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wosoamazing · 7 months ago

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Diabetes

Summary: You join arsenal and move in with Beth and Viv, you're nervous how everything will go, but ultimately it was perfect

Warnings: Diabetes, Hypoglycaemia, Glucagon shot, let me know if anything else.

A/N: Just a bit of a cute fluffy fic, I tried to get everything right medically but IDK if it is perfect. I hope you like it. If I did get something wrong let me know. Also as always happy to do part 2s if requested but pls add some detail on what you want to see.

You were originally going to move in with Leah however the Medical Team said it would be best for you to live with two people, so you moved in with Beth and Viv, you were very nervous as to how they would perceive you, and whether they would be accommodating of your diabetes or not. You knew the medical team had discussions with them and that the club had forced them to do the emergency training for really bad lows and highs, what you didn't know was that they asked the club if they could find them some more training courses, they had done just about everyone single one, from how to use a Dexcom and an Omnipod as these were the devices you used, to how to live everyday life with diabetes.

So when you turned up to their house you were very surprised to see some snacks sitting out on the bench, each with a piece of paper next to them, with the amount of carbs in them. They had really gone out of their way to help you settle in and make your life easier.

“Um, we have something to show you.” Beth said, kind of hesitant, you followed them over to a cupboard, “Um, it might be a little silly but this is for you,” she said as she opened the cupboard. It was empty other than some shelves, and draws, some organisation baskets, a mini fridge and a basket full of lollies. “There are some juices in there, we didn’t know what flavour you liked so we bought a pack of each, if you don’t like a flavour that's okay, we also got you these, they are all 15g of Carbs each, um but we can buy anything else you want or prefer, and um we thought you could put all of your supplies in here so they are organised and there is even a label maker so we can label the draws and stuff if you want oh and this is for you I suppose.” She said as she picked up a phone, it was a brand new iPhone 15 “it's more for the club, they were originally going to by you a android but we told them you wouldn't use it so yeah, the idea is we connect it to you sensors as like an additional device, so that everyone has access to your levels, so like at night we will keep it beside our bed so if anything happens we are alerted and during games the medical staff will have it and during training I think Kelly is mainly going to have it.” you nodded knowing you couldn't speak, the kindness of both women, and seeing how much they more cared and were going to 100% help you caused you to become emotional you felt a single tear roll down your face, causing the pair to panic lightly “You could have a cupboard somewhere else if you wanted or we could show you, your bedroom, it's pretty bare but we had plans to take you shopping so you could decorate it and make it your own,” another tear roll down your face, “are you okay, did I say something wrong? Did I do something wrong?” you shook your head “th-thank you” Beth pulled you in for a hug “it's nothing really” but it was something it was everything, it was perfect. You spent your day moving in.

You set up the cupboard first, you drew a plan of where everything was going to go, detailing it before everything started to get put into the cupboard. Your plan worked very well and the cupboard was very organised and practical. Viv thought it was quite cute, she was going to like this side of you very much. Once you had set up the cupboard you got to go shopping, first you went to the homemaker centre, buying some bedspreads, pillows, and decorations from multiple different shops, to make more room in the car you had to do a pit stop at home, chucking it sll through the front door, before heading back out for lunch, it was the first time Beth and Viv had experienced eating out with Diabetes, well even just eating and diabetes. You were very well practised at it, and helped Beth and Viv learn, showing them how you did everything, you taught them how to estimate carbs, but that differently needed practise on their end, you also showed how you can either your phone or your pod controller to set up the insulin delivery and you even pricked their fingers to test their levels for fun, you liked how they weren’t over cautious about it and how they weren’t treating you differently, and also the fact that they didn’t see it as annoying, really you just liked everything about them. You then went to IKEA to get a desk, a chest of drawers and some other items for your bedroom. Once you got home you set up your room, you were putting your clothes away when you were interrupted by Beth and Viv calling you down for dinner.

“Stuffed capsicums!” You yelled as you walked into the kitchen.

“Inside voice,” “Vivvy, it’s cute, your parents told us they were one of your favourites and we thought after the lunch we had today they would be a good choice, how many do you want?”

“Two please, thank you,” “you’re welcome, if you want we can sit on the couch and watch a movie.” you nodded your head before making your way over to the couch.

“Come in,” Viv said after you knocked on the door, her face dropped when you opened the door and she saw your red puffy eyes, and tear stained cheeks. You had been crying because you were so relieved and happy, and you wanted to thank them again.

“Kleintje, is everything okay?” Viv asked, causing Beth to pop her head out of the bathroom mid teeth brushing, the sight of you caused her to quickly move back to the bathroom rinsing out her mouth before pulling you in for a hug.

“T-thank you, for everything, it was perfect, you didn’t have to do any of it”

“Of course Kleintje,” Viv walked over to the two of you joining in the hug.

“We want you to feel welcomed and comfortable, it is now your house too. But please if you need us for anything at all you can come wake us up, our door is always open.”

“Figuratively, not literally” you giggled slightly at Viv’s comment.

“Let's all go to sleep. Hey. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow” Beth said.

_____

Your second day was a training day, you Beth and Viv arrived early, as you had a few meetings, the first one was with Jonas and Kelly, about everything but also your diabetes, then the medics and some other people, Beth and Viv came with you to all of them. As you sat in the tactical session, you sipped on your apple juice popper as you listened intently, trying to ignore Beth and Steph’s talking, you were one to think tactics were a major part of the game, something else Viv would come to like. You then had a short gym session and then it was lunch, everyone was wondering what it was going to be, you already knew but decided not to tell them, you had been given the menu for the week, to select some things that you would want, so that they could make up a plate for you, ensuring they could tell you the exact amount of carbs. You walked in to find your plate sitting on the bench next to all the other food, it was a chicken burger, on wholemeal bread rather than a burger bun, you also had some snacks. There was a piece of paper next to it that had your name on it and the amount of carbs in each item, including each item of the burger. You picked up your plate and walked over to Beth, who pointed to the table she usually sat at, so you sat down there, waiting for her and others to join you, Kelly soon walked in with your kit, which you accidentally forgot at the meeting, you took it from her gratefully and she told you what would be happening in training so you had some idea of how much you needed to adjust your insulin. You picked up your phone and checked to see what it said your sugars were at, your phone said your sugars were at 90 which was perfect considering your target range was between 80-100, you were unzipping your kit when some of the team came to sit down, Beth sat next to you, Steph, Katie, and Caitlin also sat down. You pulled out your lancing device and pricked your finger, using your metre to confirm your reading before putting the units you needed for the burger into your pod controller.

“Do you mind us asking?” Katie questioned what you were doing.

“Um, I have diabetes, I was diagnosed when I was two, but it means that I have to manually control my blood sugars. My body doesn't do it at all, so I have to calculate the insulin I need for when I eat," "Right,” she nodded her head.

____

You had a few hiccups with your diabetes since living with Beth and Viv, but nothing major, however that was going to change. It was the 60th minute and you felt your body start shaking, the medics hadn’t called a paused or called you over and even thought you felt funny at half time your levels were normal, if anything slightly high, but you knew you were low, not only was your body shaking, but your brain hurt and felt foggy, you were also struggling to not fall over. You knew you needed to get off the pitch soon, before you passed out. A corner gave you the perfect opportunity to tell Beth you were low, you walked up to her, she looked at you confused and concerned.

“L-Low” you managed to say to Beth before you collapsed forward on her, she lowered you to the ground and the ref immediately blew the whistle, the medical team was on the pitch immediately, players from both teams were starting to form a huddle around you, trying to protect you from the media.

They were checking your sugars, as Beth got a Glucagon shot ready, she was ready to go when she got the nod of approval from the medics. Beth injected the shot into you and you were immediately rolled onto your side by the medics, waking up just moments later, in a panicked state, sitting up.

“It’s okay, you passed out from being low, we had to give you a Glucagon, but it’s okay, you’re going to be okay.” Beth said as she rubbed your back.

“S-sta-stay?” you managed to get out eyes wide open with fear.

“Go with her, I’ll tell Jonas,” Beth nodded.

Viv met you and Beth in the medical room, she sat on a chair while Beth sat on the bed with you, you were given some gummy bears as well as an apple juice popper, to try and elevate your levels, you were still shaky and sweaty but your vision was completely clear and the medics and paramedics cleared you, which meant you didn't have to go to the hospital, but Beth and Viv had very strict instructions to take you to the hospital if certain things happened, such as seizures, loss of consciousness and others.

“Do you want to go home now Kleintje?” you nodded as you ate a gummy bear.

_____

You were very nervous for your first camp, for how the staff would handle your diabetes but more so the team. The last game you played for Arsenal was the one you passed out during. You visited your endo after that incident and he had recommended putting tape over your sensor and pod when you played. The sensor had slightly pulled out during your arsenal game and so it wasn't actually reading your blood sugar.

It was your first training session and Beth had helped you, with the supervision of the medical team, put tape around your arms covering your sensor and pod, it was so you could get used to the feeling of it before your first game. You weren't required to have tape over your sensor and pod during training as you had frequent breaks which you could be checked during.

As you warmed up with Lauren Esme and Niamh, Ella and Alessia walked over to you.

“Why do you have tape on your arms?” Ella asked. “Ella you can't just ask that” Mary said as she walked over with Beth, who had overhead the question, so she stood behind you placing her hands on your shoulders. “You don't have to tell them.” Beth whispered in your ear, you did want to tell them but you weren't sure you wanted to tell them right now.

“Oh um,” you were saved by Sarina calling the team over. While Sarina talked one of the medics came over to you, she handed you the phone and you saw your reading, being nodding and sticking your hand out to her, hoping that somehow in the non contact warm up the sensor had moved and that reading wasn't true, as if it was you most likely weren't going to get to do training this morning. You were handed a small container filled with 6 sour worms which told you the reading was true, you opened the container and started to eat them while Sarina kept talking.

“Why don’t we get sour worms?” Ella whined.

“Because you’re not special enough.” you inform her, causing everyone to break out into laughter.

“I like her,” Millie said as she high fived you. Sarina ignored all the commotion, she was obviously used to it and just continued talking. “Y/N could I just talk to you quickly?” she said as you and the girls started to disperse, you nodded and walked over to her.

“Sorry Sarina. I didn’t mean to-” “No, that's not what I wanted to speak about but I appreciate the apology. I wanted to talk to you about telling the girls, is it something you would like to do?”

“Um, yeah I think, I just don’t know how to tell them and like I don't want them to think of me differently”

“That's okay, I think sooner rather than later would be better, maybe today during dinner? During the announcements. Becky could help you, or even Beth or anyone you wanted, I could even just tell them and we wouldn't need to discuss it if you wanted.”

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #awfc x reader #awfc #arsenal wfc #beth mead x reader #viv miedema #meadema #lionesses x reader

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closerstars · 5 months ago

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small favors

mingyu x oc reader

fluff, friends to lovers

note: this is purely self-indulgent because i have a big fat ass crush on mingyu. havent got the time to proofread and fancify everything but pls enjoy!!!

—

"This is my third glass already. If that girl in the red dress doesn't stick around, I'm tapping out," you sigh, your face resting on your hand while the other holds onto your margarita. Mingyu had come up with the plan for you both to team up and help Wonwoo find a date at Seungcheol’s sister’s wedding party, and you had readily agreed.

You've known Wonwoo since childhood, introduced by his mom at the playground, and you've been the best of friends since then. Mingyu joined your circle in high school, and the three of you have been inseparable ever since.

"Hang in there. I think the girl in red might be the one. They’ve been chatting for a good ten minutes now," Mingyu remarks, checking his watch.

"Yeah? Let's see," you reply skeptically.

"Such a pessimist. Remember, she's your candidate," Mingyu teases.

"I don't know, I just don't see Wonwoo fully engaged in the conversation. She had that charm when I talked to her," you admit, though it's hard to tell from three tables away whether Wonwoo's truly interested or just politely listening.

As you both observe, Soonyoung joins in with his drink. "What are you both up to now?" he asks, following your gaze to Wonwoo and the girl in the red dress, looking at you and Mingyu with a confused expression.

Turning to Soonyoung, you ask, "Soonyoung, what do you think? Will the girl in the red dress be able to break through Wonwoo's defenses?"

He takes a sip and frowns at the aftertaste. "How come you never set me up? We're friends too, you know, both of you."

"Just answer the question," you roll your eyes.

Soonyoung takes another look at Wonwoo and the girl in the red dress. "I think she might," he finally answers, earning a nod of agreement from you.

"Hey, look! They're laughing!" Mingyu giggles at the sight of Wonwoo saying something that earns a laugh from the girl.

"Oh my god," you gush with Mingyu. "She just handed him her phone."

You playfully slap Mingyu’s arm. "Dude, they're exchanging numbers!"

Both matchmakers celebrate with high fives until the girl in the red dress exits their view and waves goodbye to Wonwoo.

"Wait, where's she going? Is she heading home already?" you wonder aloud, checking the time on your phone. When you look back up, the girl in the red dress passes by your table and greets you with a nod, saying, "Nice to meet you again, Y/N. Gotta go."

Wonwoo follows after her, approaching your table. As he sets his drink down, you immediately ask, “So?”

Wonwoo takes a sip of his drink. “She was alright,” he says nonchalantly, earning a disappointed expression from you, which he finds amusing.

"What do you mean she was alright?" Mingyu prompts.

"Well…" Wonwoo tilts his head, trying to recall the details. "She’s a photographer. So that’s a good start."

Impatient with his lack of detail, you sigh. Typical Wonwoo, a man of few words. "Okay. And?"

Wonwoo takes another sip. “She suggested I visit her photo exhibit sometime. So she gave me her Instagram page and I gave her mine too.”

Realizing your mission was a success, you grasp Mingyu's shoulder. Mingyu raises his glass, proposing a toast among the four of you.

"I'm so happy right now, I need another glass," you giggle, taking a sip of your margarita.

“Okay. Wonwoo’s got a date. How about me?” Soonyoung pouts, making you laugh. You then ask Mingyu to switch seats so you can play matchmaker with Soonyoung this time.

As you're in the middle of interviewing Soonyoung and scanning the crowd with him to find someone he’d want to talk to, Dami, Seungcheol’s sister in lawapproaches and grabs your arm, pulling you to her.

“Y/N! I have someone you should meet!”

With wide eyes, you look at your tablemates and mouth "Help," but they only laugh at you.

“Bye!” Wonwoo teases, waving to you.

Meanwhile, the three guys left at the table continue drinking and talking over the jazz music playing in the background. Mingyu notices you at a table with Seungcheol as Dami walks through the crowd with her arm looped around some guy in a tux.

He figures maybe this is the guy Dami wanted to introduce you to. Guess they aren’t the only ones playing matchmaker that night.

Wonwoo notices his best friend looking intently from afar. He turns his head back to see you shaking hands with a handsome stranger. Mingyu’s eyes start to wander, trying to distract himself from the hint of jealousy he was feeling

“When is the DJ set going to start? I am so bored,” Soonyoung pouts as he scrolls through his phone, then gets nudged by Wonwoo, directing his attention to you observing something from a distance.

Soonyoung couldn’t help but tease. “Oh wow, Dami’s got good taste. I’d like to see how Y/N would play the game tonight.”

“What?” Mingyu snaps out of it and pretends not to hear.

“Good luck stealing her back, man. Just letting you know I’m always Team Mingyu.” Soonyoung pats Mingyu's back, gripping his drink and takes off.

Wonwoo then slides closer to Mingyu. “You know you’ve always had the advantage, right?”

Mingyu looks at him, confused. “Advantage? What are you talking about?” Mingyu knows what his best friend was talking about. Wonwoo is direct, but this conversation feels different. They've never discussed about him and Y/N before.

“Oh, come on, Mingyu. I've noticed the way you look at her lately. If you like her, just tell her and let it happen the way its fated to happen,” Wonwoo says, taking a sip of his drink, as though confessing to Y/N were as simple as ordering another round.

If telling Y/N what he felt was that easy for him and her, he could’ve done it sooner. But no. He wanted to be sure. He wanted to be sure that this wasn’t just some sort of crush.

“Okay, let's calm down,” he chuckles nervously. “I’m just taking my time, hyung. And I also want to give her all the time and space she needs if…” he pauses. “… if she ever feels the same way.” He adds hastily, gulping down the rest of his drink. “This stuff is good. I need more.”

Conveniently, Seungcheol appears out of nowhere with two glasses in hand, setting them down their table. “I thought you might need another round,” he says, chuckling softly.

Mingyu thanks him, but before he can even grab his drink, you swoop in and snatch it from his hand, leaving the three of them surprised.

“Thanks,” you say, taking a sip and letting out a relieved sigh. You hadn't expected to meet one of your biggest radio DJ crushes, Joshua, at a wedding party. As the brief conversation with him ends, you hurriedly excuse yourself from Seungmi, feeling your face grow warmer by the second.

As you return to your table, Cheol gives Mingyu a teasing glance while sipping on his drink. “Y/N's pretty cute when she's flustered.”

“Oh shut up.” You playfully roll your eyes and then offered to get Mingyu a new glass which you did.

As you stepped away, Wonwoo chuckles at Cheol’s comment, earning an eye roll from Mingyu. “This is so annoying.”

“Why are you annoyed? Oh, I see. You know I heard that Joshua invited her to visit him at the radio booth sometime.” Cheol prods.

“She'll probably be too busy to go,” Mingyu counters.

“How would you know? Are you her manager?”

“What if I am?” Mingyu retorts, trying to play it cool.

They stop abruptly when you came back with a new drink in hand and gave it to Mingyu. “Gentlemen. I am back. Here’s your drink, sir.”

“So how’d it go meeting one of your celebrity crushes?” Wonwoo asks. He wanted to see how his bestfriend will react.

“Oh. Pfft. Yeah I think I played it real cool. Did I?” You turn to Seungcheol for affirmation but he laughs at you instead.

“You were good. Charming at least.” He winks at you and you mouthed a ‘thank you’ You then proceeded to rambling about Joshua’s radio show Sunday Mornings aired every Sunday morning.

“So annoying.” Mingyu mutters as he side eyes Seungcheol.

Wonwoo tries to hold in a laugh, covering his mouth with his drink. Mingyu takes another big sip from his drink thinking this was going to be a long night for him.

—

The tension Mingyu was feeling inside eases off as the night progressed. He has the alcohol to thank for that as well as when the dj finally starts his set for the after-after party.

You, however, was on a high and was extra loud for the night. Never in your life would you think you’d have the energy to goof around and match Soonyoung’s on the dancefloor considering that you weren’t that good of a dancer.

With your confidence at its peak you even pulled the bride to dance with you twirled her over to her now husband. The warmth and joy you felt was incomparable as you watched the newly weds dance and then seal everything with a kiss as the song ended.

Another song plays as you wanted to rest because your feet was starting to hurt already so you head to the bar for another drink as if you weren’t tipsy enough. You scan the room for somewhere to sit on but all you found was the flight of stairs from where the bride and groom had their grand entrance earlier that night.

Wonwoo was sitting down a step checking his phone. He then notices you approaching. He scoots a little and sweeps the space beside him with his hand for you to sit on.

“Tired?” He says with a welcoming smile.

“Yeah. A little.” You sigh as you carefully take a seat.

“Did you at least have fun tonight?” He asks like a dad asking his daughter if she had fun.

“Yes, dad. There were lots of boys hitting on me though.” You joke and scrunch your nose waiting for his reaction.

Wonwoo chuckles and plays along. “Ah my pretty daughter. The boys must’ve had a hard time getting your attention.”

“They’re just boys. I’m here for the party.”

“Really? No one caught your eye?” He points to the small crowd of people enjoying the music, dancing, having drinks.

You casually pretend to scan the crowd until you notice Mingyu was fast approaching still looking to be at full energy.

“I dunno. This guy seems pretty decent.” You shrugged. “Pretty. Decent. Kind.” You said that in a very smug way but heaven knows you meant it.

You’ve developed a skill of being friends with Kim Mingyu. And that was suppressing even the slightest infatuation that eventually grew over the years. Who wouldn’t have a crush on Kim Mingyu anyway?

You’ve had plenty of experience with girls befriending you just to get close to him, some would bribe you with coffee to have you give them his number. You get the coffee, ask Mingyu for permission if he’s comfortable with his number being given and then hand him the coffee you got for free.

With your sibling-like dynamic, he was so comfortable with sharing even his dating life sometimes it wasn’t as fun anymore because you realize how good of a person he was it’s almost unreal that some girls think of him as too naive when he’s really just that kind of person who always believes there is something good in everything.

You were glad to be his friend. You continue to learn a lot from him. There’s an internal struggle however, when that dreaded question “what if you wanted something more than being friends” comes to mind. It scares you. Scared that he might get to close to see through the cracks.

“What are you two doing?! Sitting down?! Really?!” Mingyu reaches for your hand while his other hand reaches for Wonwoo’s and then pulls the both of you up like his ragdolls.

This was always the dynamic between you three. Mingyu being the energetic golden retriever, Wonwoo being the calm black cat, you being the confused chihuahua to balance them out.

—

Later that night, you find yourself assisting a drunk Kwon Soonyoung to his hotel room.

As you search your purse for Soon’s key card he has entrusted you earlier that night, Wonwoo was trying to restrain Soon who was trying to kiss him while he laughs and giggles. Same with Mingyu. But he just talks to Soon in his state.

The door beeped and clicked open so you successfully assisted Soonyoung to his room. You help remove his blazer and then finally made him lay in bed.

Thankfully, your rooms were on the same floor so you all went your separate ways for the night.

Once you settled in and changed to a shirt and sweatpants. You were in the midst of removing stubborn makeup when you decided to open a bottle of beer to cap off the night

As you were quietly browsing photos you took in your hotel room you notices Mingyu’s coat that you lazily hung to a chair.

You text him.

“You still awake??? forgot to give your coat back sorry”

“i’ll go get it in a minute” he replied

You continue browsing the photos you took for tonight and you stop at photos Soonyoung took of Mingyu and you making funny faces. Your lips curl to a smile as you remember this was taken after you sent Wonwoo off with a girl to talk too.

You heard knocking so you toss your phone to your bed and set the beer bottle down. You get Mingyu’s coat and open the door.

“Hey.” You were greeted with Mingyu hair still a bit wet from the shower, obvious from the droplets of his hoodie.

“I was going to give it later in the morning but you were eager to get it.” You hand him your coat.

“You can just tell me you’re gonna hug it to your sleep if you want to you know.” He reaches for it and your hands slightly brush together.

Your face contorts. “Ew. Why the hell would I do that? Creepy.”

“So you can dream of me. Duh.” He is still at it.

“I’ll pass. Good night, Gyu.” You were not having enough of it you rolled your eyes and was about to close the door but his hand stops it.

There was silence between you two for a few seconds. He then takes a step closer, height towering over you. At this moment you felt as if you were put under his spell. Unable to move, you focus on his forehead since your legs might just give up if you look straight into his eyes.

His eyes traveling from your eyes nose and lips.

He softly touches your fingers, moving up your arms barely touching it with his fingertips then tracing your jaw.

You feel your breath slowing down. Your eyes trying to read his. Was this really happening? Should you let it happen?

“Can I kiss you?” He says quietly.

You nod slightly, closed your eyes then it happens. You felt the warmth spread to your face.

Mingyu smiles as he pulled away. Both your eyes meeting each other. You sigh a little. Your foreheads against each other.

“You taste like beer.” He giggles softly and you let out a shy laugh.

You weren’t sure what got to you as you reached for his neck to kiss him again.

After you break it off there was a pause and then you both go back to laughing faces against each other. You have no idea if it was just the high of finally doing what both your hearts wanted to do for a long while. And finally meeting halfway with what the score is between the two of you.

You were both interrupted with the sound of the door being opened. You both straighten up as if nothing happened.

“I-uh…” Mingyu clears his throat. “Goodnight, Y/N.

You touch your nape and avoided eye contact. “Yeah uh. Good night, Gyu.”

—

It was another long day for you and Mingyu at work. While you were busy writing and revising scripts and trying to help your editor with the video editing, Mingyu was busy shooting new content for the project you were working together for. He was the director this time and you were one of the writers.

No one has said a word ever since that kiss. You were at your best at pretending that it did not bother you at all and kept busy at work.

He asked you to eat lunch with him at your favorite sandwich place.

The whole time you sat there were complaining about how you were frustrated at one of your scripts keep getting scrapped by one of the hosts you were shooting.

“Can I talk to you about something” He asked softly.

You peel off the wrapper of your subway BLT “Yeah go on.“ And then you took a big bite.

“About that kiss.” His eyes not leaving yours. Observing how you’d react.

You somehow mastered controling your reactions being with Mingyu for years.

“What about it?” You said nonchalantly. “I was pretty drunk that night.” No you weren’t. You were having a beer and completely aware.

“You…were?” He tilts his head like a confused puppy. “Okay. But I remember you kissing me back.” He was taken aback by your reply. You were clearly not as kissing anyone she sees drunk level as Soonyoung.

“Yeah, cause I was drunk. We do and say stupid things when we’re drunk. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.” You meet his eyes this time to make your lie more convincing to him but moreso yourself.

Mingyu was left confused. You were not drunk that night.

He raised an eyebrow because you were obviously lying. You were more stern, retained more eye contact when you lie. It’s the same strategy you do when you’re pushed to do revisions to scripts that you did not want to do because it’ll only change the story.

“Look I just want to you to know that I don’t regret doing that.”

“Mmhmm.” You were busy chewing your sandwich and back to avoiding eye contact.

“And that I have liked you long enough for me to have the courage to do that.”

He can see your eyes widen and proactively try to avoid his. Your gut goes crazy until your eyes meet his. You stay there and your gut eases.

You were about to say something but couldn’t find the words so you just closed your mouth and looked into his eyes now and sighed.

“But please don’t say anything. You don’t have to answer.”

“And just tell me if you’re not comfortable with this. I mean we do work together almost all the time.” He then takes a big bite of the sandwich he barely touched after all that.

“It’s fine. I mean… It was a drunken mistake on me. I just-” You sighed again and wanted to say something but your emotions were all over the place. “Thank you. For telling me this.”

“Are we cool?”

You smiled. “Course we are.”

—

“So… Wonwoo told me something earlier before he left.” You peeked through your laptop and glanced at Mingyu who was cooking.

“What’d he say?”

“Nothing. He just told me that he… saw us kiss that night at the wedding.” You shrug trying to keep your tone as casual as you can.

“Okay. And?”

“He said that whatever that was, it’s safe with him. It’s none of his business.” You stood up from your seat and walked to their fridge.

“I just told him that it was nothing. I was drunk.” You said as you searched for a can of soda and then reached for it.

Mingyu’s eyebrows were raised at the sound of you saying you were drunk excuse again. He turns to face you with arms crossed across his chest. “It was nothing huh? And you were drunk.”

“Yeah. I was. Haven’t we talked about this?” You opened the soda but almost fizzed out but you drink it up with your mouth before it spills.

Mingyu scoffs. “You can’t keep convincing yourself that you were too drunk to kiss me back that night,” Mingyu finally snaps, his frustration boiling over. He’s tired of you dismissing your kiss as a drunken mistake. It wasn’t just about the kiss he was frustrated about.

You were a mess. You were going on this push and pull game of yours. You would be sweet one day and then the next one push him away. It wasn’t as if Mingyu didn’t see this coming knowing you.

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

“You were sober,” Mingyu states firmly, taking a step closer to her. “You kissed me back.” He removes his apron this time and carefully sets it aside.

Your arms cross defensively. “And what if I did?”

“Just admit it,” Mingyu insists, his voice tinged with exasperation. “I kissed you because I like you, you kissed me back, and now you keep saying you were drunk and it was nothing?”

“Stop saying the word ��kiss’!” You retort, your irritation becoming more obvious.

“Stop acting like a child!” Mingyu shoots back, his frustration building up.

“I was just experimenting, okay? Can we drop it now?” Your tone softens slightly as you resigns herself to the conversation.

“Experimenting? For what? You’re unbelievable! Are we guinea pigs now to experiment your feelings on?” Mingyu’s disbelief is palpable.

“I was trying to see if it was real,” you admit reluctantly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What is?” Mingyu’s gaze softens as he meets her eyes.

“You and I,” you replie quietly, your defenses crumbling. “Whatever this is.”

There’s a moment of silence as they both process your confession.

Finally, you sigh, tone resigned. “I was just checking. Making sure what I felt was real. So I can confront it and have the guts to tell you.”

“But you kissed me, so I kissed you back, and then I went crazy, so I wanted to think about it for days, hence me trying to convince myself and you all that I was drunk!”

Mingyu’s eyes soften, a hint of understanding dawning in them as they trail from her eyes to her lips. “Well, do you want to check again?” he asks softly.

You chuckle, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You’re so stupid,” you murmur. “I’m not kissing you again.”

“You want to,” Mingyu insists, leaning in closer.

You place your palm on his chest, stopping him from closing the gap. “Yeah, I kinda do,” you admit, before leaning in for a short kiss.

#mingyu x oc #mingyu x reader #svt x reader #svt #oneshot #kim mingyu #seventeen #seventeen x reader #fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #mingyu fluff #wonwoo #seungcheol #soonyoung #mingyu imagines #svt imagines #svt fanfic #acewrites

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writers-potion · 14 days ago

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hello! i'm trying to write a manipulative/cunning character that uses his charm to get what he wants, but i'm unsure how to go about it without being too overt. he basically acts all polite and uses peoples' inherent biases (like how they are more likely to listen to or trust someone who's conventionally attractive)

i'm also struggling to come up with instances where he'd use those skills. i have an example from another story, but that'd make this ask long, so i'll give it if necessary

thank you for your time!

Writing a Cunning Character

I think the key to writing such a character would be to show how aware he is of the subtle reactions of others, and purposefully saying/doing things knowing fully well that there is plenty of room for misinterpretation.

For example:

He takes note of a waitress tucking her hair behind her ears and staring at him, and he smiles and calls her over specifically to order. Maybe she ends up giving him a free brownie.

When he sees someone debating whether they should accept his offer or not, he purposefully reaches across the desk to let his Rolex flash in the line of their sight, showing off his wealth.

You can show him carefully noting such details, in situations where he wants something out of the other person, like a job or money or a one-night stand...whatever it is. Maybe he uses his charm to cheat people out of their money or to get them to obey ridiculous orders because he just likes the sensation of exerting control over someone.

If you're writing from the cunning character's 1st person POV, you can insert little mental notes that he makes to himself. Perhaps he smiles internally at how easy the other person is, or is even proud of himself for a particularly manipulative move.

If you're writing 3rd person, it would be enough to write (1) the manipulative action/diagloue and (2) the corresponding result right next to each other to imply what's going on.

example: He reached across the desk for the cup, and their knuckles brushed briefly. A pair of dimples flashed as he smiled with all of his face. She swallowed; and nodded. "Alright."

Hope this helps! As always, happy writing.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! Also, join my Tumblr writing community for some more fun.

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2

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cryptidghostgirl · 9 months ago

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so sorry for this (very) specific request hope it's not ocish

anyways alastor x wife reader who's a virologist / kinda a mad scientist??(girl just wants to start a apocalypse without anyone to bother her)

Like they got married for mutual benefits (whatever benefits he would gain and her having access to money for her wildest dreams) when they were humans (whether he actually loves her or not is up to you lmao)

They both die (I assume that she would die around when he died from her own negligence caused by her 'freedom' to do her work more often without actually worrying about him finding out) and she avoids him like the plague (not that hard to realize this so called radio demon is your 'husband' when you find his secret stash of 'local cuisine' in the fridge)

Then he goes missing and she finally kinda goes out of makeshift hiding, just chilling doing her evil deeds before finding about the Hazbin Hotel from some gossip

Deciding that, while redemption is most likely not gonna happen mostly for the fact she does not care, she joins Charlie's little program. For her own little project (just wants to have a angel test subject, gotta see if they can be a good carrier for her little virus)

The reader doesn't know that Alastor's back (you think she's gonna use vox tech? Or listen to the radio? Girl uses a non vox tech phone and maybe a computer and does her work) so she goes and knocks on the door to the hotel

Thinking that this shit is gonna be easy, after all her husband is gone so she won't be bothered by him. She can focus on her beautiful creations and maybe destory hell and heaven with a apocalypse for some laughs. While also getting access to heaven through Charlie somehow (maybe even Lucifer, girl doesn't know nor care)

Anyways you can just IMAGINE her surprise that right after Charlie greets her (Vaggie ofc suspicious af cause she knows damn well no sinner wants to be redeemed for the most part) then here comes the strawberry pimp coming to say hello

Would he recognize his lovely wife? Maybe

Ofc reader had a plan, and by plan I mean she just says they were married and now acts like their divorced (death do us part and we fuckin dead)

(Just for example, do what you want <3)

Anyways I'm sorry again (can you tell that I've been watching a lot of mlp infection aus :') )

A/N bestie,, i love an overly detailed request. no apologies. i hope i did it justice <3 <3 I have literally been obsessing over the whole 'we're dead. we've been parted.' reader idea. It's so fun. Also I am very sorry it took me so long to get to this. Also, I am not a woman nor am I in STEM (I'm an enby in history) so apologies if science stuff in this is bad. I'm basing the character off of Entrapta (my love) from Nate Stevenson's She-Ra remake.

Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Gore. Murder. Bodies. Animal cruelty (not detailed at all just like test subjects and burning ants as a kid). Viruses/plague talk. Just capital d Death all around in this one folks. Suicide and starvation briefly mentioned.

Word Count: 2,584

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n hadn't been sad when Alastor died. It didn't really even register on her radar that he was gone until the police showed up at her door. Their marriage was more of an agreement than anything else, a division of labor. Y/n was a talented virologist who came from a rather wealthy family. He got access to her money, using it to start his own radio studio, and Y/n? Well Y/n got a clean up crew.

She had always been fascinated by death. It was a morbid curiosity that had followed her since childhood. The typical 'burning ants with a magnifying glass to mass murderer' pipeline only, murder was not exactly her objective. Since learning of the Black Death in school, she had been fascinated by biological warfare and weaponry. The stories of soldiers throwing infected bodies over the walls of city's to break down their defenses? It was magnificent, masterful, absolutely awe inspiring. Living through the Spanish Flu epidemic in 1918, watching how it tore through her city of New Orleans, only furthered her determination.

As soon as she had had the knowledge base to do so, she began working on bio-weapons on her own. She wanted to create a disease, to devastate the world. She wanted to watch the things around her crumble into ruin and know it was by her hand.

She'd found out about Alastor's hobby by accident. They were friends, of a sort, in that Y/n would show up randomly where ever he was and quiz him about radio waves. He worked at a radio station and she knew that. She had followed him, tracked him down. There was no reasoning behind it save he was the first person she'd really found out about that was involved in the business in New Orleans. She would pick his mind about getting the word out about things, marketing, advertising. She was prepping for the main event, for the day she finally created her magnum opus.

One day, when she had shown up unannounced at his door and broken in when he didn't respond to her knocking, Y/n had discovered him dismembering one of his victims. Alastor had stared at her, wide eyed in shock, fear and adrenaline mixing into an intoxicating combination in his veins. Y/n had just smiled.

She had been wondering about human experimentation for a while now. Animals were easy to cover up, easy to bury in the back yard but people? It had always been too risky, up until now anyways.

So it went like this: Y/n funded Alastor's dreams and he hid the side effects of hers. When he died, Y/n didn't really feel anything too strongly about it at all. Yes, it made life harder in that if she wanted to keep using human guinea pigs she'd have to figure out a way to dispose of them on her own but it also made it easier. Alastor had always been so obsessed with image, dragging her to office parties and forcing her to sit down to meals with him. Now that he was gone, she could work on her projects in peace once again. The body thing was something she would figure out along the way. She was smart and she wasn't going to let something like that stop her, not when she was this close to cracking it.

As it turns out, Alastor had been more of a help than Y/n believed. So used to his nattering and persistence, she had stopped eating. It wasn't long before she joined her husband in death. The papers of course had a field day with it. Heiress and Virologist Y/n L/n Withers Away Due to Heartbreak. Y/n L/n Starved Herself to Death and Joins her Murderer of a Husband. Virologist Commits Suicide After Revelation of Dead Husband's Criminal Deeds.

When Y/n had woken up in Hell, her whole world had been turned upside down. If there was life after death, what was the point of killing everyone on earth? She was back at square one.

Rumors were already buzzing through the streets of Hell about some new overlord, some Radio Demon, who had a strikingly similar MO to her husband. Not wanting any distractions this time around, Y/n secluded herself in the outskirts of the pride ring to reformulate her plans.

For decades she worked, trying to create a poison to wipe out the dual planes of the underworld. Work was easier here. No one questioned why she bought the things she bought, no one got upset when people went missing. Hell, no one even blinked twice if they saw her burying a body. It was a veritable paradise for Y/n.

Eventually, news reached her of the Radio Demon's disappearance. Y/n had never been the biggest fan of technology that wasn't involved in her work. In the world of the living, she had barley read the papers. All the machines in her laboratory were ones she had built herself through trial and error. But still, somehow, the news reached her and she felt elated. The last thing weighing her down, the last road block had officially been lifted.

Within seven years, she had perfected the disease. Having run tests on lower rings of Hell, she prided herself on her ability to make it so infections, so deadly. The survival was on par with that of unvaccinated human's infected by rabies. But her plan wasn't complete, no. Taking out everyone in Hell wasn't good enough, she had to figure out how to get it into Heaven as well.

That was when the perfect opportunity fell in her lap. Y/n nearly cried when she caught sight of the interview through the window of a shop selling Vox branded TVs. Charlie Morningstar, Lucifer's little brat, was creating a hotel for sinners, where they could be rehabilitated and sent to Heaven. It was perfect, almost too perfect. Y/n didn't question it, her own excitement blinding her. She barley even took the time to come up with a plan that consisted of more than get into the hotel and get her hands on an angel. She figured that was something that could be dealt with later on.

After a few days of research and snooping, she finally made her move. Having packed her bags and woven her way through the streets of Pentagram City, she found herself before the brightly lit marquee of the Hazbin Hotel. Placing her bag on the ground beside her, the test tubes and various paraphernalia inside clinked gently against one another. Raising her hand, she knocked on the door.

It was Charlie herself who answered, with wide eyes and an earnest smile. A smaller moth demon beside her crossed her arms, eyeing Y/n with doubt. It barley registered with the excitable demon, she was used to the strange looks. The new form Hell had granted her with when she died was odd, after all. She was still the same height, still held a roughly human shape, but her hair had become its own beast. It moved like secondary limbs, falling nearly to the floor from the pigtails she had tied it up into. It shot up into the air around her in joy at the sight of yet another open door in her path, this one literal rather than figurative.

"Hello!" Charlie exclaimed, "Are you here to check in?"

"Yes, check in." Y/n nodded, using her hair to pick her bag back up.

She took a step forward, trying to enter the hotel, but found her path blocked by the smaller grey demon. Her arms were uncrossed now, one of them pointing a spear right at Y/n's neck. Y/n didn't flinch, she simply looked down at it in curiosity, reaching a finger up to touch the end.

"Ow." she said flatly as the spear's tip pressed into the pad of her finger.

Raising it to her eyes, she rubbed the droplet of blood that had pooled on her pointer finger with her thumb before turning back to the spear.

"Is this..." Y/n leaned forward, grabbing the spear's shaft.

"Hey!" Vaggie yelled threateningly as Y/n crouched down, examining the weapon carefully.

"Oh my stars, this is an angelic blade, isn't it?" she exclaimed, her eyes still fixed on the spear.

"Uh..."

Vaggie was more confused now than anything and she took the slightest step away from the excited demon. Y/n followed her and soon, they were in the entry way to the hotel. Charlie watched the scene play out with mild amusement, finding her girlfriends bewildered state rather charming. She let the door fall shut.

"It is, isn't it?" Y/n asked again, "But how did you get it? Did you make it? What do you do with it? Is it more effective than normal weapons? Why a spear? I-"

"What's this, we have a new guest?" a crackling voice cut Y/n off.

"Uh, yes!" Charlie stepped in, turning to face the newcomer.

Y/n, still preoccupied with the spear, was now engaged in trying to get Vaggie to let her hold it.

"I think..." Charlie doubtfully added, her brow furrowing at the site.

"Well well well, a little devil." Alastor hummed, turning to watch the show as well, "Honestly, reminds me of someone I knew back when I was alive and kicking. Ah well, what's her name?"

"I don't... actually know that yet." Charlie admitted, fiddling with her hands a bit as she spoke, "But she seems really enthusiastic about being here!"

"It seems she more interested in that spear of Vaggie's than the idea of redemption." Alastor noted in response.

"Are either of you going to help me or are you just gonna sit and watch?" Vaggie exclaimed, trying her best to pry the spear out of Y/n's grip.

Alastor sighed and with a twirl of his microphone, a shadow arose, pulling Y/n off Vaggie. There was a split second where the smile on the girl's face fell. It quickly returned as she caught sight of what exactly had interrupted her escapades. Placing her bag on the floor with her hair, she wormed around in the shadow's arms, turning to face it. Tentatively, she poked it.

"Would you stop that?" Alastor asked, his voice thick with irritation.

Y/n poked the shadow again.

"What is this? How are you doing this?"

When no response came from the demon in question, she at last turned to face him.

"Oh."

She stilled in her movements and Alastor allowed the shadow to disappear.

"No reason to be scared." Charlie quickly stepped in, "I know Alastor here has a bit of a... reputation, but he is actually helping us at the hotel. He's really a great once you get to know him."

Alastor's smile widened as he bowed his head slightly in recognition of the praise.

"If you're going to be staying her-"

"You can't seriously be thinking of letting her stay here, Charlie." Vaggie cut in, "She's been here what, five minutes? And all thats come of it is chaos."

"Vaggie, come on, don't be like that." Charlie turned to her girlfriend, "Everyone deserves a second chance, that's the whole reason we built this place."

"But does she even want to be redeemed? I mean, what if she's... I don't know, trying to take us down from the inside out? What if she's a journalist or some shit trying to write us bad reviews?"

"You flatter me." Y/n smiled and Vaggie scoffed.

"See?"

"Isn't that all the more reason to let her in? Vaggie, if she is undercover as a journalist or something, we just have to prove to her how amazing what we're doing here is."

"I don't know... I've never seen her before, what if she's another one Vox sent?"

Y/n shook her head, sticking her tongue out slightly in disgust at this notion and Alastor chuckled. There really was something so familiar about this demon and her antics. Even if she was a tad irritating, it was a comfortable familiarity.

"Then we will figure it out, same way we did with Sir. Pentious. Okay?"

"Fine." Vaggie relented at last with a sigh.

Smiling brightly, Charlie turned back to Y/n.

"So, hi. I'm Charlie, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! What's your name?"

Y/n's eyes flicked back and forth between Alastor and Charlie for a moment before settling on Charlie.

"Y/n L/n."

Alastor let out a little laugh of disbelief, a sound he had meant to keep in. He couldn't help it. Of course this little mess of a demon was his favorite crazy wife. Alastor had looked for Y/n on occasion, always keeping an eye on news involving anything scientific but, he had never found a trace. Not that he'd admit it but, in their time together, he had grown rather fond of the girl. Not love, never love, but a sort of familial feel. Everyone turned to face him.

"Are you alright, Alastor?" Charlie asked, walking over to him and placing a hand on his arm which he quickly brushed off.

"Yeah, do you know her or something?" Vaggie added, "Is she dangerous?"

"No..." he paused, his brow slightly furrowed, "She's my wife."

The room fell silent.

"You... you didn't recognize your own wife?" Vaggie asked in disbeleif.

"Ex-wife." Y/n corrected with a little sigh.

This was all becoming so tedious. She hadn't come here to sit and talk with people. While the spear and the shadow had been fun, they had both run their courses and she just wanted to get to work.

"I..." Alastor turned back to Y/n, "Ex-wife?"

Y/n shrugged.

"So you didn't recognize your wife and you didn't know you were divorced?" Vaggie asked, rubbing her temples, "Jesus fuck, man."

"I..." Alastor cleared his throat, "We were married when we were alive. I didn't even know she was dead yet."

"Yeah." Y/n shrugged, "Turns out all your nattering was what was keeping me alive. I forgot to eat, starved to death."

Alastor's eyes softened slightly for a moment at the notion. She had needed his care so badly that she had died with out it. It felt good, in a strange way. Satisfying. They darkened again as he recalled her earlier statement.

"Ex-wife?" he asked again, taking a step towards Y/n.

She looked up at him, her expression blank.

"Yeah?"

"When did we get a divorce!" Alastor exclaimed once he realized she would say nothing else on the matter without his prompting.

"Oh! We didn't." Y/n nodded, smiling slightly, "Now, can I go to my room?"

"No, Y/n. Why are you calling yourself my ex-wife? We are still married."

Y/n looked around at Charlie and Vaggie, seeing if they were going to back up her claim. Sighing, she turned back to Alastor.

"Do I really have to lay it out for you?" she paused and Alastor just stared at her, eyebrows raised, "Jesus. Uh, Al, we died."

"Yes...?"

"Till death do us part? That was the agreement."

"I... Well..." he was at a complete and total loss for how to respond.

She wasn't wrong, he just didn't like her answer very much.

"So... the agreement is done... yeah?"

"I mean," Alastor shook his head slightly, "I guess?"

"Great! Can someone please show me to my room now."

---

Next Part -> Till Death Do Us Part pt. 2

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vatelixx · 25 days ago

Text

On the concept of ‘want’, (part 2):

Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader (written with early-ish seasons Spencer in mind)

Part one here.

—> SMUT!!! and copious amounts of yearning and fluff, and like maybe some angst??? I wasn’t originally going to do a part 2 because it worked pretty well as a one shot, but I really liked their dynamic (and hyper fixated on it for HOURS), so here we are— it details the build up to their relationship, and then provides an epilogue to the end of part 1.

Warnings: sub spencer, corruption kink still present (but Spencer plays into it this time, what? who keeps writing that??? they need help???), greek mythology references and endless space facts (nerds), autistic Spencer (the way it should be), mean reader always (except she still for the life of her can’t be mean to Spencer, it’s those fucking brown eyes), begging, crying (pussy remains that good), praise kink, degrading names (slut, whore, because hello??? Spencer Reid breathes and he’s a slut to me), them being total losers for each other, they’re both still geniuses and they’re both still too domestic for my sanity, alcohol but no inebriated sex (a lot happens OKAY??), aftercare always!!

— brief brief mentions of rape in correlation to Greek Mythology (male Gods are disgusting)

w.c: 8k (im not mentally okay)

a/n: i wrote the smut and then had to take a cold shower (i cry for my digital footprint). i wanted to put this out on Spencer’s birthday, but I got distracted— i think he would be happy I dedicated all of my shots to him (and then had to explain that no he’s not actually a real person but rather a fictional character)

───────────────

Prequel, the build up, (pre ‘part I’):

Spencer is barely conscious, drifting in that half-way state, all tousled hair and messy clothes. He’s dishevelled, at best, cradling a coffee (too much sugar, limited caffeine). Early start, the sun has only begun to burn by the time he reaches his desk. Torture, it’s torture the way you linger, it makes his brain distort, fracture into a tangled mess of nothing. How is it scientifically possible that one’s presence alone can reduce his mind to static? He’s not sure whether he loves or hates the abrupt decline in his IQ.

7AM. There’s bags pooling beneath his eyes, crimson distressed shadows, insufficient sleep can hinder the brains ability to regulate emotion, attention. It’s fine. He’s fine.

To put it simply, you’re terrifying. A carefully crafted figment of intelligence. He wonders if you’ve ever pressed a knife to someone’s skin before, it’s more intimate than a bullet. Hands on. It’s not a morbid thought, he doesn’t consider himself that hedonistic. Jobs in the BAU are coveted, and yet, in despite of your age, you were offered to join. No strings attached, no extensive training— nearly a year of working alongside you has proven that you’re more qualified for this than anyone could’ve anticipated. Is it cruel to say you were made to analyse, to deceive and coerce the most callous minds?

It’s demeaning, sure. But there is nothing more to you than the job. You clock in, and your personality becomes bound, restrained, kept away from him.

He’s trying. They’re all trying; to accommodate you, to ease you into the team. Drinks after hours, even intoxicated, you’re meticulous at keeping yourself away from anything inherently personal.

But right now, you’re here, and you’re so pretty. “Early,” he groans, letting his face drop to the desk. He likes that you’re shifting closer to him, that out of everyone, the rare, celestial phenomenon, moments of vulnerability are reserved for him. They’re brief, and admittedly a little sharp around the edges, but Spencer is selfish in admitting that he wants them all to himself. To hoard them and gloat, because no one has ever chosen him first before.

And you, you justify this ‘friendship’ because you’re indisputably human, because you do need someone (even if you’re too proud to ever accept that), and of course it would be Spencer. You’re both too young to be here, skipping a multitude of stages in the rise to an FBI agent, trauma bonding over the weight of your scathed experiences. Plus, you share an element of difference; your brains are abnormal, wired in unique, distinctive ways in contrast to the average human. It makes sense. It’s logical.

“Too early.” you agree, shifting to lean against his desk. “Did you read that article I sent you? The one about astrophysics and how it can shape human experiences?”

“Of course I read it,” He looks up, bleary-eyed behind his glasses, half-lidded gaze flickering across you. Maybe there should be an element of competition to your dynamic; you’re both geniuses, working alongside each other in close close (oh— close) proximity, but there’s not. For all of your sharpness, you’ve never once seen him as anything but your equal.

He turns his head, hair falling, obstructing his sight, a mess of brown, tousled and out of place. His brain is already working overtime, absorbing every detail about your appearance: your heavy, maddening eyes, your shirt (wrinkled, untucked), your watch (gold), the pen stuck behind your ear. Analytical, analytical, analytical.

“Don’t ask me about it.” he continues, “I’m halfway through an essay on my thoughts about it, expect a message tonight.”

That’s a new progression. Whenever he can’t sleep, whenever his thoughts are fervid and incessant, his mind caught on obscure facts, he’ll text you. Let you wake to paragraphs upon paragraphs of information on miscellaneous subjects. He’s never really understood ‘texting etiquette’, abbreviations and short responses.

“Can’t wait.” you hum. Oh, and you mean it.

“Can’t wait? First time i’ve heard that one,” he laughs.

He glances down at your shoes— combat boots, of course. Practical, sturdy, thick leather worn down with use. He can’t look at your face right now, not when you’re soul-crushingly beautiful, and you’re taking an interest in his quirks. But, oh your face— using the golden ratio as a foundation, you’re… well, perfect. Sure, the dark shadows pooling beneath your eyes reduce points, but he likes them, it’s a subtle, yet impaling, reminder that you’re real, that despite everything, you’re undeniably human.

It’s a mess, he’s aware that it’s an unnecessarily disjointed mess; the universe decided to torture him (painfully so), by placing the personification of perfection in front of him. Reachable distance, and yet, you still feel light years away. So far, because god he loves you— he loves you in ways he can’t even speak about. But what is love, and how does he comprehend it when he’s never been in its orbit? Not until now.

“And yeah,” he continues, adjusting his glasses. “I’m drafting a response, of course I am. You think I’d not send you an in-depth message? That would be a disservice to your knowledge.”

────────────

Detroit, 8hr flight, mid-morning, coffee and case files, an endless haze of intentions, behavioural patterns regarding the most recent unsub. Spencer always chooses to sit beside you, it’s non-negotiable, assigned. He spends half of his time curled up in the corner, catching a few minimal hours of sleep, and the other half rambling. At this point, you know a lot about him. Months and months of knowledge, some he’s told you, some you’ve profiled: he always carries a satchel (dog-eared novels and notebooks consisting of half-finished thoughts), his favourite season is halloween (when he first came to your apartment and saw various autumnal decor, despite it being mid-July, he smiled so much you thought you were going to die), and he’s afraid of the dark. Trivial pieces of information. Unnecessary, and yet you still store them for safe keeping.

“So,” he mumbles after briefing, “It’s nearly Halloween…”

Those words. The simple declaration of a date that you were already aware of sentences your fate. Of course you’ve noticed the rest of the team deftly turning down his invites at any occasion possible, but to receive one? You’ve never been a people pleaser, in fact, if anything you’re the polar opposite. Blunt like a knife, intransigent, unwilling to spare feelings for the sake of etiquette.

But you do agree when he offers to make plans.

────────────

Pumpkin patches, seasonal harvest. The leaves beneath your heavy platforms are ochre. It’s late- afternoon when you get to the festival, even later when you manage to coerce Spencer into humouring one of the ghost-walks.

But, you got distracted, tangled up in some tangent about Roman philosophy, Plato’s symposium, different accounts of eros. Socrates and his belief in stoicism, unwavering to the pretence of beauty, turning down Alcibiades— the most desirable.

You can only laugh. You laugh, and no, you’ve never laughed like that before. It shuts down Spencer’s body, renders him incapable for a good few moments. And now, suddenly he’s gone dumb, because he wants to get lost every weekend, just to hear it over and over again until it’s firmly imprinted into his brain for good. You breathe, and he’s brain-dead.

“This isn’t funny—“ he tries.

“No you’re right. It’s not funny at all.” you lie. Straight. Through. Your. Teeth. All things considered, you’ve had fun today— which is admittedly a feat in itself.

“Don’t worry,” you continue, knocking your shoulder into his. “I’ll protect you.“

“You do that enough anyways,” he states; it’s true, you’re a little too assertive on the field, unwilling to let him stumble inadvertently into danger. Maybe it’s just because you’re now acquainted with the knowledge of his previous missteps. Or maybe it’s because you care — not in the way he cares about you, obviously. But he’s willing to take what he can get. Anything, as long as it from you.

Spencer hates the dark (it’s common knowledge, the absence of light is unsettling) and with his flashlight wavering, stuttering in and out of use, he’s forced to stray close to you, to share your working one. It feels like the start of some budgeted horror movie he’d possibly take you to see, speaking through the entirety, pointing out the obvious scientific flaws.

“Why do you have so many layers on?” He asks, watching your face. The flashlight in your hand illuminates the small clearing around them, casting your face in a starker light. Every contour, every blemish, every freckle is more pronounced in the cold.

“You look like a burrito,” he adds, unable to stop himself.

You scoff, “I run cold.”

Pine-oak and cold, the air is sharp, plainly glacial at this time of night. It’s an amusing way to spend halloween; even though you’re currently missing out on the tour you paid for. “And, I don’t look like a burrito, thank you. Very astute evaluation, Reid. Your words are clearly so intellectual.”

“Yes, well— I am a doctor, remember? Astute observation skills are a priority on the requirements list. And actually,—“ you huff out a breath, and his forthcoming tangent dissolves before it can escape his lips. Usually, you humour the onslaught, the mess of facts— but, considering they’re directly aimed at you tonight, it’s clear that circumstances are in fact different.

He tucks his hands into his pockets, knuckles blemished red from the cold, rose shadows that match the flush to his face. “I’m glad you said yes, to this. Most of the team,” he laughs awkwardly, “Well, they usually ignore my invites. So yeah, it’s nice not to be alone for halloween.“

He’s quick to move on, to shift shift the subject. “And— as for the,” he continues, glancing down at your attire. “The excessive layers— I just meant that you look comfortable. If you’re running cold, then you need all those layers. It’s not a critique.” Another huff, and he glances awkwardly around the clearing.

“I’m just rambling.” He murmurs, “As per usual. I need to, uh— to stop doing that.” A pause. Silence.

You’re not really digesting his words anymore, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts— it’s a few moments before you speak again. You turn your gaze towards him, observing the sight of him in the perpetual darkness, profile only illuminated by faint trances of your flash-light. Swollen lips, half-bitten, brown eyes blown out of proportion, irises wide and unabated.

You know a lot about him, that’s already been established. Albeit, there’s still fragments you haven’t quite discovered yet. And sure, you shouldn’t want to find out, to unravel him completely. You shouldn’t— because that’s a direct transgression to the rules you’ve always set for yourself. But you do.

“Are you..” your face softens, “Uh, are you alone a lot?”

You’ve never been the type to ask about personal life, about the complexities behind closed doors. Sure, you can deduce his home-life through months of experience and mannerisms, but you’ve never asked specifically about his own relationships. The question catches him off-guard.

He blinks, a few too many times, and then finds his eyes are very very interested in staring at his shoes.

“Yeah.” he finally answers, “But it’s okay! I’m used to it. I don’t mind,”

“I have lots of time for my own pursuits,” he adds. “Reading and-— um, chess and stuff. And the team, of course. But— they’re not- they don’t want to, like, hang out. Outside, I mean. They have their own lives, partners. Families, so it makes sense.”

It’s not okay, and you’re uncertain why it pains you so much. Maybe because he makes the effort to arrange plans, to connect, and it goes undervalued, wasted. In contrast, you’re content in loneliness. People are overbearing, insufferable at best. You’ve never had much of an interest in an abundant social life, you’re content in your small, reserved circle. But he has no one.

And yet he has the audacity to pretend it’s okay?

“Well, if you want to like, be lonely together sometime. That would be fine with me.” you say after a moment of strained silence.

His whole life he’s struggled to fit in, to meet, to conform to the expected societal norms. Acceptance, community, humans are wired to want integration, and yet he’s always fallen short. It’s why he throws himself into facts, into research, into studies and books.

His shoulders have slackened. For a slender frame he’s remarkably tense, like he’s waiting for an eventual downfall. “Yeah,” he agrees, “I’d uh, also be fine with that. More than fine actually..”

No one has ever wanted him, they’ve just needed him and he wonders if there’s really even a difference.

────────────

That’s how it starts. Inevitable, in the grand scheme of life and work and you. Spencer watches as you soften, slowly unfold protected layers over countless evenings of chess and movies, and suddenly you’re not so untouchable, so beyond conventional existence, and yeah, berate him for loving you even more because of it.

You’re restless, completely. A night in his apartment is always fated to end with you tugging him through cobbled streets, desperate to catch some air. Tonight, it’s raining. Protected beneath a ledge of a closed shop, you’re approximately 12 minutes away from his place. Spencer should hate you for bulldozing his routine, he really really should. But it’s never that simple, not when it comes to the intricacies of you, and the exhausting effect you prove to have on his sanity.

He leans back against the soaked brick, watching the rain pour over the road, greyed streets, washed out by water. Just passing 10PM, like most nights, his mind seems to be insistent on you you you. And sure, he’s longing (if that even encapsulates his want), longing for something, to connect the invisible line between you two.

“Why am I not surprised,” he mutters, “Always a disaster with you.”

The cold will undoubtedly lead to you being sick, but the sight of you under the glow of streetlights, water-stricken and frustrated— he can’t bring himself to complain. For a moment, he simply stares. At your profile, the sharpness of your features, the exasperation in your blinding gaze. You’re beautiful, in ways he can’t comprehend.

“Hey,” he backtracks, “Not in a bad way, but like, in a you-cause-so-much-unexpected-stuff-to-happen kind of way. You’re always bringing me into messy situations.”

The space between you is so minimal, but so stretching. There’s an invisible wall, one that he won’t ever tear down, can’t ever tear down, in case he loses you. He wants to reach out, to grasp at your hand, your wrist, or even your shoulder. Anything, to feel the barest touch of your skin. Something.

Touch. To feel. He’s never allowed himself to sink into the warmth of someone else before, he’s never been able to. But for all your terror, he knows you’d hold him. Or maybe that’s just what he hopes for. Maybe it’s a delusional hypothetical.

When you do return to his apartment, you’re laughing. A common sight these days, as mind-bending as that might seem. The journey back was discombobulated, rushed movements, jackets spilling over heads, drenched thoroughly, attempting to outrun the inevitable storm that now seems to consume the area.

There’s not a part of you that regrets your offer to be ‘lonely together’ because whilst you despise most humans, Spencer doesn’t seem to be on that list. No, you could spend hours doing nothing with him, and still find it more gratifying than the best laid plans.

Plus, these days he seems happier. You both do.

“You look like a wet dog,” you say as you attempt to sort your way through his soaked hair. You’re sitting on the floor of his kitchen, cold skin pressed against tile.

He grins. You’re both laughing, and it’s so good. “Thanks for the compliment. You know, you’re not much better—“

He finds himself subconsciously, instinctively, leaning into the touch, as if his body has been searching for this, as if his skin is merely wired to only ever respond to your hands. Head tilted backwards, allowing access to the tangled strands, his neck arched slightly so he can still see your face, every expression that passes by.

He has a brief internal war with himself, wondering which part of the situation exactly he’s freaking out over. Maybe it’s the cold, which will undoubtedly leave him sick for the next week? Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve initiated a touch of some variety, your hands in his hair, a moment of human connection. Whatever it is, he can’t help but sit in silence, staring at you like you’ve just hung the stars.

────────────

Both of you are incontrovertibly devoted to work, married in some key aspects. You stay late, ceaseless over-time, covering offices with evidence and reports, rehashing cases until you’re too exhausted to function. So naturally, it’s no surprise that you’re coerced into taking time off, mandatory leave— if only to appease the rest of the team, and their wilting sanity.

Road trip. That’s the ‘logical’ solution, considering you’d both end up exasperated at your respective apartments, overthinking the cases you’ve been shut out of. The Appalachian trail. Neither of you have any interest in the hike, albeit the skyline yurt, overlooking the area, endless planes of landscape, certainly seems like a selling point. If only to keep you countless miles away from work.

November. The days are hazy, mostly due to your shared fatigue, interminable exhaustion. Spencer has abandoned his glasses now, and you try not to mourn the loss.

The drive felt eternal. Hours stuck listening to the radio, only interrupted by Spencer’s endless rambling and your sporadic requests for coffee. There’s something intimate to travelling together. Being trapped in a car, in close proximity, sharing a space.

Now, the two of you are situated in the middle of nowhere, nature, something he’s never really sought out in his life. He’s an intellectual not a lover of the outdoors. Sure, the science of it fascinates him, the endless cycle of life and death, but actually being here — in the midst of it all, amongst the trees and fog — is a foreign concept.

You’re standing beside him, eyes observing the landscape, sharp gaze tracing the outline of the horizon. He wonders if you’re thinking of the city, of work, of anything else besides the freezing air. He just wants to get inside, to feel warm, to stop shivering.

But no, you’re too busy looking at the stars.

“That’s Cetus,” he says, pointing out a constellation, “Sometimes referred to as ‘The Whale’. Cetus, uh.. he was a sea monster in Greek Mythology, sent by Neptune to devour Andromeda. Perseus saved her by turning him to stone using the head of Medusa. Medusa, who he beheaded using a mirrored shield whilst she slept.”

You hum, “It also represents the whale that swallowed Jonah when he disobeyed the Christian’s God.”

“Yeah! Yeah, because Jonah went to Nineveh instead of Tarshish.” he looks back at you, “You know, Cetus covers over 1200 square degrees of sky. But personally, personally, my favourite is Ursa Major.”

“The great bear? Cmon, that’s so basic.”

“No it’s not! What? Don’t judge my taste,” he protests, “It’s named after Arcas. Zeus fell in love with Andromeda—“

“Mhm, and Hera, his wife, turned Callisto into a bear. Zeus raped her, the Gods were fucked up.”

“The Gods were fucked up, yeah.” he agrees, before knocking his shoulder into yours. “But Ares wasn’t, you know he counts as a pseudo god for feminism.”

“Shame he was brutal in every other aspect.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, “You’re paying more attention to the stars than me.”

Later, much later, you end up on the floor. Laying back against cold wood, you both stare at the domed ceiling. Distorted vision, clouded by alcohol; there’s not much to do around here, and you had incautiously thought a bottle of whiskey would be a good idea— no, actually, you just wanted to see Spencer intoxicated. Beyond messy nights at the bar in D.C, when the team was desperate for a break from work, he’s never really been in this state before.

The area is vast, too big, but you were hardly going to plummet yourself into the middle of nowhere without a few prominent luxuries— you’ve always been devoted to the city, the endless drama, sleepless nights and constant futile noise.

This is… different.

Alcohol has made everything more intense, magnified, in every aspect. The yurt is dark now, the only light coming from the occasional flash of lightning, slicing through the sky and illuminating the area in fragmented beats. The room is cold, but he’s over-warm. Not accustomed to the alcohol, to the buzz it leaves him feeling, the pleasant numbness in his limbs. As if nothing matters.

He’s laying next to you, mid-tangent about space. “Did you know that Jupiter has 95 moons. That’s more moons than the average solar system. And that most of them are named after Greek or Roman mythology. There’s— there’s Ganymede, that’s the largest natural satellite in the solar system. It’s nearly the size of Mars..”

He turns on his side to face you, watching as you mirror his movements, “And, and,” his words fail him, “You are so pretty, — you have amazing, amazing eyes, you know that? And this laugh….” that makes me burn, “You should laugh more. I’m going to make you laugh more.”

He’s staring at you, half-lidded gaze following every line, contour, every feature. He wants to trace his hand along the curve of your cheek, your jaw, down your throat, your shoulder. He wants to touch, to feel you. He can’t tell if you’re aware of his suffering. The torment that comes with being this close to you, yet not able to touch you. How painful it is. To love you.

“Spence..” you mutter, and oh, you’ve never called him that before.

“Mhm, yeah,” he says, bringing himself back to the point; the topic of space. Ignorant to his words. “The planet Jupiter, it’s a gas giant. You knew that, right? It’s got the shortest day of any planet. And on top of all that, it has a redspot! Like, this huge, massive vortex, bigger than the Earth, and it’s just roaming the atmosphere.”

A loud peal of thunder interrupts his speech, followed by the incessant, incessant rain, pounding against the walls. “I love when you listen to me. No one’s ever really listened to me before.”

It’s not fair, not fair that you’re about to plunge yourself into the centre of the storm. That Spencer Reid laying next to you, in the middle of nowhere, would be your fatal flaw. Hamartia. The downfall of the walls you’ve kept resolute for so long. You could blame the alcohol, curse yourself for encouraging this when you’ve both always balanced on a thin, trembling line.

But perhaps it was always inexorable.

You cup his face, running your hand over his pretty profile. Pupils blown out of proportion, so beautiful it scalds. You can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, from pressing a soft, fleeting kiss against his lips.

“I’ll always listen to you.” you promise. Because if no one else has the decency to acknowledge him in full capacity, you will.

And Spencer? Oh, he’s frozen, caught in some location of suspended space. Every thought, every coherent piece of logic in his head has come to an abrupt hilt, silenced by your mere touch.

Your words sink into his skin, seeping into his bones like fire. He’s burning, burning hot and feverous under your hands. The kiss is brief, and he whines involuntarily when you pull away. “Don’t stop. Please— not yet.”

You want him, repeats like a mantra. In all universes, in the grand scheme of time, he never considered this alternative.

Suddenly he’s glad he resides in this reality.

So you kiss him again. You’re aware that you’re both a tangled mess on the floor, limbs interwoven, lips pressed against lips. You’re aware that you’re both drunk beyond comprehension, and that you’ve used alcohol to cheat, to skip time, to fast-forward to the good. Because if you were sober right now, you’d be too calculated, too rational to allow this.

And it hurts— kissing him. Because he touches you like he’s never felt anything before, like he’s been impossibly starved for the entirety of his life. Neglected, in so many ways. You’ve never been interested in caring for someone before, but somewhere along the way, he buried his way into your chest, and now, you’re hopeless to the consequences.

Right now, that doesn’t even feel half as terrifying as it truly is.

His hands are everywhere, everywhere they can reach, grasping at anything they can find, trying to bring you closer, closer, to keep the heat burning against his skin. He needs it, needs the feeling of your lips. He’s overwhelmed, overwhelmed as his tongue slides against your own, as his hands press at the curve of your waist, tracing over skin he’s only been dreaming of touching. He feels alive, incandescent with pure bliss.

“I’ve wanted this,” he mumbles against your skin, between breaths. Between the fire. “For so long, so long,” he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours when you both become reacquainted with the concept of oxygen. “Don’t regret this tomorrow, please?”

“I won’t.” you say, drawing his lips back to your own.

And you do stay true to your word.

────────────

Epilogue (—post ‘part I’):

You’re not entirely sure how to approach the situation of sex, considering you’ve just defiled Spencer Reid on various surfaces of his apartment. So, naturally, you untangle yourself from his body, and take him to see some mundane documentary on sealife. Mostly because you know he’ll enjoy it (and you’ll certainly enjoy him leaning over your seat to comment on omitted pieces of information and technical inaccuracies). Then, when it’s over, you muffle his protests on crime as you coerce him into sneaking into another screen.

Now you’re not the most inconspicuous pair, sitting in the back row, practically hidden by shadows. He has one arm wrapped around your shoulder, thumb tracing over the bone there, lost to your proximity, the warmth of your leg, thighs pressed together.

“You are so pretty,” you mutter, transfixed by the sight of him, illuminated by flashing lights. Some excessive slasher playing in the background, discarded.

“Shh,” he sighs, “Be quiet, there’s— you’re distracting me.”

You’re difficult, you know; your head is leant against his shoulder, lips dragging along his jaw, then his neck, just under his ear. He can’t focus on the screen, the movie barely registers, not when all he can feel is you, your lips against skin, leaving remnants of heat wherever they touch.

You’re aware that you’re a few meticulous touches away from giving him a heart attack, albeit it’s not like you have any interest in stifling your attraction. Not when he’s sitting right next to you.

“What was that? Oh? You want me to be quiet. Maybe you should do something about it then, because personally I have no interest in—“

His lips are quick to silence you. Ruinous, you kiss like you talk, with a sense of assertiveness, all encompassing and dizzying. He’s leaning forward to deepen the contact, to chase chase chase your mouth with little regard for etiquette.

“It’s—“ he mutters, stumbling into his apartment when you predictably get kicked out of the cinema. “All your—“ his hands are tangled deep in your hair as he silences your protests with his lips. “Fault.”

He’s lovesick, pressing his thumb against your bottom lip to stifle the contact. He feels light, like everything will be okay, all of the ache will dismantle, disintegrate if he keeps kissing you. But comfortability breeds defiance, so when you try to close the distance again, he’s laughing breathlessly.

“There’s paperwork we need to do—“ he says, and you blink. “It’s stacking up, and uh.. it’s very very important.”

You both stare at each other for a moment. Then, he’s grinning, leaning forward to press an apologetic kiss against your lips. “Sorry, sorry. Had to.”

“You’re a dick.” you confirm, hands slipping beneath his sweater to trace warm flesh. His reaction is scarring, body clattering back against the wall, torso arched forward as every part of him follows your touch mindlessly. He’s not sure if he’ll ever grow tolerant to you, or if it will forever feel this devastating— his swollen lips are parted and a soft oh escapes.

“But a pretty one, so maybe it cancels itself out.” you laugh, adorning his neck in soft kisses that trail, growing sharper, more biting as they begin to puncture skin, leaving behind mauve blemishes. The process is delirious, and you’re coaxing the most destroyed, whiney noises from him now.

Spencer sighs, “I don’t think that’s how it works—“ his sentence is destroyed by a whimper, something pained, when you run your tongue along a forming mark, when you deepen the burn. “I’m uh— yeah.”

You laugh at his mindless sentence, “I thought we needed to do paperwork, hm?”

“What’s paperwork?” Spencer responds, gripping your hips, guiding you back, back, back until you both meet his couch. “I’ve never heard of that— stop making things up.”

“Are you going to behave?” you ask, straddling his hips, pressing against his clothed dick, working in slow movements to intensify the stifled stimulation between you.

“No.” he answers simply, plainly. As if the answer is self-evident. Which, considering the state of him, debauched beyond reason is. His needs are conspicuous, from the scattered bruising that lines his neck to the indecent noises spilling from his throat. He grips your hips, whines when you refuse to push harder against him.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that you can reduce him to this state, diminished to nothing but want the moment your touching becomes calculated.

And god, he wants— he wants to trace every part of you. The shape of your collarbone, the dip of your throat. He wants to mark himself on every part of you. The curve of your wrist, the inside of your hip. Every part available. He feels like an open wound, vulnerable in ways he never anticipated he could be, desperate for you to thread the skin back together, to ease him from this repetitive cycle of desperation.

“Going to punish me?” he teases, watching the myriad of emotions that cross your features. The way you’re so intently focused on him, on his skin, the need he emanates. Fuck— he loves it, he loves how he’s the object of your attention, every thought, every sense devoted to him. No one else, just him.

He knows he’s begging, that he’s all but pleading with you to fix him, to make him whole again, because for some reason, he can’t remember what he was like before you.

“Maybe,” you answer, moving off his lap to destroy the friction, and he wants to protest, but before he can even cohesively think of words, he’s clattering off the couch to sink to his knees.

He’s looking at you now with this distinctive gaze, big, innocent eyes, pupils dilated beyond necessary reason, and you’re disorientated, undone just by the sight of him. It’s fervent, this thing that burns between you, and neither of you are sure when you got so tangled in each others orbit, but you’re not complaining, not when you’ve got him sitting pretty on his knees for you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you state, drawing your hand across his jaw, tilting his head up so he can meet your gaze entirely. You let out an exasperated breath of air, “Don’t look at me like you’re innocent here,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about…” he says, and of course he’s playing naive, utilising his lack of experience in this moment, exploiting it to spite you.

Your palm meets his cheek, and he’s gone, just staring up at you, too distracted to formulate a coherent response. He never considered himself to be a particularly ‘dirty’ person until you kissed him, and then he crumbled, evanescence of logic, sanity.

He pushes his thighs together, moaning whorishly at the friction.

And oh, that has you gripping his hair hard, earning an assortment of obscene sounds. With your thighs parted, you hike your skirt up further, allowing him to slot himself in place. He’s quick, needy with his actions, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, trailing them up up up until he meets your panties. Wet, soaked through, a prominent indication that you’re feeling this as much as he is.

He drags them down your legs with little regard, fabric discarded, forgotten about for greater priorities. His tongue, tentative at first, runs along your clit, and you’re responding, hips canting against his face– yeah, suffocate him. He could die very happily right here in this demeaning position.

Tug, he buries his face entirely into you, moaning at the taste, at the sheer concept that he’s being throughly used. It’s messy (in more ways than one), but he knows that it’s good based on your reaction, the way your thighs are wrapped around his head, digging into his shoulder, the way your hand is threaded through his hair, controlling, instructing until he’s just a mindless instrument to your desires.

“Oh— fuck, Spence, that’s it— that’s it. So good, so good f’me.”

“Taste so good, needed this so bad.” he all but whines, pussy-drunk, a little too gone for anyone’s good. He’s straining against his pants, creating damp spots that he really can’t justify, and it hurts. He pushes his thighs harder together, trying to relieve the ache with some pressure, even if he’d love nothing more than to shamelessly grind against your leg right now, to rut in the most indecent way possible. He’s squirming, and don’t come untouched don’t come untouched, focus.

You’re tight, and when the first finger slips inside of you, there’s a visceral reaction from both of you. His hands are deft, slender and long, and with a subtle curve to his movements, he finds that spot before he’s even added a second digit. He would be fairly content with staying here forever, at service to you, watching as you fuck yourself against his face, body bucking and squirming, and yeah– there you go, that’s it. Right there. When you tense, he looks up to meet your debauched gaze, noises spilling from your swollen mouth as you fall apart. Clenching to unclench, perfect.

He’s still dizzy when he comes up, tongue and fingers and mouth and chin all obscenely coated in the aftermath. Oh god, he can’t even stand it, he looks way too satisfied with himself, and he is. He is. He is. He is.

You say how amazing it was (which is sweet, very very sweet) and then you say you’ve used him like a whore. And um. Yeah. Okay. That’s good— great even. He loves being useful!

There’s his bruised knees and then there’s the couch. Stumbling movements, the way he collapses, the way you follow after, shifting to straddle his body.

“Need you. Just you— please. I’ve waited for this, want it so bad.” he mutters.

He’s painfully hard, and he’s been so good, which means he’s prone to acting out now. As you work on staining his neck with remnants of this night, he slips his hand into his pants, and yeah, much better. He could cum just like this, with his palm wrapped around his dick and your lips all over his neck, polluting skin. He should be patient, he knows but he’s so hard and the need is too overwhelming. And oh oh oh. He squirms, releases a pitiful noise that has you reacting, noticing.

After that, his hands get bound behind his back.

He probably deserves that.

He can only watch the depraved actions, the formulated process of you removing his trousers, then his ruined boxers. By the time, he’s bare, undone to your eyes, he’s a disjointed mess. Every time you touch him, the sensory nerves that formulate inside his body burn, agonisingly so, to the point where he can only melt, capitulate to you alone. You, only ever you. He’s fairly certain he was created for you exclusively.

You roll your thumb across his tip, watching as he squirms, grasping your hip, and your free hand, discernibly breaking orders to keep them tethered behind his back. You just lace your fingers together, press a soft kiss against his knuckles, before you return to the simple task of tearing him to pieces.

No. Big. Deal.

“You like that, hm?” you ask, letting out a dissatisfied hum when Spencer only nods, flushed and breathless, debasing little whimpers escaping his mouth with every stroke. “Use your words, — use them or i’ll stop. You don’t want that, do you? Because I don’t think you want that at all.”

“No—no, please, god please don’t stop. I like it— I like it a little too much. Feels, oh.. feels so good.”

Your hand is wrapped entirely around him now, and he can only shift closer, bury his face into the crook of your neck, shelter his gaze from your sight because if he looks at your pretty eyes again, he’ll finish immediately.

God, he’s loud, he’s so loud, a litany of whimpers escaping him with every cataclysmic stroke. It gets to a point where you have to untangle your hands, push your thumb into his mouth, and thankyou, something to do with himself— he just moans around the digit.

“That’s it— taking it so well.”

“I’m trying! Oh, oh… m’trying. Just wanna be good for you— please, please it’s so much.”

He’s so sensitive, too sensitive, it’s good and bad, and it’s a complete onslaught to his deprived body. He’s not sure he’ll ever comprehend how you touch him, the way every movement seems to be perfect in derailing his mind until he’s too blissed out to know anything beyond you.

He’s really trying to form words with your finger in his mouth, but it’s just a mess of saliva and he wants to tell you that he’s a germaphobe, that hands carry so much bacteria, but he’s more than willing to trade germs with you anyway, to offer himself up on a sliver platter, lamb to the slaughter. Sacrifice, he can’t even articulate how much he would renounce for you.

You push your thumb deeper into his mouth, watching as it hits the back of his throat, as he gags around it. There’s blind, unwavering obedience to his actions now, taking it all willingly, passive in a way that counteracts his previous behaviour.

So naturally, you ask if he feels like a slut right now, and yup yup yup. But, as morbid as it may appear, he has no qualms in being your slut, because it’s just you, and the thought that you’re here, that you’re with him, taking care of him in ways he was never convinced he would receive, is intoxicating. Dismantling. Self-destruction, he supposes.

You draw your thumb from his mouth, push it into your own to show him that yeah, sharing germs is not an issue. “Such a good boy for me, Spence. So proud of you.”

“Oh..” now he’s just crying. It’s formidable.

“That’s it— you’re safe. I’ve got you, gonna make a pretty mess for me, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Mhm. Wanna cum so bad, need it— pleasepleaseplease.”

You hum, “Just a little longer for me. You can do it. Be a good boy and hold it.”

“Cant—“

“Spencer.” you say, actively silencing his protests, and he can only nod, following your command mindlessly.

It’s a form of art, he believes, the way you dismantle him piece by piece, the way you destroy his cognitive function, strip him raw until he’s just a tangible mess of everything he was always deprived of. Until it’s just him, just him who you still stare at starry-eyed.

When you finally grant him permission, the bliss has him unable to form anything beyond stuttered oh oh oh’s, his back arching, his nerves ignited, and maybe he’s falling, falling fast because it’s all just a labyrinth of transient pleasure that his body struggles to keep up with.

But afterward, when he’s satiated, you’re still there, and you’re still so painfully warm and real.

There’s something gratifying about the sight of you, taking unprecedented care to clean his skin, to coax him out of his stupor when you’re supposed to be the incarnation of sharpness. It’s a hard concept to grasp, that the blade will never penetrate him, that he’s always going to be your exception.

When you’re tangled in sheets, foreheads pressed together, when it’s just the two of you, and nothing else matters, he does consider luck again. And how so much sacrifice was worthy of enduring, if only for a fleeting second of this.

“I love you,” he mutters, “I have for a long time.”

And you sigh, cup his face, it feels like a solar eclipse, like something astral. “I’m not sure when it happened, but yeah. I love you too, Spence. Love you enough to deal with the insane amount of paperwork HR are going to give us for this shit.”

“Worth it.” he mutters, kisses trailing along your jaw, dipping to meet your neck. “So so worth it.”

#sub spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #his head game is crazy #i want that nerd so bad #spencer reid #did i mention spencer reid???#spencer reid angst #except there’s less angst and more hopeless pining

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kaydens-agere · 2 months ago

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caregiver logan little wade headcanons im actually begging

Caregiver Logan Howlett/Wolverine and Regressing Wade Wilson/Deadpool Headcanons!!

Headcanons below the cut!! Thank you so much for the request, I had sm fun writing these :D This does have a bit of swearing so if you're uncomfortable with that, please proceed with caution or don't read!!

⚔️-Wade was surprisingly open about it with him when they first met, he didn't go into too much detail, but he just kinda said "yeah I regress sometimes when bad shit happens." and left it at that. Logan didn't push it because he knows it can be a sensitive topic (as a secret little himself)

❤️-It first happened with Logan after the party after saving their universe. After everyone left, he ended up dropping from the exhaustion. Logan immediately fell into "dad mode" as Wade likes to call it, pampering him constantly and keeping him safe.

⚔️-Logan was very surprised by Wade's... colourful language while he's little. Logan half expected him to act the complete opposite of how he normally does. But no, he's still Wade. And he still has quite the mouth.

❤️-Logan is extremely gentle while Wade is small, often scooping him up and peppering him with kisses. Wade absolutely loves it, it always sends him into a fit of giggles.

⚔️-Logan has an abundance of nicknames he likes using for Wade. Some of them include bub (obviously), kid/kiddo, baby, his kit, etc. Sometimes he'll call him a little shit, but it's said playfully and Wade knows he's joking (that's nothing compared to the insults that Wade can throw at him).

❤️-Wade starts inviting him to his tea parties. They spend a lot of time on the living room floor with his many tea sets, talking about the latest gossip among Wade's plushies. Al will join in when she's home.

⚔️-Heres how the tea parties normally go: "Mary started yelling at Chrissy the other day." "Oh yeah, bub? Whys that?" "Because Chrissy was cheating on her boyfriend!" "Oh, motherfucker. I knew something was up with her."

❤️-Logan often takes Wade to the park, or just big open areas to run around in, he either starts dragging Logan around with him or forces him to play tag. He has a lot of energy that he needs to get out, and it's hard to do that when he's cramped up in the small apartment. They always take Mary Puppins with them.

⚔️-Sometimes Wade will struggle with his scars when he's small, physically and mentally. Sometimes they'll burn and itch and it's a lot harder to deal with when he's tiny, so all he can do is curl up and cry. However, Logan always seems to know what to do, he'll always run him a nice warm bubble bath to ease the pain. If he's struggling mentally, it's usually him thinking that he's too ugly or scary to be loveable. Once again, Logan is there. This time, he'll offer lots of reassurance, cuddles and kisses all over his scars, which will usually make him feel a bit better.

❤️-Wade is an absolute spoiled brat, and Logan definitely feeds into it, no matter how hard he tries not to. If they're at a toy store, Wade will show him a toy he really likes, and if Logan says no, you best believe that Wade will throw a tantrum until he gets it (He always does. Logan's not proud of it, but he hates seeing his baby cry).

⚔️-Wade calls Logan "Papa" whenever he's small. It shocked him when it first happened, he didn't think he was worthy of that title. Logan definitely did not have to have a cry in the bathroom after that. /s

❤️-Logan can have doubts sometimes about whether he's doing a good enough job or whether he's even worthy enough to be trusted that much by someone. Whenever Wade senses this, he'll draw him a bunch of pictures and give him plenty of kisses and tell him that he's the best papa in the world, which makes Logan feel all warm and fuzzy.

⚔️-Logan rubs his head on Wade's a lot, it's his way of "scenting" him. He wants everyone to know that Wade is his baby, no one else's. It's comforting for Wade as well, he likes the sensation of his papa's fluffy cat hair rubbing against his face.

#deadpool #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #wade wilson #logan howlett #james howlett #deadpool agere #wolverine agere #marvel agere #age regression #agere #sfw agere #fandom agere #agere headcanons #headcanons

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hollowed-theory-hall · 7 months ago

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Why I don't think Harry actually likes Ginny

So, I don't like Hinny. I don't buy the relationship between them for multiple reasons. The first of which is that I believe Harry Potter is gay (or at least, not attracted to women).

The rest, I'm going to cover here. Some of the opinions I have are probably not very popular, but I'm saying what I see evidence for.

Disclaimer: No hate to anyone who does ship Hinny, or likes Ginny, I just don't see it.

He doesn't actually think about her until book 6... like, at all

The most important part of this section is actually what Hary doesn't say about Ginny and not what he does, so I don't have quotes. But I literally scoured the books to find scenes Harry described Ginny's appearance. I looked for words like: "pretty", "beautiful", "attractive", or anything else, really any detailed description that would show he is physically attracted to her. I came out with nothing.

He never calls her pretty or attractive in all seven books. And I mentioned in my post here, how Harry can and does describe attractiveness in people (men) he finds attractive.

The other thing he never mentions is what he likes about Ginny. Like, her personality.

He says he likes her, and he's jealous when she's with Dean in HBP (only halfway through the book, but that's for later in this post), but he never mentions what he likes about her. Ginny talks about why she likes Harry plenty, but Harry seems to have no clue why he's dating Ginny. He supposedly likes her, but doesn't name in his head a single thing he likes about her as a person. The things he does think he likes about her are:

She is comfortable to be around, the same way Ron and Hermoine are.

She doesn't weep like Cho.

She's good at Quidditch.

So that's a brilliant basis for a relationship right there. (sarcasm)

“Harry, I’m talking to you, can you hear me?” “Huh?” He looked around. Ginny Weasley, looking very windswept, had joined him at the library table where he had been sitting alone. It was late on Sunday evening; Hermione had gone back to Gryffindor Tower to review Ancient Runes; Ron had Quidditch practice.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 655)

Ginny approaches him, but nothing, no response, no care. He didn't even notice she was there. Takes him, like, three minutes to recall she's on the Quidditch team and should be at practice with Ron. And when she does talk to him, he actually doesn't explain the full truth. He never actually tells her the full scope of his problems and feelings.

“Hi,” said Ginny uncertainly. “We recognized Harry’s voice — what are you yelling about?” “Never you mind,” said Harry roughly. Ginny raised her eyebrows. “There’s no need to take that tone with me,” she said coolly. “I was only wondering whether I could help.” “Well, you can’t,” said Harry shortly. “You’re being rather rude, you know,” said Luna serenely. Harry swore and turned away. The very last thing he wanted now was a conversation with Luna Lovegood.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 735)

Later in the same book, Harry is downright rude to Ginny, and he's sure Sirius is being tortured at the moment, so I get it. But, also, the fact he reacts more to Luna telling him he's rude than to Ginny... like, that's telling on which of the two girls' opinions Harry cares more. And it's not Ginny. After Luna calls him out, he actually stops snapping at them. With Ginny, he just continued being snappy and rude to her.

“Michael — but —” said Ron, craning around in his seat to stare at her. “But you were going out with him!” “Not anymore,” said Ginny resolutely. “He didn’t like Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch and got really sulky, so I ditched him and he ran off to comfort Cho instead.” She scratched her nose absently with the end of her quill, turned The Quibbler upside down, and began marking her answers. Ron looked highly delighted. “Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot,” he said, prodding his queen forward toward Harry’s quivering castle. “Good for you. Just choose someone — better — next time.” He cast Harry an oddly furtive look as he said it. “Well, I’ve chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he’s better?” asked Ginny vaguely. “WHAT?” shouted Ron, upending the chessboard. Crookshanks went plunging after the pieces and Hedwig and Pigwidgeon twittered and hooted angrily from overhead. As the train slowed down in the approach to King’s Cross, Harry thought he had never wanted to leave it less. He even wondered fleetingly what would happen if he simply refused to get off, but remained stubbornly sitting there until the first of September, when it would take him back to Hogwarts.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 866)

Some like to say Hinny didn't come out of nowhere, but it did. It's clear that at the end of book 5 Harry doesn't give a shit who Ginny is dating. He's thinking about Sirius, he's mourning, of course, but he is still mourning him in book 6 and it didn't stop his jealous rage towards Dean then.

The fact is, up until like halfway through book 6 there are no signs he is interested in Ginny romanticly.

“Fancy trying to find a compartment?” “I can’t, Harry, I said I’d meet Dean,” said Ginny brightly. “See you later.” “Right,” said Harry. He felt a strange twinge of annoyance as she walked away, her long red hair dancing behind her; he had become so used to her presence over the summer that he had almost forgotten that Ginny did not hang around with him, Ron, and Hermione while at school. Then he blinked and looked around: He was surrounded by mesmerized girls.

(Half-Blood Prince, page 136)

Two notes here.

Firstly, this is at the beginning of HBP, still no signs from Harry of jealousy. He likes Ginny as a friend and gets used to her presence. That is literally what their relationship is built on. Him being used to her presence. Still, he doesn't care in the slightest who she is dating.

Secondly, what follows this scene is Harry running away from all his adoring fangirls with the help of Neville. Because Harry is not attracted to women and is not interested in any of their attention.

Harry told Ron and Hermione, pulling open the parchment and quickly reading its contents [note from Dumbledore]. “Monday evening!” He felt suddenly light and happy. “Want to join us in Hogsmeade, Ginny?” he asked. “I’m going with Dean — might see you there,” she replied, waving at them as she left.

(Half-Blood Prince, page 242)

Again, no jealousy. His entire problem with Dean and Ginny dating started really late into book 6 and there was basically no buildup.

Dean was looking embarrassed. He gave Harry a shifty grin that Harry did not return, as the newborn monster inside him was roaring for Dean’s instant dismissal from the team.

(Half-Blood Prince, page 287)

Now, I wanna talk a little bit about Harry's jealousy towards Dean and how he describes his emotions about Ginny. Ginny is the only character he describes his emotions about in this way. And it's... well, weird to say the least. Definitely off. The first time I read it I had to reread it to make sure I actually read it correctly.

Like, the only times he thinks about his emotions towards Ginny, are in jealousy. He doesn't like when other guys date her, but he never really thinks that he likes her, or what he likes about her. Or anything at all, positive or negative.

And, back to the description being odd, well, I'll get to it later in this post about why I think Harry convinced himself he likes Ginny and why his emotions about her are described the way they are.

Harry looked around; there was Ginny running toward him; she had a hard, blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her.

...

The creature in his chest roaring in triumph, he grinned down at Ginny and gestured wordlessly out of the portrait hole. A long walk in the grounds seemed indicated, during which — if they had time — they might discuss the match.

(Half-Blood Prince, pages 533-534)

I want to talk about Harry's feelings regarding Ginny and kissing her, or, well, lack of their off. You know, after a first kiss, with a girl he supposedly likes, I expected something more emotional, more involved. I expect him to actually care.

But no. He doesn't describe the kiss at all actually, or his feelings. There are no butterflies in his stomach, no head spinning, nothing. Just his chest monster feeling triumphant.

This is insane, this is not the reaction to kissing someone you like. Or even feel mildly attracted to. Where are the nerves and excitement? They aren't there.

He had more emotions about his first kiss with Cho. They weren't positive emotions, but these were emotions.

The second thing about their first kiss is how the text pretty clearly insinuates they made out throughout their whole walk. This actually reminds me a lot of Ron and Lavender in book 6:

“Well, think back,” said Harry. “Have you ever let it slip that you’d like to go out in public with the words ‘My Sweetheart’ round your neck?” “Well . . . we don’t really talk much,” said Ron. “It’s mainly . . .” “Snogging,” said Harry. “Well, yeah,” said Ron.

(Half-Blood Prince, page 338)

They don't really have much of a relationship. They make out, but they don't talk, they don't share anything with each other, they don't really like each other — they barely know each other.

Harry and Ginny are much the same. Ginny is in love with the idea of Harry Potter, and Harry for some reason decideded he likes Ginny even though he can't name a single personality trait she possesses.

“And then what does she think’s going to happen?” Harry muttered. “Someone else might kill off Voldemort while she’s holding us here making vol-auvents?” He had spoken without thinking, and saw Ginny’s face whiten. “So it’s true?” She said, “That’s what you’re trying to do?” “I—not—I was joking,” said Harry evasively. They stared at each other, and there was something more than shock in Ginny’s expression. Suddenly Harry became aware that this was the first time that he had been alone with her since their stolen hours in secluded corners of the Hogwarts grounds. He was sure she was remembering them too. Both of them jumped as the door opened, and Mr. Weasley, Kingsley, and Bill walked in.

(Deathly Hollows, page 82)

Like, there is quite a bit I want to unpack here.

Firstly, Harry didn't bother telling Ginny that he, Ron, and Hermione were planning on leaving. That they are going to go and stop Voldemort. Well, he didn't tell her about the Horcruxes, or any of his experiences, really. I don't think she knows he cast a Crocio at Bellatrix at the end of fifth year.

Like, Harry does not share his life with Ginny. At all. Her reaction is quite telling.

But also, even after he broke up with her already at the end of HBP. Still, Ginny is constantly trying to drag him back to be with her. She isn't letting Harry break up with her. And, that just really doesn't sit well with me. Harry didn't even consider it until he saw how Ginny was eying him, she's the one who thought they should make out. Harry was trying to stay broken up with her.

Ginny looked up into Harry’s face, took a deep breath, and said, “Happy seventeenth.” “Yeah. . . thanks.” She was looking at him steadily; he, however, found it difficult to look back at her; it was like gazing into a brilliant light.

...

He chanced a glance at her. She was not tearful; that was one of the many wonderful things about Ginny, she was rarely weepy. He had sometimes thought that having six brothers must have toughened her up.

(Deathly Hollows, page 103)

Again, after Harry breaks up with her, she tries to drag him back. He doesn't want to look at her. And as romantic as "gazing into a brilliant light" sounds, usually doing that hurts your eyes and is really not something you want to do. Besides, when you really like someone, you want to look at them, you want to stare at their stupid face for as long as they let you.

Harry clearly doesn't.

The other thing to note about this passage is the wonderful thing Harry can name about Ginny, is that she never cries. Yes, amazing reason to date someone, Harry.

However, Ron did not appear on the map, and after a while Harry found himself taking it out simply to stare at Ginny’s name in the girls’ dormitory, wondering whether the intensity with which he gazed at it might break into her sleep, that she would somehow know he was thinking about her, hoping that she was all right.

(Deathly Hollows, page 270)

Even when pulling out the Marauder’s Map to watch her dot Harry's thoughts are just to make sure she's alright, the same reason he watches out for Ron on the map after he leaves them. Hoping to see he's alright. Harry would do it to any friend he felt strongly about, it's not just Ginny. She doesn't get special treatment in his mind.

Ginny Clearly likes him though, quite obsessively so, even as they grow older...

Ginny made it no secret she liked Harry in her first year with the Valentine's Day poem. The thing is, she never really stopped liking him, she didn't move on from that childhood crush. Quite the opposite actually.

“I never really gave up on you,” she said. “Not really. I always hoped. . . . Hermione told me to get on with life, maybe go out with some other people, relax a bit around you, because I never used to be able to talk if you were in the room, remember? And she thought you might take a bit more notice if I was a bit more — myself.” “Smart girl, that Hermione,” said Harry, trying to smile. “I just wish I’d asked you sooner. We could’ve had ages . . . months . . . years maybe. . . .” “But you’ve been too busy saving the Wizarding world,” said Ginny, half laughing. “Well . . . I can’t say I’m surprised. I knew this would happen in the end. I knew you wouldn’t be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort. Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 647)

Ginny says at the top of this quote something I already talked about, but I'll say it again. She never gave up on Harry, she thinks them ending up together is fate. And she dated other guys throughout her fourth and fifth year to get Harry to notice her.

That is so gross, I don't even know where to start. I mean, she used a bunch of random guys, who all liked her, only to get Harry. She didn't care about their feelings, or these guys as real human beings, just that they could help her get Harry. And that is awful and one of the reasons I dislike Ginny.

The second part I bolded is Ginny explaining again, that she knew she and Harry were fated — this isn't romantic, this is terrifying and paints all her previous relationships in a really bad light.

She also mentions there she likes Harry, and that she likes that he's this saviour who needs to hunt down Voldemort. Now, first, she is clearly in love with the idea of the Boy-Who-Lived, and not Harry himself, because what she likes about him is his nobility and savior complex. Not just here, but in general.

While Harry definitely is heroic, he is also cunning, and clever, has some serious anger management issues, and isn't as noble as Ginny likes to paint him as. I feel like, here, when she says what she likes about him, she doesn't really know him. Harry doesn't want to hunt down Voldemort, he feels it's his responsibility. He would've been happy to be able to live his life without them being threatened constantly.

His 'saving people thing' is because he considers endangering himself less bad than endangering someone else. That's his low self-esteem talking, not his thirst for adventure. That and his (honestly correct) conclusion that he can't count on the adults or other people to do what needs to be done. Also, his sense of responsibility due to the prophecy, which he didn't really tell Ginny about in full. the prophecy and Dumbledore made him feel Voldemort is his problem to solve. It's not that he's happy about it. Ginny is in love with an ideal, not with the actual Harry Potter.

(I'll get to Harry's words here later)

Ginny caught Harry’s eye and looked away quickly, grinning.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 848)

And when going back to Harry's fifth year, even then (while she technically has a boyfriend) she is trying to get Harry's attention and is flirting with him. Not that Harry notices it's flirting because he doesn't think of Ginny in that way.

But Ron held up a hand to silence her. “She was really cut up when you ended it—” “So was I. You know why I stopped it, and it wasn’t because I wanted to.” “Yeah, but you go snogging her now and she’s just going to get her hopes up again—” “She’s not an idiot, she knows it can’t happen, she’s not expecting us to—to end up married, or—”

(Deathly Hollows, page 104)

I mentioned it above, but Ginny is the one who dragged Harry to make out with her, it wasn't Harry who initiated it. She does this after Harry broke up with her, which... well... yeah. I mean, at least Harry was willing, right?

And Harry says she isn't thinking about marriage, but Ginny definitely is. Remember, she thinks they are fated to end up together.

Now, as to why Harry is dating her and thinks he likes her...

I think she might have used a love potion...

Now, I know, I know, honestly, this is a theory I doubted for a long time. I mean, there's no way.

But I'm rereading the books right now, and ehh... I think whoever came up with this might have been onto something. It's kind of creepy actually.

Mrs. Weasley was telling Hermione and Ginny about a love potion she’d made as a young girl. All three of them were rather giggly.

(Prisoner of Azkaban, page 70)

Love potions are a thing in the Wizarding World. They are legal to sell and use with no consequences. They are banned at Hogwarts, but we saw it doesn't mean much considering Romilda Vane snuck quite a bit in...

What I show in the above quote is how witches like Molly Weasly see love potions as a legitimate thing to giggle about. As if it isn't a horrifying rape drug that takes away someone's autonomy! Love potions aren't something to giggle about. And they're definitely not something to giggle about with two young girls...

But this is to explain, how to Ginny, who thinks she and Harry are meant to end up together, using a love potion would seem completely legitimate. It's a little, funny nudge, but it's not bad. Her mother used it, and so many other girls did too. Because it isn't treated as the horrifying thing it is. She grew up thinking of it as a legitimate measure to take if a boy you like doesn't notice you. A measure that she wouldn't be even punished for if it was found out.

Now, this is a long quote, but this is the one that made me even consider this theory as a possibility:

She hoisted a box wrapped in brown paper onto the table; it had clearly been unwrapped and carelessly rewrapped, and there was a scribbled note across it in red ink, reading inspected and passed by the hogwarts high inquisitor. “It’s Easter eggs from Mum,” said Ginny. “There’s one for you. . . . There you go. . . .” She handed him a handsome chocolate egg decorated with small, iced Snitches and, according to the packaging, containing a bag of Fizzing Whizbees. Harry looked at it for a moment, then, to his horror, felt a hard lump rise in his throat. “Are you okay, Harry?” asked Ginny quietly. “Yeah, I’m fine,” said Harry gruffly. The lump in his throat was painful. He did not understand why an Easter egg should have made him feel like this. “You seem really down lately,” Ginny persisted. “You know, I’m sure if you just talked to Cho . . .” “It’s not Cho I want to talk to,” said Harry brusquely. “Who is it, then?” asked Ginny. “I . . .” He glanced around to make quite sure that nobody was listening; Madam Pince was several shelves away, stamping out a pile of books for a frantic-looking Hannah Abbott. “I wish I could talk to Sirius,” he muttered. “But I know I can’t.” More to give himself something to do than because he really wanted any, Harry unwrapped his Easter egg, broke off a large bit, and put it into his mouth. “Well,” said Ginny slowly, helping herself to a bit of egg too, “if you really want to talk to Sirius, I expect we could think of a way to do it. . . .” “Come on,” said Harry hopelessly. “With Umbridge policing the fires and reading all our mail?” “The thing about growing up with Fred and George,” said Ginny thoughtfully, “is that you sort of start thinking anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.” Harry looked at her. Perhaps it was the effect of the chocolate — Lupin had always advised eating some after encounters with dementors — or simply because he had finally spoken aloud the wish that had been burning inside him for a week, but he felt a bit more hopeful. . . .

(Order of the Pheonix, page 655)

Now, Harry, first, gets really weird about the Easter Egg. Why an Easter Egg would cause a lump in his throat, I have no idea. Maybe it smelled weird?

He didn't really want to eat the chocolate, he felt bad about it, which is again, very strange phrasing. especially as I think Harry's instincts are pretty decent, especially when it comes to potential danger. Ginny isn't mentioned eating from his chocolate, she's implied to be eating a different chocolate egg.

But the final section I bolded is the one I really want to talk about.

Harry didn't even notice Ginny approach him. Throughout this scene, he doesn't describe anything about her or his emotions for her. Then, he looks at her and feels more hopeful in a way he hasn't before, and he blames it on the chocolate. That's so incredibly strange.

So I read that, then read it again, and started thinking a love potion might be a possibility.

It'll explain why Harry thinks he likes Ginny and wants to make out with her, without once mentioning he finds her attractive, or that he even likes her personality. It'll also explain the weird way Harry describes his emotions for Ginny, his chest monster, that is. I mean, I believe Harry is gay, what do you think happens when you give a guy who literally can't find you attractive a love potion so he'd like you? He reacts weirdly. His like of you is off and unnatural and disconnected because he isn't affecting him the way it should.

Even when Ron was dosed with the love potion he could name things the potion made him like about Romilda:

“I love her,” repeated Ron breathlessly. “Have you seen her hair, it’s all black and shiny and silky . . . and her eyes? Her big dark eyes? And her —”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 392)

It's not like Ron could say what he liked about Romilda's personality though, he just knew he needed to be with her and she was perfect. This is frighteningly similar to how Harry thinks of Ginny.

Harry watches for Ginny on the map while traveling in Deathly Hollows. He's constantly drawn to her, but he doesn't have any actual feelings towards her. He wants to marry her but has no clue what her personality is like. He just thinks Ginny is great without knowing why.

Near the window was an array of violently pink products around which a cluster of excited girls was giggling enthusiastically. Hermione and Ginny both hung back, looking wary. “There you go,” said Fred proudly. “Best range of love potions you’ll find anywhere.” Ginny raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Do they work?” she asked. “Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question —”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 120)

Now, after the above scene in book 5 which I believe is the first time Ginny tries to dose Harry with a love potion, Harry still isn't dating Ginny, as we all know. What do we see Ginny do early in book 6, the book in which they get together? Try to buy a love potion from Fred and George.

And more importantly, she asks them: "Do they work?"

Why would Ginny ask that if she hadn't already failed with a love potion before?

I think, Harry's not being attracted to women, does affect how love potions effect him and the dosages he will need to be fed. And Ginny clearly isn't giving up on Harry. She said so herself — they were fated.

“Hang on,” said a voice close by Harry’s left ear and he caught a sudden waft of that flowery smell he had picked up in Slughorn’s dungeon. He looked around and saw that Ginny had joined them. “Did I hear right? You’ve been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 192)

One of the only things Harry comments about in regarding Ginny is her smell. He only mentions it from year 6 and onwards.

Now, I know JKR intended it to imply Harry smelled Ginny in amortentia and that he's in love with her. The thing is, it could just as easily be read as a smell he associates with Ginny and the Burrow because she dosed him with a love potion already. So he is used to smelling amortentia around Ginny and the Burrow, not because he's in love with her, but because the potion is there.

“There’s the silver lining I’ve been looking for,” she whispered, and then she was kissing him as she had never kissed him before, and Harry was kissing her back, and it was blissful oblivion better than firewhisky; she was the only real thing in the world, Ginny, the feel of her, one hand at her back and one in her long, sweet-smelling hair—

(Deathly Hollows, page 103)

When she kisses him after he broke up with her and she's trying to get him back, he mentions the smell of her hair again. How the smell is actually affecting him.

With all the evidence towards Harry not liking women, and the fact he doesn't even find Ginny attractive, I just have a hard time believing this. How can he go from coldly not caring about her in one scene to going into blissful oblivion from the smell of her hair?

Unless there is some variant of a love potion he is getting dosed with.

(I don't think this is a very popular opinion, but there is just so much that's weird about Hinny, that I can't find any other way to explain it in canon)

#harry potter #harry potter thoughts #harry potter theory #hollowedtheory #hp #hp thoughts #harry james potter #anti ginny weasley #anti hinny #ginny weasley critical #ginny weasley #hp meta #harry potter meta #ship talk

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just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace · 2 months ago

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Rings of Power Masterlist

*all fics posted so far are x reader, written with fem!Elf!reader in mind

🎀 - contains smut

-> Sauron

in which you share a moment alone in the forge (here)

in which he tries to convince you that your father, Lord Celebrimbor, is the darkness you saw in the Unseen World (here)

Distraction - in which he blinds you to the invasion of Eregion by giving you a taste of what you desire

Choice - in which you try to persuade Halbrand to follow you to the Southlands, regardless of his past

Decision - in which you find out why Halbrand has been distant despite the intimacy you shared in Númenor, and now it’s your turn to decide whether or not to follow him on the path ahead

Perfect illusion - in which you have to sit at your father’s side while Sauron coerces him into finishing the Nine, realizing just how blind you have been all along

🎀 Inspiration - In which you struggle coming up with new designs for the Nine, and the Lord of Gifts helps you overcome your creative block

🎀 Further inspiration - in which you discover Annatar aiding Celebrimbor in his work with the same unconventional method he used with you, but that doesn’t mean he has discarded you

-> Evil!reader (chronological order)

* technically these share the same reader, but as the fics were not written in chronological order, each of them is self-contained as well so it’s not too confusing wherever you start. So feel free to read them as a series or simply pick what sounds good to you.

* playlist for vibes

Remade - in which you nurse Sauron back into his physical form, eager to be reunited with your great love once more

🎀 Tides of fate -> in which your newly returned husband is unsure of the path ahead, and the sea itself tries to deter you from the one you choose together

Reunion - in which your husband finally returns from his time in Númenor, and you make the most of the first moment you get him alone

As one - in which you sense that your husband is being tormented at Adar’s camp, and you join him through your bond to share in his burden from afar

A true gift - in which you share a private moment with your husband, then add a special little detail to his new look

Jealousy - in which you know he is only getting close to Mirdania as part of your plans, but it still bothers you

Reveal - in which you can’t seem to quell Celebrimbor’s suspicions, and he finally learns the true identity of you and your husband

🎀 Theatrics - in which Celebrimbor tries to expose you and your husband to the people of Eregion, but you play the role of the innocent maiden to perfection

Old Wounds - in which you guard Celebrimbor to make sure he finishes the Nine, and he makes the mistake of underestimating the bond you and your husband share

Kill and make up - in which you and your husband discover that Celebrimbor has escaped with the Nine, and it brings out the uglier side of your relationship

Defied - in which Celebrimbor manages, with his dying words, to unearth some truths which you and your husband are desperate to deny

The Two - in which Galadriel fights to withhold Nenya and the Nine, but in the end she fails to stop your husband placing yet another ring upon your finger

-> Galadriel

in which she sees you in her 2x02 vision instead of Celebrimbor (here)

in which you find Galadriel in the waters of the Glanduin, acting strange in a terrifying way (here)

#sauron x reader #annatar x reader #galadriel x reader #the rings of power #masterlist

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hoseoksluna · 2 months ago

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SMOKE, v. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. jungkook & taehyung)

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 8.2k

summary: everything that hurt has stopped.

pinterest board: smoke / playlist: moon kitty's playlist / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: yoongi is perfect, mutual masturbation, lots of lustful thoughts of sex and oral, yoongi's pov—literally the biggest warning, sex toys, desperation, praise kink, neediness, mentions of punishment & an actual punishment, too.

note: this might be the best chapter in the series and unfortunately, it's the last chapter i post before my hiatus. thanks to my bestest friend in the world, @tkslovechild, this series is finally moving forward somewhere and it's not a source of my depression anymore. i hope you all enjoy this chapter, my babies. see you after my hiatus. i will miss you all, terribly. luna loves you forever.

side note: make sure to listen to oc's playlist. it's so good.

The lights must be blaring, in the bizarre simplicity of our current happenstance, and the toys for adults must be tinged with a variety of colors, but my eyes are moored on the prismatic delicacy of her utter engrossment.

Pupils wide and swallowing each detail of the display of the instruments of pleasure, my cock is so tight in my pants that I struggle for air, my fists clenched by my sides, ever so ready to snatch the product she points at just so I could become the means to make that joy explode further in her. She teased me in the car with her naughty songs, with her coy glances at me to suss out whether I caught onto the meaning—when in reality I tried my fucking hardest not to give in to my imagination and crash my car. Her body was curled so divinely, facing me, and my hands gripped the steering wheel until the leather squeaked. We laughed about it, she blamed me for farting, and I longed to kiss her until she would shut up.

And I should have—because now she’s teasing me with her utmost fascination with a certain clit sucker.

Whatever color it is.

It was her idea to head inside this store. We drove around through the moonlit streets of Seoul for an hour, listening to her playlist reverberating throughout the vehicle. With the windows pulled down, the miscellaneous paraphernalia of her soul—the erotism of persona, the melancholia of her heart and the despondency caused from her pain—rumbling out of them, letting everyone see and hear the echo of her newly bloomed enthusiasm and the sprightliness of her being. She was alive at night, alive with me, liking the principle of me learning about her through this artful form. And I liked her liking that.

The songs spoke what our mouths couldn’t, communicating for us, because we acted as though my own pain didn’t break us apart. In the vivacity of the car drive, in the lapis lazuli of our own exclusive, atmospheric globe, I didn’t tell her off for being bare for me the previous morning. No, I took off her night dress and drank from the sweet nectar of her bosom, right there on the ivory of her plush couch until she drenched it so well that she blushed.

In fact, it’s the only thing I voiced out in terms of the conflict.

Perhaps it was due to the influence of her songs, laced with the heady aroma of her energy—fuck, if I know, but I didn’t regret my words.

Not this time.

And her glimmering cheeks flushed like they did in my imagination, tightening my cock in the easy way that she was only capable of doing. I seized the tension between us—and I might as well clasped my hand over her thighs, which were still turned to me, with how her breath hitched in her throat in reaction to my brazenness.

It was the reason why she wrapped her fingers around my wrist when we walked by that sex shop en route to the restaurant I chose, stopping me dead in my tracks. She held our sexuality close to her chest, not adding to it in the car, but unraveling it there, in the middle of the street, with strangers passing by. Gave me a look only a moon kitty like her could, mischievous yet innocent, and tilted her head in the direction of the store. And I knew, deep in my heart, that it was the little creature inside her that dragged me in—no longer neglected, but attuned to my attention, to my care and the respect I wafted towards her.

There were no two sides to her, and on no account did we stand on the opposite sides of the chessboard with our agonies, despite the fact all I could see was the monochrome of its pattern once I regarded her enthrallment.

Somehow, we are unified at this very moment, and I crave to buy her that clit sucker.

“Choose a color,” I rasp, and my cock agrees with me, twitching at the idea of her picking a color of her liking, one that can match her nails or perhaps the dark wine of her hair. One that bewitched me so profusely once I observed it under that soft white light of the interior of my car, its sleekness dipping into my heart that began to thunder for her. One that absolutely pales in comparison as I look at it now, the red dull and bleak, my sight unfolding in colors. My craving expands when her eyes widen at my seemingly brainsick idea, digging into mine while her tightened lips quiver in a smile. I smirk, enjoying her coy reaction, and I take this teasing into another dimension, austerely because I want to—and because I can, because we can. “Maybe the red one to match your hair.”

Her gasp melts into a delicate laughter that tickles my insides and, mindlessly, she runs her elongated fingers through the ends of her hair at her tummy. Taps her long, cross-embellished nail, on another package beside it. “This one has the thingy that vibrates inside you.”

It’s the same rose toy, but with a silicone attachment with a bulbous end. I’m not sure how those violent vibrations inside her walls can feel pleasurable for her, but the way she gazes at it—with a smirk akin to mine and lowered long lashes that languidly beat against the tops of her cheeks—propels me to seek my answer.

I take it in my hands, inspecting it further. And I notice that the petals hide a small tongue in their center, simulating an oral sex for her lonesome times.

Heat clings to my skin as I grow feverish. I am leaving for a tour in a few weeks. Who will be there to eat her sweet little pussy?

The apples of her cheeks blaze in pinkness, regarding me as she is, and I lick my lips. “This one licks your clit. Do you think it’ll do a better job than me?”

The rose tint deepens at my teasing words and all I can think about is how she’s gonna press those petals deeper and deeper into her folds, digging her long nails into the silicon surface just like she dug her nails into my scalp. And suddenly, I can’t take it anymore.

I fast forward.

“Do you want this thing or the bullet?” I ask her, impatient, but for what—I don’t know. What I do know is that I can’t stay in this place any longer with my imagination bursting forth and clouding everything negative I ever felt towards this girl. And while the newness crests joy and contentment in me, I need to be distracted from the lust that has become so natural between us. Or else, I bend her over in this aisle, rip the package open and use it on her while I fuck her dumb.

I might become unhinged. Just for her, just for the flush blanketing her features. Just so I have her positive feelings in my hands.

She’s too overwhelmed to respond, redder than her hair and it’s endearing. Kitty cups her face and turns around, letting me see her back, and I do the thing I unknowingly wanted to do the moment I inched closer to her.

I brush my hand down her noble spine, clothed in the sheer fabric of her tight top that exposes her camisole underneath to me. I hook my fingers on the belt loop of her baggy jeans and bring her back to me. Her gasp is so tender and so unlike her when she collides into me, her fists bunched on the top of my chest, her hair a mess—tangled on her forehead and eyelashes and I’m awestruck.

By her beauty, by the way there’s no end to her. And I want to keep acknowledging myself with the inexhaustible wholeness of her until I’m gray and stooped in the old age of my affection for her.

No gold, no golden power staining my hands. She’s silver and I am desperate for that moonlit glory to mist my veins. Privately, for me and her. A thing only we know of.

No Sun-mi, no Jungkook.

Pinching the strands of hair away from her face, she seems to be swimming in a thought I’m very curious about. Even more so, when she engages her hands and hangs them over my neck. Calmness relaxes the muscles of my stomach and I take a detailed note of that.

No anxiousness, no winged demons beneath.

This is right. This is how it should’ve been from the start. Playfulness, a little bit of lust, and a whole lot of exuberance. Nothing else, at least not this early on.

And even though I asked her a million naughty questions that I’d love for her to sophistically answer for me, something whispers in my gut that I should share my thoughts with her. And without a hint of fear, I do.

“This is good, isn’t it?” I murmur, tipping my chin, my body leading me to lean my forehead against hers and I do—I do, I do. Kitty sighs, oddly validating me, and I continue. “I mean I wasn’t planning on buying you a fucking clit sucker tonight, but I’m glad we’re here.”

She laughs and I lift my head, needing to see her expression of delight. And atypically, my mouth rounds in the same grin and the same laughter spills out of me.

One that breaks into an indecent groan when she finally graces me with her response.

“You know, they have rose toys for men as well. So if I’m getting one, you’re buying one, too.”

It’s like she palmed me over my jeans with her words, but I disagree with a fraction of it.

“Wrong. I’m getting you one.”

She appears to be stunned by my willfulness to not let her spend a dime when she’s with me, her mouth parted and her head cocking back just once. And when she closes her pretty, half-glossy mouth, curls the pillows under her teeth and drops her eyes, her palms sliding down my chest, she accepts it.

And I feel like a man, not a skeleton of who I used to be.

“You’ll be getting two, then.”

I chuckle. Draw near to her ear, sinking under the waterfall of her hair, and I hear her breathing harden. “I can get three if you can’t decide,” I flirt, pulling back more to edge her than to stuff my hand with the other toy that includes the bullet, holding it up for her. Her pools sparkle as she looks at them before perching up at mine, melting.

I bite my lip, feral; and I don’t wait for her to answer once I stack them up in one hand, pivoting on my feet.

“Wait.”

She steals the box with the bullet and puts it back to its original place. Replaces it with a male version of it, her smile cheerful and full of mischief. I take something else that I cover from her sight, which glides upon the display of all kinds of different cock rings and whatnot.

Little does she know what I intend to surprise her with as soon as she allows me back into her girlish lust.

My heart hammers in my chest in tandem with my cock as I pay for it. And I hope that she gets the memo.

That she’s not just a fling—and certainly not just a friend.

“Do you think your toy will pass through security?”

Had I not swallowed my noodles, I would’ve spat them out at her black little outfit. Kitty giggles at my reaction—at the frozen tension in my face as I gaze up at her from my bowl, the soup dripping from my chin. Our movements are simultaneous—hands letting go of our chopstick, but while mine reach for a napkin, hers rummage in the white plastic bag I set down on the empty chair beside me.

The table is too narrow, and it’s a blessing and a curse.

Her vanilla perfume hits my nostrils and I’m convinced it’s what the moon must smell like. The box of the male toy is overly big for her hands and her hair shields her from me as she discreetly reads the description and the instructions. I widen my legs under the table, my bloodstream focusing on only one body part of mine, and I wonder if that’s what she was truly thinking of while she ate her own bowl of noodles.

Fucking myself with a rose fleshlight. Away from her; across the sea.

Jungkook must’ve told her about our tour. I wasn’t going to mention it tonight because I didn’t want to ruin the night with the sombreness of my work. As much as I looked forward to seeing our Army from that side of the globe, I wasn’t happy with the decision installed upon us—wasn’t happy that our management didn’t ask us about our feelings, whether we’re ready for it or not. It was more of a—you have a job now, do it well, cameras will be rolling—and that was the end of it. Namjoon sensed my dissatisfaction, slouching in his chair in front of me, with his jaw propped between his fingers and his eyes piercing through me but he, too, couldn’t say a thing.

None of us could.

It cast me to a deeper sea of my anguish that I didn’t want to stream into my ordinary life with Kitty. I was going to tell her as soon as my fresh emotions would’ve settled and we would’ve settled to the same extent, though having the toy be in the center of it changes everything now.

It’ll be different.

I won’t be a puppet, channeling my humanness through my love for our beloved Army. On the contrary, I will be a dancing fool, knowing I have someone waiting for me back in Seoul while being the epitome of my deepest longings and sentiments overseas. My heart, the toy and the means of our communication.

I wasn’t going to bring the toy with me because if the members were ever to find out, I wouldn’t live it down. But if it makes that sparkle in her irises last a little longer, I shall put extra care into hiding it at the bottom of my suitcase.

“You want me to take it?” I ask, softly, leaning back in my chair, one hand on the table, the other across my thigh. Her smile curves as she glimpses up at me, and I still can’t believe she pulled out an actual sex toy in a restaurant filled with hungry drunken people. If anyone recognizes me, I’m fucked. Majestically, devastatingly fucked if they take a picture, the said picture gets to our management and I have to write an apology letter on Weverse afterward.

I’m sorry for having a personal life with a beautiful girl who’s unlike any shallow pretty faces I’ve come across. I will be more mindful of my actions in the future.

Fuck that.

She can take it out of the packaging and see if it needs to be charged before we can use it if she so much as wishes so.

We.

Yes, that’s right.

I’m not the same person I was yesterday, and something tells me that I have her to thank for that.

“Well, I’m sure the Christmas spirit will get to you and you’ll be lonely. Also, let’s not forget it’ll be cuffing season most of all.”

It’s funny she says that, considering what I secretly bought for her. Hysterical, in fact. Hilarious.

It’s hidden in the pocket of my jacket, so even though she followed her curiosity into the bag, she still doesn’t know about the surprise that awaits her. I took it out when I let her walk in front of me, discreetly. It brought me more joy than I thought I was ever capable of bearing.

Still, I wonder how much more of it I can be filled with. And I want to tempt it—brim with it. I reckon she’s the safest person to take that risk with, but the quiet, unknown voice in me adds that it’s not a risk at all.

Quite the opposite.

And the idea of cuffing her, both literally and figuratively, draws me closer to that cliff of brisk water of that ultimate joy and I want to get soaked. I want to drink.

I want to be cleansed by it.

“Would you like to be cuffed by me, little one?”

It was automatic, the pet name streaming out of my mouth like that mini waterfall I seem to be dazed by. The question, too. And I’m not afraid, not even a hint of dread crawls upon me, and I find myself hoping that it stays. That everything I do and say from now on is of that automatic matter, unabashed, not blocked, not held back.

I hope to be a real person with her. Without any ghosts, any demons. Any pain to scar her with.

The little one doesn’t smile this time, shrinks in her flummox, but still I don’t fear, I don’t wish to grasp my words and put them back in my throat. Taking little steps means grazing your knees and I’m here to place band aids on her bleeding spots.

I’m here for her.

And my belief is supported by my actions this whole evening.

The person I was yesterday is almost unrecognizable to me and I pray, I pray and I will pray once this night is over that it shall remain so.

“I’m not sure what kind of question you’re asking me right now,” she murmurs, leaning her elbows on the table, drawing close to me like I’m drawing close to her, and it’s good enough. I don’t ask for anything else from her.

“It’s the one you think it is,” I rasp, making her eyes widen slightly, and I have to chuckle. She’s so damn adorable, standing outside of her comfort zone, and my own eye is watchful over her, over her little steps, band aids ready in my hands.

At the sound of my soft laughter, she drops her gaze, running her tongue over the inside flesh of her cheek—and there it is. That kind heat rushing through her. I want her to be smoldered by it.

I want a lot of things when it comes to her, a phenomenon that forces me ponder if there ever will be an end to it. It’s better than feeling dissatisfaction regarding someone, digging a hand deep in them, expecting gold, yet plucking out stones that only cut your skin eventually. The more you dig, the bigger the wound. But I don’t have to do that in her. The little one, the moon kitty herself, gives it over, willingly. All of her silver moon dust, glory, and the ashes from her firelight.

Maybe that’s how it should be.

Not expecting, not reaching, but being given, being provided.

Her eyelids lift and descend over the package in her hands before they root upon mine. And her response to my words keeps me company all the way to America.

“Show me how well you can use this and I just might be.”

Dead or alive, I blur between the lines. Jet lagged or just sick with love, it is a conjoined affair in me like the two halves of my heart.

I miss her, even though I haven’t been able to unattach myself from my phone, the only tangible connection between us—the back and forth exchange of words, emojis and stickers that I had never used in my life but began to spam our conversations with once she coyly hid behind them. I miss her, even though I spent nearly every day with her until I boarded my flight.

In Jungkook’s hotel room, the members share a meal together while I stay back, settled comfortably on the beige couch by the floor-length windows as the morning sun shimmers its rays across the walls. I’m sporting a hard-on, which I camouflage with a rough-textured pillow across my lap, due to the contents of our text messages. Hobi is slurping his ramen next to me, elbows propped on his elbows, posture slouched, oblivious to the fact that the girl of his platonic dreams is horny and challenging me to join her in her evening self-care.

Yes, Hobi has developed a crush on the moon kitty and I was the first one to know.

During the last of our leisure time in November before the tour, Hobi called me up and asked me to join him on his last drinking adventure before our work duties swallowed us. He lured me into his apartment with the two bottles of Hennessy that he had bought for the occasion and we talked work, we talked our management and we talked girls.

He admitted to me how guilty he felt for triggering such unpleasant memories in Kitty’s mind after I shared with him the reason why I picked her up into my arms and walked away from him. I was purposefully vague in my speech, not wanting to disclose such privacy without her present, without her knowing especially, and Hobi respected that. Told me he thought about her since that day, remembering only the negative, tethered wisps that seemed to curl tightly in his gut. And I, drunk out of my mind, doting and devoted, shared with him that I wanted her.

Made sure to emphasize in my admission that she was mine.

It was the bravest thing I ever had done.

Hobi understood, explained to me that how he regarded her was strictly friendly. Thought that she carried a certain elegance of beauty that was unprecedented in today’s culture, however, with which I enthusiastically agreed. Then he clutched my shoulder, the wounded one, with extra tenderness, looked me carefully in the eye, and gave me a groundbreaking word of advice that shook through my world.

Don’t treat her like you treated Sun-mi.

I didn’t grasp the meaning until we opened the second bottle and Hobi, seeing my puzzlement, fleshed out his wisdom.

Don’t cling, don’t make her the air you breathe. Just live your life by her side and breathe your own air. You worked too hard to get here to backtrack.

And I tried, within the little time we had together.

We didn’t fuck, we didn’t devour each other’s bodies. We conversed, I learned her favorite color, the name of her favorite band, the dishes she liked—and the common ins and outs of her life. White wasn’t the only color of her soul, she liked red; that deep, dark tint one would only witness alive in the depth of the night. She liked the color of the stop lights, of the tail lights; she liked the way it bathed my face in gentle, undangerous fire whenever we would get stuck in traffic on our car drives—and apparently she liked my patience.

Chase Atlantic was her favorite band.

Tteokbokki her favorite dish.

And I was her favorite person. A fact I already knew by the way she would kiss me at those favorite stop lights of hers.

That was all we did. Kiss and converse. And I didn’t cling to her, didn’t make her the air I breathed. On the contrary, following Hobi’s wisdom, I fell for her in the purest of ways, which I somehow made possible in this befouled world.

And, perhaps, she did, too. A deduction of mine because she began to smoke in front of me at some point.

She was afraid I wouldn’t like it, a sensitive wound that she let me in on—a formless, unclear one that kept me wide awake at night, scrambling my brain to try and figure out what the fucker before me did to her. That was, until she told me, upon our last car drive during that last week we’d have with each other, that the said wound was caused by my own fault.

I told her off for being bare for me at the beginning of the trajectory of our closeness and I sowed a poisonous plant of a hang-up in her. A block in her brain that pressured her to hide the “questionable” parts of her from me.

But there weren’t any questionable parts of her—and I told her, after I pulled out my own pack, lit up one, grabbed her by the back of her neck and kissed her until her lungs were depleted of air.

It was the bloom of our lust, particularly the vocal, intense apology I strung into her lips, kissing them deeper and deeper until they swelled. It was the beginning of our naughty text messages—right on the cusp of my absence, hooking onto my yearning and expanding it to heavenly dimensions.

Yes, heavenly. Our closeness represented heaven as we had forgotten about our toys and remembered them during our hypersexual conversations. Face to face, we focused on the stimulation of our connected intellect, our intertwined characters; phone to phone, our bodies sought compensation.

And right now, upon the first morning here in the US, the moon kitty is persuading me into unpacking my suitcase and using the rose toy in my room.

She’s straining, working so hard, sending me her little stickers of adorable, pleading animals, incognizant to the fact that I don’t need to be that much impelled to do it. She’s staying up for me, needy in bed—I made my decision the second she mentioned it.

I merely delight in her saying please.

I get off on it; it makes my cock rock hard and the concept of the members being around and unaware of what she’s doing to me—especially Jungkook, who’s stimming and happy to be eating after a restless night—heightens my pleasure, lengthening towards the heavens.

If only I could take her there. With my tongue. Like I did the first time, holding her body down so she wouldn’t rise higher without me.

pleaseeeeee, i’m gonna start without you if you dont get up rn

I smile at the text message and I imagine her writhing in her bed, her bedsheets crumpled and tousled around her, her fingers tracing the curved petals of her rose toy—itching, impatient, needy; waiting for me.

My cock grows. And I, too, meet my impatience.

Just a second. Be good, I respond back to her, locking my phone and immersing myself in reality.

The boys are uncharacteristically quiet, each one indulging in an activity of their own. Jungkook is huffing, his cheeks full and around, staring down his plate of food as if it was about to grow its own legs and walk away from him. Jimin is watching him with an endeared smile that is split by a secrecy all of us are aware of. Lopsided, its glow is shunned out by the tender, doleful layer of wetness in his eyes. And I know that his tummy will get full by watching him eat and that it will be his only source of fulfilling food for today.

I clench my fists.

Hobi beside me has finished his own breakfast and has entered his food coma, staring into nothing at the ceiling as he rests his neck against the backrest of the couch. Taehyung is looking at me in a way that brings my eyes back to him for a double take. With a smirk and a glint in the gentleness of his eyes, he flicks his browns at his own phone and nods his head, telling me something in the silent language that I don’t want him to.

He noticed something he shouldn’t have.

The words are flung out of me long before I comprehend what I’m saying, up and ready on my feet, covering my erection with the thick hem of my oversized shirt.

“I’m gonna head to mine for a bit and take a shower,” I announce, making heads lift in my direction, and considering my situation, I cower in shyness, keeping my back to them as I walk towards the front door.

“The stylist is coming at one pm and we have a soundcheck at three thirty,” Namjoon informs, and I pivot to look at him, at all six of them while my hand remains on the doorknob.

Jungkook is rubbing his eyes and I take one last look at his faded mint hair, saying goodbye to it in my heart. I know what hair color I’m changing my silver hair to, thought of it on the plane and was immediately convinced it was my greatest idea. I nod, sweeping my eyes over the last five heads as if I was going to come back to them as a different person.

Perhaps I was.

I ignore Taehyung and his knowing smile as I leave, racking my brain, trying to come up with the reason why he’s acting like this. Did Hobi say something or was I not careful enough, divulging my secret out in the open with my face or my body language? Was the pillow over my lap and my eyes, all of my attention glued to my phone making it that obvious that I’m seeing someone?

How would they react if they knew it was the Kitty girl?

I leave it be for now, my cock asking for attention. I fish out my hotel key card and close everything behind me. Taehyung’s all seeing eye, Jimin’s diet and I stoop in my homesickness.

It’s been two days and I feel as though Kitty ripped my heart out of my chest and folded it somewhere inside her purse when we hugged for the last time. I reminisce on her innocent touch on my neck, the only place she ever touched me besides my hair, on her lips that pressed against that place her hands warmed as I video call her.

She picks up, immediately.

I can only see her round head, the red of her hair sprawled messily on the silky, light beige cover of her pillow while the rest of her body is shrouded by that material. She smiles at me, no hint of embellishment lining her face—and something tells me that she’s all bare underneath her bed sheets, too.

I palm my cock, desperate.

“How long were you gonna keep me waiting?” she asks, and proves me right as she raises a hand and props it behind her head, the duvet drifting down a little and exposing the beginning of her fleshy peak and my mouth waters. I licked and kissed that breast of hers once upon a time and I would do anything to have that opportunity right now. I would do a better job; I would drive her insane. Spoil her with kisses so harsh that she would reach a point in heaven that no one ever has.

I think about her question and deem I could never keep her waiting long if I were all by myself. “You know who I was with. Was I supposed to pull out my dick in front of them?”

She giggles at my bizarre response, shifting her head to find a more comfortable spot, and the wholeness of her breasts greets me.

Bless all silky beddings. The superior invention of all.

“Oh, hello there,” I joke, deepening her giggles and she angles her phone so I don’t see anything, breaking me apart.

I shall punish her for it.

I set my phone down against the table by the wall and take my shirt off. My angle allows her to see the state of me that she created with her lust—by telling me that she was up and desperate for me, craving the toy that I bought for her and that she wouldn’t use it unless I did with her at the same time. I didn’t need any details, any obscenities that I know full well she’s capable of giving me. Just her admitting to me that she needed me, trusting me enough with that intimate information made me so hard that I couldn’t contain myself.

I watch her eyes glide down my body that isn’t good enough to be regarded like she does, stopping at the weakness she’s effectuated in my groin. And I let her, the first person who ever looked at me with such raw, undomesticated hunger.

And I wish she would eat me up. Get on a plane, get to this hotel, to my room and take her time taking out my bones. I am for her taking—and I have been since the first time our eyes linked.

“You’re not really helping me right now,” she croaks out, her raspy voice enveloping around my aching cock and I can say the same. Especially when she shifts entirely, rolls over to her tummy and I can see her natural face better, the carmine of her hair that veils and tickles her cleavage, enough that she flicks it behind her shoulder, letting me be the witness to her bare skin.

Now she’s punishing me.

“Was I supposed to help you? I thought we’re helping ourselves,” I tease, and my words pull her mouth apart, even more so when I begin to take off my belt, making sure I tug it out of my belt loops swiftly. She bites her lip, ruining me, and I want to use that leather on her. I fold it in half and point it at her. “This is what you’re getting once I see you.”

She licks the skin she bit onto, her eyes widening, and I quiver—I quiver because she likes the idea.

“What for?” she asks, raising her voice a little bit, and I chuckle.

“For being so goddamn beautiful.”

Kitty blushes and curls her lips under her teeth like I’ve noticed she so often does. I like it so much, so fucking much that I yearn for her to do it when she takes my cock into her throat for the first time.

I know she will do a good job, swallowing every inch.

“Where’s your toy, huh?”

My chuckle is savage this time, vibrating in my sternum and I watch her perk up at the sound like the kitten she is. I descend into madness, willingly, hasty to jump head-first into this thing, despite my following words.

“You just can’t wait, can you?”

Her ‘no’ is etched all over her flushed cheeks and I crave to kiss it, run my lips all over it so they can remember it beyond this day, this month—all the way into the new year.

“Did you pass through security with it or does the entire LAX know what a slut you are?”

Her words spring in me, exciting me further more, and I can’t help but smile and blush, like her. I drop my gaze, fondle the leather of my belt, and I feel little sparks of muted electricity shooting down my arms. My mind outruns me, picturing the way I physically destroy her for her bratty, delicious mouth, and my smile blossoms, denting into my face.

“Your ass is gonna be red, little one. So fucking red you won’t be able to sit down.”

She doesn’t back away at the threat and I visibly see my own reaction reflecting in her. And it’s my mouth that parts this time when she props her phone against something, rises her chest in the air and sits down on her folded legs. And I have to hold onto the table, with the belt still caged in my grasp, when she spreads her thighs and gives me the consent to see all of her.

Her perked, full breasts, asking for me. Her soft tummy, perfect for my hands to hold. And my own personal ruination down low, between those thighs, glistening and sopping wet.

“Not even like this?”

My cock aches. I let go of the belt and the clanging sound accompanies me as I unbutton my pants. “Not even like this.”

My desire lodges at the bottom of me, pent-up and animalistic. And I take my phone, rummage in my opened suitcase for the toy, lube and head for the shower. My manliness doesn’t even move due to how hard I am.

Hearing the sizzling noise of the blasting stream of the shower, her brows scrunch up in confusion and I enjoy her obliviousness to her punishment.

“You’re taking a shower?”

I’m not too sure about how loud the toy is and I’m not risking having my members eavesdropping on our intimate act with their ears pressed against the thin walls. I’m absolutely not risking shit, locking the door behind me after I leave her in the small rectangular hole in the shower and dispose myself of my underwear.

And when I step inside and the water dribbles down my sensitive skin, ignited from my lust and hers, I discover that my plan is working out perfectly.

She can’t see anything.

She can’t see the lower half of my body—and she won’t be able to watch the petal-ornamented mouth of the toy swirling around my cock.

And that’s what she gets, talking like that.

“Get your toy ready, kitty,” I say, letting the water drench me before I get the job done. I push my hair back and I hear her gasp, the sound making me stop my movements. I look over to her, swiping the drops from my eyes, and I find her humping her hand ever so slowly. I rage, beautifully, wishing that was my hand she was gliding her pussy on until I realize that I’m the reason she slid her hand down there. But that still doesn’t mean she’s allowed to do so. “No touching or we stop.”

My heart hammers in my chest when she complies and my weakness for her increases, filling up every part of me until she’s the very owner of me.

I swell up with pride.

“Good girl.”

At my praise she plunges her wet fingers into her mouth and I lose my sanity. I lose my name, my identity, and the knowledge of my whereabouts. I’m not in LA, where I don’t want to be, carrying my responsibilities and the pressure of unfairness on my back, but I’m somewhere else entirely. All by myself in a place, where she’ll soon join me. A wintry island, just for us, where I’m not an idol, where I don’t have a job that forces me away from her, but where I’m free. Free to do whatever I please.

“Good fucking girl. Let me have a taste.” I lean my palms against the edge of the hole and I die when she reaches her shiny fingers towards me, towards the camera. I hum, the sound interwoven with my gentle laughter, and I stop myself before I lick the screen. “Thank you. So good, Kitty. Now, can you be the best girl ever and lick your toy? Make it nice and wet for your pussy?”

Her breath trembles as she exhales, reaching over for the red rose beyond the set-up of her phone. And she rests her chest against the mattress, upthrusts her bum in the air and while she’s this close to the camera, she darts out her tongue and drags it over the silicone hole in the center, her alluring eyes fixed on me.

My arousal oozes out of my tip, scalding hot, and I suck in a breath, fucked out.

“Fuck, baby,” I husk, my eyelids lowering as my whole body catches on fire, and I can’t respire. I grip the edge until my fingers are bathed in white. My desire asks for more. “Spit on it for Oppa.”

She moans and I nearly explode, my memories of her noises when I was tongue-deep in her flooding through my mind, and I can’t take any more of it. Especially not the discovery that she’s keen on titles, keen on me being the dominant one.

My palm itches for my cock, but I won’t give in. Not yet.

Kitty gathers her saliva and she seizes all of me when she spits on it, circling her tongue around the rim, spreading it there. And then she whines and my manliness twitches, painfully, ridding me of any sense I had left.

“Can we start now, please?” she begs, and I’m ready to give her everything.

I moisten my lips. “Wait for just a little while, baby. Let Oppa get his toy ready.”

And under her gaze, I squirt the lube inside the hollowness and all over myself, sighing and tilting my head back when I scatter the liquid along my shaft. The pressure of my fist is delicate, yet it feels as though I’m levitating. I’m confident it’s owing to the fact I’m being watched by those rounded eyes of hers and that she’s observing what her psyche has done to me.

“I want to see you,” she whimpers, and I don’t feel like punishing her any longer.

I unclench my fist. “What pretty word do you use when you ask for something?”

She doesn’t even think about it and my pride enlarges. “Please.”

“That’s a good fucking kitty.”

She sits up and nearly fucks her mattress, moaning into her hand—and I know, I already know that I won’t last long under these circumstances.

I’m so eager to give her what she wants that I don’t perceive that she's never seen this private part of me before until she gasps so fucking loudly that I startle. I’ve set her on the lower shower shelf and her mouth is wide open, the toy prepared in her hand.

“You’re so…” she trails off, shy all of a sudden, and I might pay for her plane tickets after my shower. I’m fucking her so hard that I’ll mark every single inch of mine inside her pretty pussy.

“Tiny,” I finish for her, and she laughs in that dopey way, even though we haven’t even started yet.

“Will that toy even… fit you?” she asks, her pools entwined to my cock, transfixed, and I long to kiss her. Despairingly.

I look down to my little man, to the toy and eventually to her. “I’ll make it fit.”

Her breath hitches in her throat, pleasuring me. “If you talk like that while we do our thing, I won’t be able to hold out.”

I hum, deeply, my endearment. “Why is that a problem?” She’s taken aback, like she always is whenever we talk, and I tilt my head towards the toy in her hand. “I want you to ride it for me.”

She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and places the rose between her legs without taking her eyes off of mine. Ever so dangerous, ever so aphrodisiacal. “I want you to fuck it for me.”

I groan, wrapping my fist around my shaft. “Turn it on, Kitty. Make yourself feel good.”

She mewls long before she turns it on—and once she does, her chest arches towards me and her eyes flutter back. Her hips slowly find their rhythm as she begins to hump it, unsure at first before falling into its temptation. And then she’s loud, louder than the raging waterfall behind me, sprinkling me, and louder than me when I get to work and tug on my length.

My noises bring her to me, but she doesn’t fix her gaze on mine—they pass down to my cock, her moans becoming needier, and she encourages me to join her.

“Come on, Oppa, it feels so good.”

I wade in a haze, spurred from her pleasure and now the title, unable to move my limbs. “Is it sucking on your clit?”

She nods her head, stopping, but it brings forth more delight for her. She crumbles, her chest curving, and she saves herself from tumbling by propping her palm flat on the mattress, struggling—struggling to breathe, struggling to talk.

“I—I’m not doing it if—if you’re not,” she stutters, her words melting into a whimper and I’m gone.

It’s her energy, her desperation-fueled energy that pushes me to move my other limb and glide the mouth of the toy down my tip. She orders me to turn it on and I do, bending forward in the paralyzing pleasure it begins to give me.

And it’s me who’s loud as it sucks on my head so vehemently that I, too, struggle.

“Fuck, fuck—” I groan, lowering the toy down my length just in time for it to take the other direction, and I don’t moan any of her pet names. No, I moan out her name—and I make her come.

My name breaks on her tongue and it is as my undoing as it is hers. I have to pull it out of me in order not to stop our playtime there, recuperating by watching her convulse while sitting on the toy as it completely traps her in the celestial realm of her orgasm. My cock twitches in the air, yearning to be inside her, and feel her walls spasm around it. I accept my death for the longevity of the bursting of her pleasure and I fall, I face-plant, drastically, for her. Deeper and deeper.

No way back.

“Good girl. So good. Oppa is proud of you.”

She yelps, overstimulation grappling her, and I bite my lip so hard I break skin. She lifts her bum, quivering, and only when she catches her breath and begs me to come for her do I fuck the toy and chase down my own orgasm.

And it doesn’t take long. Not when she topples onto the mattress and her face is what I come on while she, again, joins me, working her fingers on her clit out of my view.

“You know I’m fucking you and not this toy,” I mutter, focusing the suction on my tip as I pound it. And when she moans my name and I hear the squelching of her hole, I throw the toy on the shelf beside my phone and use my hand to stain her face as if she were here with me, on her knees.

My orgasm erupts and erupts, triggering hers, and we come together like this. Close, yet far away. Looking into each other’s eyes—never failing, never deteriorating, never diving into our past pains.

Lightness blankets me and I feel as though I could fly and drift through this world without any burdens to bear on my back. Kitty looks well-spent and I suppose I reflect her all over again—and shall reflect her until my last dying day.

I wipe my screen, my innermost craving still yet not satisfied, and I identify what it truly is. As she raises onto her knees, I lean against the shelf with my elbows and reveal it to her.

“Let me see your pussy. Show me how wet you were for me.”

She saw me up close, I didn’t.

It is only fair.

She swears, enveloping her vulgarities around my name, and she obeys. Lies back down against her silky pillows and takes her phone between her legs, spreading them. She parts her wet folds with the two of her fingers and I salivate. Her clit is swollen and carmine from the intense sucking of the toy, glimmering in the faint light, her lips dripping and her hole squeezing around nothing. I wither in need, tasting blood on my lip, and when she runs all four of her fingers up her clit, I begin to heave.

Hard, all over again.

“Such a pretty pussy. Oppa misses it.”

She purrs nonsense, as sleepy as she is, and the transfer back to reality is brutal. I check the time and it must be almost four AM in Seoul. I grieve the time zone between us, hoping the endeavor we shared was worth her staying up for me.

“Good night, moon kitty. Sleep well.”

She mumbles the same without omitting my newly deep-seated title. The three beautiful words for her form on my tongue, but I don’t say them. I save them for a better time, for the end of this tour, once I fly her to me.

I watch her sleep for a little bit, my cock softening. Her hand is furled under her chin and I think about how she’s protecting my heart right in there. It doesn’t allow me to end the call, so I take a shower, place her on the sink when I dry myself off, on the table when I dress myself and turn my microphone off when I blow dry my hair.

It is only when Jungkook knocks on my door and sloshes his sudden plan over me that I am forced to let her flow in her dreams without me and keep them undisturbed.

What he tells me is my duty and I don’t hesitate to pocket my inconspicuous knife that carries too many bad memories.

I thank him in my head that I get to wash those memories away with a different blood.

What he tells me is this: “Come with me, hyung, we have a son of a bitch to mutilate.”

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

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tacticaldiary · 1 year ago

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omg saw your post and yes i’d love to see jealous fic with any of the cod men, especially simon >>>>>

Jealousy, Jealousy

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort ; Jealousy

He's not a man who acts impulsively, but this might be the one time he throws caution to the wing and takes the one thing he wants.

A/N: Ghost won by a massive majority so here he is! (I read all of your asks, just chose this one to link the fic to!)

Masterlist

He was an enigma.

Quick to act and as observant as a cat on the field, Ghost picked up the smallest of details and clicked them all together in his head in milliseconds. Acting quickly and efficiently could be the distinction between life and death, after all.

So why the hell wasn't he as observant now?

She had spent months and months dropping hints. Lingering touches, secret smiles. At times, she might as well have told him up front how she fancied him with how she acted, but never once had Ghost reciprocated properly.

"Ya joining us, aren't ya?" Soap grins at her as they walk out of their respective locker rooms together. "Won't be the same without someone to go easy on the eyes." He snickers when she scoffs, nudging him with an elbow.

"I'll be there." She's unable to hold back a smile when he cheers and slings an arm around her shoulders.

From the corner of her eye, she catches Ghost on the far side of the hallway. He must not have gotten a chance to shed his gear yet. He's talking to Price, both of them engaged in what looks like a serious conversation, but every so often his eyes flitter over to her and Soap...more intense than usual?

It strikes her as odd, the heat behind his glances and a sneaking suspicion creeps into her mind. Grinning to herself, she wraps an arm around Soap's waist and tugs him closer while they walk, listening to him talk about the bar everyone plans to hit tonight.

His spine straightens and she swears she sees his arms tense, folded across his chest.

But he says nothing, Simply turns back to Price and doesn't spare her another glace when they walk by.

At this point, she just wants him to either confirm or reject her so she can get out of this eternal limbo of dancing back and forth. She knows he feels the same way to some degree, that much is clear to her. The way he sits next to her for hours when she gets injured on call and has to recover in the medbay, the rest of the 141 gone, late into the night.

She sees it in the way he has no problem guiding her by a warm hand on the small of her back, the way his eyes are the first to flicker to her mouth whenever she talks during a debriefing.

The interest it there, and it certainly isn't platonic. Not with the intensity of the tension between them.

Yet he never acts.

Never accepts her advances, but never pushes her away or rejects her either.

It was driving her crazy.

Fine. If he wanted to keep playing this strange game, he could keep doing so. It doesn't mean that she has to go along with it. She deserved to have some fun after their particularly gruelling mission too, right?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The club is a new one, not yet broken in by the tradition of the team winding down after a deployment. Old school wooden bars and stool mixed with a modern twist of sleek decor, she rather likes it.

Strapped in a dress that had been in her closet for months unused, she makes herself forget about her back and forth with Ghost and just...enjoy herself.

Soap had been on her the second she entered, waving her over, Gaz pushing a drink into her hand with a cheeky smile. Price nurses a glass of whiskey by the bar. The only one she doesn't see is Ghost.

Sitting over at the bar listening to the boys go back and forth over what type of alcohol they preferred, she's mulling over whether to head to the floor. Deciding against it she waves the bartender over and asks for a refill.

"Put that on my tab." A man slides into the stool next to her, offering her a smile.

"Are you sure?" She asks, straightening up. The first thing she notices is that he's attractive. A strong jaw, lean and rich brown skin.

"Positive." He chuckles. "It'd be my honour to buy a drink for someone as gorgeous as you." His eyes rake over her once, before he drags them back to her eyes confidently.

The attention makes heat creep up her ears, not because it was particularly new, she's not a stranger to lingering glances, but because it's so blatant. Something tells her this man is not used to getting told no.

Not that she has any intention to do so.

She catches Price's eye, a silent raise of an eyebrow asking if she needed any help. Tired of mulling over someone who refused to reciprocate, she gives her Captain a subtle shake of the head and turns her body towards the man.

It makes her heart warm, how much Price cares about her and the others outside of them being his subordinates. There has to be a certain level of trust between people personally for them to completely trust each other on the field, and trust was something integral to all of them.

He introduces himself as Noah and strikes up a conversation that genuinely keeps her engaged. She's surprised to find out he watches her favourite show, and they share quite a few common interests.

While he's talking about what he does for a living, she feels a shiver run up her spine, eyes at the back of her head.

Looking around the room, it's not difficult to pinpoint the perpetrator.

Ghost looks...well, he look good, he always does, but there's a tightness to his posture like she saw back in that hallway with Soap. His jaw is ticked as he glares at Noah.

His eyes soften the barest bit when they meet hers.

No. No, she wasn't doing this right now. She was having fun with Noah right now, not thinking about Simon striding over towards her, pulling her up and out of the stool. That would not happen, she knows it. He wouldn't act on whatever was getting him riled up.

So she keeps talking to Noah, and yes, maybe she is being a little more animated than before. Perhaps she is giving him wider, flirtier smiles and leaning into him when he talks. Maybe her laughs are louder and her maybe she does place a hand on his arm once or twice but it's all because she would rather throw herself into this conversation than think about the other man staring holes into the back of her head.

At one point, Noah leans in close to her ear. "I can tell I have you impressed. What do you say I show you what other aspects of my shining...personality in a more private place?" He winks.

Simon wouldn't have been this forward, she thinks. He would've...what? Would he have taken his time with her? Bought her more than a single drink? He wasn't one for small talk so maybe he'd skip it altogether and...why on Earth was she thinking about that? Frustration bubbles up inside her as she berates herself for getting lost in her head again. None of that would happen because-...well, he wasn't even there anymore, wasn't leaning near the bar where he'd been staring at her.

See? He didn't care enough to act otherwise. His absence proves it.

So with the desperate need to distract herself, she smiles at Noah. "You're just full of good ideas, aren't you?" She says, standing to smooth the wrinkles in her dress. Noah joins her, a hand to the small of her back, leading her away from the bar (she's not thinking about how Simon's hands are bigger, warmer, and rougher-).

"She's busy." If the familiar gruff voice didn't stop her in her track, the hand circling her wrist definitely did.

"Excuse me?" Noah retorts, eyes narrowing. He has to look up to meet Simon's eyes, looking between him and the hand on her wrist. "And who are you?" He snips, and she's a little surprised at the sudden nasty tone of voice. So much so, she frowns at him and steps out of his hold, coincidentally closer to Simon.

"None of your business." Simon's anger is subtle, but there, like the growl of a dog before he bites, and she'd be lying if it didn't make her shiver.

"I do think it's my business. We were just leaving." Noah goes to grab her, but Simon tugs her into his side, putting himself between them.

"I'm going to tell you to get lost once. The consequences of whether you choose to listen or not are gonna be on you, mate." His accent is thicker when he's talking as low as he is, and Noah must have the sense to heed the threat lacing his words because he grits his jaw and walks out the doors alone, muttering curses under his breath as he leaves.

She's...well, she's stunned at the display of...whatever that was. His hand hasn't left her wrist. In fact, he doesn't speak to her, just pulls her along to a more secluded part of the bar, the hallway that leads to the restrooms. Music fades into the background and chatter recedes until it's just the two of them.

"What is it, Simon?" She sighs, yanking her hand free. "What was that about?"

"You were just gonna leave with him?" He asks incredulously. "Without knowing where the hell he was taking you or giving someone else a location to find you? Are you daft?" She bristles at the chiding.

"Are you fucking with me?" She blinks up with him. "I'm a grown ass woman, Simon. I can make my own calls."

"Doesn't mean they're good ones."

"What is your problem?!" She exclaims, and the months of dwelling frustration finally come pouring out. "I don't know what you want from me. I'm not going to pretend that I'm not...that I don't like you because I've made it pretty damn clear that I do, and I think you know that too. You do nothing but watch, and I'm sick of it." She shoves his chest, huffing when he doesn't budge. Keeping her hands where they are, she balls them into fists. "How fucking dare you try and act all possessive now when you barely have the balls to choose between rejecting me and getting closer! How dare you try and get in the way when you-"

"Bloody hell, woman." He cuts in with a low growl, and he moves so suddenly she doesn't register him tugging his mask up to his nose and crashing his lips over hers. A strong arm circles her waist, walks her backwards until he back hits the walls and closes the gap between their bodies.

God, she's so glad she didn't go home with Noah.

It's intoxicating.

He's intoxicating.

He doesn't stop until she's breathless, until he's all consuming in her thoughts. When he pulls back, barely a centimetre, she can hear him whisper over the humming in her ears.

"That close enough for you, love?" He says lowly, his breath ghosting over her lips. "Think I got my stance on you across?"

She swallows, steadying her breathing, feeling herself flush. He's all muscle and power against her body, better than what she thought he'd feel like.

"I don't know." She hums. "You might have to show me again so I can be sure."

His small huff of amusement makes her smile giddily before he kisses her again, and all feel right in the world., the tightness in her chest settling down.

Who knew jealousy could lead to such a sweet end to the night?

"Steamin' Jesus!" A Scottish drawl breaks them apart, she clutches onto Simon like she's just been caught doing something bad. Soap whoops out a laugh and eyes the both of them victoriously at the both of them before striding back out of the hallway, calling out; "Gaz, ya' owe me ten bucks!"

"Fucking hell." She giggles when Simon's head drops to her shoulder.

Requests Are Open!

(20/06/2023)

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