—you were part of the conversation, and it felt good.

After you felt you'd helped all you could, you excused yourself back to your office, ready to sink back into the more solitary part of your work. However, Spencer seemed to have other plans, as he walked alongside you, his footsteps synchronized with yours, indicating he wasn't quite done talking. His expression was one of mild concern, a usual precursor to his deep dives into various subjects.

As you walked, he continued to unravel his thoughts about the case, tying loose ends and circling back to previous points with a precision that was nothing short of impressive. It was typical of Spencer to thoroughly dissect each aspect of a case, often taking tangential routes in the conversation that surprisingly led right back to the main topic, a testament to his prodigious mind.

However, as engrossed as he was in discussing the case, his next words veered sharply from the professional to the personal, catching you completely off guard and momentarily stalling your mental gears. The shift was so sudden that it took a moment for you to register what he was actually asking, pulling you out of your case-focused mindset and into a more introspective space. This unexpected question not only showed his human side but also reminded you of the depth of his observational skills, not just in work but in personal matters as well.

"How is Felix, by the way?" Spencer asked, an innocently curious tilt to his head as he regarded you, his pace slowing slightly.

"What?" The name jolted you, an echo from a past chapter of your life you hadn’t opened in ages, and certainly not one you had expected Spencer to know anything about. You blinked, momentarily confused, trying to piece together the leap in conversation.

"Felix? How are they?" Spencer repeated, his interest seemingly piqued by your reaction—or perhaps just his natural inclination toward thorough understanding.

You paused, standing now in the doorway of your office, the background hum of computer servers providing a soft soundtrack to this unexpected moment. "Um, I don't know," you admitted, still trying to navigate the strange turn the conversation had taken.

"Oh, I’m so sorry, did you two separate?" Spencer’s tone was filled with genuine apology, his face reflecting concern.

You managed a small, somewhat awkward laugh, finding both the absurdity and the sudden intimacy of the conversation slightly overwhelming. "Well, yes. A long while ago." Your response came out lighter than you felt, the surprise of the question making your heart race for reasons other than your usual nervousness around Spencer.

As Spencer absorbed your response, his expression remained unreadable, a common trait when he was deep in thought or processing information. He nodded, perhaps filing away the conversation for later reflection, before excusing himself with a polite but somewhat distant farewell. His departure was quick, efficient, the way he typically transitioned back to work, yet it left a trail of questions in its wake.

You watched him go, a blend of relief and curiosity mingling in your thoughts. The inquiry into your personal life was uncharacteristic of Spencer, who usually maintained a strict boundary between professional and personal discussions, at least when it came to initiating such topics himself. The interaction lingered in your mind, an outlier in the usual pattern of your interactions.

"Maybe it's because Elle isn't here," you thought silently, turning back to your computer.

After leaving your office, Spencer quickly texted Elle to update her that you were no longer seeing Felix, contrary to their assumption. Elle replied enthusiastically with two thumbs up, urging him to ask you out soon or she would take the opportunity herself. 

—

Throughout the week, with Penelope, Elle, and Derek away, the dynamic at the BAU shifted noticeably. Spencer seemed to step out of his usual reserved demeanor, engaging more frequently, particularly with you. His attempts at conversation often appeared to teeter on the edge of something beyond mere professional interest, though it was so subtle that it often flew under your radar.

Tuesday morning, Spencer leaned against the counter, watching you struggle with the temperamental coffee machine that had decided today was the day to revolt. "You know, statistically, manual coffee presses have a lower failure rate compared to electric ones," he commented, a slight quirk to his lips.

You glanced at him, chuckling lightly, "Is that so? Maybe I should switch, then."

"Yeah, and they make better coffee. Maybe I could show you how to use one sometime?" His tone was casual, but there was a tentative note to it, almost hopeful.

As the coffee machine finally sputtered to life, producing a somewhat decent cup of coffee, Spencer’s offer lingered in the air, subtly altering the atmosphere between you. His suggestion about the manual coffee press had been light, almost playful, but it carried an undercurrent of personal interest that left you unexpectedly flustered. Despite this, you masked your reaction with a casual nod, trying to maintain an even keel.

"Sure, I could always use better coffee," you responded, your voice steady despite the slight quickening of your heartbeat. You focused on fixing your coffee, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar, using the mundane task as a moment to collect your thoughts.

Spencer watched you for a moment, perhaps sensing the shift in your demeanor but respecting the boundary you subtly enforced with your nonchalant reply. His smile was gentle, not pushing further, as he too turned his attention back to preparing his own drink.

Wednesday at lunch you sat in the break room flipping through case files, Spencer slid into the seat across from you with his own lunch—a homemade sandwich seemingly crafted with meticulous care. "I read somewhere that sharing meals can enhance group bonding and individual rapport," he began, looking directly at you with an earnest expression.

You looked up, smiling at the factoid, you loved hearing Spencer talk. He was always so endearing. "That sounds about right. Food does bring people together."

"Maybe we could test that theory. There's a new Thai place nearby that’s supposed to be great," he suggested, his voice smooth but slightly hurried.

"That would be an interesting experiment," you agreed, your thoughts inadvertently glossing over Spencer's subtle personal invitation. Instead, your mind wandered to the social dynamics of the team, or perhaps more pointedly, the possibility of Spencer going out with Elle without having to extend a direct invitation—an idea that stoked a twinge of jealousy, burning in your stomach like an ugly green monster. 

Spencer nodded, his expression shifting subtly as he detected the undercurrent of your thoughts, interpreting them as disinterest in a personal outing. He tried to mask any hint of disappointment, maintaining his typical composed demeanor. Internally, however, he wrestled with the sting of what felt like another missed connection, another attempt at reaching out quietly rebuffed.

"It would be a great way to explore some new flavors... maybe just the two of us first, to see if it’s worth recommending to the team?" His tone was measured, carefully modulating between casual and sincere, revealing his hope that this might pave the way to a more personal connection between the two of you.

Despite his clear wording, your mind twisted his intentions, clouded by the assumption that his ultimate aim was to impress Elle upon her return. This idea gnawed at you, the thought of being potentially used as a stepping stone in Spencer’s strategy to engage Elle more personally. It tainted the sincerity you might have otherwise perceived in his proposal.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good plan," you responded, trying to mask your feelings with a nod and a polite smile. "Testing it out sounds sensible... then we can tell Elle and the rest if it's good." Your voice carried a hint of forced cheerfulness as you inadvertently redirected the focus back to Elle, reinforcing your misinterpretation of Spencer's motives.

Spencer noticed the subtle shift in your tone, the slight stiffness in your smile. He paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his features as he tried to gauge whether his message had been misunderstood. "Yes, of course," he agreed, his voice faltering slightly as he picked up on your emphasis on Elle. Disappointment edged into his heart, sensing a barrier he hadn't anticipated—one that perhaps wasn't his to cross just yet.

He nodded slowly, offering a gentle smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll send you the details later then," Spencer added, stepping back to give you space, his mind busy piecing together where the conversation had veered off track.

Thursday while you were digging through old case files in the archives, Spencer wandered in, ostensibly looking for a book. He lingered by your side, helping to shift the heavy tomes. "You know, there's this book on cognitive science I think you'd really like. It talks about pattern recognition and emotional intelligence in ways I think you'd find fascinating," he offered, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed you a different file.

"Sounds intriguing," you responded, your attention still partially on the file in your hands. The hint of a smile played at the corners of your mouth, touched by the realization that Spencer was not only paying attention to your interests but was actively thinking about ways to engage with you on a more personal level.

"I could lend it to you. We could discuss it over coffee?" Spencer's suggestion came with a hopeful undertone, as gentle and tentative as the expression in his eyes.

Your reaction, however, was immediate and unexpected—a sudden choke on your spit as his words caught you off guard. A brief fit of coughing ensued, and Spencer's concern was quick to surface. He reached out instinctively, placing a comforting hand on your back with a gentle touch. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

The unexpected contact made you jolt, a reflexive response to the sudden intimacy of his touch. Realizing your reaction, Spencer quickly withdrew his hand, a flash of disappointment crossing his features as he stepped back, giving you space.

"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry," you managed to laugh it off, though your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You tried to smooth over the moment, still recovering from the unexpected cough and the even more unexpected contact.

Spencer's response was gentle, a soft nod accompanying his words. "It's okay, I'll, uh, see you upstairs," he said, stepping back with a hesitant smile. His decision to not press the coffee invitation further reflected his respect for your comfort, but inwardly, he felt he might have missed his opportunity for the day.

As he turned to leave, the brief contact and your embarrassed reaction replayed in his mind, leaving him wondering about the right approach to take next time. His intentions had been straightforward, but the execution hadn't gone as smoothly as he hoped. The way your eyes had widened, the laughter that followed the cough—it all suggested a mix of emotions that he couldn't quite decipher.

Watching him walk away, you felt a pang of regret. His retreat made you realize that your reaction might have been misinterpreted as discomfort, rather than the surprise and nervous excitement you actually felt. The idea of discussing a book over coffee with Spencer genuinely appealed to you, and you wished you could convey that without the awkwardness of the moment overshadowing it.

Gathering your thoughts, you considered reaching out to him later to clarify your interest, maybe even suggest a specific day for that coffee. The day hadn't gone as either of you planned, but it wasn't over yet, and perhaps there was still a chance to turn it around.

Friday afternoon as you both waited for the elevator, Spencer tried again, this time a bit more directly. "Did you know that the probability of meeting someone compatible is surprisingly high within work environments?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to steady the rapid thumping of your heart. "Really now? I guess we’re in the right place, then."

"Yes, exactly," Spencer agreed, a bit more eagerly than you expected. "It’s like... finding the right piece in a puzzle."

"Like solving a case?" you asked, your voice shrinking with uncertainty, afraid that, once again, he had someone else in mind—someone who fit into his world effortlessly, maybe a profiler like Elle.

"Yeah," he smiled warmly, his eyes soft as they focused on you. "Just like solving a case."

Your heart cracked a little at his words. You interpreted the metaphor differently, convinced he was searching for someone like the other brilliant profilers on the team—someone you believed you could never be. With a forced smile, you said quietly, "Well, looks like you need a profiler-shaped puzzle piece then."

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as you stepped into the elevator. He stood there, frozen, not understanding the weight behind your words or why you seemed so distant.

As the elevator doors slid shut, he replayed the conversation in his mind, his heart sinking as he realized something wasn’t connecting. He had been trying to tell you, in his own way, that he was interested in you, that you were the piece he was talking about. But somehow, despite his best efforts, the message kept slipping through your fingers. Why weren’t you getting it? Why did every attempt seem to fall short?

Spencer watched the elevator descend, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. He had been so certain of his feelings for you, and yet, with every attempt, it felt like they drifted further away, lost in the unspoken misunderstandings between you.

—

When the freshly bronzed trio returned from their vacation, Spencer, seemingly on edge, wasted no time in seeking out Elle, his face etched with a mix of hope and frustration.

“So? Did you do it?” Elle asked eagerly as soon as they were within speaking distance, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Did she say yes?”

Spencer’s response was laden with disappointment. “Every time I try to ask her out, she thinks it’s a friendly suggestion, or—or she even mentioned you one time like I was thinking about you!” He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, clearly puzzled by the recurring miscommunication.

Elle couldn’t help but laugh slightly, though her lips were closed, trying to mask her amusement at the situation. Spencer, on the other hand, whined in annoyance, “What?” He genuinely didn’t understand what he was missing.

With a fond smile, Elle prodded further, “Reid, how did you ask? And what did she say?” Her voice was gentle, coaxing him to unpack the details.

Spencer recapped all the moments from the past week—the coffee machine incident, the lunch invitation, the casual chat in the archives, and the awkward elevator conversation. Each retelling showcased his subtle, cerebral approach to what he thought were clear invitations.

“Oh, boy genius,” Elle said teasingly once he finished, her tone light but her words cutting to the heart of the issue. “I think I see the problem here.”

“What? What is it?” Spencer asked, desperation and confusion in his voice.

Elle placed her hand on his arm, a gesture meant to be comforting but one that did not escape your notice, intensifying the ache in your heart. “She thinks you’re interested in me!” Elle revealed, her insight sharp.

“Why would she think that?” Spencer asked, his bewilderment evident. The connection between his actions and your perception seemed utterly foreign to him.

Elle’s explanation was straightforward, “Because, Spencer, every time you make an attempt, it’s so subtle and wrapped in layers of intellect that it’s easy for her to miss the romantic intent.”

Her words seemed to pierce through the fog of confusion surrounding Spencer. The realization that his attempts at expressing romantic interest were getting lost in translation—or rather, lost in his own intellectual approach—was a revelation. He nodded slowly, the gears turning as he processed this new insight.

“Plus, if she’s mentioning me and no one else, she must think you’re looking for ways to take me out!” Elle added, emphasizing her point with a light chuckle, though her eyes remained sympathetic to Spencer’s plight.

The weight of Elle’s explanation settled heavily on Spencer. It dawned on him how his interactions, though well-intentioned, might appear to others, especially to you. His style, inherently analytical and often indirect, had inadvertently sent the wrong signals, steering your thoughts towards a narrative where he was interested in Elle rather than clarifying his feelings for you.

This misunderstanding struck a chord within him. Spencer had always prided himself on his communication skills when it came to the nuances of unsubs and case theories. Yet, here he was, stumped by personal emotions and interpersonal communications that veered off course.

“Okay, so... I’ve been too subtle,” Spencer acknowledged, almost to himself as much as to Elle. “And she’s misreading the subtlety as disinterest—or worse, interest directed at someone else.”

Elle nodded, squeezing his arm gently. “Exactly, Spencer. You’re thinking like a profiler trying to decipher hidden meanings, but sometimes, directness is key. Maybe it’s time to just tell her how you feel, plainly and clearly. No puzzles, no hints.”

“But—but what if she’s not interested?” Spencer stammered, the creeping sense of insecurity wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. His confidence from earlier was starting to erode. “I mean, she did turn me down on multiple occasions,” he added, his voice softening with self-doubt.

Elle sent him a playful glare, her expression one of disbelief. “Be serious, Reid,” she said, her tone firm but affectionate. “Everyone here can see that she’s into you. Ask anyone.”

Without giving Spencer a chance to stop her, Elle raised her voice, calling across the room, “Hey, JJ!”

Spencer's eyes widened in panic, his face flushing. “Elle! No!” His voice cracked as he tried to stop her, but it was too late.

JJ approached the two of them, a curious smile on her face as she looked between Spencer and Elle. “What’s up, you guys?” she asked, her easy going demeanor not yet aware of the situation she was about to walk into.

“Do you think Y/N is into anyone? Should we set her up?” Elle asked with a mischievous smirk, clearly enjoying Spencer’s discomfort.

JJ’s reaction was immediate—she burst into laughter, glancing between Elle and the now-mortified Spencer. “Are you kidding?!” she laughed, unable to believe the question was even being asked.

“No! Do you have anyone in mind?” Elle pushed, her smirk widening as she kept the act going.

Spencer looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, his mortification plain as he stood there frozen. His mind raced, desperate to find a way to steer the conversation away from himself. But JJ, still chuckling, fixed her gaze directly on Spencer, her expression turning to amused confusion.

“Spencer? Duh! She’s basically in love with you!” JJ declared, her blunt response leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Spencer blinked in disbelief, his mind stumbling over the directness of JJ's words. "W-What?" he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest.

JJ just shook her head, laughing softly. “Reid, it's so obvious. Trust me, you should ask her out.”

"Right," Spencer exhaled heavily, the weight of his nerves tangible in that single word. His eyes followed JJ as she walked away, her knowing smile and shake of her head a clear sign that she was rooting for him.

Elle, observing the entire interaction, turned back to Spencer with a look of determination. “Do you believe me now? You just need to be blunt,” she said firmly, reinforcing the advice with her unwavering gaze. Her stance was one of staunch support, wanting to push Spencer past his habitual overthinking.

Spencer nodded, feeling a bit more fortified by the support of his colleagues. Elle’s insistence on being blunt was exactly the nudge he needed. It was clear that subtlety had not served him well in this arena, and it was time for a change in strategy.

—

Throughout the week, Spencer made several more attempts to ask you out, each time with a bit more directness than the last, but somehow the message never quite landed. Each time deepening his frustration and your oblivious disappointment.

Spencer joined you at the coffee machine again, a site of many a casual encounter but today, he was armed with determination. "I was thinking," he began, carefully measuring his words, "that maybe you and I could try that new café downtown this Saturday."

You smiled, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, your mind on a deadline you were close to missing. "That sounds like a great break from work. It’ll be good to get the team out and about. Should I send an email to everyone?"

Spencer’s heart sank a little. "Uh, well, I meant more like a... never mind. Yes, let’s get everyone involved," he conceded, hiding his disappointment.

In the midst of discussing a particularly complex case, Spencer tried to weave in a personal invitation as naturally as he could. "And after we wrap this up, maybe you’d like to join me for dinner? I know a place that’s quiet, great for discussing... cases."

You nodded, focused intensely on the case details. "Oh yeah! I already told Pen I’d grab dinner with her after the case, do you want to join us?"

Spencer’s heart sank just a bit as he adjusted his glasses, a gesture that had become a telltale sign of his internal resignation. His intention of a quiet dinner, meant to create a private space for you and him, vanished with your invitation to Penelope. Still, he managed a smile, not wanting his disappointment to show.

“Sure, that sounds great,” Spencer replied, trying to keep his tone light and cheerful. Inside, however, he was strategizing his next move, wondering how he could ever convey his feelings without the constant backdrop of the team.

As the day progressed, his mind kept circling back to the conversation. He appreciated your inclusiveness—always making sure no one felt left out, a trait he admired deeply. Yet, he couldn’t help but wish for a moment where it could just be the two of you, away from the dynamics and distractions of the team.

As you both walked to the parking lot after a long day, Spencer decided to be as clear as he could. "I enjoy spending time with you," he said earnestly. "I was hoping we could maybe go out this weekend, just you and me. What do you think?"

You paused, turning to face him with a puzzled smile, unaware of the mounting frustration behind his calm demeanor. "Sure. What do you want to do? I heard of a nightclub that's supposed to have a disco on Saturdays, we could see if everyone is interested?”

Spencer’s patience, worn thin from repeated attempts, finally faltered. “That doesn’t really sound like my scene,” he replied, a note of desperation creeping into his voice as he motioned between the two of you. “Could we go somewhere more subdued? Just us?”

The simplicity of his request, paired with the intensity of his gesture, made you pause. "You want to hang out? With just me?" you asked, a hint of confusion lacing your words.

“Yes!” Spencer exclaimed, his voice echoing a bit louder than he intended in the quiet space between conversations around you. His hands were in the air, a gesture of his exasperation and earnestness. Realizing how his reaction might have seemed, he quickly lowered his hands and softened his tone. “I mean, yes, I would like to spend time with you. Just us. Maybe somewhere quiet where we can talk. Just... talk.”

Your heart was beating so fast you could barely contain it, “Just the two of us?” 

The realization struck you fully now, the words "just the two of us" hanging in the air, tinged with possibility. Spencer nodded, his eyes earnest and hopeful, watching for your reaction.

"Yes, just the two of us," he confirmed, his voice steadier now, filled with a quiet intensity. His gaze never wavered from yours, as if trying to convey all the sincerity he felt directly into your heart.

Your heart raced with the understanding of what he was asking, the implications of this simple request suddenly reshaping the narrative you had constructed in your mind about his feelings. The thought that Spencer, with his brilliant mind and shy demeanor, wanted to spend time alone with you, not for a case discussion or team outing but for something personal, sent a thrill of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation through you.

"Yeah, Spencer," you grinned, your heart still racing but excitement slowly overtaking your nerves. "That sounds nice. Um, I'm free Saturday."

"Saturday works for me," Spencer nodded, his own smile broadening with quiet confidence. "I'll call you?"

You nodded quickly, almost too eagerly, but you didn’t care. "Yeah, mhm, that sounds perfect."

For a moment, you both stood there, a shared anticipation buzzing in the air between you, neither wanting to break the connection just yet. When Spencer finally turned to leave, you found yourself smiling uncontrollably, the prospect of Saturday lingering in your mind, a warmth spreading through you that hadn't been there before.

—

Your excitement about the upcoming date with Spencer bubbled within you, yet you chose to keep it close to your chest. The thrill of it all felt so fragile, like a dream you didn’t want to jinx by sharing too soon with the rest of the team. This cautious optimism marked your days, turning ordinary moments into a series of hopeful glances at the calendar as Saturday approached.

Meanwhile, Spencer found himself seeking counsel from Elle, who was all too eager to lend her expertise, not just on potential date activities but on the more intimate aspects of dating as well, particularly women. Knowing Spencer’s limited experience—his only kiss having been with Lila Archer during a particularly intense case—Elle took it upon herself to offer some advice.

“Okay, Spencer, listen,” Elle began, her tone both serious and sisterly. “If the moment feels right and you think you want to kiss her, make sure you read her signals. It’s all about mutual understanding and respect, right?”

Spencer nodded, absorbing every word. Elle continued, “Make eye contact, see how she responds. If she seems receptive, maybe lean in halfway and let her meet you the rest of the way. It’s a two-way street.”

“Halfway,” Spencer repeated, mentally noting the advice. Elle’s directness and her willingness to discuss these details without any embarrassment provided him with a strange comfort.

“And, Reid, just be yourself. You’re a great guy. Let that show,” Elle added, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Spencer felt nerves and gratitude at Elle’s advice, it was straightforward and practical, and helped ground him. He trusted her judgment, appreciating her sharing of her personal experience, especially when it came to navigating relationships—something he found infinitely more complex than the most puzzling cases.

—

The phone call on Saturday morning added to the bubbling excitement of the upcoming date. Spencer’s voice was clear and a tad nervous, which you found endearing. He promised a unique experience and asked you not to wear black, a request that piqued your curiosity and set your mind racing with possibilities. What kind of place would require such a specific dress code? The mystery only heightened your anticipation.

You quickly texted him your address, along with a playful note about your curiosity regarding the attire guidelines. Spencer replied with a simple smiley face, keeping the details of the date under wraps, which intrigued you even more.

As you prepared for the evening, you chose an outfit that was comfortable yet charming, avoiding black as instructed. The time leading up to Spencer’s arrival seemed to crawl by, each minute stretching longer than the last. You found yourself glancing at your reflection, adjusting your hair, and double-checking everything, ensuring you were ready when he arrived.

Finally, the sound of a car pulling up snapped you out of your reverie. Glancing out the window, you saw Spencer stepping out of his car, looking around with a nervous excitement that matched your own. 

As you stepped outside, your nerves fluttered slightly, but your smile was genuine when you saw Spencer waiting by his car. Waving shyly, you greeted him, "Hi, Spencer."

Spencer looked up, his eyes lighting up as he took in your appearance. "Y/N, you look great," he breathed out, his compliment wrapped in a warm smile that seemed to ease some of the tension between you.

"Thanks, I like your cardigan," you replied, noting the soft, well-worn cardigan he wore that somehow made him look even more approachable and endearing.

His smile widened at the compliment, and he seemed to relax a bit more. "Thanks! It's an old favorite," he admitted, holding the car door open for you. 

As you both stepped into the cozy, softly-lit space filled with the gentle sounds of purring and the occasional meow, Spencer immediately began sharing interesting facts about cats. “Did you know that ancient Egyptians considered cats sacred and even had a goddess named Bastet who was depicted as a lioness?” he said, looking into your eyes as you walked past a playful tabby.

Your response was a mix of admiration and amusement. “I didn’t know you were an expert on ancient cultures too,” you teased, feeling comfort and excitement as Spencer chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share his knowledge.

While playing with a particularly friendly cat, Spencer used the opportunity to flirt in his unique way. He gently lifted the cat, holding it out towards you. “It’s interesting how animals can facilitate social interactions, isn’t it? For instance, it's been found that people are more likely to engage in conversations in the presence of animals. They act as social lubricants.”

You laughed, reaching out to pet the cat and feeling a bit flustered by his proximity and the way he looked at you when talking about social dynamics. “Is that your subtle way of telling me you needed a furry wingman for our date?”

Spencer grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe, but it seems to be working, doesn’t it?”

“I don't know, say lubricant again,” you teased. Spencer's grin widened at your playful challenge, and the atmosphere between you sparked with a shared humor that made the moment light and enjoyable. 

He leaned in slightly, adopting a mock-serious tone, "Lubricant," he repeated, emphasizing the word, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You laughed even harder, your eyes bright with amusement. "Hearing you say 'lubricant' is so funny!"

Spencer, caught up in your joy, couldn’t help but laugh along. “Why?” he asked, his own grin wide as your laughter proved infectious.

"It’s just... it can be a dirtier word," you giggled, trying to explain through your laughter. "And I can’t imagine our resident genius using the word lubricant!"

Spencer's laughter joined yours, ringing out genuinely as he caught the playful jab. The lightness of the moment brought a relaxed glow to his features. "I assure you, the application of the word was purely scientific," he teased back, still chuckling. 

The café around you seemed to buzz with the warmth of your shared amusement, creating an intimate bubble amidst the quiet hum of other patrons and the soft padding of cat paws. "I suppose," Spencer continued, his smile lingering, "I should be more careful with my vocabulary around you. You're giving me a whole new perspective on language."

Your laughter gradually subsided into a series of light chuckles, but your eyes were bright with delight. "I think I like this side of you, Spencer," you said, a playful sincerity in your voice. "It’s nice to see you in a different light, not just as the genius profiler but also someone who can joke around about...lubricants."

Spencer's eyes softened, clearly touched by your words. "I'm glad," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of appreciation. "It’s not often I get to show this side, and I’m happy to share it with you." 

As you observed the cats seemingly gravitate towards Spencer, who seemed both amused and delighted by their attention, an idea sparked in your mind. It was the perfect segue into a lighthearted flirtation, mixing your shared love for animals with a touch of mystical charm.

"You know, it’s said that animals, especially cats, have a keen sense of good and bad," you started, watching Spencer's reaction as a particularly fluffy cat chose his lap as its new throne. "They're often drawn to people with good auras. I guess they must sense something pretty great about you."

Spencer looked up, his expression a mix of surprise and pleasure at your comment. He laughed softly, a sound that warmed you to the core. "Is that so? Well, I must be on the right track then. Maybe they sense my excellent choice in company for this evening," he replied smoothly, his gaze locking with yours in a moment charged with a gentle intensity as a cat nuzzled its way into your lap as well.

Your heart fluttered slightly at his words, and you smiled, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "Oh, so we’re using cat behavior to gauge our decisions now?" you teased back, leaning in a little closer. "In that case, I think they’re on to something because I’m feeling pretty good about my choice too."

Spencer’s smile widened, and he reached over to gently nudge a playful kitten back onto the table, his actions thoughtful and tender. "I'll take that as a high compliment, coming from someone who clearly knows her way around cats and their mysterious ways," he said, his voice soft but filled with an underlying warmth that suggested he was as affected by the exchange as you were.

As the evening wound down, and the café began to prepare for closing, Spencer drove you home. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself sharing little anecdotes from your childhood, while Spencer listened intently, always eager to learn more about you.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of your home. The end of the evening had come too quickly, a sentiment you both silently acknowledged as you lingered at the doorstep, not quite ready to say goodbye.

"Y/N...I had a really nice time today," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to wrap the evening in a perfect close.

"Me too, Spencer, thank you for asking me. I was kind of shocked," you admitted, your words sincere and open. The evening had unfolded beautifully, but part of you had still been wrestling with the disbelief that it was all really happening.

"Really? Why?" Spencer's curiosity was piqued, his gaze intent on you, wanting to understand more.

You smiled shyly, a nervous habit kicking in as you rubbed behind your ear. "I just... liked you for so long, I never thought you were interested in me too," you confessed, the words tumbling out more easily than you'd expected. The truth had been a quiet companion for so long, and saying it aloud to Spencer felt both freeing and terrifying.

Spencer's expression softened even further, a gentle understanding coloring his features. "Y/N, I’ve been trying to ask you out for two weeks," he confessed. His chuckle was light, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer's revelation brought a mix of relief and amusement. "Really? I had no idea you were trying," you replied, a smile breaking across your face, reflecting both the surprise and joy of the moment.

He nodded, a bit of sheepishness showing through his usual composed demeanor. "Yes, it turns out I'm not as skilled in expressing personal interest as I am with criminal profiles," he admitted, his light laughter mingling with yours.

The air between you felt lighter, a shared understanding dawning that, despite the initial miscommunications, there was a genuine and mutual interest. "Well, I'm glad you kept trying," you said, your tone sincere. "And I'm sorry I didn't pick up on it sooner. I guess I was just scared to get my hopes up."

Spencer reached across the small space between you, his hand hesitating just a moment before gently taking yours. "No more missed signals, okay? Let's promise to be more straightforward with each other," he suggested, his gaze steady and reassuring.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in agreement, feeling a warmth spread through you at the contact. "It's a deal," you responded, your heart feeling both settled and exhilarated by the new promise laid between you.

“So... in honor of being straightforward…” Spencer began, his voice soft but steady, a shy smile playing on his lips. He stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours, a quiet vulnerability in his gaze. Gently, he took both of your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart raced, the moment feeling both tender and surreal. The way he held your hands, the genuine care in his voice—it was everything you'd hoped for, wrapped in Spencer’s uniquely thoughtful way. You felt yourself nod before you even spoke, your breath catching slightly. “Yes,” you whispered, smiling softly, your eyes never leaving his.

Spencer’s smile deepened with relief and excitement. Slowly, he leaned in, his movements deliberate and gentle, giving you every moment to close the gap as well. When your lips finally met, it was soft, sweet, and full of the promise that had been building between you for so long. The world seemed to pause, leaving just the two of you in that quiet, intimate moment, finally aligned in your shared feelings.

When you pulled back, there was a brief silence before you both laughed lightly, the tension melting away completely. "That was… nice," Spencer said, his voice low, his smile radiating warmth. 

"Yeah, it really was," you agreed, still feeling the butterflies in your chest as you held onto his hands just a little tighter. 

“Oh, and for the record,” Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in your reaction, “I don’t like Elle—romantically, of course. She’s my best friend.”

Your face flushed with sudden embarrassment, realizing he'd caught on to your earlier assumptions. “Oh, I—well, uh...” you stammered, struggling to find the right words.

Spencer's smile remained soft and reassuring. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said warmly, squeezing your hands gently. “Elle is super gay, not sure how you missed that, and... I really like you.”

His words, so genuine and direct, melted away the last bit of tension you’d been holding onto. You laughed lightly, the awkwardness dissolving into relief. “Well, that’s good to know,” you said with a grin, finally allowing yourself to fully relax into the moment.

Spencer's grin mirrored yours as he added, “I just wanted to clear that up. No more misunderstandings.” His gaze softened as he looked at you, the weight of unspoken feelings now out in the open. 

“No more misunderstandings,” you agreed, feeling the warmth of his words and the certainty that everything between you was finally where it should be.

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[woso-dreamzzz]

Flag VI

Barcelona Femení x Child!Reader

Summary: You go for a visit to see the Barcelona team

Ingrid ignores the odd looks she gets as she and Mapi step into the locker room.

She walks straight up to Caro, a smug grin on her face.

"I've got The Baby!" She says gleefully, rocking her body side to side as you giggle.

"Mapi," Patri whispers," That's not a baby. Your girlfriend knows that, right?"

"That's y/n," Mapi says in answer, hanging up her bag," She's Frida and her girlfriend's daughter. Ingrid's her auntie."

"Maanum, right? That Frida? What's she doing in Barcelona?"

"They're having a little visit before they go to Tenerife. Ingrid volunteered us for a sleepover last night."

Patri winces. "Was it bad?"

"She's delightful actually," Mapi answers," Ate all her dinner without complaints and had a cup of warm milk before bed. Most well behaved kid I've ever met."

"Caro!" You say happily," Caro! Caro! Caro!"

Caro smiles a bit awkwardly at all the attention, at the way you're trying to fling yourself out of Ingrid's grip and into Caro's arms.

"Hey, squish," She says," You're looking good."

"Caro!" You continue," Caro, cuddles, please!"

Caro takes you from a slightly put-out Ingrid's arms, bouncing you stiffly for a moment as you try to attach yourself to her.

It looks like Marta is trying to force herself not to coo at the sweet scene as you babble at Caro, rushing through everything that's happened in your life since you last saw her.

"This is so unfair," Ingrid complains as she sits down in her cubby, arms crossed over her chest as she watches longingly while you show off your new Barcelona shirt to Caro and Marta," I'm the one that she had the sleepover with. I can't believe she's gone to Caro...Again!"

"Again?" Pina snickers.

"Caro's her favourite at camp too," Ingrid continues," I don't understand how! I'm the one that always buys her new toys! I spoil her!"

"You're jealous of Caro because she's getting more attention from a child?"

"You don't understand, Jana," Ingrid says dismissively," Squish...Y/n...She's...She's such a little sweetheart and she's so nice and she has so much love to give."

"Mama says Caro has a soft spot for Maanums," You're telling Marta as you happily soak up the attention," And that if I'm scared at camp and can't find her or auntie Ingrid, I have to go to Caro because she's responsible and won't let anything happen to me."

Caro's face glows red at the statement and she tries not to meet the teasing eyes of her girlfriend.

"And you really like Caro a lot, huh?"

"Uh-huh! Caro is the best at cutting up my food small!"

"Really? What else is she good at?"

"She makes sure I'm wearing my hat when it's snowing at camp! And! And last camp, she took me to the vending machine to get cookies! But you can't tell my Mama because I wasn't meant to have any."

Marta laughs. "I won't." She grins at Caro, bumping her girlfriend with her hip. "I didn't know you were so good with kids."

"I'm not," Caro says stiffly," Just The Baby. She's cool."

"I think you're cool too, Caro!" You giggle.

Ingrid doesn't end up with custody of you again until after lunch when Caro goes off on a phone call and Ingrid can snatch you up again without anyone getting in the way.

You giggle as she litters kisses on your cheeks.

"There's my squish again!" Ingrid laughs," You came back to me!"

"Ingrid," You giggle, feet kicking out instinctively," I always come back!"

"Oh! I missed you so much!" She pulls you into a hug that you reciprocate quickly.

After Frida and Emma, you think Ingrid gives the best hugs. Even better hugs than Emma's dog Jordan and he's one of your favourite huggers in the world.

"And who's this little girl?"

"Alexia, this is my niece, y/n. Squish, this is Alexia, she's the captain of Barcelona."

You frown. "Like how Kim's the Arsenal captain?"

"Exactly like that."

You grin, face splitting open as you show off your dimples. "Hi, Spanish Kim! Oh...er...Ingrid...what was her name again?"

"Alexia."

"Hi, Alexia! It's nice to meet you."

Alexia can't help but smile as you hold your little hand out for her to shake.

"It's nice to meet you too, y/n. I didn't know Ingrid had a niece."

"She and my Mama are friends!" You explain," But we don't see each other a lot because I live in Sweden."

Alexia pulls up a chair, settling into it and leaning a bit closer so she can hear your properly.

"Really?"

"Yeah with Mummy and our dog Jordan. But then Mama brings me to Norway when I'm on camp so I can see Ingrid and Caro! They say I'm the team baby!"

Alexia laughs. "That sounds about right, you're still very little."

"I start school soon," You tell her, puffing out your chest," And Mapi told me last night that I'm a growing girl!"

Alexia nods along. "Of course you are! And you know what growing girls get in Barcelona?"

"No?" Your eyes go wide. "What do they get?"

"They get to choose things out of the vending machine!" Alexia tells you seriously as she offers her hand," Do you want to pick some stuff out with me?"

Ingrid sighs deeply as Mapi snickers. "Next time we get her for a sleepover, we're not coming into training the next day."

[laiamilton]

i love the english | leah williamson x fem! reader

summary; everyones fave ex wag seems to start soft launching again in london

fc; kenia os

warnings; cursing i think

notes; kenia os is soo cute but this was kinda sorta proof read

masterlist !

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

liked by kaliuchis, leahwilliamsonn, and others !

yourusername: london, thank you so much!❤️

username: QUEEEEEN

username: i miss u and joão 😢

username: girllllll

username: lowk same😕

username: they were not a good relationship tho 😭😭😭

username: reallll

username: the red heart omg london is red so true 😫😫😫

username: why is leah williamson liking this????

username: like ariana what r u doing here

kaliuchis: 🥰🥰🥰 *liked by yourusername*

username: KALI WHAT DO U KNOW??🤨

username: u and joão were so cute 😔😔

username: REAL i miss my parents sm

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; 🐆🐆] [caption 2; when a certain someone likes my outfit a bit too much🙈🙈 💐]

username WHOOO

username plz say it’s joão plz plz plzzzzzzz🙏

username omg did joão buy u the flowers??

username THE FITTT😫😍

username it’s giving glamour blonde glamour

username was that joão?

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

liked by leahwilliamsonn, pesopluma, and others !

yourusername: more of london ❤️

username: MOTHER IS A GOONER

username: london is red SO TRUEEEEE

username: i don’t think she’s back w joão anymore considering he plays for chelsea 😔😔

username: oooo she’d look good w calafiori😍

username: maybe she’s single? she doesn’t need a man

username: maybe she’s gay

username: shes only ever dated men tho???

username: peso pluma liked 😍

username: they’re friends !!

username: shes sooo😫

username: coygggskxjlefkodf

username: leah liked again omg

username: fairs she decided to explore london after her concert i get it 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

username: new music when plz im already going through withdrawals even tho tommy & pamela came out a month ago😔🙏

username: so no joão?:/

username: nahhh she’s an arsenal fan and he plays for chelsea 😭

username: enemies to lovers????🤔

username: i miss them but no💔

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; w the best photographer ❤️] [caption 2; now playing ➡️ tommy & pamela by peso pluma and y/n l/n (trans; quiet so that no one sees us]

username i think i figured it out ong

username WAITTTTTTTT

username gorgeous girl

username this soft launch is killing me just pls tell me we have wag y/n back😭😭🙏🙏

username yeah that’s not joão 😞😞😞😞

leahwilliamsonn being the best photographer only came after you telling at me 😕

yourusername sorry my love but the angles were off😔😔😔

leahwilliamsonn yeah yeah my bad for staring at the pretty lady in front of the camera instead 🙄

yourusername take me out for ice cream nd maybe i’ll forgive u xxxx

leahwilliamsonn the things you to do me… i’ll be home in 20

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liked by leahwilliamsonn, katie_mccabe11, and others !

yourusername: ibizaaaaa

username: wait a damn mf minute….

username: i recognize that bun from anywhere😭

username: body is TEAAA😍😍

username: ok ibiza take over period

username: why is katie mccabe liking did the ibiza post attract all the fem footballers

username: face BANK😫

username: is that leah williamson?????

username: GIRL IT ISSS

username: omg she’s w keira too wtfffff

username: i love women !!

username: i took a pill in ibizaaaa

username: i am no better than a man 🤤

username: BITCH THATS LEAH WILLIAMSON?? IM CRYINGG😭😭😭😭😭😭

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

leahwilliamsonn uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; new camera to become a better photographer she says] [caption 2; i think i’m alright]

username girl….

username THATS Y/N!!!!!

username ur dating someone ??💔💔

username u and y/n are no longer subtle btw queen😇😇😇🤗🤗🤗

username WAHHHHHH

username enough of this soft launch give me a hard launch !!!!!😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏

yourusername i need the best of the best for my instagram feed excuse u😠😠😠😠

leahwilliamsonn u are so right i’m sorry my love😔

yourusername ugh i love when you listen to me so quickly 🥰

yourusername im showing this to katie

leahwilliamsonn NOW WAIT????that’s not even fair bc then everyone will know

yourusername it’s ok to be a lover girl at heart, babe

leahwilliamsonn can you blame me? this soft launch stuff is annoying 🙄🙄

yourusername but it’s funny seeing all the comments 🤒🤒

leahwilliamsonn but i wanna show you off NOW

yourusername lol simp

leahwilliamsonn yeah true

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; she love smiley fries] [caption 2; ☺️☺️]

katie_mccabe11 what’d you even say to her to get her all smiley like that???🤣

yourusername told her she looked cute nd how i was gonna post that picture on my story 😭😭

katie_mccabe11 oi i’m so gonna use that against her

yourusername i got u 🫷🙂‍↕️🫸

keirawalsh why is she so red?

yourusername i said she looked cute

keirawalsh ah makes sense

username AHAHALDKLS

username CHAT ITS HAPPENINGGGG😭😭

username this is sickening yall are fr a power couple omg

username Y/N FOR THE GIRLSSS ( specifically leah omgggg😫😫😫 )

leahwilliamsonn oh you actually posted this

yourusername i said you looked cute, no?

yourusername leah i can hear u giggling in the living room

leahwilliamsonn hurry up 😒 and wear my arsenal hoodie

yourusername ok whatever u say ❤️

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

liked by leahwilliamsonn, keirawalsh, and others !

yourusername: God i love the english

tagged; leahwilliamsonn

leahwilliamsonn: wow who is she???

yourusername: you’re sooooooooo

leahwilliamsonn: 😇😇😇😇

leahwilliamsonn: ❤️❤️❤️❤️

yourusername: 💙💙💙💙

leahwilliamsonn: babe…..

yourusername: sorry🙄❤️❤️❤️❤️

username: oh how cute🥹

username: sleeping on the highway 2night💔

username:HNAXLSKXKOSXKOSKZLSLDKAOXKKSNLSJXISJXOSJXLQMXNALKXKVBQL?!1@:917:&@bbqldoekvvvv???

username: real oomf real

username: OH HELLO HARD LAUNCH😭😭😭💞💞💞💞💞💘💘💘💓💗

username: idk if i wanna be y/n or leah

username: POWER COUPLEEE😭❤️

keirawalsh: did she giggle while watching you post this?

yourusername: maybe

stanwaygeorgia: come on, leah’s always giggling and blushing over y/n

leahwilliamsonn: how is this turning against me ??

katie_mccabe11: ahh so this is why leah was giggling during training??

yourusername: maybe 😇

leahwilliamsonn: NO?????

kyacooneyx: she lies !☝️☝️☝️

alessia: it’s true i was there 🙂‍↕️

liawaelti: so happy for you both❤️

leahwilliamsonn: thank you for not teasing me

liawaelti: oh i will just later

yourusername: LIAAA🫶🫶🫶🫶

username: i told yall y/n is for the girls🙄

username: congratulations 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[misswynters]

Innocent

short drabble

featuring. ambessa x princess!reader

requested by anon

a/n. a short drabble in honor of the new league cinematic video. (not proofread)

Whispers followed you wherever you went, delicate and sweet like the trailing ribbons of your pastel gown. A princess from a distant land, they called you, with eyes like morning dew and a smile so radiant it could disarm even the most hardened souls. You walked beside Ambessa Medarda as you entered Piltover’s council chamber, her imposing presence drawing wary glances and tightened jaws. But you, oh, you were such the opposite compared to her with your delicate hands grazing the edge of the table as you curtsied. The softness of your voice weaving through the room like silk.

They couldn’t understand it. What was someone like you, someone that was the vision of elegance, doing at the side of a woman like Ambessa? A warlord who ruthless and cunning, with a reputation for crushing anything that stood in her way. You looked out of place at her side, like a butterfly perched on the shoulder of a lion. But appearances, as Ambessa had taught you, were the first weapon in your arsenal.

“Your Highness,” one of the councilmen greeted, his tone dripping with condescension as he rose from his chair. “It is truly an honor to have such a distinguished guest among us.” His gaze lingered a moment too long on your soft hair and the glimmering jewels that adorned your wrists. You smiled, tilting your head ever so slightly.

“Thank you, my lord,” you said, your voice so sweet it bordered on saccharine. “I must confess, I find Piltover to be… overwhelming. Such brilliance and innovation, but so complex. I hardly know where to begin.” You laughed softly, the sound drawing smiles from more than one member of the room. Ambessa remained silent beside you, her sharp gaze watching, as you worked your magic on the men.

“You need not worry, Princess,” another councilman intersected, his voice laced with eagerness and a touch of pride. “We are more than happy to guide you through anything you wish to understand. Perhaps… I could offer you a private tour of the academy?” His tone was almost gallant, but the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

Your cheeks flushed, as you clasped your hands together. “That is so kind of you, my lord,” you said, casting your gaze downward shyly before glancing back up through your lashes. “I wouldn’t want to impose, but I’ve always been so fascinated by Piltover’s Hextech. Perhaps I could ask you a few questions later? I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time.”

Ambessa fought the smirk tugging at her lips, her arms crossed as she leaned back against the far wall. You were perfect. Every tilt of your head, every soft-spoken word was calculated to pull strings you weren’t even sure the men knew they had.

The council meeting proceeded, but you hardly paid attention to the broader discussions. Instead, you focused on planting seeds into the minds of the men. Compliments so subtle they felt like afterthoughts, questions that seemed harmless but dug at the roots of Piltover’s inner circle. By the time the meeting was over, you had gathered more than enough information to satisfy Ambessa’s expectations.

As the members filtered out, one lingered, his gaze fixed on you. “Princess,” he began, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “I couldn’t help but notice your… curiosity earlier. If you truly wish to learn more about Hextech, I could arrange a demonstration for you. Something private, of course, so you could see its full potential.”

Your lips curved into a soft smile, even as the words you spoke were sharp enough to cut. “You are too kind, my lord,” you murmured, stepping closer until you were just within his space. “I would love that. Perhaps tomorrow evening?”

The man nodded eagerly, his face alight with excitement as he stumbled over his words. Ambessa cleared her throat, her presence suddenly oppressive as she stepped forward. “Her Highness will have a full schedule,” she said, her voice like the edge of a blade. “But I’m sure she’ll find time for your… demonstration.”

As the man hurried off, you turned to Ambessa, your expression dropping the moment he was out of sight. “Amateur,” you muttered under your breath, your sweet demeanor melting into something sharper. Ambessa chuckled, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“You’ve done well,” she said, her voice low and approving. “They’re all wrapped around your little finger.”

You looked up at her, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Of course they are,” you replied, your tone light but edged with pride.

Later, as you sat on the edge of the bed in Ambessa’s quarters, she watched you from her seat by the fire. You were still the picture of sweetness in your pink nightgown, your hair falling in over your shoulders, but she knew better. Beneath that façade was a mind as sharp as any blade she wielded.

“You were perfect today,” she said finally, her voice breaking the silence. You turned to her, your smile genuine this time as you padded over to her chair.

“Only because you taught me,” you said softly, kneeling at her feet. Ambessa reached out, her rough hand brushing against your cheek, her touch surprisingly tender.

“Couldn’t be prouder,” she murmured, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it. You leaned into her touch, your eyes closing as a contented smile spread across your lips.

Innocence was your mask, manipulation your weapon, and loyalty to Ambessa the thread that bound it all together. You were exactly what she had shaped you to be. It was easy to manipulate others when they weren’t expecting it from a person with such a sweet demeanor. Clearly you proved them wrong, well eventually.

taglist. @blckbny @ch-bl0gsss @b-lossm @fortluocha @ekkosh @limereance @wolfessa @themostlesbianever @simonapietra @1-800-fantasy @saikikittykusuo @sevikaishot @sugarplumz100 @chaostudi @wxwrites @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 @robzo4 @puppyphia @xreadersarchive @boom58 @d3adbrainer @kylorey25 @slutmeoutfortoge @yaeil @sapphicarribean @randomperson291 @mvistl @hellokittyfeenie @literallyimthenerdemoji @nikaachuuuu @prettysupplicant @iamaboringrattat

[sthilarions]

During a case many years ago, a witch made a poppet (roughly equivalent to the popular conception of a “voodoo doll”) of Edwin. They defeated the witch soundly and got the poppet, but there’s no safe way to destroy it. The only place Edwin and Charles trust as safe enough to keep it is inside Charles’s backpack, where no one but Charles could possibly get to it.

Charles largely forgets about it, buried deep deep down in the bag, until Edwin is held captive, less than a year after their jaunt to Hell, and there’s absolutely no way to get to him until the portal opens again at the next full moon, and he’s going crazy with worry, imagining Edwin in all sorts of misery without Charles not even able to so much as comfort him. He’s digging mindlessly through the bag when he gets to the poppet, and, he realizes, there is this one thing he can do.

He pulls it out with a care he wouldn’t give to a Faberge egg, because this is the most precious thing in the world, in any world, and looks at it for a moment. Then he reaches out ever so gently and strokes its hair. He murmurs reassurances to it - it’s alright, I’m sorry, I love you. He sings lullabies, curls around it and hugs it against him so, so carefully, tilts his head down and presses kisses to its soft curl-covered head.

He doesn’t let the poppet go for even a moment on all the days until the full moon returns, even as he’s preparing for battle, preparing to absolutely fucking obliterate the bastards that are holding Edwin.

Just as the portal opens, he finally places the poppet back in his bag, in the safest, warmest corner. He hefts the arsenal in his arms and strapped to his back and floating around him and charges through.

He tears through the stronghold in minutes, and he does literally mean through - he’s left a trail of smoking rubble behind him where ghost-proof walls used to be - and finally, finally gets to Edwin, and -

“Ah, Charles, there you are. Not to worry, I’m quite alright. There has been some sort of force - “

Charles doesn’t even hear him as he wraps himself around Edwin, and his body follows the same motions it has for weeks now, stroking hair, pressing kisses, murmuring muffled you’re alright I love you you’re alright I’m sorry I love you I’m sorrys into Edwin’s hair, which is even softer in reality than on the poppet, and Edwin says -

“Ah. That was you.”

Charles can’t see or hear anything other than Edwin, at the moment, but he can’t not see Edwin, so he has a very clear view as Edwin reaches his arms out and, with a few words, takes control of all the magical weapons and orbs and so forth that have been trailing after Charles.

And he hears when Edwin says “Well, then, Charles, shall we depart?”

And he feels it when Edwin lifts him as effortlessly as he lifted the poppet, holding him so he can keep his nose buried against Edwin’s neck as Edwin blasts his way out.

And he definitely feels it when, a few very loud minutes later, they’re back in their office, and Edwin’s head turns to meet one of his kisses.

“It’s alright, Charles. I’m sorry I left you alone. I love you.”

[seungfl0wer]

*Daddy Jeongin*

Daddy Series:

Bangchan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

Contains Smut

-💜

•Protective.

•Very protective over you.

•I don’t think he’s a very confrontational person.

•However someone so much as looks at his baby the wrong way and suddenly he’s ready to go to jail.

•Likes to do the whole sharing location thing.

•Not in a controlling way, more so he knows if something happens he can help.

•Or especially when he knows you’re home he can send you stuff.

•Loves surprising you with little stuff like sending you lunch.

•Although he’s not a big touchy person I feel like with you he’s the complete opposite.

•You’re one of the only people that he craves touch from.

•Sitting on the couch? He wants you in his lap.

•Out on a date? He’s got his arm snug around you.

•Loves to match with you too.

•Has a whole arsenal of matching PJs, and Shirts.

•He also absolutely loves picking outfits out for you. Putting you in all sorts of cute things.

•Anytime you’re giving him attitude he’ll put his pretty hands under your chin.

•Making you hold eye contact telling you “Bring back my sweet baby”

•If you continue he’ll withhold cuddles from you.

•Or on the rare occasion that you’re being extra bad he’ll pull you away bringing those pretty finger back to your face.

•He’ll apply a little more pressure and give you his scolding voice telling you that you need to behave.

•Doesn’t like to do spankings as a punishment.

•He’s one that rather talk it out.

•He’s definitely the kind to push his fingers into your mouth to shut you up too.

•He’ll leave you little gifts too, he loves spoiling you so much.

•He definitely is the type to get you a necklace with a J as a way to say who you belong too.

ੈ♡˳Smut Below

•He’s a menace.

•Likes to toy with you a lot.

•Overstimulation, Orgasm denial or his favorite temperature play.

•Ties you down put an ice cube in his mouth and running it over your body.

•Enjoys the little whines that come from your mouth because it’s cold.

•He’s even tried a glass dildo he stuck in the freezer to see how you’d react.

•Daddy jeongin has this certain look he gives you.

•It’s a wild feral look that you know you’re in for it.

•Although he doesn’t like spanking as a punishment he’ll definitely use a sexual one.

•Like keeping you tied down having a vibe on low and just leaving you.

•Things he says a lot are

•“Maybe you’ll learn some manners hmm?”

•”See what happens when that pretty mouth turns bratty”

•“Daddy wants to play with what’s his”

•Aftercare is always filled with soothing breaths.

•He’ll bring you one of your most comfy PJs dressing you.

•He’ll reassure you a lot and ask if you’re alright.

•Soft I love yous as he’s kissing over little marks he’s left.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget @0omillo0 @jellymochii @stilltrynafuckingtumble @catlove83

[wosohours]

commitment - leah williamson x reader

You always heard about “don’t date athletes” and “athletes are players," but of course when good advice comes your way, you ignore it.

It was a bit insane to think that you could start talking to the one girl who could not be bothered with being in a committed relationship. That gut feeling telling you “Don’t get too close”, “Don’t entertain her”, or “Don’t fall in too deep” but you once again ignored it.

Honestly, you could not help it. It was like a craving to be around Leah all the time. It almost felt like an obsession of wondering, “What is she doing?”, “Where is she?”, “Is she thinking about me?”

Constantly checking your phone to see if she messaged you. Looking at her social media every hour on the hour. You were in deep and you knew it would eventually lead to hurting yourself. Yet, being someone with the typical heart-eye delusions, the thoughts in the back of your mind kept saying, “She will change for you.”

Trying to distance yourself never worked because every time you were at a safe enough distance she kept pulling you right back in. Leah knew that she had some type of hold on you and constantly used that to her advantage.

Just last week she was barely texting and calling you back. You understood that she was not obligated to do so since you two were not officially together, but you were most definitely a little…maybe even a lot more than “just friends.” The dates, the romantic gestures, and the PDA all confirmed that but you could never understand her constant pushing and pulling.

Leah knows exactly how to make it up to you though. She texted three days ago saying how sorry she was not keeping in contact, how she misses you like crazy and how she planned a whole day for just the two of you. You were strong this time, wanting her to feel how she makes you feel by not texting back and declining her calls those three days. Yet one slip of weakness and here you are right back in her bed.

____________________

“I missed you so much you have no ideas.” Leah tells you as she feathers kisses all over your face as you both lay in bed naked.

“Oh really? I would not have guessed.” you said as you sat up from her chest and moved away from her a little. She froze looking at you with that cute frown that is usually stuck on her face and said, “Baby I told you I am truly sorry, I really mean it. I have just been a bit busier since the launch of my third book. You know this.”

Leah wraps an arm around your waist pulling you back down closer to her. “I am here now though, aren’t I?” You hesitantly relax into her and say, “I know but a simple text or any sort of reply would have been nice. I just missed you.” You can feel Leah smiling against your hairline after she lays a soft kiss there. “I missed you too babe.”

After a moment of you two just enjoying each other's company she says quietly, “How about we get up, you come shower with me, and then we can go out and get some breakfast?”

____________________

Once again the cycle repeats itself with Leah distancing herself. No longer answering calls or texts. Although it hurt, you thought it would be best to leave things the way they were to protect your peace, even pushing yourself to be petty enough to block her number. It was almost like you were putting her up to the test to see how far she would go to get your attention.

Although she did swipe up on one of your Instagram stories of you in a tight shirt with no bra saying, “I’ve seen it, now delete it,” but you ignored that as well.

____________________

Since being friends with Leah for many years you have grown closer with some of the Arsenal girls and with them loving your company, a couple of them have asked you to join them in celebrating the end of their USA tour at a local pub. People are either mingling by the bar, doing karaoke, or sitting around the reserved private table in the back.

Currently, you are at the bar getting a drink and you can feel Leah’s eyes burning into the back of your skull.

“What’s going on with you two? You have been more grumpy than usual,” Katie teases Leah as she sits in the empty seat next to her. “She's ignoring me,” Leah sighs, still looking at you.

“What have you done this time?” Alessia asks from across the table. “I’ve been kind of avoiding her again. I don’t mean to but I don’t know what I’m doing.” Leah replies.

“Have you tried talking to her about how you feel? Do you actually want to have a serious relationship with her?” Katie asks.

“No, I haven't talked to her. Every time I try to talk about us my mouth goes dry and all of a sudden I can’t think, and of course, I want something serious with her I’m just nervous,” Leah shakes her head and looks down at her fidgeting fingers.

Lia, who has been listening to the conversation from her seat next to Alessia, speaks up, “Well you might need to tell her soon because the bartender is flirting with her heavily.”

This causes Leah’s head to shoot up in your direction and sees the bartender smiling at you and reaching her hand over to rest on your forearm. “Yeah, not happening.” Leah quickly stands up from her seat and pushes past people to make her way over to you.

When she gets to you she gently wraps an arm around your waist not to startle you and pulls you back into her chest. She gives her glare that she usually saves for the pitch to the bartender, making her quickly release your arm and turn her attention to another customer waiting at the other end of the bar.

Leah smiles when you relax into her and she whispers in your ear, “You’ve been avoiding me.” You slowly turn around until you are face to face with her and say. “Hurts doesn’t it?”

“I deserve that. Why don’t we go have a chat and I will explain myself?” Leah says, moving her hand to grab yours. “Really? You want to talk now and here?” you scoff.

Leah just nods and gently pulls your hand so that you follow her out to the back patio of the pub. She sits on a bench that is a little bit away from the loud building and pulls your hand down to sit next to her.

“You know you shouldn’t just flirt with anyone, she could've just been charming you into being her next one nightstand,” she says.

“Hmm, pot meets kettle huh? You would know,” you scoff pulling your hand away from hers.

“No, I wouldn’t, because we are more than that,” she firmly replies.

“It sure doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”

“I know,” she sighs, focusing on her shoes, “but I can explain.”

You look at her and slightly nod your head giving her the indication to keep talking.

“I love everything about us. I love how we are with each other. How easy it is to be around you and the connection that we have. I’m just scared of the reality of us being together because it seems too good to be true,” she confesses. “Don’t get me wrong I do want to be with you and I am serious about you but there is this nagging feeling in my head that I am going to screw it all up.”

You grab her hands gently and say, “That’s completely understandable Leah, I wish you would have communicated with me about how you felt earlier. However, you can’t make future assumptions about something you or we haven’t even tried yet. Neither of us has any idea of what could happen but it doesn’t mean push away and hide from it.”

You continue, “You are looking too far into the future when you should be focusing on right now. That self-sabotaging brain of yours is going to stall you for great things one day.” you giggle pushing her head away making her laugh too.

After the giggles die down she says, “You are completely right. If you allow me to give this…us another try I am willing to put my all into it. I just ask that you give me that reassurance.”

“I can give you that, but you have to promise to communicate with me.” you nod raising your hand to move a piece of hair out of her face.

“I promise to communicate my feelings to you,” she replies leaning into your hand.

You smile and stand up from the bench pulling her up with you to give her a hug resting your head against hers. Leah pulls back a bit to give you a few quick pecks on the lips causing you to giggle and move away.

“My girl,” she whispers, pulling you back against her and laying one last kiss on the side of your head.

____________________

Since that day Leah has kept her promise of communicating more and you have kept yours by reassuring her when she needed it. She even asked you to officially be with her a couple weeks later and it had felt as though something shifted in the air.

She was constantly texting, calling, and wanting to be attached to your hip. When you too were with each other in person she would constantly cling to you but you were okay with it since that is what you were wanting from the beginning.

[flemingology]

blurb request! a soft one where leah comes home from international break and spends the evening with r. maybe then have a cute movie night with pizza and cuddle on the sofa with a blanket draped over them? just overall cutesy and lovey dovey haha 💗

home is where you are ─ leah williamson x reader

in which: leah and you reunite after the international break

warnings: none

wc: 1.3k

Leah loved playing for England. She loved putting the shirt on, feeling the weight of the badge on her chest, wearing the captain's armband with pride. She loved winning with England. Whether that was a useless friendly, a Nations League group stage game or a major tournament, Leah was addicted to winning. But the thing that Leah loved most about her international breaks, was the prospect of coming back home to you after being away for the best part of two weeks.

The weight of what had been a grueling 14 days rest heavily on her shoulders. Sarina upped the intensity in training off the back of what had been a disappointing camp back in November. Leah wasn't one to shy away from training hard, but it had taken its toll on her body. It was the first time since her ACL injury that the England captain had played a good, consecutive run of games and she was starting to feel the consequences. She was happy, beyond happy, that her body finally felt like it had before her surgery. No more setbacks, no niggles, just her body, her knee and herself working back towards the level she was at before the dreaded injury.

Leah was lost in thought as she expertly navigated the streets of your neighborhood, her limbs aching more with each turn she took, as if her body knew that she was nearing home with each passing minute. She parked the car in the driveway and exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding in as she saw your car was there too. You had your own international break to attend, traveling to Spain for your own camp, so she was relieved to find out you'd made it home safely. You hadn't really texted today, the both of you caught up in traveling home, too busy thinking about the prospect of being in each other's arms again at night.

The defender took her bags out of the trunk and locked her car behind her, crossing the driveway to the front door in a quick few strides. Leah knocked on the door, not finding the energy in her to fish out her house keys that were probably somewhere at the bottom of her England backpack. The cold London air nipped at her exposed legs, silently cursing herself for not having changed into a pair of sweatpants before she left St George's Park.

Leah got pulled out of her thoughts as you opened the front door, dressed in one of her old Arsenal sweaters and a pair of fuzzy sweatpants. Your hair was slightly tousled from where you had been lounging on the couch, waiting for your girlfriend to come home. Your lips formed a small smile and Leah didn't bother saying anything before she dropped her bags on the ground and pulled you into a tight embrace.

She soaked you in, the warmth of your body spreading towards hers as she buried her face in your neck and inhaled your scent, which she had to miss for the past two weeks. "Hey, baby," you said softly, your Spanish accent laced through your voice as you spoke the defender's mother tongue. She pulled you tighter against her, mumbling something incoherently against the exposed skin of your neck, pressing a couple soft kisses there before pulling her head away and looking you in the eye. "I missed you so much," she voiced. Not awaiting your reply, she rested her hands on both sides of your waist and pulled you closer, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

You'd never get tired of kissing Leah. The way her lips perfectly captured yours time and time again, it always made you feel like you were made for each other. She let her hands roam across your back and then settled them on your bum. You pulled back a couple moments later for some air, and you breathlessly leant your forehead against your girlfriend's. "Can we go inside, please? I'm getting quite cold," Leah chuckled.

Leah and you spent the rest of the evening cuddled up on the couch, telling each other about everything that happened while you spent two weeks away from each other. You ordered pizzas, opened a bottle of red wine and enjoyed your evening together.

"You can't leave me again." Leah's voice startled you as you were engrossed in the movie she had put on earlier. "Hmm?" You cocked your eyes at her. "You know, for football. You can't leave the country anymore. I miss you too much." You let out a breathy laugh and snuggled a bit deeper into her chest. "I missed you too. Spain was nice, but not nicer than here. Although it was a welcome change from all the rain."

One of Leah's hands ran through your hair while the other rested comfortably on the small of your back. You were nudged in between her legs with your head on her chest, one of your hands on the side of her face. You couldn't possibly get any closer to one another, but you wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

"I hate it when you leave. When we're not together. I know it sounds cheesy, but I just feel like a part of me is missing," Leah whispered. The room was dark, only slightly illuminated by the tv, but you could feel the sincerity in your girlfriend's gaze and words. You sit up a little and cupped her cheeks with both hands. "I will never leave you for a reason other than football or family, mi amor." You pressed a soft kiss against her lips and tried to pour all the love and adoration you had for her in the moment. Leah's hands gripped your waist tightly like she was scared you were going to leave again if she didn't hold on tight.

"Next month, just come with me. I'm sure we can get the club to fake an injury or something." You chuckled at your girlfriend's suggestion, but soon quieted down when you sensed she was being serious. "Le, you know I can't do that. As much as I love you, and I'd love to spend every moment of every day with you, I have my own football career too. And I know, deep down, that you want me to do good."

Leah sighed dramatically, throwing her head back against the arm rest of the couch. "Ugh. I guess?" She drew out the syllables of her words, feigning annoyance but you didn't miss the slight smile that crept up her lips. "Te amo, mi vida. So much. I'm yours. Forever." Leah's eyes locked with yours and you didn't miss the unshed tears that were pooling there. You brushed your thumbs over her cheeks and pressed kisses all over her face, whispering soft reassurances and declarations of your love her between the presses of your lips against her delicate skin.

No matter how many times the two of you would have to spend international breaks apart, the prospect of coming home to her was one you'd never, ever get used to or take for granted. Nothing felt more like home like Leah's arms, laying in her embrace under a soft blanket on the couch. Soft kisses and whispers shared while nursing a glass of wine, munching on some pizza that definitely wasn't on your meal plan for the week. But you wouldn't have it any other way.

[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

Phone 📱

Leah Williamson x Reader

warning :

summary :

During training, while watching a match, fans notice Leah frequently checking her phone and smiling, a rare distraction for the usually focused player. Speculation can't help but grow.

It was a chilly evening at the training grounds, and the Arsenal team was hard at work. The drills were intense, with coaches shouting instructions and players moving in perfect sync. Leah, known for her focus and leadership on the pitch, was no exception, giving her all as always. But today, something was different. During short breaks or while waiting for her turn in a drill, Leah would sneak glances at her phone, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips each time she read a message.

A few of her teammates noticed, nudging each other with amused expressions. “What’s got her so distracted?” one of them whispered, stealing a glance at Leah, who was now quickly typing back a response, her eyes sparkling in a way that was rare to see during training. It wasn’t like Leah to be distracted, especially during practice, where she was known to lead by example. But today, she didn’t seem to mind taking those tiny breaks to check her phone.

The coaches raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. They trusted Leah; if something was pulling her attention away, it had to be important. After the training session ended, the players gathered their things, and one of Leah’s friends decided to tease her. “Alright, Leah, spill. Who’s got you grinning like that during training?”

Leah tried to play it cool, shrugging nonchalantly, but the blush on her cheeks gave her away. “Just checking in on something,” she said with a small, knowing smile. She didn’t offer more, but anyone who knew her could see that this “something" was clearly making her day a little brighter.

A few weeks later, Leah had the chance to watch a game from the stands, and she was excited to cheer on her friends. But throughout the match, fans nearby noticed something strange. Every few minutes, Leah would pull out her phone, quickly typing out a message before her attention returned to the game. She was still cheering, still fully engaged, but it was clear her focus was divided.

Social media was quick to pick up on it. Fans began to speculate, tweeting about how Leah, who was known for her love of the game, was clearly texting someone important enough to split her attention. Some joked that it must be football-related, while others wondered if it was a special someone. Between the cheers, the occasional glances at her screen, and the soft smile that followed each reply, it wasn’t hard to guess that she was thinking about someone specific.

As the match wrapped up, Leah headed down to the sidelines, where some fans were gathering for autographs. Someone playfully shouted, “Leah, who were you texting so much?” She laughed, shaking her head, not offering an answer but not denying the question either.

(I don't like it that much :/ )

[mac-tirs]

the not-insignificant differences between the omen twins

so, i saw this picture posted by @amanaci which inspired me to write this rather lengthy piece on the contrasts between morgott and mohg. i decided that, instead of dumping this whole think-piece on their post, i'd make my own separate post and ramble here.

this difference in their height really tracks for how their fighting styles and personalities are like, i feel. i always found it peculiar how different they are despite being twins; i feel like there's a rather stark resemblance between miquella and malenia in their soft-faced features, pale skin, and long flowing hair, and a close resemblance between the carian siblings with their red hair, but morgott and mohg are rather different from each other, only bearing similarities due to their omen nature. i looked a little bit into that and found that there's pretty good reasons behind why.

firstly, morgott is severely malnourished and unhealthy in comparison to mohg. you can see it in his body and how his skin sags, how his ribs and bones show, and how dry it looks. below is a comparison between his hands and mohg's hands.

morgott's hands are dry, almost rubbed red and raw around the knuckles and fingers. it reminds me a little of psoriasis, or some kind of skin discolouration caused by his poor health. it's likely he isn't eating well, or at the very least, he isn't eating as well as mohg. his twin, on the other hand (ha!), has shiny, veiny skin with a healthy colour and gleam to them. it's like he wants to call to attention how well moisturised he is (which, in this case, compared to morgott, he is).

above is a comparison between the twins' horns. the difference is extremely evident to me; morgott's horns are dry, almost seeming brittle, like sun-dried bone that hasn't seen rain or moisture in years. it reminds me of the horns of a very neglected ram, almost, but despite that, the horn growths seem more controlled, less like the wild growths all over the royal omens of the shunning grounds and more controlled as a sort of jutting crown from mainly one side of his head. meanwhile, mohg's horns are shiny, curling wildly to the point of injury, taking his eye in its path of growth. they grew wildly enough to replace his hair altogether, if he ever had any, and give him an even more imposing silhouette with a literal crown of horns (and a beard to boot). beyond this, his horns look healthy, with clearly defined rings to each growth that shine under the light, much like the rest of him. he's oiled leather to morgott's dry hide.

another somewhat interesting detail of morgott is his tail. i know a lot of people see it as soft, and it certainly looks the part, but what i find interesting are two things: the first being that his fur looks quite matted in some lightings and angles but overall looks soft to the touch, and the second being that his tail's horns look much healthier than his own horns on his head. this is in clear contrast to the rest of his body, which looks dry and unassuming with smatterings of coarse white hair up and down his body, and i believe its a matter of the limits to his own self-care. he utilises his tail as another weapon in his arsenal, so he cares for it that it might serve him well in battle, unlike his head of horns, which only serve as a detriment to him with how they must obscure some of his vision, if not most of it. additionally, he likely could bear to look at his tail and care for it, but for an omen that hates his nature more than the average, he probably doesn't enjoy looking at his own face in the mirror enough to properly care for himself.

which brings me back to the sheer differences between these two. morgott, unhealthy and self-loathing, neglects many visual aspects of himself likely because he sees vanity as a luxury not afforded to someone like him. mohg, healthy and self-obsessed, cares and grooms himself to appear very much so like the lord he claims to be, loving himself to a heretical extreme (in the eyes of the golden order). their statures reflect this too; morgott hunches low to the ground, ready to pounce at any given moment but also due to his own shame and humility, while mohg stands tall and proud, though not as tall as he could possibly be due to his upbringing being one of likely having to hunch low to fit beneath the ceilings of the smaller parts of the shunning grounds.

above is a picture of an omen from stormveil, which bears resemblance to all the omen you see in the game. in terms of clothing, one of the big ways people set the omen twins apart, morgott is completely naked save for the ragged cloak of animal hides he wears, signifying he is not fit to even dress himself in a shirt or trousers as befits a king, much like the omen pictured. he wears even less than that, actually, since he lacks even the slightest adornment save for the rope that clasps his cloak together. on the other hand, mohg is entirely adorned in finery, wearing a beautifully embroidered, fashionable priest's robe with matching vestments, and beneath that (as seen in the first image) some underclothes, a plain black button up and some pants. mohg's entire silhouette changes with the removal of his robe, while morgott's barely makes an impact once you realise he has only taken off the one article of clothing he had.

then, of course, there are their fighting styles. there's this fantastic video on youtube that i recommend watching of the twins fighting every major boss in the game, and you can clearly tell them apart from their fighting styles alone. morgott is fast, his size making him look deceptively slow only for him to dart out and do sick flips and somersaults and pirouettes that rival even the most flexible dancers, and he fights with speed and almost animalistic ferocity, save for when he conjures his weapon incantations. mohg is slow but strong, capable of swinging that large trident around like it weighs nothing while hitting with the force to knock down most enemies in a few hits, and most tarnished in just one, but he fights with a steady gracefulness in his every move, walking slowly and carefully while casting spells that hurt a lot.

even their phase 2 transitions are markedly different, with morgott's being one where he drops to his knees, vomits, and releases his cursed blood(?) all over the battlefield, causing his weapon to become alight with his curse and for him to fight with more in-your-face aggression, and with mohg's being one where he simply ignores your attacks and begins stabbing his spear into the formless mother for power at your expense, gaining a majestic set of wings that put distance between you and him so he can cast more of his spells at safer distances. where morgott is pushed to his limit and forced to confront his nature, mohg has long since embraced it and enjoys the fruits of his bloody labour with the mother of truth's blessing.

speaking of the mother of truth, even their patron orders are at odds with each other. the golden order was built upon the foundation of a very carefully-guarded lie: that marika is the one true god, which she can't be, with the existence of radagon (as per goldmask, perhaps the number 1 fundamentalist we meet in game). the formless mother is known also as the mother of truth, existing in direct opposition of the golden order's lies and craving the honesty of one of the purest expressions of life: blood. these two ideals would war against each other, with one being dedicated to the upholding of a beautiful, corrupt lie and the other being dedicated to the instillation of a dynasty of raw, pure truths. as such, even morgott and mohg's own great runes reflect these contrasts in faith, though, remarkably, these two great runes are ones that fit perfectly over each other, with mohg's slightly elevated (seen below, taken from the fextralife wiki).

so, where does this leave us? i don't know, exactly. i wasn't really writing this with any sort of ultimate conclusion. i just found it really interesting how different they were, and i wanted to talk about all the noticeable, significant differences between them here. thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[bakugoushotwife]

little moon // suguru x fem!reader

a/n: hey hey hey! i know it's been forever and a day since i've uploaded, but i revamped my theme and got excited :3 plus my baby is my absolute inspiration and i felt she needed thanking for it. @suguru-getos //

warnings: yandere suguru, monkey reader, so light toxicity, kidnapping, yes you read that right shut up, complex suguru, pining, smut!! daddy kink because who am i without it, oral f!receiving, fingering, rough but loving, uhhhh i think that's it!

the sun was setting. it was his favorite time of day. or maybe least favorite. he couldn’t quite decide. despite it all, he still feels such a longing that he can’t describe. the window is open, the sky beyond melting into oranges and pinks too beautiful for a man like him to behold. the air is cold, a contrasting bitterness to the sight before him. the kotatsu keeps him warm enough to lounge in front of the window until the moon replaces the pastels he’s come to loathe. it’s how he most regularly spends his nights at this point, a peaceful moment of reflection on his day, if you could call it peaceful. 

the wind rustles the trees, his hair, his very soul it seems. he drums his fingers along his cheekbone, supporting the weight of his head in his palm. before he can contemplate the complexities of life and how he ended up staring out of a window alone, manami knocks and promptly enters. 

“sorry to disturb your peace, geto-sama.” she bows, a stack of papers under her arm, no doubt meeting notes from earlier in the day. 

“i assume it’s important.” he sighs, the orange glow casting across his skin. he looks angelic, despite his clear annoyance and displeasure. 

“nanako and mimiko found a woman that’s…afflicted.” she searches for the right word, shifting her weight from foot to foot under suguru’s intimidating gaze. 

“and? we had our purge earlier this week.” he sighs, turning his head back to the sky. it’s melding into a purple now, a deep shade that makes him feel calmer just by looking at it. 

“yes, you’re right geto-sama. the girls have brought this woman home already though, and they request your help.” she bows again, knowing that she is towing a careful line. suguru rarely denies the children, and they’ve grown old enough to abuse this weakness.

“bring them.” he sighs dramatically, jutting his chin in motion. he secretly welcomes the distraction, even if the girls were having him work after hours. it certainly beats another night replaying all of his life events to the tune of the moon. 

manami bows her head, stepping back out into the hallway. a minute or two passes, and suguru watches the door now instead of the window. manami opens the door, allowing the adopted twins and this afflicted cursed woman into the room. the energy is suffocating, a grade two curse leeching from your neck, entire body wrapped around your frame. you don’t seem so concerned however, more so confused gauging from the look on your face. 

the girls look panicked though, sensing how much of your own life force that the curse has absorbed. it’s an ugly thing, like most of them are. a disgustingly warped lizard of sorts made up of a million eyes and slimy appendages. it really doesn’t have much value in terms of developing his arsenal, moreso an annoyance to be avoided. as ugly as the creature is, it doesn’t detract from your beauty. you have a gentleness to your features, divinely feminine, some would say. your eyes are soft even as you try to harden your gaze against him. that’s cute, he thinks to himself. head still leaned against his head. you’re small, though most people are to a man of his stature and build. it’s a miracle the weight of the curse hasn’t broken your spine. you must be stronger than you look. 

“geto-sama, you have to help her!” nanako, the more vocal of his daughters says, eyes wide and pleading. there is emotion involved, which intrigues him. “she’s our friend–and i know how you feel about us being friends with monkeys but–”

“monkey?” you squawk, brow setting forward. you look at nanako with a hint of betrayal, and that makes suguru chuckle. 

“yes, monkey.” he replies. “a nickname of sorts. don’t think about it too hard.” he sighs, pushing himself to his feet. “i see you’ve befriended my children.” 

“more of an acquaintance.” you purse your lips. it is interesting. he’s never seen someone act so…boldly in front of him. correcting him, even. his nostrils flare in mild annoyance. 

“semantics. i am unconcerned with those. what are your symptoms?” he waves his hand, dismissing the girls with a nod, assuring them that he would help you and leave you unharmed. the girls back away, giving you reassuring smiles of their own. 

“i don’t want to be alone with you.” you scoff, folding your arms with a great effort, given that the curse was likely at least as heavy as your own body weight. 

“too bad. answer, or keep the curse.” he folds his own arms, examining your features more closely. a rare beauty indeed. and he must say he’s never experienced such stubbornness, even in his children. though that can be expected of someone that has no clue what’s going on, he imagines. 

“i’ll keep whatever it is if you want to be an ass about it.” you huff. suguru rolls his eyes, sighing. 

“let me make something clear for you. i take curses. this isn’t about my caring heart, like it is for those girls. so i can help you, or you can walk away.” he gestures to the ottoman for you to sit on. 

he’s weird, you think. it’s hard to get a read on him. these phrases–monkey, curses, none of it makes sense to you. why is he in a market to take whatever these curses are? and how did you end up with one? “curses? are those like. ghosts or something?” you ask, arms still folded as you sit. irregardless of his behavior, this feeling you’ve been going through for months is wearing down your body, mind, and soul. everything hurts, all of the time. your head, neck, spine, stomach, hips—if it’s there, it hurts. your emotions have been so out of whack, so depressed and unable to eat, calling out of work and never meeting up with your friends. you need that to end. you’ve dealt with creeps before, certainly this one would be manageable too. 

“is that what you think you’ve been dealing with?” he asks, watching you go through a myriad of thoughts all at once. the question seems genuine, the earlier lilt of arrogance dialed back to a tolerable level. 

you’re still suspicious, he can see as much. “monkeys don’t see curses like we do. i would imagine you told yourself that these strange things have a perfectly reasonable explanation.” he explains, almost empathetic if it weren’t for that damned ‘nickname’ that you have a feeling is more a slur than an endearment. 

“i suppose, yeah. just thought i was getting sick, but it didn’t fade. my doctor said i have migraines, that’s it…” you hum, still well guarded as you converse with him. 

“i am sure you do. curses vary in function, the one attached to you is slowly corrupting your brain, which affects everything else. think…parasite, less ghost.” he waves his hand over your face, moving over your shoulder. he’s not actually touching you, but the threat lingers close enough to set you on edge. “you’ll feel it release from you slowly.” 

he watches the black cloudy essence crush the curse into nothing but a black orb for him to consume. his gaze bounces back to your face, the surprise and relief melting into your features like the sun dipping below the trees changes the palette of the sky. 

you can feel it, the physical weight coming off of your shoulders, but the lightness is ultimately in your head and soul—so much negativity and evil sucked from your consciousness so drastically you lose yours, body going limp and tipping off the small ottoman you were sitting on before suguru can even toss the orb aside. 

he can’t explain it exactly, add it to the list of things he struggles to understand, but he reaches out, strong arm wrapping around your waist to keep you from toppling into the floor. he’s seen many monkeys have an abject reaction to being unburdened. he hypothesizes that the excess cursed energy seeping into their own causes a chemical issue in the brain, too much to process at once. however many monkeys he’s seen pass out or vomit, he’s never felt…obligated to do anything to aid them. he did his part, curing them of their ailments. his work is done, and he can be hailed as a savior by people that really have no idea how much he hates them. he’s never even touched one–a monkey–spraying perfume even after a close encounter lest he taint his superior being. 

but now he has, and it doesn’t burn his skin like he’s convinced himself it might. he doesn’t recoil as you slump against his abdomen, and it pisses him off. this is so entirely unlike him he can hardly stand it–as he knows he will have a lengthy conversation with the moon about it this evening–yet you have such a peaceful face as you sleep. long lashes, soft lips parted just to breathe, completely softened. it’s like his heart hiccups as he drapes you over his shoulders, walking into a well furnished guest bedroom in the geto estate. 

the girls trail him as he walks with you, equally confused. suguru lays you across the bed, looking over you with another little hum. you’re big trouble for him, and he can feel that seep into his head. he’s never found a monkey girl beautiful. he’s never found any monkey tolerable at all since the start of his cult. but there is this sneaking feeling that he will be lonely again when you leave, likely tomorrow as soon as you realized you were still here. the girls nearly feel like they’re interrupting something as they watch their geto-sama peer over you much like the prince longs after sleeping beauty before he wakes her. 

he turns to them abruptly, collecting his mess of thoughts, “put her in sleeping clothes,” he walks passed them, “and don’t bring any more women to my house.” he purses his lips, leaving them with you. 

beyond himself, he instructs the rest of his family and staff to treat you well. he doesn’t…want them to run you off. for whatever reason. they each give him puzzled looks, but no one dares forget their place by asking him questions about these things. he feels…bothered on his walk back to his room. the night has set in well now, the sky just a black expanse–sparkles of life along the stars leading into the only beacon of light now; the moon. 

suguru has always felt a sort of connection to the moon, he read a poem once, when he was still in high school, and it left its mark, he supposes. the poem comes back to him now, as he crosses his legs over the tatami mat by the window, a divine sense of aloneness surrounds him. 

thou silver deity of secret night,

direct my footsteps through the woodland shade;

thou conscious witness of unknown delight, 

the lover’s guardian, and the muse’s aid!

by the pale beams i solitary rove,

to thee my tender grief confide;

serenely sweet you glid the silent grove

my friend, my goddess, and my guide…

he knows he isn’t physically alone, but his own mind feels like a monster he’d like to leave–a place he can’t possibly make sense of. a battlefield of hypocrisy and guilt and the growing feeling that no one will ever possibly understand him. satoru was as close as he had gotten–and suguru left him behind. he thinks that’s the worst part, that this is all of his own doing. the moon…the moon understands the loneliness, the complexities he can’t bare to anyone else. the moon could forgive his transgressions, his crimes, his feelings. she has heard them all before, no doubt, but he has something new to bring to the table. this burning in his veins, the heavy weight of sin. he was presented with the most beautiful girl that has ever been, surely ever would be, and by his own laws he cannot have her. he cannot indulge in this…silly crush. yes. silly little crush–and that’s all it will be.

the next morning, you wake to the smell of coffee and some sort of meat being cooked. you can hear the girls laughing, the sounds of others in soft communication–the voice of the last person you remember.

oh no. 

there’s a dull ache in the back of your head as you recount the events of last night, sitting up with an ease you haven’t experienced in months. you could sob in relief if it weren’t for the unknowns of your situation—if you were free to leave or now some monkey hostage to the man that took gentle care of you last night. you’re not wearing your clothes–and that sends a jolt of panic through you instantly. did he undress me? is that…all he did? you wonder, examining yourself. 

the girls knock–there’s two sets of knocks, anyway. they don’t wait for a reply, letting themselves in. “good morning! i hope the pajamas we picked are comfortable enough.” nanako smiles brightly, treating this as a slumber party instead of a curse intervention. 

that soothes you little, at least the strangely beautiful creep didn’t change your clothes himself. “come to breakfast!” mimiko adds, a bit shyer than her sister but just as big of a fan. they met you at a coffee shop one day, and since then you have made it a point to sit with them. they’re sweet girls, and even under these weird circumstances you don’t find yourself questioning that. 

“i don’t think i’m hungry.” you reply, stretching a bit, looking around the room. it was a big one, and you didn’t sleep on a futon like this geto-sama did. if he expects a warm thank you, he’s severely mistaken. “what was he talking about, monkey?”

“oh, that’s what he calls non-sorcerers.” nanako replies, sitting at the edge of your bed. and instead of that answering your question, it just gives you a million more. 

“you said sorcerer? like harry potter?” you laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the statement. how come this is your first time hearing of such a thing?

“not quite,” mimiko giggles softly. 

“some people are born with techniques. a certain set of powers that they can use to exorcise curses. everyone has cursed energy, even monke–i mean non-sorcerers, but their ce is usually what makes curses, born from the negative emotions that non-sorcerers experience.” nanako explains the gist. 

“so…monkey is a slur.” you raise a brow, really just confirming something you already knew. it made…enough sense. you felt the curse first hand, and felt the weight of its removal. 

“mm…yeah. geto-sama has fostered a..hatred for them, i suppose.” 

that sends a chill through you. hatred. what a strong word. 

“but don’t worry, geto-sama won’t hurt you. you’re making him weird. which is kinda a good thing?” mimiko offers, her smile gentle and calming. 

“just come get breakfast and coffee, you’ll have a good time.” nanako picks up your hand, pulling lightly. “you’re not kidnapped, we just wanna make sure you’re healthy! geto-sama said you passed out after he removed the curse.” 

you purse your lips in annoyance. you don’t exactly want to test the limits of this geto guy’s hospitality, especially on the heels of the revelation that he hates you—your kind–simply because you are different. you let the girls bring you to the dining room, where you see a…nice scene of people gathered around a table sharing a meal. 

“you’ve outdone yourself once again, boss!” a blond haired man says, fondly clapping the aforementioned boss on the back. he smiles at the expression of affection, chuckling his thanks. despite what you know of him, you can’t find him ugly. he is a beautiful man, soft features used sharply, long sleek hair and kind eyes, even as he looks up at you. 

“ah, our guest. please, sit.” he hums, nodding to you. he pulls out a chair, settling your spot between the women of the house. he hopes that will make you feel a bit more comfortable. you hesitantly sit, still staring at him like he was the ghost you thought haunted you. 

suguru is nothing if not intuitive and observant. you’re weary of him, and he cannot fault you for it. 

he makes your plate, and asks you how you take your coffee. you notice there’s no difference in how he treats you as opposed to the other people at the table. like you had been here the entire time and would continue to be, like he was familiar with you. he asks your name, and calls you by it—information he could have gotten from the girls. it’s a weird juxtaposition from everything you just heard. he hates you–why did he help you? he hates you–why did he make sure you slept comfortably in a bed and have your coffee just the way you want it? you aren’t able to eat much, head too preoccupied and yet hyperfocused on your surroundings. you can play nice to get out, and then this would be no issue at all. you smile at him sweetly and give him small nods of thanks, but are otherwise silent and avoidant of anything more. 

even your small smiles make his heart clench and relax like it’s spasming, and he almost wants to keep you here in his house until he can figure out why. 

but no, this is a silly crush. he needs to get you away from him, and then he will return to normal. that’s all it is. but as the girls ask when you’ll meet up next, and you respond with such warmth—such forgiveness for them even if you don’t trust him, you remind him of the moon. 

and he can’t let you go. 

you don’t take this well. you’re a fierce woman, that he knew, but also quite petty. you refuse to come out of your room or speak to him, and after one day of him bringing meals to your room, you’ve decided to keep it locked. 

you feel numb. completely at will of this man you don’t know—outside of the fact that he loathes you. maybe this is his game, his sick fun derived from jailing up ‘monkeys’ and keeping them here until he grows tired of them. some days, you hear screams from a distant hall, and you find yourself tearing up wondering if you would be next. 

he knocks on your door at the same time he always does, not even bothering to check the handle after a couple days of this same routine. he calls your name, sighing softly against the wood that separates you two. he knows it’s another flaw on a long list of them, his selfish desire to keep you. but he won’t punish you for your reactions no matter what you do or say. he’s willing to accept them if he has a chance with the moon. 

“go away.” you say, exhaustion clear in your tone. 

“i know you’re upset with me. but you haven’t eaten in two days. i want to give you space, but i will break the door down if you don’t willingly open it.” he says, the threat not thinly veiled in the slightest. 

you decide that letting him in temporarily is better than having no door at all, so you get up to unlock it. he waits a moment, understanding your anger for him. then he lets himself in, coming to sit at the end of your bed. he places the tray of food on your table—enough to last you for a few days if you decide not to allow him in again. 

“have you slept?” he asks futilely, licking his teeth when you don’t answer. the answer is clear enough, yet he waits for one, looking over you. you’re still beautiful, even if sleep deprived. “i wouldn’t hurt you. surely you understand that by now.”

“uh, you’ve locked me in your house–i don’t trust you for shit.” you hiss, eyebrows furrowed in an adorable pout he might appreciate if the situation weren’t so grisly. 

“you aren’t locked in here, i have acres of land that you could explore. you choose not to.” he replies, tilting his head to one side so he can still see your pouting face as you turn it away from him. 

“yeah bet you’d like it if i did, sack of shit.” you grumble, shaking your head, “just so you can hunt me down and put me in your torture chamber?”

he widens his eyes, surprised by the accusation. “hardly, that seems too high effort for my interests.” 

you roll your eyes. this is not the time for jokes. “i’m glad you think this is funny.” 

“i don’t, it’s quite troubling.” he admits, folding his arms as he thinks a bit. “i tend to get myself in a bit over my head.” 

“tch, clearly.” you fold your arms too, a pouting standoff. “thought you hate monkeys? what’s the point of keeping me here if this isn’t fun for you?”

“you remind me of the moon.” he replies with full earnest, eyes glossed over with a certain…truth to them that you couldn’t deny, despite every bone in your body telling you to.

“what does that even mean?” you groan, trying to stave off a little bit of blushing. god, now i’m developing stockholm syndrome, you think as you roll your eyes yet again, dismissing the possibility.

he smiles, like he did that day at breakfast what feels like forever ago. it’s almost childlike. “it means you bring me a comfort. for some reason. i have hated non-sorcerers for nearly seven years now—it’s a story i will tell another time. but you…you’ve made me acknowledge some things that deep down i already knew. hating non-sorcerers was the easiest way to deflect on the bigger issues.” 

you want to quip something witty and mean, but he looks out of the window passed you, his mind and deep brown eyes somewhat distant. “i can’t explain why, for i do not really understand it myself. that’s…why i have kept you here. i was hoping to figure out what it is about you that…challenges every thought i have.” 

you chew your lip, some part of you seemingly understanding the emotion he shows you, but the other parts of you still don’t trust it. 

“then who was screaming? i heard screaming.” you fold your arms, raising a brow. 

“oh, that was a sparring session with the girls. they’re just very very dramatic–and my curses are scary.” he hums, “my technique isn’t like theirs. it’s not a set power, more like the capacity for a lot of power. that’s what i meant when i said that i take curses, the day i met you. i consume them, and can redeploy them at will. they function under my orders, but not all of them are scary.” 

“i can’t see them anyway, it doesn’t matter.” you narrow your eyes, debating on trusting that answer. 

“i haven’t held a meeting since you’ve been here. you keep my hands full even if i wished to hunt down monkeys, as you so gracefully put it.” he adds, seeing the distrust in your gaze. it was more the the fact that suguru simply hadn’t wanted to harvest more curses, only accepting donations from his rich sorcerer boosters to take care of missions that couldn’t be trusted in normal society. the idea of harming someone has become unsavory almost overnight–your very presence proving that non-sorcerers had plenty of potential and use in this world. you are lovely, smart, and warm. funny even if you’re upset, and indescribably beautiful. 

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” you assert, reaching for one of the snacks he brought in. he fights a smile. it seems you are feeling better, if you’ll eat. 

“not necessarily. i realize simple words can only go so far.” he says wisely, he’s felt that way before himself. i'm sorry and oh i feel so bad, it doesn’t mean anything if nothing changes. 

so he will change. 

that night he talks with the moon again, hoping to her that you will permit him in again tomorrow, and the day after that if he is lucky. he wants so badly to absolved of his sins, to be free of the guilt heavier than the curse he found you with. but the moon in all her glory, she truly can’t speak. she cannot do that for him, his little moon would. 

the days flow a bit easier after that. you keep your door unlocked, though you still don’t venture out like he had hoped. you’re still angry—you’ve been kidnapped–but you are slowly becoming accustomed to the day to day. suguru brings you a rotation of books, since you won’t go out to the library yourself. you told him you like poems, and he almost felt his heart soar like the pathetic love interest in a rom-com meant for idiot teenagers. 

so he brings you a book of poems, and invites you to the gazebo on the lake to read them. you don’t know why, but you accept the offer. 

“i just think poetry reads so well against a beautiful backdrop.” he smiles, an expression you’ve come to recognize as genuine. “i won’t bother, don’t worry.” he adds, tucking the well-worn book into your hands. it must be a favorite of his. his hands are big, so big his fingers touch yours in the exchange. it was incidental, but both hearts are fluttering from the contact. 

“i’ll give it a read, yeah.” you nod slightly, giving him a genuine smile of your own. he has learned the difference between them. so suguru is pleased enough to hear your answer, and he retreats to his room as promised. the window he loves to stare from has a good look of the gazebo, and as the sun sets upon it, he finds himself watching you instead of the backdrop for once. 

the gazebo is a beautiful spot. you have to walk along a small bridge across the lake to get to it, patterned benches with cozy pillows and an arrangement of candles on side tables, flames flickering slightly in the breeze. the lake is starting to ice over as winter creeps near, but you’re dressed for the occasion. best you can tell, geto is rich. he took your clothes with him to the mall to get your sizes, and now you’re the owner of multiple luxury handbags and fur coats, too expensive jumpsuits and whatever else your mind could drum up. needless to say, you’re prepared for the cold. he had wanted you to go outside and explore, after all. 

you situate yourself on the couch, adjusting a blanket over your lap. the book opens with a slight creak to the wooden bindings, but the pages are beautifully cared for. it’s a collection of poems from different authors, and you’re captured by each one of them for different reasons. some about loss, love, sense of self. the beauty of poetry is truly that it is in the eye of the beholder, a personal interpretation as powerful as the poem itself. you flip to a dog eared page, the only one in the entire book. hymn to the moon, it’s called, and you feel a tingling in your gut–you know you must read it. 

thou silver deity of secret night,

direct my footsteps through the woodland shade;

thou conscious witness of unknown delight, 

the lover’s guardian, and the muse’s aid!

by the pale beams i solitary rove,

to thee my tender grief confide;

serenely sweet you glid the silent grove

my friend, my goddess, and my guide…

you’re…captured by it. it’s beautiful, your fingers gliding upon the page as if to feel what geto feels when he reads the same words. the moon, his confidant and guardian and aid, friend, goddess and guide. and you..you remind him of such an uncapturable essence, ethereal beauty. you almost forget everything he’s done from this act of romance alone—truly no one has ever been so..poetic. 

suguru watches you from his window, legs dangling over the side. you look even smaller than usual, buried under a blanket and a thick coat, but it only brings a smile to his face. the golden rays of the sun kiss his little moon on the the path behind the trees, casting a golden glow around you that genuinely makes you look like an angel. he observes you like this until you catch him—your gaze drifting up to the window. he smiles at you softly, getting up to go make dinner. 

you come back inside when you cannot stand the cold any longer, taking off your coat by the door. suguru is setting the table, you wouldn’t think he was the head of the household based off of these actions alone, the rest of the family sitting and chatting happily. 

“oh! geto’s pet monkey, welcome!” miguel says, chuckling as if that was the funniest thing in the world. your face falls, it feels like everything that you had learned about geto had become untrue. if his family would speak to you like that–how are you being spoken of when you’re not close enough to hear? you’ve been a fool to think that you alone can shift a man’s entire worldview in just a few short weeks. 

you’re pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of a loud smack, and a grunt that follows. you realize that miguel is rubbing his cheek, an absolutely shocked expression on his features. suguru is leaned in to his face—and if he had ever looked menacing to you, he puts that to shame now. his eyes are glowering with anger, cheeks red just from emotion alone. 

“i have no pets, but if you keep it up i will make you one.” a low growl sound to his voice that puts everyone in the room on edge. he stands straighter, looking to larue and manami. “any shared expressions of doubt?” 

“well, geto-sama, she is a non-sorcerer girl and we don’t understand why you are so taken with her–” manami starts, clearly not understanding that the question was extremely sardonic. 

“excellent, get out.” he remarks simply, beckoning you closer by pulling your seat out from the table. “both of you. i don’t want to see such pathetic people. i thought my family gathered for me, and trusted my leadership. ideals change—people seldom do. if you’re not willing to accept her as someone i cherish, then i would not share space with you.” he hums, plating up food for you, and then the girls, and then larue. as miguel and manami sit there, confused—he looks around in amazement. “must i repeat myself?”

“we’re sorry, geto-sama, we didn’t mean to offend–” miguel starts, eyes shifting side to side. 

“no, that’s exactly what you meant. you two are jealous, and i have no room for that in my home.” he says, jaw clenching. “so remove yourselves. before i do it for you.” 

you are bewildered. in the days that you’ve spent with suguru, you’ve learned that this found family of his is of the utmost importance, all people that have sworn their loyalty to him. to see him dismantle them in front of you—for you—is something that never crossed your mind. 

to question him is a disgrace to the trust that they have built, the way he sees it. to belittle someone he clearly cares about right in front of him–he couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t do it again when he wasn’t around. and without trust, there is nothing. that’s what makes him work tirelessly for yours. it is the cornerstone of love, and the pinnacle of a bond. 

the two of them leave, and their absence is not dwelled upon. suguru will not miss people who disrespect you–and by definition, him. the girls are excited to have more time to talk about themselves anyhow. you eat, listening to them talk and every so often throwing in your own comments and opinions–which suguru admires–and you find yourself a lot more comfortable in his presence as time passes. 

as the weeks tick by, suguru grows on you more and more. he’s already captivating—a beautiful and strong man, one with questionable sanity, clearly, but one that cares for you. that much is clear. he starts spending more time in your room, as you force him to endure your k-dramas—he just simply won’t admit that he likes them, but he certainly does ask a lot of questions for someone who couldn’t be bothered—and even letting him lounge with you as you play videogames or read in silence. it is comfortable. you notice how good he smells, the body heat that seems to radiate from him always. you notice crinkles by the corner of his eyes that weren’t there a few months ago. you find yourself falling asleep against him, his hand finding your hip as you lay together and talk. you have such a wealth of knowledge, a perspective on life he has come to adore. you think differently, and it challenges his way of thinking too, for the better. he eventually tells you the tale of how he became a monkey hater, and never presents it as if you should feel sorry for him or even really empathize with the situation. 

but you do. and you have such a way about you, a way of understanding without condoning his mistakes. you don’t react with disgust or fear, like you really should, because the months that you’ve spent with him have shown you the person he is inside, and now who he’s becoming outside. you trust that growth. there have been no cult meetings—the only screams those of joy as he spars and chases the girls around with various curses. he has stood up for you and honored every boundary you have made, even though he really doesn’t have to. he knows he can’t possibly compensate for the damage he has done, but he hopes to atone. to be lighter, after telling you this. 

you reach your hand out for his face, your touch so light and gentle he knows he doesn’t deserve it. and you look at him as if he didn’t just admit all of the terrible crimes he’s committed for selfish reasons, for his own tortured soul. you look at him with forgiveness. 

“and this is why you are my little moon.” he remarks, resting his hand on yours. 

do not be remiss, you are not suguru’s keeper. when your grandmother fell ill, suguru traveled with you to see her, investigating to ensure she had the best care there was to be had and paying nurses under the table to get the matriarch better food. he sits there, day and night with you, urging your parents to go home and get some rest. urging you to sleep on the cot and he would stay up and make sure that the nurses do their job, he’s very bossy like that. he’s very intuitive as always, so on days you feel like nothing—he makes sure he turns it into something. even if it is something as small as dinner in your room with him so you don’t have to sit with everyone else, letting you be as distant or as close to him as you need to be. he always knows just what to say, just how much pressure to hold you with, always offering a night out or a bath and massage at the perfect times. 

he knows you. very well. and he loves you. very much. 

then, he finally kisses you. when he feels the moment come, as you name stars for him under the gazebo, the need to hold your face and press his lips against yours it too much to resist. so he doesn’t. his long fingers cup your chin, but reach all the way to your jaw. he turns your face, and he’s already so close you can barely process your heartbeat jumping up into your throat as his lips crash onto yours, the passion of which you’ve never experienced before. spring has warmed the evening air, but you still lean into his warmth–hands pulling him closer until his hair tickles your shoulders. you feel the rumble in his chest as he hums, tilting his head to deepen the connection, his warm tongue sliding over your bottom lip to ask permission for more. 

you let him, feeling a bubbling spark in your stomach that cannot be ignored. his scent wafts into all your senses, his hands sliding down to your thighs to pull you into his lap. he breaks the kiss to let you breathe, and with all the intention of stopping there—but the needy look in your eyes quickly snaps any resolve he has left. oh this is a look he will remember even with dementia in his old, bedridden days. “tell me that i can have you.” he whispers, his mouth pressing sloppy kisses along your jaw and neck, the desperation clear in the way his hands tremble on your waist. you nod, mouth parting as his saliva on your skin sets your nerves ablaze, but he just nips sharply. “with words…”

“you…you can have me, suguru...” you reply, breathless from the casual dominance he exerts, his semi tucked against your ass. he smiles with your gleeful agreement, sliding you back onto the bench, pressing against you until he’s over you completely, giving you another series of lengthy kisses, suckling your bottom lip in between forcing his own tongue into your mouth for you to suckle back. his hands make quick work of his own robes–his physique bared to you. he’s so big—so strong, every muscle ripples as he tosses the clothes over his shoulder, his lips swollen and glossy and eyes lust-blown black. when his fingers curl under your shirt—you remember you’re on the gazebo in the middle of the lake, has he no shame? 

as if on cue, he shakes his head, tilting your chin down to look at him. “this is my lake, no wandering eyes.” he promises, kissing up your exposed stomach in a path to your breasts, removing your shirt entirely. he smirks excitedly. “no bra? has my little moon been so eager without my noticing?” 

you feel your breath hitch with every press of his lips, the open air kissing you just as gently as he does. his hand slides down, cupping your waiting heat over your shorts, a little growl of excitement slipping past his lips as he leans over for a nipple, swallowing up your pert bud with fast flicks of his tongue, eyes aimed upward to get your reactions. 

you gasp shakily, shoulders writhing from his knowledgeable touches, the sensation on your nipples alone has you clenching around nothing. he swaps to the other side, letting his fingers toy with the slickened tissue, grinning mischievously up at you. “i know i certainly have been. you’re so tempting…” his chest heaves, the rough edge to his usual gentle tone only making your pussy pang harder. 

then his fingers are hooking in your shorts and underwear, pulling them off in one graceful motion. “oh goddamn..” he sighs, his fat thumb sliding over your clit and down the lips, truly just admiring his sweet pussy. 

“stop that~” you blush, embarrassed from his words, the adoration is clear enough in his face for you to know he isn’t teasing, but so is the sternness that you’re used to. 

“shhh, don’t tell me how to worship my little moon.” he smirks, dragging his slickened thumb across his tongue slowly, keeping your eyes on him. he groans audibly, adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “we’re going to have a problem.” he slides back, leaning his head between your legs. his long hair tickles the insides, a needy warm breath fanning over your slick heat. he latches onto your clit, purring like a cat. 

heat flushes through your cheeks, your stomach does flips from the feeling, the tip of his tongue pushing back the hood so he gets full access to your raw nerves underneath, the sensation nearly making you drool. he spells his name against you, two fat fingers poking at your hole. 

“ah-hah–” you gasp, the stretch of just his fingers is enough to earn filthy moans, and he can’t wait to cram his cock into this wet, welcoming cavern. it makes him twitch before he’s even freed himself, mouth hard at work as he slowly slides his digits in and out. you’re clenching around them, grabbing the cushions close to your body to ground you. he takes that as a good sign, flattening his tongue into kitten licks on your clit, watching it swell from his eager attention with a smirk. those noises, your gasps and moans and your tugging on his hair—it’s just going to ensure he fucks you within an inch of your life. 

his fingers speed up, curling into the spot that makes you see stars as if he’s done this a million times before, like he has the map to your pleasure. your eyes roll back, and you choke out a cry of his name, chased with, “daddy daddy please—oh–” before you’re completely done for, pussy shuddering around his fingers that sends you muttering pleas for him to stop, fingers pumping you through the earth shattering feeling he gives you. his cock has its own heartbeat, and he has to free him–suckling remnants off his fingers like it’s his life’s water. he’s pulling his pants down, breathing heavy as he stares at you so perfectly splayed out and pre-ruined for him. 

you can hardly catch your own breath, his gaze pinning you still. he’s so intense, such a puzzle of emotions swirling in his dark eyes; love, excitement—something a little darker. the all consuming need to feel you wrapped around him. his cock springs free, slapping his toned abs, leaving a dribble of precum sliding down them. he’s so big, yet again–so girthy and perfectly angled to hit every single spot inside you, angry veins running along the shaft leading into a leaky red tip. it steals whatever breath you have left, but he won’t give you much time to doubt yourself. his hands scoop under your thighs, pulling you down the couch—legs draped over his arms as he bottoms out inside you, all in under a second. your vision blacks out, white sparkles flaring like a staticky television. you’re so so full, you can feel him in your throat, you think. he waits, the mercy a small reprieve at the end of his grace. he’s been far too patient, waiting for you to love him back all of this time. “god, you’re so perfect.” he shakes his head in disbelief, thumb again dragging around your clit to help you acclimate to him easier. 

“so beautiful, so warm, my little moon. so mine.” the last bit comes out in his signature low rasp, his hands wrapping to the top of your thighs as he starts to move. your vision hadn’t fully returned to you, your head so light you wonder if there’s still a brain up there. you thought this would be the pinnacle of your pleasure, until you feel the veins of his cock stroking against your walls like he was designed to fit in there, his eyes closing in a moment of bliss. you’re perfect. he’s never told a lie, and he wouldn’t start now. his hips roll slowly, leaning back a bit so he could watch how you swallow him up so well. he knows it’s a tall task, but you were built for him specifically—of course you’re taking him brilliantly. “fuck—feel the way you’re squeezing me?” 

“nghhh, daddy—so big!” you manage, tongue lolling out a bit as you struggle to speak at all. “feels–s’good–!” 

he chuckles fondly, reaching for your hands to hold, intertwining fingers. that provides him new leverage, fucking into you at the same time as he pulls you into it, brushing against your cervix in a way that makes himself moan nearly as loud as you do, squeezing your hands every time he reaches the hilt. “but you’re taking daddy so well, little moon. you feel so good..” 

you’re wrapped around him like a vice, and his cock jumps inside you as he leans in closer, needing to swallow up those delicious moans, kissing at your open mouth as your breaths mingle together, a soft chorus of skin meeting skin and needy pants. you feel split open and sewed back together for him, the pleasure far outweighing any pain from taking someone so huge. his sweet kisses to your mouth and face remind you that he’s got you, that he will take care of you–and your pussy is sent to fluttering spells again—the thread stretching dangerously thin. 

“mm, i feel it too, darling. i feel it too—cum for me. show daddy how much you love it.” his hair drapes around your face, like a curtain of darkness, building a world between just the two of you. looking up into his wildly proud eyes snaps that thread, and your head is shaking—powerful screams of his name reigning supreme. his head falls back to drown in that, to drown in you entirely. the way you sound, the way you feel, the way you smell—he’s addicted to it all. he erupts inside, cock jumping against your tight walls, still fluttering from aftershocks. he rolls his hips slowly, letting you feel the hot ropes of his seed decorating your insides, only stopping when he’s afraid you may have passed out, your mewls and whimpers so soft. “that’s it…that’s my good girl~” 

you clench around your connection just from the praise, nodding eagerly. he smiles, leaning over with more kisses and gentle touches, your old shirt recycled into your cleaning cloth, catching the mess as he slides out of you with an audible loss of suction around him. he kisses along your collarbones, pecking the bends of your knees, ankles—he’s everywhere and it feels so good you could fall asleep right here, wiped of any energy and most likely the ability to walk on your own. “my little moon, you are perfection..i love you endlessly.” he hums, tucking his robes around you, letting you lay against him under the cooling night sky. he’s in no rush to go inside, the moment so perfect. he can hear your breaths slow, feel you nestle as close to him as you physically can be, your little groans and whines music to his ears. he pets down your back, drawing shapes against the light sheen of sweat coating you with a content heart and smile. 

he looks up to the moon, “i can wear a genuine smile now.” he says aloud, pressing more kisses to your face until he takes you to his bedroom for an expertly timed bath and massage, as always.

[gpcwsl]

Can you please cherry on top 🍒 write Leah x R x Alessia in the beginning stages of their relationship?

I would love to see where lessi and le were actually dating & r fell for both of the girls, but the girls fell harder?

The two blondes are stubborn so angst with a happy ending! I feel like R would fall for lessi first due to her soft nature and welcoming the newbie on the team. R falls for le after getting to know her & doing a media tik tok with her?

I will let you have allllll the creative freedom, i feel like all the feels would be felt from each person 💖💖💖💖💖🤝🏻🤝🏻🤝🏻🤝🏻🤝🏻🚨🚨❤️‍🔥👏🏻😮‍💨

Warnings: short, written quickly, three people dating? I am not shipping Leah and Alessia, they are good friends.

Alessia Russo x Leah Williamson x Reader:

- We’re better together -

MasterList

Joining Arsenal felt like a dream come true, but as the newbie on the team, you couldn’t help but feel out of place. Alessia Russo was the first person to make you feel at home.

“Hey,” she said after training one day, her soft smile instantly disarming. “You settling in okay?”

You nodded, though the tightness in your chest betrayed the nerves you carried. “Yeah. It’s just a lot to take in, you know?”

“I get it,” Alessia replied, her voice warm. “When I first joined, I was a mess. But if you ever need anything, I’m here.”

Her kindness struck a chord with you. Over the next few weeks, Alessia became your anchor, her bubbly personality and open heart making it impossible not to feel drawn to her.

What you didn’t expect, however, was the way her girlfriend, Leah Williamson, made you feel.

Leah wasn’t as outwardly welcoming as Alessia. She was kind but guarded, her sharp wit and quiet confidence intimidating at first.

It wasn’t until a team TikTok challenge that you began to see another side of her. Paired up for the video, you spent the afternoon bantering and laughing as you stumbled through the dance routine.

“You’re terrible at this,” Leah teased, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

“You’re not much better,” you shot back, unable to suppress your grin.

By the time the video was finished, your cheeks ached from laughing, and something in Leah’s demeanor had shifted. She was still guarded, but there was a warmth to her now—a connection that left you wondering if maybe, just maybe, she saw you the way you were starting to see her.

It hit you one evening during a team dinner: you were falling for both of them.

Alessia was seated next to you, her laughter infectious as she recounted a story from training. Across the table, Leah caught your eye, her smirk sending a jolt through your chest.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, your hands gripping the sink as you stared at your reflection.

“This is bad,” you muttered to yourself. “This is so bad.”

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop your feelings from growing.

Leah and Alessia weren’t blind to the way you looked at them, though they didn’t address it immediately. It wasn’t until a particularly tense training session that everything came to a head.

You’d been distracted, your performance subpar, and Leah—ever the perfectionist—was quick to call you out.

“Focus, [Y/N],” she snapped. “You’re better than this.”

Her words stung more than they should have, and when Alessia approached you after practice, concern etched on her face, the dam finally broke.

“I can’t do this,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

“Do what?” Alessia asked softly, her hand brushing against your arm.

You hesitated, tears pricking your eyes. “I can’t be around you two. It’s too much.”

Understanding dawned in Alessia’s expression, and she exchanged a look with Leah, who had been lingering nearby.

That evening, Leah and Alessia cornered you in the locker room, their expressions a mix of determination and vulnerability.

“We need to talk,” Leah said, her voice firm but not unkind.

You nodded, bracing yourself for the fallout.

“We’ve noticed how you’ve been acting around us,” Alessia began, her tone gentle. “And… we think we know why.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding. “You do?”

Leah stepped closer, her gaze piercing. “You have feelings for us, don’t you?”

Silence hung heavy in the air before you finally nodded, your cheeks burning. “I’m sorry. I know it’s wrong—”

“It’s not wrong,” Alessia interrupted, her voice steady. “It’s just… complicated.”

Leah’s expression softened, her hand brushing yours. “The thing is… we feel the same way.”

The days that followed were awkward but hopeful as the three of you tried to figure out what this new dynamic meant. Alessia was the first to take a leap, inviting you to join her and Leah for a casual movie night.

As the three of you sat on the couch, Alessia’s head resting on your shoulder and Leah’s hand intertwined with yours, you couldn’t help but marvel at how right it felt.

But it wasn’t all smooth sailing. Leah’s stubbornness and Alessia’s tendency to avoid conflict led to tension, especially when it came to jealousy.

One evening, after a fan interaction where Alessia had been overly friendly, Leah’s frustration boiled over.

“You don’t have to flirt with everyone you meet,” she snapped.

Alessia’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t flirting, Leah.”

You stepped between them, your voice firm. “Enough. This isn’t helping.”

Their arguments always ended the same way: with apologies and quiet reassurances, but it was clear that this relationship would take work.

One rainy afternoon, the three of you found yourselves tangled together on Leah’s couch, the sound of raindrops against the window creating a soothing backdrop.

“I never thought this would work,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leah pressed a kiss to your temple, her voice soft. “Neither did we. But I’m glad it does.”

Alessia’s arms tightened around you, her smile radiant. “We’re better together.”

And as the rain fell outside, the three of you knew that this was just the beginning of a love story worth fighting for.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flag V

Frida Maanum x Emma Lennartsson x Child!Reader

Summary: You meet the Arsenal girls for the first time

"Did you hear that Fleming from Chelsea just adopted a kid?" Leah says as she sits down at breakfast one day after the international break.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, Millie told me," She continues," Apparently, she'd been fostering this little girl for a while and none of the team knew."

"It's crazy," Beth agrees," It'd be like if me and Viv adopted a baby and none of you knew about. Just like came into training one day like, here they are."

"Adopting is really rewarding," Frida says absentmindedly, reaching for some of the jam across the table," Maybe Fleming just wanted to get used to it. It's a whole new situation to get used to, trust me."

"Alright Frida," Leah laughs, clapping her on the back," But I think adopting a dog is different to adopting a baby."

Frida frowns. "Yeah, I know. What did you think I was talking about?"

"You and your girlfriend's dog? Is that not what we're talking about?"

"I meant our daughter. Why would you think I meant our Jordan?"

"Your...Your daughter?"

"My daughter, yes," Frida says," Y/n."

"You...You have a daughter."

"Yes...Leah, are you okay? You look a little pale..."

"You..She...Frida, did you Fleming us?! How is this the first time I'm hearing of this baby of yours?"

Frida frowns. "I mean, she's not really much of a baby anymore. She's in that phase of trying to climb everything. Emma has to keep such a close eye on her."

"Can we see pictures?" Lia, who up until this point has remained silent, asks.

"Blimey," Leah whistles," And you're sure she's adopted? Frida, she looks just like you!"

"Really?" Frida studies the picture she selected of you, one of you cuddled up against Emma's body in your soft, linen dress and a flower crown on your head. "I think she looks more like Emma."

"You have to bring her to a game," Beth insists," She's able to travel right? Like she's got a passport and stuff?"

"I guess I can ask Emma to bring her," Frida says," But I don't see what the big deal is? I'm sure I've spoken about her before."

But apparently not because word spreads quickly through the whole team who all insist that they've got no recollection of Frida ever even mentioning you before.

Which, of course, means everyone insists on meeting you so here Frida is, waiting at arrivals for Emma to walk out of baggage claim.

She catches sight of the pram first where you're fast asleep, gripping tightly to whatever toy you've selected from your collection to join you on the journey.

Emma comes into view next, expertly wheeling the suitcase in one hand and the pram in the other.

"Hi," Frida says, a little breathless that you're finally both here," I missed you. Both of you."

Emma draws her into a soft kiss. "We missed you too. Isn't that right, squish?"

"Missed Mama," You slur, only now waking up.

"She slept the entire way," Emma explain as Frida straps you into the car seat," She didn't sleep much last night. She was too excited."

Frida laughs. "I hope she sleeps tonight as well."

"She will," Emma assures her," But I think we're going to have to deal with that little visitor in bed."

Emma's right, of course, because in the middle of the night, Frida feels you slot between them as you wiggle under the covers. But she gets her wish as well as you sleep through the rest of the night in their bed and rise the next day with all the excitement you can fit into your little body.

"Are you sure you're okay with taking her today?" Emma asks," I can keep her while I do my shopping."

"I've got her," Frida insists, adjusting you on her hip," The girls are excited to meet her. You get your shopping done."

"Alright," Emma finally agrees," I love you guys."

"Love you too. Squish, tell Mummy you love her."

"Love you!" You parrot back as Emma drives off.

"Alright," Frida says," Let's get you ready to meet everyone."

It's not the first time Frida's seen you in her Arsenal shirt before but it's the first time everyone else will.

Your life is in Sweden most of the time and then in Norway too when you visit Frida's parents. This is your first time in England and Emma made sure you were suitably dressed for the occasion.

"Oh my god," Leah says," Look at the cheeks on her!"

You giggle as a finger reaches out to poke them like your mummies do when you're being particularly cute.

"A good eater then?" Kim asks as everyone fawns over you.

You soak up all the attention, especially when wrapped gifts are presented to you teasingly.

"We had issues at first," Frida admits," She was underweight when we found her but she's a good weight now."

"She looks so content," Kim says," Motherhood suits you, Frida."

"Really?"

"Definitely. I can tell she just adores you."

"Mama!" You say suddenly, shaking a wrapped box in curiosity," Help, please?"

"How about we find a table and then we can open all your new presents?"

The team have really spoiled you - clearly trying to make up for missed birthdays and Christmases - and you seem just so excited for every gift you unwrap.

"Got to give her the full kit," Leah says with a wink as yet another presents contains an Arsenal kit.

"She has the kit at home."

"Yeah but this one has her name on it. If Fleming's daughter has a Chelsea kit with her name then the Arsenal children must have Arsenal kits with their names on it too!"

"Children?"

Leah jerks her chin over to where Beth and Viv sit with you on the floor as you show off one of your new toys.

"You should have seen Beth's face light up when you spoke about adopting. She looked interested. I guarantee those two will be thinking about it at some point soon. Might as well set the precedent now."

"I will make sure she wears it to the match," Frida promises just as you get up and toddle over.

"Mama!" You say," You see my new puppy? Looks like our Jordan!"

Frida smiles as she lifts you up onto her lap. "You know what? It does!"

"I call him little Jordan!"

"That's a perfect name, squish."

[seonghwaddict]

ateez's favourite petnames for you

requested by anon. genre. hc, fluff. rating. sfw. warnings. petnames (duh), some are more feminine leaning. wc. 734.

lilo's notes. i'm soso sorry this took me so long to get out T-T

masterlist.

hongjoong

darling. the thought of him using that as a pet name makes me go awooga. idk i feel like it would just sound good in his voice, yk? he can be a tease sometimes too, and i feel like this one has the potential to convey his teasing perfectly while still being cute n stuff. like, he's whispering to you, hugging you from behind in the kitchen as you prepare food or something. or he's entering the house, calling out a soft "darling, i'm home!" AHHHH.

honourable mention: love.

seonghwa

angel. PLEASEEEEE idk it just suits him so well. personally i find the thought of any demon line member using this pet name extra scrumptious, but it's something about seonghwa that just does it for me. he has a gentle and warm voice. waking up to him gently nudging your shoulder, needing to leave early in the morning but not wanting to go without telling you, a soft chuckle as you look up at him in confusion, “sleep well, angel?”

honourable mention: bun/bunny.

yunho

tiny. size difference matters quite a bit to him in a relationship, and he loves pointing it out every chance he gets. he’d say this in a more teasing context, when he’s messing around with you or trying to get you to smile—which is all the time, probably. admiring your face late at night, tangled in each other’s limbs in bed, tired but not wanting to fall asleep just yet as he brushes his fingers against your jawline, “you’re so pretty like this, tiny.”

honourable mention: princess.

yeosang

sweetie/sweetheart. he’s a simple guy, really. anything that makes you smile makes him smile. and seeing the way you grinned the first time he called you that—a simple “hey, sweetie, could you come for a second?” that had you giggling and skipping over to him happily—well, it made him never want to stop calling you sweetie or sweetheart, to say the least.

honourable mention: precious.

san

babe. he would so call his s/o babe i can literally hear it idc argue with the wall. normally i’d convulse (negative) if a man called me babe unironically, but shit he can do that all he wants. anyways. he knows you love it when he calls you any sweet pet name, but his personal favourite is this one. it’s so simple, rolls off his tongue so easily. he’d say it so easily too, calling you and saying something along the lines of, “hey, babe, have you eaten yet? i wanna try this new place i found.” YUPPP

honourable mention: my love.

mingi

doll. i’m a mingi calling you doll enthusiast until the day i die. in every fic i’ve written about his he calls mc doll at least once and that’s exactly how it should be. moving on, i just think he would really love calling you that because it elicits the cutest reaction each time; shyly averted eyes, flushed cheeks. sometimes he likes to throw in a little ‘dolly’ to switch things up a bit, to catch you off guard.

honourable mention: (my) pretty/sweet girl.

wooyoung

babydoll. biggest tease of the century, he definitely has a whole arsenal of cheesy pet names to call you when he wants to be particularly annoying (e.g. “aw what are you pouting for, snookums?” “you’re the best, cupcake!” “my my, you are the apple of my eye,” etc.). but on the rare occasions where he’s not playing around, he likes any variation of baby, particularly babydoll. perhaps his adoration for the name was ignited when he first listened to babydoll by dominic fike, and saw how many times you replayed it, but who knows?

honourable mention: jagi (자기 — honey).

jongho

honey. i call this a double entendre. he doesn’t really use pet names much, but he likes this one because 1. it’s cute, it suits you almost as your actual name. this is a name a husband would use and he’s so husband coded it hurts me. and 2. he really is just a silly guy—and considering he’s often described as a bear, well, then it’s quite self explanatory. massaging your shoulders as he stands behind you, sat on the couch and groaning into your hands after a stressful day at work, his voice low and reassuring, “you always do so well, honey, please don’t worry your pretty little head over it more.”

honourable mention: dear.

networks. @cromernet @cultofdionysusnet @wonderlandnet @atzhouse

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@likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd

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