#open heart male mc

[justcallmefox89]

Irressistible Force Paradox: Chapter Three - An Open Heart Fic

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Ethan accuses Rory of the unthinkable and Rory fights his growing attraction to his former medical hero.

September 14th.  5:49 p.m.

Oh hell.

I freeze in place, fear momentarily short-circuiting my brain as Ramsey glares at me.

Do you never go home old man!?

“Rookie, you and I n - ”

“You’re a miracle worker!” Sarah gasps, interrupting Dr. Ramsey. “Do you think she’d take a bottle now? She hasn’t had anything to eat for hours.”

I smile down at Emily.  “I think that’d be just fine.”

Sarah beams at me and rushes towards Emily’s diapers bag while Jason sags against the doorframe in relief.  

“Since Emily is resting now, you and I have some things we need to discuss, Dr. O’Shea.”  Ramsey gives me a stern look and nods towards the hallway.

“Um, actually I had something I wanted to show you, Dr. Ramsey,” I meekly reply, using my free hand to motion him closer.  

“Dr. O’Shea - ”

“Please,” I implore him softly.  “I think it might be important.”

He relents, sighing and stepping closer.  “What is it, Rookie?”

I lower my voice to barely a whisper.  “I noticed when I unlocked my phone to play some music Emily flinched away from the screen, almost like the brightness hurt her eyes.”

“There could be any number of explanations for that.”

“Her reflexes are sluggish, that combined with the fever, the irritability, not eating - ”

“Look, Rookie.”  Ethan puts a hand on my shoulder.  “I can appreciate that you want to help, but all these symptoms can be attributed to the sepsis. You’ve managed to calm her down and I’m sure her parents are grateful, but leave her case to the diagnostics team.”

Insufferable.  Completely, absolutely insufferable.  And gorgeous.  And tall.  And so completely climbable.  I loathe him.

Ramsey’s eyes widen and a small sound of protest leaves his mouth as I grab his hand and gently guide his fingers to the top of Emily’s head.  His face pales as his fingertips brush over the swelling that’s nearly invisible under her dark curls.

“As I was saying, all of those symptoms combined with the severe swelling of her fontanelle, makes me think the sepsis was brought on by a severe case of meningitis,” I murmur.

Ramsey gazes down at me steadily.  “You think?  I’m not going to subject an infant to a spinal tap based on your guess.”

I grit my teeth and inhale deeply.  “I know.  I know this is meningitis.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” he says.  “I’ll page Naveen and call for an anesthesiologist.  Once we confirm, we’ll need to pinpoint what variant of meningitis we’re specifically dealing with.”

“Dr. O’Shea?  I have Emily’s bottle ready.”  Sarah steps forward and takes Emily from me, gently cradling the little girl in her arms and offering her the bottle.

I turn to leave but the sight of a can of formula sticking out of Emily’s diaper bag stops me.

“Sarah?  Has Emily always been formula fed?” I ask.

Her face falls.  “Is that a problem?  I was never able to produce enough milk for her, so we had to formula feed.”

“No, not at all,” I hurriedly reassure her.  “As long as our girl gets fed, that’s all that matters.”

“What are you thinking, Rookie?” Ramsey whispers, his warm breath ghosting over my ear.

A pleasant shiver runs through me, and I almost start to lean into him, my traitorous body reacting to his close proximity.

Get it together.

“Bacterial meningitis caused by cronobacter sakazakii.” I murmur, tilting my head towards the formula can.  

Ramsey’s eyes widen.  “My god,” he whispers.  “Stay here and update the parents.  I’m getting the rest of the team.”

Not thinking, I reach out and grab his arm before he can walk away. He must be able to see the panic on my face because he takes my hand in his and squeezes it once.   “You can do this, Rookie.  Walk them through your theory and what’s going to happen next. I’ll be back soon.”  

10:30 p.m.

Through the window of the hospital room I watch Emily rest, an IV inserted in the crook of her tiny arm.  Jason and Sarah doze fitfully in armchairs positioned next to her crib.  Emily is sleeping soundly, her face no longer flushed with a fever; a sure sign the intravenous antibiotics are working.  My shift ended three hours ago, but I can’t bring myself to leave, worried that the minute I walk out of the hospital something awful will happen.

“What are you still doing here, Rookie?”

“Could ask you the same thing, Dr. Ramsey,” I reply, my eyes never leaving Emily’s sleeping form.

“This isn’t even your case.”  A hard edge creeps into Ramsey’s voice.  

“Are you saying I should only care about the patients that I’m assigned to?”  

Ramsey sighs, scratching at the thick stubble on his jaw.  “Of course not.  A good doctor will care about every patient that walks through those doors, whether they’re assigned to them or not.  But I’m not convinced anything you did this afternoon was because you cared about the patient.”

I turn to face him and cross my arms over my chest, scowling.  “Excuse me?”

“You think any other physician here would have let you get away with that little stunt you pulled this afternoon?”  Ramsey steps closer, towering over me, and I fight the urge to back away from him.

“If you hadn’t made that solve I would have had your job, Rookie,” he continues, his voice low and dark.  “Attention-seeking stunts like that won’t land you a spot on the diagnostics team, so if you ever even think about doing something like this again you will be out on your ass.”

I blink, momentarily stunned into silence.  “You think I helped Emily just to get noticed by the diagnostics team?” I finally manage to ask, unable to keep a note of hurt out of my voice.

Ramsey rolls his eyes.  “I see it every year, ambitious interns who think that if they pull off an impressive solve -”

“You think I would use a sick child to further my career?” I seethe, drawing myself up to my full five feet four inches.  I move closer, invading his personal space and jabbing a finger into his muscled chest.  “I was waiting for test results on the one case I had, so I offered to sit with Emily so Jason and Sarah could get some rest.”

His handsome face shifts into a disdainful sneer.  “So you abandoned your own patient to help mine.”

“I was partnered with Dr. Landry on that case, and he had no issues proceeding on his own for an hour or two while I assisted Jason and Sara.  I’m surprised you don’t remember that since you went out of your way to try and humiliate him when we presented earlier today,” I hiss.

Ramsey has the good grace to momentarily look abashed, and he breaks eye contact with me as his cheeks flush a faint pink.  He clears his throat.  “Now that you have mentioned it I do seem to recall -”

“I didn’t do this to get noticed by the diagnostics team,” I continue, poking him again.  “I did it because I saw a pair of scared, first time parents falling apart because their baby was sick and inconsolable.  I did it because that family needed help.”

Ramsey catches my hand in his, sending a pleasant thrill through me, and gently pulls it away from his chest.  “I may have been hasty in my initial assessment of your motivations,” he says slowly.

I rip my hand away from him, cradling it against my chest. “Don’t ever fucking touch me again.”

I turn and hurry down the hallway, trying to ignore the way my body responded to Ramsey’s touch, and how much his accusation had hurt.

**********************************************************************************

September 17.  9:30 p.m.

“Shit.  Shit, shit, shit!” I mutter, sitting on the floor behind the intake desk and looking through the lost and found box.  I’d spent the whole day moving into a new apartment and the last thing I want to be doing is searching for my I.D. badge, but if I don’t have it tomorrow morning it will be just one more excuse for Ramsey to get on my case.  And after our last encounter outside Emily’s hospital room, I’ve been avoiding him at all costs.  I eventually find it among the sea of tangled lanyards and other bits and bobs that my fellow doctors have misplaced.

I shove the box back into place and start to stand up, wincing as the blood flows back into my lower legs.  I immediately crouch back down as raised voices carry down the corridor and draw nearer to the waiting area.  I peek over the edge of the desk, watching Ramsey throw his hands up in the air and scowl at Dr. Banerji.

“You can’t do this, Naveen!  I won’t let you!” Ramsey shouts, angrily running his hands through his hair as he paces back and forth.

“It must be done, Ethan,” Dr. Banerji says placidly.  “Not everything is in your control.  It’s time you finally learned that.”

“You are not my teacher anymore!”

Naveen gently smiles at him.  “I am always your teacher.”

“Goddamnit Naveen!”  I involuntarily gasp as Ramsey slams his fist into the wall.  Dr. Banerji sighs softly before walking away, Ramsey staring miserably after him.

What.  The. Fuck.

Faced with the choice of hiding here until Ramsey overcomes whatever internal crisis he’s going through or facing him directly… I decide to nut up. I slowly emerge from my hiding space without him noticing me.  I strongly consider just sneaking away, but then I notice the blood.  I wage a brief internal battle before making my choice.

“Dr. Ramsey?” I call out softly.

He whirls around to face me, eyes wide.  Once he recognizes me his eyes narrow and he scowls.  “Spying on me, Dr. O’Shea?”

“It’s adorable that you think I’d waste my very limited free time on you,” I snark back.

“How much did you see?” he asks, clenching his jaw.

My god, that jawline…  Focus, Rory!

I shrug.  “Enough.”

“If you speak a word about this to anyone -”

“You’re bleeding,” I interrupt.

He stares down at his hand in confusion.  “I didn’t realize…”

“Come on,” I sigh.  “Let’s get it taken care of.”

Ramsey’s shoulders stiffen.  “I am perfectly capable of -”

I roll my eyes.  “Do not fear Dr. Ramsey, even I, a lowly intern, know how to patch up busted knuckles. Just let me help.”

He refuses to move, so I grab onto the end of his tie and gently tug him towards an empty patient room.  Too shocked to protest, he obediently follows me.  Once we’re in the room I shut the door to prevent any prying eyes, and direct him to sit on the edge of the hospitable bed while I glove up and gather all the necessary items.  I sit next to him and tentatively take his hand, surprised by just how much larger it is than mine.  

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, soaking a gauze pad in saline solution and dabbing away the drying blood on Ramsey’s knuckles.

“No,” he says tersely, refusing to look at me.

“Ok,” I murmur, focusing my attention on my work.  Some of my hair falls out of my ponytail and into my eyes. “Damn.”

“Let me.”  Ramsey’s voice is rough and there’s a slight hitch in his breathing.  He extends his uninjured hand, pausing just short of touching me.  I tilt my head up, allowing him to move the loose hair out of my eyes.  His fingertips brush against the shell of my ear, lightly trailing over the curve of my jaw as he withdraws his hand; the scrap of his calloused skin against my light five o’clock shadow causes a pleasant shiver to run through me.  

I peer up at him over the rims over my glasses.  “Thank you,” I whisper, suddenly feeling nervous.

He doesn’t reply as his blue eyes rove over me, taking in every detail. “Why are you doing this?” he finally asks.

I shake my head, breaking the temporary spell he had seemingly cast over me.  “You hurt yourself,” I say, annoyed at how breathless I sound.  I snap my eyes back down to his hand, gently dabbing antiseptic cream over his cuts.

He laughs softly, the sound dark and seductive in the close quarters of the small hospital room.  “I’m fairly sure I could have managed a band-aid or two, Rookie.”

I shake my head, biting my lower lip as I concentrate on precisely placing steri-strips over his broken skin.  “I don’t know,” I finally mutter.

“You’re so different from the others,” Ramsey whispers, almost to himself.

I snap my gloves off and gather up my trash, depositing it in the appropriate disposal bins under Ramsey’s intense gaze.   “I need to go, Dr. Ramsey.  My roommates are -”

The words stutter in my chest as Ramsey stands up and catches one of my hands in his.  “I owe you an apology.”

My brain short circuits at the feel of his fingertips caressing my palm, a barely there sensation that instantly makes me wonder what that touch would feel like on other parts of my body.  “W-what?” I stammer.

“For accusing you of using Emily’s case to further your career,” he clarifies.  “It was an unfair assumption on my part, and I apologize.”

Just like that the spell is broken, the mere mention of his accusation enough infuriate me all over again.  Glaring, I jerk away from him, resolutely ignoring the faint pang of disappointment that thrums through my body as I do.  “You can take your apology and shove it up - ”

“Rookie.”  The word is a growled warning, and Ramsey has gone from contrite to furious.

“Have a nice night, Dr. Ramsey,” I say venomously as I leave the hospital room, rubbing my palm against my thigh, wishing I could erase the feeling of his touch.

#open heart #open heart fanfiction #OPH #oph2 #open heart fanfic #open heart mc #pb open heart #open heart ethan #open heart choices #open heart male oc #open heart male mc #open heart pixelberry #choices #pb choices #choices fanfic #choices game #pixelberry choices #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x oc #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey x male mc #ethan x mc

[griffinsboyfriend]

Thank you @hydn-jpg for another fantastic Choices fan art!! These are the best boys from Open Heart!

Rafael Aveiro, my male MC (Vincent Valentine), and Bryce Lahela!

I love this specific friend group so much. That male bond between three queer men is something no other book has replicated iirc, so this is special to me! Regardless of any feelings between the three, their friendship is paramount!!

Send Hayden love and more~!!! :D

#Open Heart #playchoices #choices stories you play #rafael aveiro #bryce lahela #male mc #mc: vincent valentine #hydn-jpg #hydn.jpg #fan art #mlm #lgbtq #yes I named male mc after Vincent Valentine from ff7!

[yeyinde]

in undertow | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader

They won’t shut up about why he wears the mask. 

This isn't anything new. You've heard it all before. 

Maybe, then, it's the rookie inside of you still burning to be included, to be acknowledged, accepted, that makes you flick your mic on with a single press of your stupid little finger. Makes you open your stupid little mouth, and say: 

"You're all wrong, boys; he's just keeping my seat warm." 

(a joke at your lieutenant's expense has unexpected consequences.)

part ii

tw: gratuitous smut; unfettered filth; face-sitting: oral - f!receiving; female!reader; male-solo: Ghost makes himself cum whilst drowning in pussy; some plot. kinda. but it’s mostly 7K+ of clownfoolery

notes: Ghost eats pussy like he’s starving. that’s it. that’s all, folks. 

(also, this is so thirsty. this man is making me feral. send help pls)

*bonnie-scottish term of endearment, kinda similar to hen or lass, and is not a name. MC is not named.

  It's not uncommon to tune into a channel on downtime, and hear your Lieutenant being mentioned in some manner or another. 

Ghost is infamous. Legendary. The men in your unit, and the ones you ally up with, are–in equal measure–his biggest fan, and his bitter rival. 

It's all one-sided, of course. If Ghost was any other man, you'd confidently say that he didn't even know who they were, but he isn't. And he does. Which, of course, makes the rivalry all that more bitter, blistering, when he refuses to acknowledge their challenges. 

He proves himself time and time again, and isn't even trying to. 

So, they flex their arms– see, bigger than yours –but he hardly notices, much to their chagrin. 

Sometimes, they'd turn to you–the unofficial arbitrator, a denomination that seemed unanimously decided on by the whole team; Ghost, bemusingly, included–and ask stupid questions:

Who's arms are bigger? Mine, come have a feel, lass. 

Ghost seemed decidedly tolerant of these moments, watching with those dangerous eyes as your hands flexed around the bulk of your teammates' bicep, cooing cloyingly at him. Ooh, working out, I see. Feels like the leg of a fawn!  

Now 'im, they'd say, your heart would warble in your chest.

A strange, off-rhythm pulse that almost hurt. He'd match your gaze when you looked over your shoulder, peering at the imposing man lurking in the midst of everyone else. Firm, steady. Unflinching. He'd hold it, always.

He does that, doesn't he? 

When Ghost looks at you, the air in your lungs dissipates; dissolves into ashes, then into smoke. 

(Sometimes, he stares at you, and it feels like a challenge. Like he's waiting for something.) 

Your smile folds, wan. Lieutenant–

Go on, then! He ain't bigger than me.

It turns several shades of apologetic when you slide up to him, palms spread flat, docile. Walking up to him feels like approaching a predator. Any sudden movements, and he'll have your neck between his jowls. He never would, you know this deep down. But still. 

You, uh, don't have to let me. 

His head would duck down–too tall to look at you without bringing a kink to his neck–and his eyes would waver in the light. Midnight black to charcoal. Smoke. Ash. The same taste in your lungs. 

S'alright. He'd prop his arm up for you, eyes dancing. Best get it done with before these geezers get into a fit.

He doesn't look away. Doesn't break contact. It's intense. Too much. 

You demure.

You're not submissive to anyone. Your teammates, the enemy, politicians–no one makes you break. No one makes your chin lower to your chest, your eyes drop. You can't–not, really. Not here. Not in this world where everyone is looking at you like you're too soft, too vulnerable, to be of any use. When even your teammates slip sometimes, try to carry you despite knowing how capable you are on your own. 

The hurdle you have to fling yourself over just to prove yourself to your teammates, your backers, is a skyscraper. 

They call you Nile –the moniker born from the startling resemblance to the aggressive, territorial crocodiles that live in the water–and you do your best to live up to the comparison. 

You don't shy away from anyone. 

Except him. 

Your eyes fix on your feet. Hands tremble as they slide over the hard muscle of his biceps–firm, unyielding: flesh-covered iron. Your stomach in knots. Chest too tight. 

Ghost's eyes are glued to your face. His muscles flex under your exploratory fingers. Ticking, bulging. His flesh jumps when you touch him. The heat of his skin sear your fingertips, so hot you think it might burn the prints off your hands. 

You both love and hate these moments. 

When hypoxia flashes through your head–dizzying, nauseating–you step back, clear your throat, and stammer out the winner. 

Ghost, always Ghost.

His eyes are shades lighter. Slate-grey, now. Amusement, you think. 

The men around you riot, demanding a rematch. 

(You blame it on testosterone.)

One such occurrence happens to be right now. The comm is clogged with feverish conspiracy theories as to why Ghost wears the mask ranging from the grounded (to conceal his identity–he's a big OP: can't go showing his ugly mug to everyone) to the absurd (he's probably hideously deformed; heard he took a hit to the face–considering what I heard is under there, I'd say he's doing us all a favour), and everything in-between. 

This isn't anything new. You've heard it all before. 

Maybe, then, it's the rookie inside of you still burning to be included, to be acknowledged, accepted, that makes you flick your mic on with a single press of your stupid little finger. Makes you open your stupid little mouth, and say: 

"You're all wrong, boys," you purr, eyes fixed on the weapon you were tinkering with. "He's just keeping my seat warm." 

The line goes pin-drop silent. A poignant shush. It's so eerily, unnaturally quiet on the comm, that you look up, blinking. Was it frozen? 

You glance at the computer, checking the channel to see if you'd changed it by accident. It's on. And–

Open, it says. Open mic. Open broadcast. 

It never occurred to you to check the channel they were using. 

It's not a private one between groups; it's the main one. 

Why would these bellends use the main comm to talk about a man, their superior officer, on the channel he preferred, the one he was always tuned into? 

You pale. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

You blame your stupid little mouth, and testosterone. Mostly, testosterone. 

Maybe, Ghost wasn't listening. Maybe, he –

"Jesus Christ," Soap groans after several agonising seconds. Soap, who was on recon with Ghost. Soap, who was with Ghost. Soap who –

The line falls dead once more. No one says anything. Not even a murmur of how well and truly fucked you are. Then, it crackles again. You jump, tensing. Please be some stupid rookie. Please be someone else. Please don't be–

"Fuckin' hell," comes the brassy timbre, the sandpaper tone scratching your ear. 

You shiver. You're fired. No, no–they can't fire you, you know too much. You're dead. You're–

"Rookie," he barks. You struggle to stifle a whimper. "Report to me when I get back." 

You weakly stammer out a yes, sir, Lieutenant, sir.

"And everyone else – get off the main channel." 

    Nervous would be an understatement. 

It's the crushing weight of utter humiliation, embarrassment, and shame all admixing into an imbroglio of dire consequences looming ahead. Your stomach is in knots. 

There are murmurs of sympathy from the others when they eventually make their way back into the pseudo-compound, but you notice none of it. Eyes fixed on a crack in the concrete. Shoulders up to your ears. Cheeks stained the colour of the Russian oligarch you gunned down the night prior. 

Nile is nowhere to be found. You're no longer the wet-behind-the-ears Rookie, barely of legal age, as you clamber through the ranks in a spiteful, feverish effort to prove yourself. Now, a fully fleshed adult: moulded by your determination and grit to persevere.

You're the little girl pushed to the pavement. Skinned knees, blistered palms. Drenched in rain, and told you're not enough. 

"Fuck me," comes the slurred drawl of Soap. You flinch. 

"Yeah," you agree. 

No words need to be said. You're done. Over. You stroke the barrel of your rifle, and wonder if you'll be forced into an office job, running the numbers, working in a barren cubicle that sinks of fresh paper and ink. The only action comes from Martha's affair with Josh in Finance. 

"Y'know…," he adds, because apparently, some words need to be said. Your gaze flickers toward him. He leans against the metal pillar, arms folded. "Never seen the Lieutenant speechless before." 

You let out a whimper. Fucked, royally, of course–Soap only confirms what you already know. What you've known the moment you looked up, a stupid little smirk on your stupid little face, and saw the meagre amount of respect you clobbered together from your Lonewolf–actions have consequences and if it were you or the mission, don't even bother asking what his choice is Lieutenant being summarily flushed down into the depths. Obliterated because you couldn't keep your stupid little mouth shut. 

Because you heard ugly and deformed and immediately thought of smoke. Ashes. Gasoline. Gunpowder. Firm biceps that leapt at your touch–the only man to do so when you feigned annoyance and reluctantly felt them up–and the velvet steel of his bulk. Your hands didn't fit around the thick of him. It made your head dizzy. Made your heart ache. Heat throbbing between your legs in a way that most men never even accomplished with you spread out and willing. And–

Eyes darker than the ocean, framed by ashen lashes that fluttered when he glanced down at you, brushing over the coal smeared around his face. 

You thought of him–that stupid Cockney mouth and those stupid jokes–and how – how stupid he makes you, and you – 

Stupid.

Full stop. End. Done. Fin. 

Maybe, you can grovel for transfer. Please don't kick me out completely, I've done so much to simply prove myself – more than most of the men here because I've had to, and I don't want to lose it all because I'm–

"Stupid." You spit the word like a curse. 

Beside you, Soap huffs. 

"Ain't the only one, bonnie."

    Shame blisters your cheeks, and the burn of it makes you a coward. Weak. 

You spend the rest of the day idling away in your makeshift quarters (a closet, really) in the compound loaned by the government who requested your aid. Stiff-limbed, you lay back on the cot, and try to commit everything around you to memory. 

Noises from the men downstairs. Chatter and laughter. Loud and raucous. The heady scent of testosterone is thick in the air, mixing with the cloying tang of cigarette smoke, cigars, and the bitter taste of gun oil. Kerosene rich, and stifling. 

The bed is lumpy, but in the middle of nowhere luxury is hardly needed when you're making a massacre of men who want to start a war. It's far more than you'd gotten before. Alvarez jokes, saying at least it isn't the ground. You're inclined to agree. 

Your gear sits in the corner, tightly packed as it had been when you'd first arrived, and dropped it there. You never unpack your things. Experience gives you the foresight to know it's useless, dangerous. Your location can be slipped at a moment's notice. Gunfire ripping through the metal on a whim. 

Ghost never unpacks, either. Soap. Most of the men here don't.

But now you wish you had.

The pile of it feels like an omen as it sits, mocking you; ready to go when you're given the boot. 

You wrench your eyes away from it when the salty burn of tears you haven't shed since Porthmadog rear. It's fine. You clench your fists into tight balls by your side. It'll be okay. You'll get on–your experience and insight make you a desirable name to have; someone lusted after when they needed intel only you managed to wiggle out, and get. Another team will be easy to find once the politicians paying for them read about your exploits. 

On paper, anyway. 

Nile is a name that makes their fingers spasm. 

You, however, are a name that makes them hesitate. 

You'll have to start at the bottom again. Kissing the gravel with your palms once more; struggling to find your foothold along the chossy that wants you weak. Wants you broken, and docile. Obedient. 

Ghost never asked that of you. 

He looked at you, hands curled into half-moons by your side, eyes unwavering as you glared at the man backing the mission, and ground out your accomplishments like you were spitting in his face. 

"I don't know…" he started, hesitating; his eyes flickering down the length of your body. Too small compared to the men they'd seen before you. Too fragile. Giving. 

All at once, you were back in Porthmadog. Salt on your cheeks. In the air. Your throat. Gravel digging into your palms. Broken down into a crushed shell with nothing inside. It was the day you realised you were empty. Hollow. Nothing. Vacant. A vacuum. 

Worthless. 

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? Ghost speaks for the first time, and your eyes find his through the palpable cloud of rejection. So, what've you got to lose, soldier? 

Soldier. Not girl, not Dame, not Duchess, Princess. Soldier. 

You square your shoulders, eyes blazing. Everything, you vow. All the substance you pushed inside of the barren landscape of who you once were, filling it with purpose, and dignity. A reason to live. A reason to be. Everything. 

His head tipped back. The whites of his eyes were fuller under the flushed lamp on the desk. 

Inside, you could almost glimpse that same emptiness you found when they'd broken you into pieces, and nothing spilt out. 

"A'right." He nods. "Welcome to the team." 

The team. The patchwork family of people far too unhinged to fit into the rest of the world. Names and faces came and went. Many were lost to the effort, to the cause. Time to mourn took place outside of this microcosm when no one was around to see you break. 

You'll miss them. It rings out in the hollow gap between your rib and your heart, an aching sting that has your hands spasming around the sheets to stem the sudden hurt. Fuck, you'll really miss these goddamn idiots. 

And Ghost, too.

The prickly leader who says he'd sacrifice all of you if it meant finishing the mission, but still throws himself into the fire so none of you gets burnt. The man who bites at your heels, snaps at your attempts to get closer, but brushes his fingers along the seam of your arm, chin jerking toward the only closet in the compound where he'd dropped your cot. 

Up there, soldier.  

He's a bastard of the worst kind. Surly, mean, and gruff around the edges, but he's a good man despite what he says. He's a great leader–the best, undoubtedly, that you've ever had. That you will have. 

And you might be a little bit in too deep already. Washed out to sea in the middle of a hurricane, and left floundering as waves crashed over you in the form of a brutal, off-limits affection for a man who keeps everyone at a distance. 

Maybe, this is for the best. Leaving here now, when these feelings are simply tugging at you, and not yet dragging you under. It might be a better alternative than being discovered with your head under the waves, and your lungs filled with salt from the sea. 

It's better this way, then. 

    The call comes hours later. The compound is empty. Silent. Your comm rings, and it feels like a guillotine being hoisted into position. 

Right. 

You haul yourself out of the cot, and go meet your end. 

    You will yourself not to demure under the heavy slate of his eyes, but it's futile. You wilt, pathetically submissive to this behemoth of a man. Face downcast, shoulders hunched. 

"Let's not fuck about, alright?" the gritty timber of his voice makes your chest shudder. 

You nod. Sharp, and deep. Dutiful soldier. You brace yourself for it. He won't draw it out. He isn't the type. 

But you falter when his hands tug on the end of his mask. 

"Keepin' it warm, huh?" He asks, but you know by the tone alone that it's rhetorical. 

"Sir, I–" you falter, stammering into a terse silence. What excuse do you have? 

"Well," he asks, lifting his head. Eyes brand your body. The command is clear. "Aren't you comin' to take your seat, Rookie?"

You sputter. Shattering. The world as you know it flips on its axis. Upside down and wrong. 

It's a joke. It has to be. A cruel one. A bad dream that will leave you in aching shambles when you wake, stealing with it a piece of yourself that you'll never reclaim. Another etch in the exterior of who you are. A fracture. 

"S-sir–," you gasp, choking on the word when his hands lift, pulling up the bottom of his mask until a full, pink mouth is revealed to you. "What–"

"It's gettin' cold, now." 

Seeing him speak is blindsiding. You're so used to painted jowls moving, a mockery of bared, white teeth, and a warped jawbone. This is – this is too much. This is – 

Not good. 

Ghost doesn't seem bothered at all when he settles, leaning on the back of the desk, eyes burning through you. Bulging forearms cross over his massive chest. The ripple of ink flexing, breathing, with his impatience that thrums in the air like a heartbeat. 

"Best hurry up." His tongue–his fucking tongue; blood-red and wet –flicks out, gliding over chapped lips.

"Lieutenant–," his title is a strangled wince from the depths of your bewilderment, flavoured with uncertainty. "This is–is a joke, yeah?"

His head tilts. "Do I look like the joking type?"

And that's such a misleading question. So utterly stupid, you choke a little on a bark of hysterical laughter. 

"How am I supposed to answer that?"

"Or were you joking, soldier?" 

The breath sucked in between clenched teeth is audible. 

"Fuckin' hell," he rasps in response. "Then stop muckin' about and get over here if you want it."

If you want it. 

He addresses the power imbalance by placing the choice in your hands. By giving you the freedom to decide what to do with this. Take the step, or leave his office, and never speak of this moment again. 

If you stay– sit on his face –you're not entirely sure how you'll handle being around him afterwards. Will it be a–a thing? A one-off? 

And could it just be a one-time thing for you? Once you have him so intimately, can you forget it, move on? Go back to the pining. The slow descent into an inescapable chasm where you have feelings– blasphemous –for your Lieutenant. For Ghost.

But could you just walk away from this? 

You don't know. Neither question has a clear answer, and you're once again treading frothing waters. Left to sink or swim all on your own. 

Ghost says nothing while you mull it over, but there's a weight in his gaze that makes your stomach prickle with want. A heaviness inside the inky black of his stare that makes your thighs squeeze together, pussy aching with need. 

The choice is pretty obvious.

Your hands drop to your trousers, fingers peeling off the buttons. 

For once, your eyes never leave his. 

For the first time, Ghost is the one to look away. 

His tongue slides out again when you wiggle out of your pants, thumbs crooked in the band of your panties, until you're bared before him. Your trousers pooling at your ankles. Panties caught on your calves. 

His swallow is a gunshot. It clicks in his throat. 

"Christ, Princess." 

You step out of them, licking your lips. "No muckin' about." 

His eyes darken at your words. "Get the fuck over here, then." 

"Is that an order?" 

"Affirmative, soldier."

With your approach, he sinks to his knees on the floor, eyes only for you. His breath is haggard when he catches a glimpse of your cunt when you're less than an arm length away from him, eyes fixed on your mound. 

"M'gonna touch you, now." His head lifts, stare bores into you. 

The brass in his voice makes your belly tingle, makes heat bloom inside of you. It has you whimpering your consent, and the moment it leaves your throat, his hands–fever hot and rough–are on you. 

They settle, heavy and firm, on your hips, pulling your stomach into his face. The plastic of his mask digs into your skin when he presses his covered nose above your mound, breathing in deeply. 

His eyes flutter shut. Ashen lashes brush over the bulge of his mask where it sits, piled up, on the bridge of his nose. You want to reach out, and touch. Slip your fingers through his hair. Cup his jaw. You want to press your mouth against his, and taste the flavour of his tongue. You want, you want – 

His eyes snap open. Black holes. Unfathomably deep, and quivering around the edges. 

"C'mon, Princess," his voice sounds like it was wrenched through barbed wire, smokey and thick. "Kept it nice and warm for you." 

You can't stop the shiver that rockets down your spine at his tone, dark and primal. He looks at you, and you feel like a meal. A lavish banquet in face of a man starved. 

"Fuck, Ghost–" you moan, your hips jerking in his hold. 

"Simon," he rasps, tongue flicking over to taste the skin of your mound. You feel the knick of teeth, grazing and blunt, and it almost wrecks you. He hadn't even started, and your knees are practically knocking together; cunt dripping slick down your thighs. 

His hand glides down the curve of your flesh until he meets the seam of your legs. "Spread 'em, pet. I wanna see your pretty cunt." 

Fuck–

Your knees quiver, almost giving out under you at the base tone, drenched in the slick coil of want, hunger. He's there, hands firm and unyielding on your body, a low chuckle falling from his lips when he catches the shake in your legs. 

"Little fawn is just achin' for it, ain't you?" 

"Please, Simon –" he pulls your thighs apart, peering at the apex where your glistening sex is waiting for him. 

He buries his head in your belly, groaning at the sight of you–all pretty and pink for him, and so wet he can see where it leaks out, drenching your flesh. 

"Fuck, pet," he grinds the words out from between clenched teeth, inhaling deeply as if he can't get enough of your scent. "You're gonna make a mess outta me, aren't you?" 

You've never heard him sound so excited before. The tremble in his voice is enough to keel you over, sending you toppling down into an inescapable abyss where his eyes brand your flesh, and his mouth devours you whole. 

Your hands fall to his shoulders. The plea you utter is painted in the colour of desperation, and it makes his eyes flutter again, makes them spume with that white-hot desire, that dark promise of how much he's going to ruin you. 

He takes one last breath, nose pushed against the bottom of your mound, as close to your pussy as he can get, and he moves. 

One of the things you've never really understood was how a man so massive managed to move the way he did. Agile, lithe. Like his body was elastic. Liquid. 

He's on the floor, mask pulled up high until his nose and mouth are bared to you, and then he's beckoning you forward with a crook of his finger. His eyes burn like wildfires when you tremble down beside him–all of your honed, practised grace dissolving into nothing with just a flick of his too-red tongue wetting his lips for you. 

You fumble, pussy clenching with the thought of having his mouth on you–soon, so soon; and yet, not nearly quick enough–and settle before him, kneeling by his head. 

"C'mon," he snarls, the bite in his tone blistering. 

It has you whimpering, cunt spasming at the urgency, the impatience, in your once-cold leader. Distant, unshakable. You've never seen him so eager, nearly driven mad by the frustration of not already having your weeping slit on him, the taste of you on his tongue. 

You've never sat on someone's face before. When you tell him this, his eyes shudder, blunt teeth digging into his lower lip to keep the filthy groan from rolling out. 

You can't say shit like that, he grouses, his hands gripping your hip, pulling you closer. 

He helps you settle over him, thighs spread over his head, ass resting on his chest.

His eyes are glued to your cunt as it opens up for him. 

There is a war raging inside of you, one that taints the room with the scent of ichor. It fuels you, makes you bite your lip, coy and playful, and notch your knees further apart until you're bared, fully, to him. Fingers slipping over the hem of your shirt, hiking it up so he can see all of you. Teeth sink into the end of it, keeping it up as your hands drop–one to your covered nipple, the other to your soaked pussy. Two fingers glide over your mound, your clit sitting in the V. You spread them slowly, splitting your folds apart. 

Your cunt pulses with the vibrations of his chest as he groans again, low and deep, at the sight of you spread out before him. A breath away from his lips. 

It feels like a battle when his hand grips your flesh until it bubbles between his fingers. You'll be bruised when he's finished–a mosaic of black and blue and purple and yellow; a palette startlingly similar to his own–and it's the notion of his mark on your body, the proof of that his indomitable man, this untouchable entity, was between your thighs, gazing at you as if he wanted nothing more than the pink folds of your swollen slit on his tongue. 

You shiver. Pleasure stroking through your body as your knuckles graze your clit. 

You're not submissive to anyone–can't afford to be in this world–and you feel the swell of that intoxicating confidence return to you, the incipient spume of what made them liken you to an apex predator, one who hunted human men for sport pooling inside of you. 

Does he see it when his lids lift, eyes seeking yours instantly. Does he read in the list of your head? The flutter of your lashes. You drop your shirt. Your hand falls to the side of his face, the brush of his skin on your fingertips somehow more intimate than this. He's warm. Feverish. You burn, too. 

"Is my seat ready?" You purr, belly filling with victory when his eyes twitch, lowering back to your aching cunt. 

"Always," he grunts, a soft sound polluting the word with the noxious promise of more.  

You shudder, panting, now as you rock forward onto your knees, arched over his mouth. 

Ghost's hands settle on the outside of your spread thighs, fingers gripping your flesh. He tugs, harsh and demanding, and you quickly settle, body turning into malleable polymer in his burning hands. He manoeuvres you until your pussy is right where he wants it, eyes flickering up, catching your glossy gaze. He holds it, lashes fluttering as he inhales, deep and long, and then breathes it out through his mouth, warm breath ghosting over your exposed, slick cunt. 

"Well?" He drawls, the word nearly shredded and raw when it slips out of his throat. "You gonna take your seat, pet?"

You shudder again, shoulders tensing so tight, it aches. Pet. Pet. Pet. Fuck – 

"Yeah," it's a whisper, a gasp. Needy and quivering. 

Your hand moves from his face, fingers chilled without his warm skin against them, and you settle it on the desk beside you, muscles in your thighs straining as you slowly position your sopping wet cunt over your Lieutenant's waiting mouth. 

His lips brush the seam of your pussy, and the groan he lets out rumbles over your flesh. Liquid pleasure blooms. He hasn't even touched you yet, and you're already aching for release. Already inching toward that precipice. 

When you're close enough, he pulls; glueing you to his mouth. He wastes no time before diving in. 

His tongue laves over your drenched folds, dipping inside your swollen pussy to dance over your aching clit, your throbbing hole. You press your wrist to your mouth, biting down hard to stifle the moans that threaten to spill out–somehow more taboo than having your Lieutenant eating your pussy out like he's starved for it. 

Pain blooms on the fat of your ass cheek, your surprised gasp swallowing the sound of his hand smacking your flesh.

"I want to hear you," he growls into your cunt, wrecked and drunk off your taste. His words are slurred, accent thick and heavy. Almost incoherent. 

His eyes are pits. Little black holes. The pupil completely eclipsed his irises. Desire spumes. 

When you pull your hand away, settling it on the corner of the desk instead, he flashes his approval, and then buries his face back into you. His tongue is demanding as it licks over your folds, circling your throbbing clit. 

Liquid pleasure seeps from the tip of his tongue to the base of your spine, where it pools into a molten puddle of bliss. It's good. No, it's better than that. It's –

Your head drops back, hips rutting into his mouth, chasing that euphoria his tongue brings when it toys with your flesh, then slips down, pushing into your drenched, fluttering hole. He fucks you with just the tip, groaning when your hips cant into his face, smearing your wetness all over his chin, jaws. He'll be drenched in your slick by the time this is over. 

He's still your superior. Still your boss, technically, but fuck –

Your hand drops from the desk, sliding into the fabric of his mask until a fistful sits in your grasp. A tug makes his eyes snap open, darting up to meet yours. Is this okay? you want to ask, but the question is swallowed by the filthy groan he lets out into your cunt when you pull a little harder, accidentally snatching the hair beneath.

It's good, then. You pull a little more. His mouth drops, panting into you. 

You whine when he stops, hips bucking into his mouth. "Please, please, don't stop–"

"Fuck, Princess," he slurs. "That's it. Ride my face, c'mon."

You're a good soldier. So, so good. You could never deny a command from your superior officer. 

It's clumsy at first–hesitant. A slow roll of your hips, too afraid of smothering your Lieutenant, and having to fess up to being the one to murder him with your cunt keeps you from pushing your core into his face, taking your pleasure. You want to, though. Want to so bad your thighs quiver with the effort of holding back. 

The room is filled with the sticky slick sounds of your sopping centre dragging over his eager mouth. Breathless pants spill from your throat at the obscene pleasure that burrows into your core. 

And his groans. 

God, his noises are enough to make you whimper. Filthy growls into your aching pussy as he eats you up, as if he can't get enough of your taste. As if he's parched and your wetness is the first drink he'd had in years. 

It rumbles through the slick, softness of his tongue, and straight into your clit. The vibrations make your head numb, fuzzy, until you're stupid off the way he devours you whole. 

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes into you–voice reverent as his molten tongue slips inside again, as if he can't get enough of it. "Gimme this pretty lil'pussy. C'mon… yeah, that's it…"

His voice is muffled when your hips rock faster against him, but the praise in his tenor has you shamelessly bucking into his mouth, against his tongue. The sounds wrenched from your throat are wonton, and needy, a breathless plea for more. Fuck, so much more –

His tongue parts your folds, gliding through the drenched slick until he's pressing the tip into your aching hole, splitting you apart. It pushes into you–quick flicks, a pistoning motion; a facsimile of what you want his cock to do to you so badly. It has you keening. Has you riding his face, unbothered whether or not he suffocates between your thighs so long as he keeps doing what he's doing with that sinful fucking tongue that has you singing, has your eyes rolling back in your head, reaching so far you can see the cosmos. 

It's a deep, toe-curling pleasure. The dangerous kind–the one that teases, that makes dark promises against your core about how badly it'll mess you up, get you hooked on the taste of it, and then absolutely delivers. The kind of bliss that has your stomach clenching, roiling with molten heat that happens too fast, you barely have enough time to warn him before you're begging for it, whining for the thickness of his tongue inside of your throbbing cunt. 

His fingers bruise your thighs when they grip your flesh between his fingers, dragging your puffy, drenched pussy over his mouth to suckle on your aching clit until Nirvana flashes behind your eyelids. A whiteout so divine, you nearly slip into him when your knees give out. 

His responding grunt sends pleasure blistering through your core when you lose yourself in the rasp of his tongue sweeping over your weeping slit. 

Ghost's hand leaves your thigh as you tremble through the shockwaves sputtering out, leaking molten bliss through each synapse, each nerve, until you're moaning, shameless and desperate with the release that bludgeons through you.

The world dissolves into white noise. The buzz of it rings in your head as you break apart, ground, once more, down to atoms and molecules that burst with the undulating wave of molten euphoria that drags over you. 

The white static in your head fades in a gradual ebb and flow as the world slowly pieces itself back together again. 

His mouth hasn't stopped. 

He rides you through it all, tongue laving over you as you clench around nothing but the phantom thought of how good his cock would feel inside of your soft, fluttering walls. 

You pant, heaving for air, and grip the edge of the desk tight when his insistent licks become too much. 

"Simon," you whine, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't slow. 

His tongue drags through your folds, thrusting back into you. You clench around the thick muscle, whimpering as whips of pleasure spark through your core once more. 

It's too much, too intense; the pleasure is battered into you until you're forced to accept it, forced to take the bliss he flicks into you with a quivering gasp, and trembling thighs. 

He's not done with you. The taste wasn't enough. 

You lean back, almost desperate to get away from that greedy mouth that consumes you, but the slick sound from behind you makes you pause. 

Pleasure rolls through you again; a molten pulse of agonising want, pulling taut and snapping against you like a rubber band. 

He's touching himself. 

To the taste of you. To the feeling of your pussy drenching his face. 

Fuck. Fuck –

You peer over your shoulder, whimpering when you catch sight of his furious strokes over his hard, weeping cock. The tip is flushed blood-red, leaking spend all over the mushroomed head, and down the long, thick length of him. Your thighs snap together, knees pressed taut to his ears. 

He grunts into you but doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. His tongue fucks into you at the same pace as his almost brutal strokes. Thick prepend puddles around the base of him, soaking his trousers, his hands. His fist. 

"Fuck, Simon," you purr, too blissed, too far gone, to think properly. "You're so big." You grind down against him, eyes fixed on his hand. "I want you inside me. I want you fuck my pussy with your fat cock–"

He makes noises against you that sound like a wounded animal–low bellows into your swollen lips, groans of a starving man–and his relentless devouring of your cunt has your belly fluttering with the lashing of pleasure spooling in your core. It's everything–the hungry sounds he makes as he consumes your taste; the furious, almost desperate way he fists his throbbing cock in his hand, hips jerking into the tight seal of his palm as if he was imagining how the clutch of you would feel around him. 

He could have taken his pleasure in reciprocity. Had you on your knees, sucking him off until he came down your throat. He could have bent you over the desk, and fucked into you like he so clearly wants. 

He could've had you any way he wanted; he put you in any position he desired, and you would have gone willingly, eagerly. 

But he doesn't. 

His mouth glues to you like he can't get enough, like he doesn't want to stop, and he takes his pleasure from the taste of you alone. 

It's –

It's so agonisingly hot. 

The mask is rough between your fingers when you grip it tight, rolling your hips against his mouth–a tease of how you would ride him if he let you–and the sight of him, hips battering into his hand when you move, sinful groans whispered into your slit, sends you plunging into those depths once more. 

It takes you by surprise: the orgasm is ripped from you, stolen by the sight of his cock twitching, spitting out ropes of cum all over his hand, his stomach. 

You keen, toes curling as he squeezes every last drop out, panting into you as he rides himself through it, nose pressed taut to your raw clit, swollen and so sensitive it hurts. 

He grounds out your name, a wrecked whisper into your pulsing slit, and the sound of it has your head dropping, gaze cresting down to gaze at him. 

Simon's eyes are lidded. Heavy. All black. Endlessly so. They flicker up, as if he can feel your stare, and the glazing of pleasure in those slate-grey eyes makes you lose your footing once more, hurtling over the edge of a precipice too steep to climb out of.  

A chill grazes your spine. Fuck. You're fucked. You're absolutely, utterly, irrevocably fucked. 

    He's a mess, absolutely drenched. Slick with your wetness, and covered in his own cum. 

You hate how enticing he looks.

You sit on the ground, knees pressed together, watching him as he cleans up, wiping his hand on his shirt, and then dragging the hem up to his mouth. 

The muscles in his thick abdomen make you squeeze your thighs together, a low throb brimming up at the sight of his inked, bulky flesh. Fuck. He's good-looking. Maybe. You only saw a peak of his face. A glimpse of his chest. But God, it's enough. 

He could be a troglodyte under there, with just a handsome chin, and full pink lips, a long, curved nose, and you wouldn't care. 

You'd gladly sit on his ugly mug any day. 

He releases the bottom of his filthy shirt, and tugs the ends of his mask down. You wonder if he still smells you under there. If it whets his appetite as much as the thought of it does yours. 

There are things you want to say, questions you want to ask, but they slip, reluctant, and–for the first time since Porthmadog– fearfully into the recesses that broke open when you'd said those stupid words. When you came face to face with the hideousness of wanting a man who wasn't allowed to want you back. 

Simon– Ghost, now; Lieutenant–is an amalgamation of every bad decision. He's wrong and off-limits personified. 

It's not that he's a bad man. Far from it. If there were any good men left in this world, then he was undoubtedly one of them. 

But he's an illicit drink. Ambrosia. A forbidden elixir. 

He's a man you're not allowed to want—a man you're not allowed to touch, to covet, to need. 

It's all moot. Rendered out into ashes, dust. You can't have him. 

You turn away when he straightens out. Ghost has the uncanny ability to read you unlike anyone else. He'll see this moment of weakness when your defences are in shambles. 

"Y'alright?"

Your chest thunders at the rawness in his voice. "Y-yeah…"

"Good," he murmurs, hands falling to his sides, shoulders straight. 

You pull yourself together. Try to, anyway, but it's hard when he's staring at your sticky thighs when you shakily stand up, and wrench your pants on. 

"Hey," he calls, softer than you'd ever heard him speak. It makes you tense; the blistering sting of rejection is already there in the periphery. 

"Yeah?" 

He's quiet for a moment, and you risk a peek over your shoulder. It's –

Well. 

It's fleeting. There for a second, and then gone the next. Barely a flicker. Had you not spent a whole year in the desert with him dodging scorpions, and men with machine guns and a lust for blood, you might have missed it. 

But it was there. You saw it in passing. 

His resolve seals over the fissure. His eyes are blown black and distant. 

"We move out tomorrow." 

You respect the fact that he doesn't press, doesn't push. He doesn't ask if you're good, if you're okay. Doesn't try to hash things out when you have death looming over you in a few short hours. He compartmentalises. Draws a thick delineation in the sand, and picks a side. Instant. Effortless. 

Right. 

Your fist quivers. You shove it in the pocket of your trousers. 

When you look up, the gleaming gaze of a crocodile lurking in the murky waters stares back. 

"Roger that, Lieutenant." 

And you leave. It's simple. Effortless. 

(Another hole in the veneer. Nothing leaks out.) 

    A week later, and the world around you is at peace once more. Mission: successful. 

You keep your feelings a tightly guarded secret, and tuck them inside your ribs for safekeeping, unwilling to let them go quite yet. 

You're a dutiful soldier. A professional. You look him in the eye, and don't flinch. You face the men around you, and pretend you don't know what Ghost sounds like when he grunts your name in pleasure. He, in turn, acts as if his breath doesn't carry the taste of you. As if you don't linger behind his front teeth; piquant and damning. 

It's a dance. 

The choreography is new, but the rhythm is the same. You follow the beats, and let him lead you around the ballroom until the cracks inside have been plastered over. Something normal settles–or, rather: something as close to normal as you can get when you can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin. 

Soap looks on with something a bit too keen in his eyes, but mercifully says nothing at all. He isn't the type to pry–least of all when it comes to Ghost. 

The others pick at it like a scab, watching it peel and bleed for their amusement. To them, nothing happened. You got reamed out, reprimanded, and that's all. A slip of the tongue; a joke gone too far. It's nothing new. Stuck in a foreign country with men trying to kill you at every corner, tempers fly. Fists, too. 

When the dust settles, all is forgotten. New again. 

They hear you call out to Ghost over the comm, and when he responds back–tone pinched and gruff like it always is–they know it's done. Dealt with. 

Sometimes, they mock you. 

Never in front of him, of course: not when the last man to do so, tapping his chin with a toothy grin, and a singsong, gotta seat for you right here, doll falling from his lips, was met with the brunt of his Lieutenant's anger. Scathing words that slash, deadly and sharp, pointed enough to vivisect a man clean through the gut. 

"I hope you have a brain in your skull to use instead of just that tiny pecker in your trousers, because if that's the only one you got, I think it's safe to say we're all fucked, aren't we?"

And with that, it's over. Done. 

The world goes back to shades of espionage and counterterrorism. Games of poker between putting a bullet in a man's head. A drink after cutting the throat of a shady politician. Drenched in blood. Dressed in metals. 

When the mission finishes, you find yourself staring at your bags already packed up in the corner, and wonder if you'll ever unpack them one day. 

(You wonder if he ever will, either.)

It's Soap who knocks on the door. "Wheels up in twenty." 

"Roger." 

Soap doesn't usually linger, but today he hesitates. 

You lift your chin and meet his pinched expression. 

"Alright, bonnie?"

The bags mock you. Filled to the brim with things that should be a necessity, but haven't been used in years. It's bursting. Chock full. Pushed to its mettle. And yet, decidedly empty at the same time. 

A picture of what you do, what you are. 

Your head lists to the side. "I think so." 

His nod, too, is sharp and deep. A soldier, a brother in arms. 

"Hey… you, uh… what did you mean by–um." You falter. It's your turn to hesitate. 

"What?" 

"Before, you know… with Ghost." 

The confusion slips deftly into understanding. And then a distinct grimace. "Why?" 

"Curious, is all."

There is a weight in his stare, too, but it's different from your Lieutenant's. Less intense. Invasive. Soap looks at you like you're an idiot. A wet-behind-the-ears rookie nursing a crush on the one man who is firmly off-limits. And really, that's what you are, in a sense. 

In that single degree of separation, you think you find the substance you were looking for all along. You think it's been there the whole time. Mocking you like the bags in the corner. Untouched. Unnoticed. Waiting. 

You suck in a breath at the thought. 

It's not enough. Not yet. You need to know–

You do what you’re good at. You gather the intel.

Soap shakes his head. An imperceptible movement, almost missed. 

But you catch it. 

"Bonnie," he says, heavy. His shoulder sags against the door frame. Then he sighs. Shakes his head. "There are very few people out there that can distract him from a task. From a mission." 

Your heart is in your throat, featherlight. The wings of a small bird preening its plumage. 

Your breath shudders out of you. 

Mission, you think–

"Better know what you're gettin' into."

You smile, wide and bright. Bigger than any you'd carried with you in Porthmadog. "I think I do."  

    He always sits alone on the plane unless he needs to go over the game plan, or discuss positions with others. Head always turned. Eyes shuttered, fixed out the window. 

He never looks up. Never moves. 

You think about that thing you saw. The vague glimmer in his eyes. It's the bolstering confidence you need, the one that carries you. 

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? It propels you forward–a mantra, a gospel–and you use it, now, in this sleepy jet that reeks of men, gunpowder, and sweat. They're all riding high on the success of a victory–one with no casualties on your side: a rarity–and most of them are out cold, or blubbering over finally going home to their family. 

It's an earned break. Deserved. 

You don't know what to do with it. Where to go. Home hadn't felt like home since you sunk your palms into the pavement, and stained the gravel with your blood. Years on the move, living in the shadow, has reduced the idea to a whim, an evanescent thing. You don't quite mourn its loss, but you miss the compunction that used to sit low in your belly when you turned your back to the place, and shouldered your duffle bag. 

Now, it's just another city on the list of many. 

His head lifts when you approach. Your heart stammers, featherlight, and heavy as a paperweight. 

You find his eyes over the pews that separate you. 

Slate. Charcoal. Black holes.

You wonder if he'll tear you apart if you get too close. 

Your fingers ache to find out. 

"Rookie," he grouses, hoarse from the meagre sleep the night prior. It's a bland acknowledgement in itself, but his look alone belies the nonchalance in his greeting. There's a question there. 

You have one, too. 

The sun crests over the plane when it rises, drenching him in ochre. Your smile feels a little too full and a touch too wobbly, when it quirks on your lips. 

His shoulders ease. Eyes drop, lidded and heavy. Unguarded, disarmed, for the first time in years. 

You think if he could, he'd be smiling, too. 

"Is this seat taken?" 

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #call of duty #cod #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #myfics #Simon Ghost Riley

[pocketjoong]

❥𓂃𓏧WHAT IS A SOULMATE?

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (SYNOPSIS): You and Seonghwa go on a trip across Europe and you use this as an excuse to make a little birthday video for him. But on the day of his birthday, Seonghwa feels nothing but grief as he watches the video you made for him.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (PAIRING) idol!Seonghwa x fem!reader

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (GENRE AND AU/TROPE): fluff. angst. meet-cute. nsfw.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WARNINGS) NSFW! MINORS DNI. oral. fingering. unprotected sex (it’s a big no guys, please use protection and stay safe). pet names (mc is called dove). mentions of food. allusions to and mentions of a serious accident. angst. fluff.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WORD COUNT) 4.3k

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (NOTES) @pyeonghongrie-main :) Here's the promised reupload hehehe

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

London

Outside the confines of your hotel room, silence blankets the city much like the fog that hangs overhead. The first light of dawn is yet to break through the ink-black sky as the metropolis cradles its inhabitants in the silence of the night. This part of the city is still asleep, each soul embraced by the arms of Morpheus, awaiting daybreak to rouse them from their slumber.

Your gaze fixates on the horizon from between the sheer curtains. A pang of anticipation stirs within you, for out of all the alluring sights of nature, sunrise has always been your favourite. After all, regardless of wherever you are in the world, the sunrise is the only constant in the transient nature of life.

Today, however, as the dark black of the night fades to inky blue and splashes of pinks and purples bloom in the east, the only sight you focus on are his eyes. Seonghwa’s eyes are brighter than any galaxy and softer than the cherry blossoms that have begun blossoming on the tree just beyond the terrace. In that moment, you are happy to forego the sight of the beautiful sunrise to watch the coffee and hazel in his eyes melt to form the most gorgeous shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

It won’t be an exaggeration to say that sometimes, you feel like all of your life—each second, each breath, and each step—amounts to Seonghwa. Every decision you have ever made has been a stepping stone in your journey to meet him that one day six years ago when he was only a trainee.

Close to dawn, you had been wandering through the streets of Seoul to find a spark of inspiration for your first-ever project as a photography major. You knew  you wanted to play with the idea of light and dark meeting together to form the most beautiful of sights, and what was a better time to do so than twilight?

So there you were, braving the winter chill for a decent grade while your friends were sleeping soundly, snuggled up in their warm beds.

But it seemed that fate had other plans for you that morning. You took a sip of the coffee you’d bought from the only cafe open at this ungodly hour, forgetting for a moment that it was piping hot. With a wince, you glared at the beige paper cup as if the liquid energy had personally done something to spite you.

A snicker caught your attention, and you turned around to narrow your eyes at the person, only to freeze in your tracks. Wearing a brown, fuzzy coat coupled with dark skinny jeans, the male looked like an angel sent from heaven. The thought that he was a hallucination of your sleep-deprived and cold body crossed your mind, but you discarded the thought when he realised that you’d heard him, and he scrambled to apologise for laughing.

You didn’t know then, but your life was for him. And, it won’t be an exaggeration to say that your life is all him. As winter melted into spring and spring made way for summer, you fell in love with the colour brown: the lush cocoa of Seonghwa’s eyes, sweeter than any hot chocolate you could find, and the tan of his skin, reminiscent of the buttery sweetness of roasted chestnuts. As the weather became humid and the days turned longer, you didn’t even register the beginnings of love taking root in your heart.

It began slowly, like the dripping of water from a tap. Drop by drop, your heart filled with adoration for him. Starting with an appreciation for the awe with which he experienced the world as if doing so for the first time. Then, it became more serious: you found yourself yearning to be around him, to listen to him talk about anything and everything, to be the only one he’d think of as being worthy of his heart.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, you fell for his voice, a deep baritone with the consistency of honey that you couldn’t get enough of. And the best part? You got to hear it every day before sunrise, for that was his designated time for you in his busy schedule as a trainee and then later as an idol. Dawn was yours, had always been yours, and would always be yours as long as Seonghwa was beside you.

And so, without your knowledge, you fell in love with him bit by bit. You fell as if falling under a spell you couldn’t find a counter for. Not that you wanted to anyway, not when he was there to catch you.

A year later when spring arrived, love and hope sprouted in your heart when Seonghwa’s lips pressed against yours for the first time under the cherry blossoms. He etched himself into the deepest crevices of your soul and your heart. His touch was like that of the sun against your skin after a dark night, igniting your soul in a way that reminded you of fireworks. Under the light of dawn, as he kissed you, you learned a truth. Like the sunrise, Seonghwa is the only constant in your life.

“What are you thinking about?” His soft whisper pulls you out of your reminiscing, and you find yourself gazing into his wide eyes that are brimming with affection and curiosity.

Even after years of being with Seonghwa, the way he looks at you as if you are the one who hung the moon in the sky always floors you. Your skin tingles at the warmth and adoration in his gaze.

“You,” lost in way his thumb grazes against your waist, the word slips out of your lips without a second thought. You almost curse at yourself for being so taken with him when you see a devilish smirk pull at his lips.

“Is that so, my dove?” Chuckling, he lets himself get closer to you, if that’s even possible, considering how you’re basically pressed against him. His hands rise to cup your face, drawing you to his lips.

You lose yourself in the warmth of his mouth. His kisses are softer at first, but soon, his lips are moving insistently against yours. His teeth sink gently into your bottom lip, and he swallows the moan that leaves you almost hungrily. Seonghwa’s hand slides up the side of your body to slide your nightgown off you, exposing you to the chilly morning air.

He pulls back from you momentarily, the loss making you whine, but the protest dies in your throat when he gazes at you with nothing but love and adoration. In what little light filters through the sheer curtains, he looks ethereal with his glowing bronze skin. His dark hair is messy, and yet he manages to look as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of a manhwa. As if knowing what’s going through your head, a soft smile pulls at his lips.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he breathes, voice thick with sleep and desire.

“Like what?” You ask, your own hands finding purchase against his shoulders.

“Like I’m the damn sunrise.”

“You’re more breathtaking than any sunrise I’ve ever seen, Hwa,” you cradle his cheek in your palm, words ringing with sincerity as you gaze at your boyfriend.

Seonghwa ducks down at your words, hiding his face in your neck as you chuckle at the way he reacts to your compliment. Your amusement doesn’t last long, however, when he leans down further to lave his tongue against the marks his teeth had left against the column of your neck the night before. His teeth sink into your skin, cutting you off mid-laughter, while his palms come to cup your exposed breasts, and you find yourself arching into his touch. 

You watch Seonghwa descend the length of your body, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips can reach. His hands slither downwards, fingers digging into your thighs to spread your legs open for him. Bringing his mouth to your core, he smirks when you let out a broken moan, bucking into his mouth. Seoghwa keeps his eyes on you as he devours you.

“Hwa—” you choke back a moan, reaching for him with a trembling hand. You pull him to your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Want you. Please.”

“My beautiful dove.” Seonghwa breathes reverently. His hands are gentle against your waist, cradling you close to him while his lips trace their way up your jaw to meet yours in a sloppy kiss. 

As the sun rises over the Thames River, he ravishes you with a gentleness that feels like the first touch of warmth of the morning light.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

Madrid

“Are you recording me?” Seonghwa laughs, walking backwards on the sidewalk as you fumble with the camera—it’s heavier than what you’re used to—but you don’t mind because you’re more concerned about the quality of the video than anything else.

You can’t help but grin at the sight in front of you: Seonghwa in a beret and a long, dark coat that he has paired with jeans contrasts so well with the potted geraniums in front of the restaurant you had stopped to get breakfast at. The flowers herald the happiness blossoming in your chest at the sight of your lover glowing like the sun while surrounded by the the tell-tale signs of the approaching spring.

Seonghwa jokes that these flowers are blooming because it is his first time visiting Europe with you. You laugh off his silly comment, but in your heart of hearts, you can’t help but agree with him. It’s almost as if nature wants you to document the most beautiful sights while you record Seonghwa in the cities you are visiting.

Before you can answer him, something catches his eyes, and before you know it, he is dragging you to a toy store he has spotted on the other side of the road. His smile as he eagerly scours the store for something to buy reminds you of sunlight upon the tides, bright and blinding as the sun itself on the waves that lap gently at the shore.

Seonghwa makes his way to the sunglasses, trying on the goofiest ones, making you giggle. Encouraged by your laughter, he continues to make a fool of himself, pulling funny expressions for the camera and not caring if people are giving him funny looks. At one point, he tries the poison green alien sunglasses, and despite you laughing at how atrocious the design is, you can’t help but think how easily he can pull off even the most ridiculous of accessories with grace.

Behind him, you spot something that makes you gasp, and you rush to the shelves to grab one of the Toothless plushies. Turning around with purpose, you’re caught off guard by how close Seonghwa is, but you don’t let it faze you.

“Look, Hwa! I found you on the shelf,” you giggle at him, holding the plushie up so that it lines up with his face.

He rolls his eyes fondly, used to such jokes by the rest of ATEEZ and his fans. Despite that, he takes the plushie from your hands and puts it on his head, allowing you to capture him with ease. His touch is careful as he holds the plushie, similar to how he handles everything he lays his hands on. Delicate and light, he touches everything he comes across with care, and that’s one of the reasons you find him endearing—for he’s one of the few people who truly take the time to appreciate the beauty the world has to offer.

“If I’m Toothless, doesn’t that mean you’re my Light Fury?” You watch the way his eyes scan the shelves for something.

“I guess,” you shrug, chuckling as you help him in his search for a plushie of the said dragon.

“Do you think we should buy these?” Seonghwa asks, interrupting your search, and you turn to find him holding up the two plushies. He glances at the two stuffed toys—Toothless and the Light Fury—with his eyes furrowed as he weighs the pros and cons of buying both.

“You have multitudes of these back home, Hwa.” You remind him, in fact, he has so many plushies and figurines that he had to store some in your apartment because his manager had threatened that he would throw them out if he saw one more of the HTTYD-themed merch.

“But—”

“Hwa.”

“Fine, break my heart, why don’t you?” And with a pout, he places them back on the shelf reluctantly. You know he’s joking because when you gesture towards the plushies later on, he shakes his head with a smile.

Throughout the day, you explore the city with him, telling him everything you had learned about the places from the little tourist booklet you had snagged from the hotel that morning. He listens to you earnestly, watching you talk with a smile as admiration settles under his skin.

Later in the night, you find yourself in a cafe. Taking a deep breath, you inhale the scent of coffee that permeates your immediate surroundings. Since the cafe is basically empty at this time of the night, a sense of tranquillity surrounds you, much like the warm coat Seonghwa has draped over you. You watch late stragglers making their way home from their jobs through the window you’re seated against, hands curled against a warm cup of hazelnut latte.

“Dove,” Seonghwa’s quiet voice comes from next to you, causing you to snuggle into his shoulder, humming for him to continue. “Don’t fall asleep. We have to walk back to the hotel.”

“Shall we leave, then?” Stifling a yawn, you ask, causing him to nod.

He leads you out of the cafe, keeping his hand on your lower back as you walk through the sparsely populated streets. The very next moment, however, it begins to rain out of nowhere, and before you know it, you are being drenched in the downpour.

Seonghwa laughs in surprise but turns his face upwards to allow the raindrops to kiss his cheeks. Even though the world is blurred around you and your vision is warped by the drops in your eyes, you can still see him clearly. He basks in the rain, lets himself get drenched by the droplets cascading down his face, neck, and shoulders. The rain is so heavy that the raindrops make streams as they make their way down his body.

Watching him like this, you find yourself reaching out for him. As if on the same wavelength as you, Seonghwa takes your hand in his, lips curling up in a smile when you entangle your fingers with his. Reaching out, he cups your face gently, and it seems as if the world stops around you, your senses failing to register anything beyond his touch. Seonghwa trails his thumb along your lips, wiping the raindrops that have settled across your skin.

Drenched in the downpour with him, it’s easy to think of Seonghwa as the rain and yourself as the earth that craves rain after a dry spell.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

Seoul

The wallpaper drips with grief, mimicking the gloom that has taken root in his heart and doesn’t seem to want to leave. The glow of the streetlights filters through the windows and is the only source of light in his dark room. In the centre of the whirlpool of dread and darkness lies Seonghwa, curled up against the messy sheets he can’t bother to straighten.

The silence is uncanny. He’s not used to it—for years, he has shared a room with Hongjoong, and even though, more often than not, the younger male wasn’t actually there because he preferred the studio or the living room couch to the bedroom, the mere idea of sharing a room with someone always made him feel at ease. Hongjoong has been Seonghwa’s anchor in the years he roomed with him, but now alone in his room, the walls seem to press in around him like waves trying to drown him, leaving him breathless.

If Hongjoong is his anchor, you are his beacon, his guiding light, his polestar. And tonight, as his ship is battered by the biggest storm he’s ever faced, you aren’t here either. Desperately, he searches for something to ground him, but too many days and nights filled with sorrow and false optimism have built up and around him, crushing him with a weight he can’t handle anymore. When love wasn’t enough to save you, how can it be enough to help him stay afloat in the rough seas?

Outside of his room, spring touches everything with its delicate hands. For Seonghwa, however, winter still lingers, and the beautiful weather outside just irks him further. He hasn’t been in love for the last week, and even nature cannot revive him this time around. Without love in his heart, the only thing he feels is despair.

Even now, he can’t forget the way red painted his hands as you lay in his arms. Sometimes, when he squeezes his eyes shut hard enough, he can see your smile. In the very same moment, his heart opens and breaks when the image of you in his arms dances across his vision, and he dies again and again, bleeds until there’s only a shell left behind.

The beeping of his digital clock startles him. The digits read 00:00, distorted from the tears that line his lashes but never seem to fall. For a long time, he had thought today would make the pain bearable, but it persists, lingering in his heart and his room like stubborn rain clouds that linger even after the storm has passed. It is possible that you may not return to him, but he tries to remain optimistic. If he doesn’t believe you to be strong enough to fight for him, for your love, then who will? 

His phone dings, and he looks at the device for a moment. Each beep of his phone has, till now, started him into a sitting position, and every time, it has not what he expected. But foolishly, he still hopes for a miracle.

His phone dinging again with the custom notification he had set for you has Seonghwa scrambling to check his phone. It’s a scheduled email, but your name lighting up the screen renders him breathless. At the sight of your name, the storm raging around him quietens down, leaving him in calm seas. There’s a video attached with the email, and he clicks it open.

[Exterior. Mid-morning. Shots of the streets of London from a car. In the foreground, the text reads Happy Birthday, Seonghwa! A female’s voice is heard speaking in the voiceover.]

Y/N: What’s a soulmate?

[The camera pans and focuses on Seonghwa as he looks out of the window, pointing at all the things he remembers from the few times he has been there with ATEEZ for concerts.]

SH: And that’s the cafe Jongho liked a lot. He said the coffee there was amazing. We should definitely visit it after we’ve settled in hotel room, you look like you could do with some caffeine in your system.

Y/N: [laughing] Not everyone is used to sleeping in aeroplanes.

SH: [shaking his head, he sniffs as if wounded by your comments] Well, if you toured with me, you’d be used to it. You’re the only one who keeps declining when I ask you to come with me! My poor self has to live without you for months just because you won’t agree.

Y/N: Your idea of bringing me along includes you stuffing me into your suitcase. Sorry if I don’t want to be thrown around with the other luggage.

SH: [snorting] It’s your fault for being so small.

Y/N: [sighing] Whatever, Hwa.

[Midday. The video cuts to a shot of Seonghwa walking along the Thames river. He has his arms wrapped around himself. The sky is covered with fluffy clouds, and one can tell that spring is fast approaching with the way little green buds are seen on the trees in the background.]

Y/N: It’s a… Well, it’s like a best friend, but more.

SH: It’s so cold!

Y/N: Should we go and get something to warm us up from the cafe you pointed out earlier? I think it’s close to where we are right now.

[The video cuts to the two of you inside the cafe. The camera is placed on one side, allowing it to capture both Seonghwa and you. You’re laughing at Seonghwa, who took a sip from your iced americano and immediately made a face at the taste. The video skips a bit and Seonghwa can be seen humming along to the music from the speakers while you watch him, enraptured by his vocals.]

Y/N: It’s the one person in the world who knows you better than anyone else.

[The video cuts again. This time, Seonghwa is in a hotel room, standing against the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower and posing goofily while you are laughing in the background. He waddles over to the camera, forcing you to put it on the table as he twirls you around, dancing to a song he’s humming.]

Y/N: It’s someone who makes you a better person.

[The video cuts to a closeup of Seonghwa’s head in your lap as you sit on the couch. He’s sleeping soundly while you run your fingers through his soft hair. His lips quirk upwards in a smile, causing you to halt your motions, but a whine from him has you resuming your actions.]

Y/N: [soft whisper] Did I wake you up?

SH: [hums and shakes his head] Not really… [yawns] I wasn’t fully asleep.

[There’s silence for a while as Seonghwa shifts around to get comfortable.]

SH: I love you.

Y/N: That was so random, Hwa.

SH: Hey! You’re supposed to say you love me too!

Y/N: [snorting] I love you, you overgrown child.

SH: I’ll have you know that’s Wooyoung.

Y/N: Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll bite your arm off or something.

SH: [laughing hard]

Y/N: Actually, they don’t make you a better person, you do that yourself… because they inspire you.

[The video cuts to Seonghwa amidst the geraniums in Madrid before he drags you to the MINISO. His shenanigans from the store can be seen, with him wearing goofy sunglasses and playing with the Night Fury plushie.]

Y/N: A soulmate is someone who you can carry with you forever.

[Seonghwa can be seen busking with a guy playing the guitar. He sings Angel Baby by Troye Sivan, smiling wide when you start swaying one of your hands in beat with the music, causing people to follow your actions. When he’s done, people come up to him, telling him that he’s an amazing singer, and he thanks everyone with a bashful smile while watching you look at him with a look of pride on your face.]

Y/N: It’s the one person who knew you and accepted you… Believed in you before anyone else did or when no one else would. 

[Seonghwa excuses himself from the crowd and makes his way towards you, wrapping his arms around your frame and sways the two of you as the busker starts crooning a song in Danish.]

SH: Thank you for always believing in me, dove. Especially when I didn’t believe in myself.

Y/N: [smiling] I love you, and I’ll cheer you on, especially during the darkest days.

Y/N: And no matter what happens, you will always love them. 

[The camera pans to you in your editing studio, and you wave at the camera with a smile on your face.]

Y/N: It’s quite late [glancing at the clock on your desk], 3 a.m. to be precise, and I’m working on your birthday video. [Laughs] I hope you like this little video I put together with clips from our trip to Europe. Give me a call once you’re done watching this. I love you so much, Hwa! Happy Birthday, my star!

Y/N: Nothing can ever change that.

Seonghwa wipes his tears, sniffing as he gets up from the bed. With a meticulousness characteristic of him, he goes through the motions of dressing up to pay you a visit. That’s the only thing that seems to make sense, so with bleary eyes and heavy feet, he walks through the deserted streets of Seoul.

The staff members at the hospital allow him to see you, used to his untimely visits. The nurse watching over you gives him a sad smile and leaves him alone with you when he enters your room. He notes that the pallor that had settled beneath your skin is now fading, albeit slowly. 

Maybe you’re getting better? But you still haven’t woken up, and seeing your face, he finds himself falling, falling through the memories of the day of the accident. His eyes close of their own accord, and he sighs, trying to get those images out of his mind. Unable to stop his thoughts, he relives the day all over again.

Logically, he knows the accident isn’t his fault but of the person who was behind the wheel.

Or maybe it was, the voice in his mind tells him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can’t forgive himself for the events that led up to the accident. If he hadn’t called you to pick him up from the company that night when it was raining, you’d be safe in his arms, celebrating his birthday with him.

No, it wasn’t. Seonghwa desperately wants to believe his own words. But there’s still that small voice of doubt that rears its ugly head, and before he knows it, fresh tears are rolling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Seonghwa is too emotionally exhausted and too choked to speak any louder. “My dove, I’m so sorry for this whole mess. I’m sorry. Please wake up soon. I can’t do this alone—I can’t live without you. Please. I love you.”

#cromernet #k-labels #wonderlandnet #kvanity #cultofdionysusnet #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez reactions #ateez fluff #ateez angst #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa reactions #seonghwa headcanons #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa angst #seonghwa smut

[ranastro]

ASTROLOGY OBSERVATION 1

When angry with someone, Venus Aries tends to solve it immediately and then won't take it to heart, while Venus is the opposite, they will suppress themselves and find someone else who makes them more comfortable.

Juno in the 8th house shows that the partner is jealous, possessive, quite controlling, does not want their lover to have a relationship with another guy, even just friends or thinking about someone else. They want to be the one to see and have the deepest, most secret feelings of the person they love, the most beautiful things, desires, fears, love, pain,… of the person they love. This position is obsessive and both partners may feel safe with each other but there may be frustration if they don't give each other space.

Sagittarius people love to travel or have dreams of going abroad. They may like to study the culture, traditions, and religions of different countries.

When Sagittarius Mars wants to do something, they will act immediately

Water positions in the Sun, Moon, Mercury, Venus like to listen to music, see places with water and feel comfortable somewhere clean and airy. Maybe they think that if they are dirty, it will affect their health and those around them (especially Cancer at MC, Sun, Moon).

Gemini, Pisces, Cancer AC bring childish features to the face

The position of the Moon conjunct the Sun, the trine/sextile moon and Venus in the synastry map are really great positions that bring empathy, trust and a feeling of safety and openness to each other.

The Moon in the 8th house is often impressed with the dark sides deep inside a person, especially women, they feel the dark and light sides of femininity, their reactions are often strong and when When they are young, they often cannot handle their own emotions. People around them may have different feelings from them, so these people easily choose to hide their emotions. Sex, mystery, spiritual research may be topics of interest to them. This is a position that brings a difficult childhood mentally, but will get better over time, as they accumulate experiences, they will enjoy the blessings of femininity, women in the family. If they have more relatives, they can receive material support and be raised by more females than males in the family.

Mercury conjunct the sun has a desire to study all their lives, they don't want to get confused when they get old and have excitement and butterflies in their stomachs when absorbing knowledge that they feel is helpful to them. they/ are called

Capricorn's position can receive the love of animals, they can remember their domestic pets for a long time

Pisces, 12th position has the ability to sense thoughts, surrounding energy very well and also the source of energy coming to them. They may have a path to the spiritual path, communicate with their ancestors in the future, some people have artistic talents such as musicians, singing, painting, etc. They are dreamy and also like romance.

Have a nice day, you guys

#astro observations #astrology #pisces position #12th house #8th house #synastry #capricorn position #moon 8th house #mercury conjunct sun synastry #moon conjunct venus synastry #moon trine venus synastry #moon sextile venus synastry #Gemini AC #Cancer AC #Pisces AC #Water sign #Sagittarius Mars #sagittarius #Sagittarius Sun #Sagittarius Moon #Sagittarius Sun Venus #Juno 8th #Venus Aries #Venus Libra #scorpio

[ohthemis]

Hi! May i request a fanfic?? Where tot male leads are sick and mc is taking care of them, despite them saying they are fine and later on they starts acting clingy? Thank you so much! Stay safe :)

tot boys when they're sick

characters: all

a/n: ive been gone for centuries lol, sorry i got into a big school and underestimated the workload. finished this because i ditched my case study after a breakdown.

ARTEM WING

he just wants to work, so why won't you just let him work? "i'm fine, mc. i promise, so please, just give me some time to work in peace." he knows he's being snappy, and it isn't fair to you, who just wants to help him, but it's not like he's dying.

you come behind him and tenderly place your hands on his shoulders. "you're sick, artem. please rest?" he sighs, he's trying to understand you, after all he'd do the same for you, but he can't help the nagging feeling of annoyance pulling on his chest.

"mc, i really need you to get out of my office right now. okay?" he doesn't intend for his tone to be so sharp, so mean, but that's exactly how it comes out. you sigh and do as he says, not before giving him a soft kiss on his scalp.

artem then proceeds to go back to work, or at the very least, he tries to. he feels sick and he feels guilty. he reluctantly gets up and opens his office door, greeted by the sight of warm soup and some tea prepped up by his doorstep.

his legs move faster than his brain, and before he knows it, he's already wrapping his arms around you on the bed. he relishes the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. 'it's good to be sick once in a while', he thinks.

MARIUS VON HAGEN

he playfully nudges you away, "i'm fiiiine." his voice is nasally and hoarse, and his skin is paling. you both know he's not fine. "marius, i'm serious right now. let's get you to bed." he refuses again, his hands still typing away on the laptop, despite your tugging on his sleeve.

you even go as far as to try and entice him to bed. "come on, i'll even join you." he grins at that. "tempting offer, but this needs to get done asap, mc." you sigh at his stubbornness. "marius, you look like you're at death's doorstep." but he doesn't budge.

eventually, you're left no choice but to make him some soup and resign yourself to the sofa behind him. you're tapping away on your phone when you feel it. the sofa dips beside you, and he drops his head into your lap.

"mc, my head hurts so bad. i think i'm dying." you roll your eyes but your fingers almost reflexively start to massage his forehead. "that's why i told you to get off your computer and come rest." he sighs into your stomach as your ministrations on his skin relieve him of some pain.

"mm, you're always right, mc. offer still up for the bed." you help him up on his feet. "yeah. but don't get any ideas. you're sick." he lays his head on your shoulder, "'m not that sick." he proceeds to collapse on the bed within seconds of laying down.

LUKE PEARCE

he's coughing his heart out and you're to your knees in worry for him. he, as always, assures you that it's nothing. in the morning, he tells you he was just choking on breakfast. now, he's telling you that he just swallowed wrong.

"luke, you're not fine. please just rest." you plead with him to the best of your abilities, but he refuses to budge. luke smiles at you reassuringly. "for what? just something in my throat is all." you sigh, knowing there isn't much you can do to argue with him.

he goes back to tinkering an old watch a client left for him to fix. you hear a sharp intake of breath and luke slowly turns around. you look up, and you nearly collapse yourself once you see the blood dripping from his nose, down to his shirt.

you're quickly standing next to him, panicking. luke calmly instructs you what to do, and you follow his words. your hands tremble as you tend to him, and he lets you lead him to the bedroom.

that night, he can barely sleep. he's tossing and turning, going between shivering cold and sweating hot. you spend the night kissing his tears away, brushing the damp strands of hair away from his forehead, and adjusting the ac as needed. he finally falls asleep during the early peaks of the morning, his hand tightly wrapped around yours.

VYN RICHTER

vyn is a stubborn man. you should be used to it by now. there's no point in arguing with him, especially when he's dead set on something. but you wish that he'd just listen to you this once. "vyn, you aren't fine. you're sniffling and clearing your throat ever five seconds." he repeats the same thing he told you five minutes ago.

"it's just a cold, don't worry too much about it." but what kind of cold has him staggering as he walks or refusing lunch because he just has no appetite? you come over and wrap your arms around him, a frown on your face. he kisses your jaw and goes back to his papers.

you try to tug on his shoulder gently. "please? just listen to me this once. please?" he signs something, before humming. he sighs and stands up from his seat. "alright. lead the way." you take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. you lay him down, and he thinks it's sweet how much you care for him.

he thinks it's sweet until he's on the brink of insanity because he feels absolutely sick and you're busy getting some medicine for him. "mc, just let me die, i need you here," he whines from the bedroom. you've heard the same thing in about 30 variations in 5 minutes.

once you get back with his pills, he practically inhales the drugs and latches onto you. he grabs you by the arm and pulls you in. "please stay," he asks, in a voice softer than you've ever heard from him. "you won't let me go anyway," you reply. he hums smugly.

#luke pearce #luke pearce x reader #luke x reader #tears of themis luke #tears of themis vyn #vyn richter #vyn x reader #tears of themis #tears of themis x reader #tot #tears of themis artem #artem wing x reader #artem wing #artem x reader #marius von hagen x reader #tears of themis marius #marius von hagen #marius x reader #mo yi x reader #zuo ran x reader #lu jinghe x reader #lu jinghe #mo yi #xia yan x reader #xia yan #zuo ran

[temis-de-leon]

Replaced MC AU/AU - Part 1

Characters: demon brothers, Diavolo, fem!MC and high school crush! male! NES (MC x NES)

How’s it gonna be , Intro – Part 0 , Part 2 , Part 3

Masterlist

CW: unrequited love, rejection, insecure demons, i refuse to let MC be a doormat, lesson 16 mentioned, my interpretations of the pacts, suggestive (kinda? i dont know), MC is down bad for NES, golden retriever NES, both MC and NES are in their 20s

There were two songs during the writing of this part: Rock Lobster and Girl With One Eye; do with that information what you will

.

Diavolo liked NES. What a fine addition to the program he was! Invested in his studies, clearly interested in the new world he had been suddenly thrown to and cooperative as an advisor whenever MC was occupied with other matters. Charismatic, polite and respectful, still acting with naiveness, but quickly adapting to his surroundings.

No wonder MC used to be in love with him.

That was a surprise for everyone, although he’d be lying if he said it was a pleasant one. Solomon had laughed at the turn of events, stating how lucky MC was finding NES years later. In hell, no less! And while that made everything easier in terms of getting to know the Devildom from a familiar face, seeing MC smile with that bashfulness whenever she crossed paths with NES wasn’t something none of them were keen on. 

Sending him to Purgatory Hall despite MC’s protests was the obvious choice. The House of Lamentation was already crowded and having MC share her room was both unnecessary and unfair; at least, that’s what Lucifer said.

Both of the angels’ and Solomon’s reports were as positive as they could be. Luke thoroughly enjoyed baking with him, Simeon described his company as delightful and the sorcerer was ecstatic when he announced that NES tried every single one of his dishes, which just proved his bravery and resilience. 

Diavolo liked NES, yes, but he’d like him even more if MC liked him a little less.

.

.

“So those are pacts?”

MC stared at NES, mouth dry and words stuck in her throat. She needed to blink, but she didn’t know how to do that without looking weird. Of course NES’s eyes had to look like that under the light of the fireplace. 

“MC?”

“Yes?”

He laughed and her heart skipped a beat. There wasn’t an ounce of malice in his voice, making her wish his soft smile was born out of the intimate bubble encasing them. If she focused enough, she could swear NES had a blush in his cheeks. If only that wasn’t due to the heat.

“The pacts, MC”

“Oh, yeah”

Could the earth swallow her if she was already in hell?

“They’re bonds I share with the brothers. Kinda like…”

She didn’t know what to say then. That she could command the brothers and they had no other choice but to obey her? He'd discover the true meaning of the pacts if he asked the right people, mainly Solomon, but it still seemed like a fact too vulnerable to share.

“It means she’s part of the family” a voice behind them intervened. “That she belongs with us”

MC jumped and turned around at lightning speed, drowning in embarrassment at the realization that she’d completely forgotten about Satan’s presence in the library. However, something in his words irked her mind. Did he want to say that? Or rather that she belonged to them?

“That’s nice, right?” 

She looked at NES, who was smiling despite the heavy silence in the air. Satan scoffed, no doubt in a mocking tone, and MC wondered with sudden ire how far she could go.

“Well, these are just two of them”

Mammon’s, covering the tip of her fingers in pure black with golden swirls; and Beel’s, dripping out of her mouth down the length of her throat.

“And where are the others? They look really cool!”

“Come closer, I’ll show you Satan’s”

Said demon snapped his book close, turning around with glaring eyes. MC ignored him and opened her mouth, letting herself enjoy NES’s presence so close to her body. There was ink in her tongue, drawing hard edges in the shape of a very elaborated arrow. NES stared at it in amazement, unconsciously grabbing MC’s chin and moving it side to side, up and down, to admire the tattoo better.

“Do you want to see the others?”

NES took his hand away, discreetly looking at Satan out of the corner of his eye.

“Would you…?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary” 

The blond glared at them and MC stared him down with a silent warning.

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make”

The tension was thick once again and MC sighed when NES looked away in awkwardness, but she couldn’t let Satan spoil what she wanted to be a nice date.

“Come with me to my room, NES, I’ll show you the rest of them”

He didn’t need any reassurance, taking his DDD and MC’s blanket with him before following her out of the room. 

The fireplace was still lit, but Satan felt unusually cold. 

.

.

“She invited him to her room?!” Asmo clutched his chest before covering his annoyance in fake saccharine words. “How daring!”

“Lucifer will be furious!” cried Levi trying not to drop his DDD in his drink, finally letting it rest on the table and keeping his trembling hands inside his pockets.

“Why didn’t you stop them?” 

Satan looked at Mammon in disbelief, sneering at his brother’s furious expression. 

“Do you really think I didn’t want to? She wasn’t exactly happy with me at the moment!”

“Well, no wonder! You cock-blocked her!” 

Levi screeched at Asmo with a horrified look in his face, tears already in his eyes and fingers fidgeting with his jacket’s zipper.

“She’s raising their intimacy levels at ultimate speed! She’s taking the shortcut! There’s no way a yucky disgusting otaku could compete with that!”

Asmo rolled his eyes, patting the sobering demon’s back.

“None of us can compete with that, Levi”

Everyone looked at Mammon in surprise, but he was staring at his fingers, completely defeated. 

“As much as it pains me to say this, Mammon is right”

“Oi! Have some respect for your older brother!”

“Shut up, you moron! I’m taking your side” speaked Asmo once again. He sighed and crossed his arms, hugging himself with sadness. “MC already made her choice. The only thing we can do is slow the process”

“Then we’ll do that”

Satan seemed determined, rejecting Mammon’s supporting touch when he leaned over his chair to grasp his arm. He got up and started to grab his things, stopping only when he heard Levi’s nervous voice.

“She’s already mad at you, Satan. Like… bosslike mad at you.”

“Do you really want to risk that?”

He refused to meet his brothers’ eyes, nor their fear, their empathy or their dejectedness. Without saying another word, he stepped out of Café Lament and set foot to the House of Lamentation.

.

.

MC loved the brothers. They’d become family, even with the death threats, the broken wall and the murder. They knew what she liked to do and eat and wear and they were more than happy to indulge in her wishes. 

But if they interrupted her time with NES one more time, so help me God, she’d give Hell a whole new meaning.

First it was Satan, sitting next to her in every class and cutting every attempt at a conversation with NES short in the name of a proper education. Then followed Belphie, who slept on the floor by her bedroom door, locking her inside and forcing her to jump out of the window, which gave everyone a heart attack. 

Lucifer mildly scolded them for that, stating himself above the poor behavior they were displaying, but still found multiple reasons for MC to be in his office for hours on end. Same as Levi, who pulled three all-nighters in a row and left her half-dead for a week. 

Mammon and Beel had been more subtle, both inviting her to movie nights, cooking sessions and shopping sprees. She only put a stop to all of the nonsense when Mammon tried to intercept her when she was on her way to a date with NES, excusing himself with a poor idiotic story about some angry witches. 

Strangely, the only one not to have a stupid scheme against her crush was Asmo. She almost expected him to be the most obvious about it, but nothing happened. He still did her nails and he helped her choose her outfits whenever she had a date with NES, albeit with a harsher critical attitude. 

He quickly became the nicest one to be around and she had no qualms in saying so.

“Oh, MC! You always know how to make me happy!”

“But it is true! I don’t know what’s wrong with the others! They’ve been acting so weird…”

Asmo stopped rummaging through her closet, turning around to look at her with an unamused expression. He looked tired.

“Honey… Surely you know. You must know”

They stayed in silence for a few seconds, both knowing that MC knew what he was talking about. All seven brothers had been interested in her to some extent, claiming ownership over her soul on more than one occasion, and this was the first time she’d rejected all those statements in such an obvious way. 

“We miss you, MC” 

Not the whole truth, but something neither of them could deny. 

“I miss you too”, she assured him. 

She could’ve left it at that, ending the raw, vulnerable talk in a positive tone. Alas, things weren’t always that easy. 

“But I like him. So, so much”

MC didn’t want to cry, but she was close. The dejection in Asmo’s eyes lasted long enough for her to almost regret knowing NES for so many years. In the end, he hid himself amongst her pile of clothes and continued looking for a good outfit.

“I’ll find time for you, I swear. For all of you”

Asmo nodded without looking at her, ending the conversation when he threw some clothes in her direction and waited for the mandatory catwalk. 

It wouldn’t be enough, but it was the best the brothers could ever get. After all, if someone deserved to be happy and in love, it was her.

.

.

.

Taglist: @stfuchaase @k1-an @megs-wonderland @kkeromenoo @va109 @marvelous-maniac @cruzerforce4256 @blarsh @marathedemonoverlord @junni-berry @arylleb @b-a-m-2006

#obey me #obey me! shall we date? #om! shall we date #om! swd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me angst #obey me hurt/comfort #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me mc #obey me oc #replaced mc au #obey me x female reader

[wedonthaveawhile]

Baby, it's cold outside.

Garreth Weasley x MC (18+ only)

MC finds herself in Garreth's apothecary on Christmas Eve, and testing lust potion is on the agenda.

Tags: NSFW, smut with plot, aged-up characters, oral sex male receiving, lust potion sex, one bed trope, voice kink, praise kink, hurt/comfort, violence and gore.

AO3 // Wordcount: 5.5k

Muttering obscenities under her breath, the agitated witch half-hopped but mostly stumbled over another tomcat feasting on discarded street food. In the wake of Christmas, the tapering pavements of Hogsmeade were crammed with last-minute panic buyers laden with shopping bags.

One obstacle away from losing her footing on the mushy snow, she slipped into a familiar backstreet and pushed open the door to G.W. Potions.

The owner had his chin propped in a knotgrass-stained hand, scribbling in an overflowing notebook. Glancing up as the door chime announced her arrival, he broke into a wide smile.

"You're a lifesaver, you know that?"

“I know, I got your message,” Her eyes scanned the clusters of wax-sealed phials, the timber shelves much less packed than usual. "It sounded urgent, I believe your exact words were 'dire need’?"

"I might have been a little dramatic, I’m just running low on stock," Garreth admitted sheepishly. His mop of copper hair tumbled over his brow and he attempted to tame it with his cleanest hand. "I hope I haven’t disrupted your Christmas Eve? I wasn't sure if Friday was the last of your rounds."

"No, no you're fine. I was heading through to Gladrags for a delivery,” she lied.

She'd exchanged firm words with a few demanding clients who assumed she'd be available over the holidays but couldn't bring herself to impose the 'no-deliveries' rule on Garreth—a choice that felt counterproductive to the crush she'd been attempting to curb for months.

She justified it as a reciprocation of the kindness he’d shown her on previous deliveries—slipping tonics in her satchel whenever she offhandedly grumbled about a sleepless night with an orphaned thestral, or an inflamed laceration from a scrappy kneazle. He’d refuse payment, only asking she mark his map with shrubberies of ingredients she spotted while out raiding poacher camps.

She assumed this raised their relationship from business associates to something that resembled a friendship, and friends could bend the rules for each other without ulterior motives.

"Sorry, this time of year isn’t the best for shedding" she explained, sliding a folded cloth over the countertop. Pulling the edge back, she unveiled a modest bouquet of dense black fur. “Though Remi felt somewhat generous after I bribed him with the promise of coins.”

“So, you’re the middleman between me and a niffler?” His face lit up with one of those heart-stopping smiles, and she prayed that the twist in her gut wasn't reflected on her face. “What’s in it for you?” 

"I figured having you owe me a favour couldn't hurt.”

"Favours are quickly becoming our preferred method of currency." He pivoted towards the excessive collection of potion stations, gathered beneath a 'staff only' sign swinging from a crooked nail. The cauldrons rattled on their supports, releasing densely packed bubbles that burst with trapped steam.

The witch slipped a finger in the weave of her scarf, easing it slightly to allow a breath of fresh air to caress her neck, “Are you rebranding as a sauna?”

"Sorry, I know it's sweltering back here," Garreth's eyes skimmed down the curve of her neck as she discarded the scrap of fabric. Stealthy enough, but stoking her hope nonetheless.

Clearing his throat, he shifted his focus to transfer a trio of niffler hairs into his mortar, along with a few drops of mallowsweet oil. "Any guesses today?"

She inhaled the spiralling vapour rising from the cauldron as he wafted the fog in her direction—there was a botanic scent of mandrake, tangy undertones of mint, and berries.

Wiggenweld? ...No, wrong colour, but it’s definitely medicinal.

“What kind of health tonic needs fur?” She eyed him accusingly. "Is this a trick question again, one of your experiments?"

His eyebrows lifted faintly, and a wave of pride washed over her when appeared impressed with her deduction. "I’ve sold out, and the snowstorm wiped out most of the dittany. I'm trying to brew a healing potion without it. Hence the..." He motioned toward the array of vessels stacked on his workstation, covered in a thick layer of curdled gunge. "I've almost cracked it... I'm pretty sure."

"It's interesting that healing potions are so in demand when everyone's spending extended time with their families."

"If everyone's relatives are like mine, I’d say it makes sense." Garreth rolled up his garish crimson sleeves to cool down, inadvertently warming her up with his toned forearms. He was the only wizard in a hundred-mile radius who could wear such a hideous Christmas jumper and still manage to attract several double-takes from captivated passersby. "When I dominate my niece at Pictionary, I always end up with a black eye."

"How old is your niece?"

"Three."

He gnawed on the inside of his lip, restraining a grin the way he typically did when having made her laugh. “What about your family, will you need medical assistance over Christmas?"

The herbology cabinet groaned in protest as the pair leaned against it, "The odds are high, but only because I’m spending my Christmas with a teenage hippogriff. Someone's got to stay at the sanctuary, and I drew the short straw this year”.

"Well, aside from a few hours at my folks tomorrow, I'll be here restocking. I won't be open to the public, but if... you know, if you need anything..."

His eyes lifted to meet hers, and tension coiled in her gut, shooting south at the thought of being alone with him in the locked store.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"Yeah... of course," Garreth severed the eye contact, redirecting his attention to pick at the corroded hinges of the cabinet. "Sirona’s open over the holidays too."

“Oh... is she?”

He dove into a thorough breakdown of the Three Broomsticks festive menu. She nodded in amusement as he unnecessarily mimed the dimensions of the portions. She tucked away the knowledge that he worshipped turkey and cranberry burgers to the collection of other useless but endearing facts she'd gathered about him.

His cocktail of choice was red currant rum - She’d bumped into him on Halloween thoroughly intoxicated on the stuff. He’d feigned firing a toy arrow in her direction before proudly proclaiming he was Robin Hood, enunciating all the wrong words with the goofiest grin.

He outright denied being allergic to cats, inspecting the collar of each feline that decided to nap in a sunbeam on the steps of his shop, cooing their name before inevitably succumbing to three consecutive sneezes.

His family tree had long branches. On his opening weekend, she'd waded through a sea of proud redheads to reach the kiosk and hand over her business card.

"...Anyway, I wanted to mention it because, you know, if you’re alone for... well, not alone, but if you'll be around..."

Heat flared at the bottom of her spine, cautiously optimistic his rambling was veering toward an invitation.

A blast of glacial wind burst through the doorway as a customer wrenched it open. A light dusting of snow clung to his robes as he crossed the shop floor to the cabinet housing the erotic potions, taking a moment to tuck stray wisps of silvery hair into his hood.

Garreth's lips tightened into a taut line as he observed the elderly wizard pulling the entire supply of lust potion vials from the rack.

His thumb brushed his upper lip as he leaned in close, his elbow jostling her arm. "Do you reckon he takes them all in one go?"

"He'd orgasm from a pat on the head."

"Orgasm? My guy would be flung into the astral plane.”

She butted her forehead against his shoulder, struggling to transform her snort into an ill-concealed cough.

"I should get going, give you two some privacy."

"Attraction has to be in the fold for those potions to do their thing, and he's not my type," Garreth's eyes flitted to her lips, but the tinkling of thirteen phials skidding across the kiosk drew them away.

She reluctantly bundled back up into her scarf while Garreth seamlessly transitioned back into storekeeper mode.

"Have a great Christmas."

"You too, see you next time," he waved at her, turning his attention to the eager customer.

The witch spent her evening re-stitching the ruptured wound of an adolescent Hippogriff, the beast fluctuated between snapping at lacewing flies and charging aggressively toward its caretaker.

Collecting the fallen feathers from the creature's wings, she updated the ledger with the newfound stock, clucking her teeth disapprovingly at the sight of the diminishing list.

What did Garreth say was in short supply? Dittany?

During last week's Hippogriff rescue, she recalled noticing shrubs nestled in the mouth of a cave. It was a harsh winter, finances were stretched, and adding dittany to the stock during a surge in demand would ensure the creatures' comfort for the remaining winter months. Not to mention, it provided a convenient excuse to take Garreth up on his offer of dropping by.

After feeding the remaining beasts and wrapping them snug in warming charms she headed off to investigate.

Her destination wasn't far—a short ride up a shallow mountain. However, the wind thrashed against her broom. The bristles and handle careened in wildly opposing directions as she blundered through the dense forest, with a lumos scarcely penetrating two feet of the blistering snowstorm.

She sought refuge by the wreckage of a stone cottage, navigating through twisted roots and debris until she reached the cavern. Her nose wrinkled at the musty stench emanating from the path ahead, barely visible through a shroud of thick cobwebs. With a silent prayer that this was the right spot, she ignited the tangled web with a tap of her wand, the smouldering strands lit the passage and in the fleeting light, she saw a twitch in the shadows.

She’d barely uttered the Lumos incantation before a force erupted from the shadows, striking her face and propelling her into a bank of tightly packed snow. She desperately palmed the moisture flooding her vision, pale fingers smothering in the warmth of her blood. The forest whirled around her as she was hoisted into the air and slammed back to the ground.

She blindly blasted the acromantula into crumbling ruins with a frenzied swish of her wand. The arachnid recoiled from the thunderous blow, sprawling onto the ground before burrowing beneath the earth.

Scouring the terrain for any indication of the beast, a trail of crimson droplets stained the snow as she backed away, a ferocious blast of icy wind lashing at her throbbing wound.

Wiggenweld, I need wiggenweld.

The invasive thought tore through her mental image of the sanctuary farmhouse as she apparated.

Ploughing shoulder-first into a weathered door, the impact reverberated through her bones, pinging her brain around in her skull.

The skunky stench of wizzenweed curled into her nostrils, mingling with the sharp reek of spilt beer she'd stomped into and splattered up her ankles.

She swiped her hand across her eyes to smear away the blood and the harsh click of a lock snapped her back to reality—back to Hogsmeade.

Mellow candlelight exploded like a flashbang as a door creaked open, and a broad figure silhouetted against the orange glow said her name.

"Garreth?"

Humiliation struck her chest like a knife—a solid blow between her lungs. Tacky blood clung from her eyebrow to the corner of her mouth, pulling at her skin as she fought to articulate an explanation.

“What happened to you?”

"I'm so sorry, I tried apparating home, but the… it was a mistake. I needed wiggenweld… but the shortage, that’s what you told me, so I thought of you, and, I could've splinched…”

"Whoa, take a breath, you're talking a mile a minute.”

Garreth’s hands were firm on her shoulders as he steered her towards the counter and settled her on his chair. Flames from the brewing station twinkled in and out of focus as she tried to hone in on him dragging an extra stool across the floorboards, taking a seat in front of her.

"This doesn’t look like a hippogriff wound. Did someone do this to you?"

“N-no, no I was just being reckless… I did this to myself.”

She quivered as the crook of his warm finger tipped her chin up, assessing the cut with suspicious emerald eyes.

"I'm sorry," she momentarily forgot how to breathe as his thumb traced a slow path up her cheekbone. "I didn't mean to bother you. I probably have some healing tonic in a drawer at home..."

"Stop with the apologies, I told you to drop by if you needed anything, didn't I?"

A stack of flannels rested beside a simmering cauldron. He reached for one, tilting her face as he dabbed at the coagulated blood.

"It’s not as bad as it looks,” he declared, slinging the cloth over his shoulder. He scratched his forehead, a streak of crimson smearing across his freckles. "It's not too deep. If you'll let me, I could stitch some of the shallower parts back together?"

She nodded, fighting back a soft sound when he applied the tiniest bit of pressure to her throat to keep her steady. The flesh throbbed as the tip of his wand traced down the wound, his copper lashes fluttering with concentration.

It felt glaringly obvious she was intentionally avoiding eye contact. She studied the awkward, rigid dance of the misshapen reindeer on his jumper as a distraction, scattered patches of burnt fabric lay strewn in their path. Some splashes of the corrosive substance had scorched through completely, frayed fibers exposing freckles scattered across his breastbone like tiny constellations.

“You shouldn’t be wearing this.”

He quirked an eyebrow, "What would you prefer me in?”

Her complexion transitioned from deathly pale to a fiery red in seconds, "No, I just mean... the stains. They look like they’re irritating your skin," she said, reaching out instinctively. Her fingertip traced around an exposed patch of inflamed skin, causing Garreth to inhale sharply.

The atmosphere shifted. His dilated eyes locked onto hers as she glanced up and tension rippled between them, her freezing hand poised on his chest while he cradled her jaw.

Tender fingertips brushed aside strands of wet hair that clung to her cheek. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Spider," her voice barely rose above a whisper before she cleared her throat lightly. "Set its house on fire."

"Rescuing a beast?"

She responded with a noncommittal hum.

I flew up a mountain in a storm and set an acromantula on fire to find Dittany because you mentioned it briefly.

She'd be carrying that one to the grave. Or reserving the tale for their grandkids—hinging on whether the trauma scrambled her brain enough to ask him out for a drink on New Year's.

The hold on her lungs slackened as Garreth rose to his feet and fetched a trio of potions from a lofty shelf, "Murtlap essence for minor skin abrasions and it will stop you from bruising, a calming draught for shock, and this one’s for internal damage. You don't seem to have a concussion, but just in case." He arranged them on the desk alongside a clean glass before adding "They're not renowned for their flavour, you're better off taking them all at once."

With a weak expression of gratitude, she swallowed the amalgamated concoctions. The blend curdled on her tongue, flopping into her stomach like a sodden lump of wet cement.

Garreth chuckled at her attempt to conceal a grimace. "You should recover fairly quickly, but just in case, is there someone back home who can make sure you're taken care of tonight?"

"No, I run the sanctuary with a friend, but she's at her Gran's for Christmas," she fidgeted with the hem of her coat. If she had been seriously hurt, nobody would have had a clue where to find her, let alone bother looking. "It's just me.”

Garreth nodded, twirling his pestle in circles inside his mortar. She sensed his question might have been an indirect hint for her to leave.

Swallowing down her disappointment, she rose to her feet. "Well, thank you for coming to my rescue. I’ll—"

“You should stay here tonight,” he interrupted before she could finish her sentence, pivoting towards her with hands on his hips. "I just… I don't think you should be left alone after something like this."

"Here?” She stared at her mud-splattered work boots to try and conceal the blood swarming her cheeks. “Are we supposed to top and tail on your brewing station?"

"I live above the shop. You can take the bed, I sleep on the sofa most nights anyway – I can grab you some dry clothes too."

Her overactive imagination slashed through the depths of her mind leaving behind tattered shreds of unadulterated filth. Sleeping in his bed, swaddled in one of his knitted pullovers – was he trying to kill her?

"Didn't know you were such a night owl," she deflected, anxiously nibbling on her lip as the storm screamed past the window.

If he’d detected her brain being filthy, he wasn't letting on. Swinging open a cabinet door, he produced a bottle of billowing crimson liquor, suspending it between two fingers. "I got some red currant rum from a customer. Given that it's technically Christmas Day, perhaps we should celebrate?"

"Is it that late?" She craned her neck to check the time—twelve o’ twelve. "Was this whole white knight act just a way to lure me into keeping you company on Christmas?"

"Act? Come on now, are we just going to pretend you didn't think of me on your deathbed?"

The calming draught had worked too well, eclipsing any hint of shame she might have felt from that comment with the flicker of bad intentions in his eyes.

"You seem more than happy to receive me."

The cupboard beneath the potion station emitted a groan from its corroded joints as Garreth began searching for a pair of untarnished glasses.  "What can I say? I have a thing for women covered in blood," he paused, peeking over the door, "I swear I’m not going to murder you, that joke came out wrong."

She laughed as he polished water spots from the vessels with his gaudy jumper and placed them next to his replenished stock—rows of incandescent fuchsia spiralling in heart-shaped containers.

"Luxtentia," she read aloud from the label, a scrap of parchment detailing the trial-and-error process tucked alongside it. "Did I catch you in the middle of trialling new potions?"

“Lust potion,” Garreth clarified, allowing the scarlet alcohol to flow liberally into their cups. "Believe me, you'd be noticing some side effects if I had been testing that."

Tugging at the loose threads of his words felt almost instinctual.

"...Attraction has to be in the fold for lust potions to work," she tilted her head innocently, quoting his earlier words, "Doesn’t it?"

Handing her a brimming glass of the berry-infused cocktail, Garreth took a sip of his own while studying her over the rim. "Did I say that?" He appeared wholly unruffled, and a twist of arousal lit her up at the fact.

"Word for word."

He tapped a finger against his drink thoughtfully, "Would it work both ways?"

She let the back of her head thump against the barren shelf, half-hoping the collision might knock some virtue into her. No such luck. "Do you want to take me upstairs and find out?"

His grin was blinding, and a delicious anticipation blasted into her. An unspoken dare hung in the air, both silently challenging the other to make a move. He gave in first, reaching out to collect two vials of the blushing potion and pressing them into her palm.

"Your move."

She feigned a thoughtful pause before digging her nails into the stoppers and pouring a vial into each of their beverages.

Raising his glass with a wild glint in his eyes, she tapped hers against it before they knocked back the entire drink in perfect unison.

Sparks charged down her oesophagus as she set down the glass, and her clothes clung to her skin like she'd been dunked in honey. Was that the potion? What an insufferable side effect —though the logic became apparent as the urge to strip away every layer waged war against a rapidly declining sigh of restraint.

“Do you feel anything?”

Garreth’s voice burrowed under her skin – Was it always that deep-rooted and husky? If his voice was making her wet, actual sex might ruin her.

His face swam when she glanced up at him, features swirling like the post outside Madam Snelling's Tress Emporium. She couldn’t feel anything except how her skin was so tight she might rip out of herself. “I… feel drunk.”

His hand crept towards her in excruciatingly slow motion, each passing second punctuated by a thousand splintering cracks of her heart against her ribcage.

The warmth of his fingers on her wrist seeped through her clothes and scattered like white-hot stars beneath her skin. In her mind's eye, she watched those fingers tugging at the roots of her hair, tightening around her throat, satisfying the desire swirling between her thighs – Oh, she was fucked.

"Look at me," Garreth crooned, oblivious to the fact that his words were licking at her like flames. He kept talking, something about a rose, but his words were swallowed by the ringing in her ears.

"What?" she asked, dumbfounded by the cascade of words pouring from his lips.

“Your cheeks are all rosy, are you warm?”

His voice. His fucking voice.

She thrust the heel of her palms into her eyes, but his scent clawed into her lungs— Mallowsweet and shrivelfig fruit, blending with the smokiness from the ever-burning stove. She wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck, to trace her tongue along his pulse until she could taste it too.

“Sweetheart?”

He had never said that before, only ever referring to her by name. When she cracked open her eyes, she saw that his were feral, locking onto her like a predator sizing up its prey. His pupils were blown out, the vibrant emerald engulfed by black.

Her uneasy laughter cut through the fog, hands instinctively reaching out until she found herself pulling him closer by the fabric of his sweater. "Garreth, what the hell is this?"

"I didn't know it was this... intense." His fingers pressed into the burning flesh of her cheeks, unsure whether they were pulling her closer or attempting to keep her at bay. Her tongue chased the pad of his thumb as he swept it across her parted lips. "Do you want me to take you to bed?"

"Apparate us.”

His hands descended to her neck as he drew her to his lips.

A fierce tug deep in her belly wrenched her in every direction as they plummeted into a disorderly pit of tangled blankets. The overpowering scent of his bedroom had her in a chokehold. Her greedy attempt to inhale the air was cut off as he took her lips again, his thigh sliding between hers.

She scraped her nails through his gorgeous hair, tugging the locks at his nape to lick along the sheen of his throat. The salty tang of his restraint was the single most delicious thing she had ever tasted. The groan he let escape reverberated against her lips and she imagined him moaning like that against her ear, his hips grinding into hers.

“Fuck, do that again.”

“I knew it,” her breathy laugh dispersed across his skin as she gave the sleek strands another tug. “You like that?”

"You often think about what turns me on?"

He buried his face in the curve of her throat, seeking out her pulse point. The unexpected pleasure of his bite triggered a sultry whine—she’d never made that sound before, but the potion had flushed out any ounce of indignity. He sucked a bruise into her skin, grinning as she grasped at his clothes in an attempt to pull him closer.

"Take this off, please," she scrambled with the hem. His rock-hard arousal was digging into her stomach and the fabric barriers were driving her insane.

"Don’t bother begging," his words rumbled against her neck as they both shed the constraints of their clothes, "I'll give you everything." His voice was twitchy, cracking apart with lust. An eternity passed before fabric was dragged down her thighs and found a home somewhere in the mountain of blankets.

She could barely feel his fingers—just an explosive shockwave blasting across her body. His other hand gripped the base of her skull, coaxing her mouth open, telling her how wet she was.

"Hear how pretty you sound?"

He added another finger, and stars streaked across her vision as she arched into his touch. Her body responded on pure instinct, thrusting helplessly as he mimicked with his hand what she was almost delirious for.

"My mouth sounds better."

Coarse hairs tickled her skin as she slid her fingers under the waistband of his trousers with the hope that touching him back might appease the hunger.

He thrust into her palm with a needy gasp, and it knocked her breathing shallow. In an instant, she'd pushed him onto his back, running her tongue up the entire length of his swollen cock, before swirling around the head.

The man reclining under her was almost unrecognisable, his untamed hair spilling into his black, wild eyes. Unnatural, jerky shudders wracked through his chest.

Sticking out her tongue, Garreth responded with a primal snarl, seizing the invitation to take control.

"There you go, is that what you want?" he whispered, sliding himself between her lips.

Her eyes welled up at the imposing size of him gliding across her tongue, but she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was how he was gazing at her like she was the answer to everything—Water in the desert.

She took in as much of him as she could, her wrist twisting around what she couldn't. He was ramming into her too hard, but the potion smoothed out the rough edges, turning it passionate.

Gravelly snippets of praise were spilling from his mouth, and the ruined edge to his voice threatened to make her come from his words alone. A particularly greedy thrust pounded the back of her throat at the wrong angle, and she jerked back with a rasping cough.

In less than a second, she was caged under a warm body. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be treating you like this."

"Don't be sorry, make me take it."

"Fucking hell," he groaned, descending her body and parting her legs with his palms.

She latched onto his hair, pulling him towards her lips. "No, not your mouth, I need more."

She knew she was being demanding, he just wanted to reciprocate what she had done for him, but the distance between them felt like too much, and she needed it annihilated.

“You need it?"

He taunted her clit with the head of his dick. She didn't want to waste time, he could go down on her in round two because she was so turned on by him fucking her mouth that she was shaking.

He gently nudged at her entrance, and not a single discernible word occupied her mind. She relied on her needy whining to convey what words couldn't, her nails scraping against his broad shoulders as she desperately sought an anchor.

“I don’t think I can go slow.”

"I don't want slow."

The air was squeezed from her lungs as he sank into her, bottoming out with one stroke. An orgasm struck her instantly but being so overstimulated it scarcely penetrated the fog—just a fleeting flash of lightning between her thighs.

Garreth froze as the aftereffects pulsed around him, whimpers fracturing through his voice as he strained to remain still. "Do you need me to stop?"

"No," she squirmed in an attempt to coax his hips back into action. He twitched inside her, and she gasped, "I want more." Hardly had the words left her lips when he thrust into her with such force that it sent her eyes rolling back.

“Pull my hair again."

“Make me come again.”

The speed he set was almost inhuman as her nails clawed across his scalp and down his neck. She planted her heels on the mattress to gain some control and push back into him, but he grabbed the backs of her thighs, holding her in place—spreading her open under him.

"Is this what you wanted every time you pulled out an excuse to drop by?" His hips stuttered when he looked down at the point where they were connected. She was drenched, dripping with how badly she needed him. Taking a deep breath, he started meticulously inspecting the Gryffindor Quidditch flag above his headboard, resisting the urge to finish before her.

Her heart sped up at his words and she could hear herself producing feathery noises as he extracted pleasure from her, "What took you so long to give it to me?"

"You're too cute, made me nervous," he grinned, seizing her nipple in his teeth, and pulling on it until she whimpered. "Push into me, let me have you."

His restraint oscillated, the tender kisses on her neck escalating into gnawing at her throat. The persistent pounding of his hips matched the increasing intensity, delving into the deepest parts of her with each blissful drag of his cock.

"Moan for me, those beautiful sounds are driving me insane."

This wasn't the Christmas she expected: Garreth Weasley's fingers splayed across her throat, conjuring ethereal pleasure with every precise thrust of his hips.

“Garreth...”

“I know, sweetheart." He withdrew his hand from where he was holding her legs apart, using his thumb to trail a lopsided circle around her bundle of nerves. “Come on, give me one more.”

His voice thrust her over the edge and she felt every part of her orgasm splinter through her body.

"Where do you want me to come?" he asked desperately. She was still in the throes of ecstasy, shivering uncontrollably from the high of watching him falling apart. "Tell me.”

"Come inside me," she said hoarsely. Her body was exhausted and hypersensitive, the only reason she forced herself to stay conscious was to witness him unravel.

An aftershock pulsated around him, and he shoved his face into the crook of her neck as he released deep inside her. His fingers clamped onto her thighs so tightly they throbbed, but she was too drained to muster the strength to push them off.

He lazily circled his hips into hers, as if he couldn’t bear to stop. Interlocking their fingers, he planted kisses across her knuckles. The sweet gesture made her heart stutter, and as her head nestled into a soft pile of pillows, sleep quickly claimed her.

She had a hazy memory of stirring in the night with a heavy arm over her waist and knees nestled into the crook of hers. There was something hard and insistent digging into the small of her back and when she shifted to relieve the pressure, he had whined—fucking whined.

His lips navigated her skin until they found that sweet spot under her ear, and she arched back. He accepted the invitation and slid into her. Reaching around to grip his hair, she tugged hard enough for him to reciprocate the pressure with his teeth on her shoulder. Her chest thrummed against his palm as he held her tightly, murmuring sweet nothings while fucking her slowly. He was half-asleep, but he was himself.

The daylight streamed in, too bright, with flakes purring against the window as they cascaded from the skies. Garreth’s bedroom was snug, nothing more than a bed and a chaotic pile of thumbed potion books scattered across the floor. Rolling over, she discovered a mess of red hair protruding from the green blankets.

“Merry Christmaaaaas,” he groaned, his words muffled by the bedding.

"You should've woken me up and kicked me out. Don't you have plans?"

"Guess how many are over at my folks' for Christmas?" He emerged squinting. "Uncles, aunties, cousins, nephews, nieces, girlfriends, boyfriends— What’s the headcount?"

She flung an arm across her eyes, shrugging. His ability to nosedive straight into a conversation after just waking up baffled her. "Twenty-two?"

"Thirty-eight. They won't notice if one is late," he started kissing her, slow, sweet, and sinful. "And they won't notice if there's one more?"

She huffed out a laugh at his fearless invitation, "I can't gatecrash, the last thing I want to do on Christmas day is piss off thirty-eight Weasleys."

“My aunt Matilda will be more upset if I turn up alone for yet another year. It's your decision, but I'm impatient. Waiting a whole year to flaunt you doesn't sit right with me."

Definitely a far cry from the Christmas she had imagined.

“I’d love to.”

#weasley wednesday #garreth weasley #hogwarts legacy garreth #garreth weasley smut #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts oc #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts houses #garreth weasley x mc #garreth x you #garreth weasley x reader #garreth x reader #garreth x mc #garreth weasley x you #hogwarts #hogwarts legacy headcanons #hogwarts legacy fic #garreth weasley fic #garreth weasley headcannon #garreth weasley oneshot #hogwarts legacy oneshot #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #garreth weasley x f!mc

[absolutehomosexuals]

Whenever people claim "[origin characters] show attraction to all genders", they often point to Astarion's party banter.

Which leaves us pretty confused because, if anything, it shows he has no clue what he's doing with women.

He's known to be this skilled seducer – the fantasy equivalent of a prostitute and, canonically, his pimp's favourite – yet his advances towards female companions come off as clumsy.

We've always chalked it up to him being a snarky little shit, with a touch of stereotypical gay man attitude¹, but the implications of it being genuine are terrifying.

As far as we know, Astarion gathered prey for at least two centuries, and he only ever talks about his male victims: Sebastian and the so-called darling boy were his only sincere relationships. 

If you romance him, he justifies his initial manipulation by saying he only ever seduces people he's genuinely attracted to.

Couple that with the fact we never hear about any women, can it really be a coincidence on his writer’s part?

All we’re saying is, he probably didn't pick up his victims by calling them "a pretty flower", which unironically sounds like someone's first attempt at flirting in a lifetime.

We're even more appalled when people claim he flirted with Lae'zel (who he briefly teased and later implied he wasn't actually interested in, when she asked him why he hasn't tried to "bed" her yet) or Karlach (he seems to sympathize with her quite a bit due to their shared slavery trauma, offering to show her the Upper City when she implies she's never been – didn't come off as sexual at all, honestly).

If anything, his comments towards Wyll sound way more sexually-charged, going as far as to say he was the man Astarion dreamed to marry when he was younger.

And we know Wyll is the furthest thing from his current type, given his approval options.

A history of successfully, and famously, hitting on men coupled with overly-friendly, borderline exuberant interactions with women... wonder what subculture that reminds us of!

Hint: it's gay male subculture.

We also tend to forget Astarion's perception  of his own sexuality is extremely screwed, because centuries of repeated sexual abuse will do that to you.

He's canonically riding that post-escape wave of mania and engaging in sexually risky behaviour (e.g the foursome with the drow twins at Sharess' Caress) + putting on an "open minded, experienced lover" façade (e.g justifying the MC upon being cheated on with Mizora and allowing them to sleep with Halsin to make up for the lack of sex in their relationship).

To put it gracefully: he fucks his way in and out of situations, exchanging sex with favours/protection is second nature to him at this point.

He's forcefully trying to reclaim his sexuality, biting off more than he can chew and re-traumatizing himself in the attempt: what's a little flirting with women to make sure his new allies are on his good side, after all? He surely can't be violated more than he already has been.

What's the damage in agreeing to sleep with a heart-broken Lae'zel at the tiefling party, at this point? It's the perfect manipulation, laid out for him on a silver plate. Also, we know from his confession scene that Astarion's first sexual proposal to Tav was indeed a form of manipulation: he admits that the initial reason why he pursued the player was to seek the protection of someone stronger and to make sure that the party won't kick him out. So, in the instance of Tav refusing him (the only option that triggers the scene between him and Lae'zel), it's only logical that he'd run in the arms of the next best thing, which in this case is Lae'zel, a great warrior that's eager to find a partner for the night.

And when she claims he performed flawlessly? That's the same thing the narrator tells you during the Sharess' Caress scene, only to reveal he's dissociated into oblivion.

Of course Larian didn't want to restrict players' options by locking certain romances, but we’re sorry to announce… he's still not beating the allegations.

¹ Being visibly gay = not being perceived as a threat by women, thus taking liberties such as sarcastic "flirting" towards female acquaintances.

Karlach refers to him as "fancy-boy" if she's in your party while recruiting him, so he is perceived that way in canon.

We can also see Gale being uncomfortable around him at first, especially when Astarion tries to strike up a conversation through party banter, for seemingly no reason – which seems like a pretty clear hint to us.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #astarion ancunín #baldur's gate iii #astarion ancunin #tav oc #baldurs gate tav #astarion x tav #spawn astarion #bg3 companions #bg3 astarion #cazador szarr #gale dekarios #shadowheart #karlach cliffgate #wyll ravengard #lae'zel #baldur’s gate 3 #bgiii #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate astarion #gay #discourse

[pinkeos]

In Your Mouth || Caelus x M!Reader || 18+ MDNI

Warning/s: SMUT, blowjob, face fucking

Notes: guess my favorite mc challenge impossible🧍 also if u saw mistakes no u didn't🏃

Caelus was charming, that was without a doubt the truth. He's got a number of friends made with every planet he'd set out on. He surely knew a way with his words, no matter how silly they could be sometimes. 

But words weren't the only thing his tongue was good at.

Your head tilted back, throat bobbing up and down as you swallowed your saliva. The sound of slurping and sucking, paired with the gray haired man’s whines and moans sounded so lewd and nasty. Yet also so good, so good that you wanted to hear more.

“Look at you. You’re a cock hungry whore, aren't you?” You mused, running your hand through his hair and tugging his head back, making him whine when you pulled your dick out of his mouth.

How you wanted to pound him right there and then when he pathetically tried to chase your cock, eager to bring it back into his mouth if it weren't from your hand holding him back. His eyes were dilated, hearts and tears in them as he stuck his tongue out, a silent plea to let him have a taste of you again.

“Do you want it in your mouth?”

He nodded eagerly and you chuckled, bringing it close enough for the precum on your tip to smear on his cheek, “Let me hear you beg, pretty boy.”

“Please.” He replied quickly, scooting a bit closer towards you on his knees, “Please, sir. I’ve been good, I’ll be good for you. Please.”

You smiled, fingers gently brushing his bangs back as you guided your length back into his open mouth. A satisfied sigh left your parted lips when his warm mouth enveloped your cock, his tongue licking at it as he bobbed his head up and down, his hand on your thigh to ground himself to reality.

“You look good— mm!— on your knees like that.” You praised through labored breaths, looking down at the man and fighting the urge to just fuck his throat as deep as you could.

It seemed like Caelus liked the complement, giving your cock a hard suck, amber eyes gazing up into yours and remaining eye contact.

However, a sudden call of your name caught your attention, followed by a knock on your door. You tried to pull away from his mouth, but he stubbornly held you closer, whining when you moved. You looked down immediately at your lover, giving him a warning look but decided to leave him for now as staying silent for too long would be suspicious.

“Y-yeah?”

“Hey, have you seen Caelus?” It was March's voice.

You couldn't be thankful enough that Caelus actually locked the door when he entered earlier. Trying to sound as natural and calm, you replied, “No, I haven't…”

“Huh, where could he have gone to?”

“Probably out helping some— ngh!— people!”

Your sudden noise made the pink haired girl raise an eyebrow, “Are you… okay?”

A hand held onto Caelus’ hair, stopping the male from bobbing his head, “Yeah! Just, uh, stepped on something. But yeah, Caelus isn't here! He’ll probably be back soon, though. You know how he is.”

Thankfully, this satisfied March and you could hear her footsteps moving away from your door. The look you gave your man when you turned back to him made him gulp, his mischief vanishing.

“So that's how you want to play, huh? Let's see if you can handle how I want to play.”

Caelus gulped, chuckling nervously, “W-what do—”

He didn't have enough time to speak anymore as you pulled his head closer, pushing your cock deep inside his mouth. He let out a moan of surprise, the sound vibrating around your cock. You held both sides of his head, making him stay still as you moved your hips, thrusting yourself in his throat.

He struggled to keep up at first, a tear streaming down his cheek as he tried not to choke on your cock. He only had to tap his fingers against your thigh if he couldn't handle it anymore, but from the way he was moaning and groaning, he was evidently enjoying it. 

“Your throat was made for me, wasn't it?” You panted, trying to release the knot that was tightening in your stomach, your thrusts speeding up.

The lewd sounds of his mouth eagerly sucking you in echoed throughout the room, followed by your groans as you fucked his face like there was no tomorrow. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, finding pleasure at the way you used his mouth like a fleshlight.

You could feel your climax nearing, and you immediately pulled out of his mouth, pumping yourself until you released all over his face. Caelus gasped, lolling his tongue out to taste your cum, whining when only little landed in his mouth.

He looked so breedable with your cum on his face, eyes clouded with lust and yearning for more of you.

Your hand squished his cheeks together, smirking at how disappointed he looked, “What? You think you deserve it after the stunt you pulled earlier?”

Your thumb gathered the cum on his cheekbone, pushing it in his mouth as you added, “But don't worry, I’ll make sure to fill not only your mouth but your hole, too. You’re lucky I love you.”

Ending note: I decided to put titles in the oneshots from now on because I didn't have titles for the other ones and that'd be confusing for my masterlist

#honkai star rail #hsr #x male reader #honkai star rail fanfic #caelus #honkai star rail caelus #caelus x male reader #caelus x male reader smut #caelus smut #hsr caelus x male reader #hsr caelus

[justcallmefox89]

Irresistible Force Paradox: Chapter Four - An Open Heart Fic

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Rory and Ethan team up for a rescue mission, and Sienna offers some advice when Rory’s uncertainties threaten to overwhelm him.

September 18.  11:00 a.m.

“Have you heard anything else about Banerji retiring?” Jackie asks as we both collect some charts from the nurses’ station.

I shake my head.  “Nothing.”

“What you do thin-”  Her pager beeps, interrupting her, and she impatiently checks it.  “Duty calls.  See you later, Rory.”

“Later, skater!” I call after her.  I gather up my charts, preparing to follow Jackie’s example and get to work, when I hear Dr. Ramsey’s familiar shouting.  I wander over to a nearby room and park myself near the door, attempting to look engrossed in my charts.  The door is cracked open, allowing me to hear every word.

“This is preposterous, Harper!  They’re not ready.”

I risk peeking through the blinds and see Ramsey and Chief Emery standing close together, talking in hushed tones.

Standing very close together.  Interesting.

“Ethan…” Chief Emery murmurs, delicately placing her hand against Ramsey’s cheek.

My eyebrows creep up towards my hairline.

My, oh my.

Cursing my nosy nature, I creep a little closer to the door.

“I’m not asking you, Ethan.  I’m telling you,” she continues.

“What else is new?” Ramsey snaps.  “I know this is your hospital now.  Your call.  But I’m warning you… I’ll fight you every step of the way on this.”

“What else is new?”  Chief Emery laughs lightly as she asks the question, lingering just long enough to flash Ramsey a triumphant smile and brush a soft kiss against his cheek before she walks away.

I assume a casual pose against the wall and pretend to studiously examine one of my charts as their footsteps grow closer.  Chief Emery breezes by, not giving me a second glance, and I slowly breathe a sigh of relief –

“Were you eavesdropping?”

Goddamnit.

Dr. Ramsey towers over me, arms crossed, looking furious.

Sometimes the best defense is a good offense.

I lift my shoulders in a casual shrug.  “Can it really be considered eavesdropping if I could hear you shouting out here in the hall?”

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out an irritated huff.  “I don’t have time for this.  Let’s just get on with our lives shall we?”

I stick my tongue out at his back as he impatiently stalks past me.

“Hey there, Doc!”

I turn around and see Bryce wheeling Kyra down the hall on a bed. “Hey gorgeous!  I haven’t seen you since the surgical interns stole you away.”

Bryce smirks at me.  “You say ‘stole’; I say, ‘rightfully took a surgical case’.”

“Hang on, two hot doctors fighting over me?  Did the cancer get me, because this feels like a ‘died and gone to heaven’…” Kyra pretends to swoon back onto her pillow.

“You have a very morbid sense of humor, Kyra.”  I grin.  “I like it. So… is your surgery soon?”

“It’s right now,” Bryce answers.  “A lobectomy, assisted by yours truly.”

“Your having a lobe of your lung removed today?”  A wave of unexplainable dread washes over me.  

Kyra shrugs.  “It happened kinda fast after the C.T. results came back.  But if the last thing I see before I die is your face, well… there are worse ways to go.”

I force myself to smile.  “Well, if on the off chance you do see a bright light, I’m going to need you to picture this face and turn the hell around.”

She playfully rolls her eyes.  “I guess it’ll be harder to die knowing I have a friend cheering me on.”

“Hey, what did we say about all the death talk?”  Bryce nudges her shoulder.

“Sorry, boss.  I’ll start planning for retirement.”

“Good.  Sorry, Dr. O’Shea, but I have to get Ms. Santana to the O.R.”

I grab Bryce, pulling him just out of Kyra’s earshot.  “Take care of her, Bryce.  Please.”

He smirks.  “She couldn’t be in better hands.  I know you haven’t had the full experience yet, but seriously, my hands are incredible.”

I try to look stern, despite the blush I can feel creeping over my cheeks.  “I mean it, Bryce.”

“Hey.”  He steps a little closer, laying his hand against the side of my neck.  He gently strokes his thumb against my pulse point, and smiles at me reassuringly.  “I’m only assisting, but Dr. Zimmerman is an amazing surgeon.  Kyra will be golden.  We’ll bring her back safe.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. “Thanks, Lahela.”

He gives me one last smile and returns to Kyra, wheeling her off to surgery. From the bed, Kyra waves goodbye.  I return to the wave, trying to ignore the fear that burrows itself into my heart like a shard of ice.  

“O’Shea!”  Zaid voice shocks me out of my stupor.  “What are you standing around for?  Get down to the E.R. and see if they need any new patients admitted!”

“Sir, yes, sir!”  I give him a little salute and scurry down to the emergency room.  Aurora’s already there when I arrive, surrounded by a group of senior doctors and looking annoyed, as usual.

“I have a patient with chromodoridids if you’d like to assist.  Blue sweat, it’s pretty cool -” one attending begins.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Aurora curtly interrupts her.

Another attending sidles up to her.  “Dr. Emery, hi!  I brought you a cappuccino -”

“I drink tea.”

I like cappuccino.

Aurora strides away from them, heading my way with a cold look on her face.

“Hey, Aurora!  What’s up your butt?” I greet her.

“Funny.  That’s what I had to ask my last patient.”  She gazes off into the distance, a horrified look on her face. “It was a model train.”

I can’t hold back my snicker.  

She glares at me.  “I’m glad one of us finds it amusing.”

The snickering is threatening to evolved into full blown laughter.  “Ok… but like… why?  And how?”

It quickly becomes clear Aurora has no intention of sating my curiosity.

“You’re no fun,” I mutter.  I glance around the E.R.  “It’s pretty quiet down here today, that’s great!”

“What are you even talking about?  There are no good cases.”

I shrug, smiling.  “And that means fewer people are seriously sick.  That’s a win in my book.”

Aurora stares at me as if I’ve grown a second head.  

I sigh in defeat.  “If you’re so desperate for a cool case, why didn’t you go with that attending?”

For just a moment she look as if she might answer me, but in the end she just scowls.  “Super not interested in explaining myself to you.”

The wail of a siren interrupts my response.  Aurora and I exchange a look and sprint to the ambulance dock, reaching it just as the ambulance backs in.  The doors fly open, and a muscular, brunette paramedic climbs out, helping the nurses unload and unconscious woman in an oxygen mask.  

“Delores Hudson, office fire,” the paramedic reports.  “Her coworkers evacuated in time, but she’s pregnant and couldn’t move fast enough.”

“Did she suffer any burns?” I ask, already doing a visual examination.

“She didn’t encounter the flames, just the smoke.  She panicked and got stuck in an upstairs bathroom.”

“How are the vitals?” Aurora asks.

“Elevated B.P., but she and the baby both have strong heartbeats. Pretty serious smoke inhalation, though. Hopefully I got them out in time to avoid any permanent damage.”

For the second time that day my eyebrows race towards my hairline. “You got them out?  Where were the firefighters?”

The paramedic smiles sheepishly.  “We beat the fire department to the scene.  I heard her screaming, so I broke in and carried her out.”

“We’ll get her admitted and into a bed,” a nurse interjects. “Dr. O’Shea, Dr. Emery, which of you is taking this?”

“Smoke inhalation?  It’s all yours.”  Aurora waves a hand dismissively.  “I’ll wait for something interesting.”

“I’ll take it.  I’ll be right up,” I tell the nurse.

I linger behind with the paramedic while Aurora departs and the nurse wheel Delores to the elevator.

I covertly study him while trying to think of something interesting to say.  “So… you ran into a raging inferno to save a pregnant woman?”

Fantastic, Rory.  Pure brilliance.

He tilts his head to the side in confusion.  “Well, yeah.  Wouldn’t you?”

I laugh softly.  “Hate to break it to you Superman, but I’m more of a Lois Lane.”

He chuckles along with me.  “You’re a doctor.  I’m sure you wouldn’t hesitate.  I haven’t seen you around Edenbrook.  Are you new?”

“I’m Dr. O’Shea.  It’s my first week.”

He offers his hand and I shake it, allowing my hand to remain in his longer than is strictly professional.  

“Rafael Aveiro.  I guess I’ll be seeing you around then, Dr. O’Shea?”

“Oh, I certainly hope so,” I murmur.

“I hope so too.”  Rafael flashes me a gentle smile.  Suddenly the walkie-talkie clipped to his chest squawks.  “That’s my cue…”

“See you later, Superman.”

Rafael laughs, clear and bright, as he races back out to the ambulance. I wait until he’s out of sight before I turn and head towards the elevators.  When I step off the elevator onto the fourth floor the first thing I see is Mrs. Martinez, the patient who flashed me and Elijah on our first day, doing her daily laps of the floor.  I’m surprised to see her walking with the Ice King, holding onto his arm for support. I linger for a moment, watching the pair as Ethan gestures with his free hand, clearly telling a story.  Mrs. Martinez laughs in appreciation, and he laughs along with her, his carefree smile taking years away from his usually stern countenance.  

He looks good when he smiles.

I quickly shake off the thought as Mrs. Martinez lets go of Ramsey’s arm and he begins heading my way.  His smile fades the moment he sees me.

“Eavesdropping again, are we, O’Shea?” he snipes.

I roll my eyes.  “Once again, it can hardly be considered eavesdropping when you were being loud enough for the whole hospital to hear you.”

He lowers his voices to the irritated tone he seems to reserve especially for me.  “Why must you be so difficult?”

“I don’t have time for this.  Delores Hudson isn’t going to examine herself.”

Ramey’s stoic mask cracks momentarily.  “Did you just say Delores Hudson?”

“Yes?”

“I’m coming with you.”

Fuuuuuck.

Ramsey hurries me to Delores’s room and I’m relieved to find her conscious, her oxygen mask replaced with a nose tube.  

“Hi, Ms. Hudson, I’m -”

“Ethan!” she cries out, a huge grin on her face.

“Delores!  What have you gotten yourself into this time?” Ramsey gently scolds her.

“There was a fire at my office.  I was upstairs filing away some papers.  The elevator shut down, and I couldn’t get down the stairs.”

He frowns in concern; an emotion I didn’t realize he was capable of. “I’ll call your sisters so they can fly in from Minneapolis in the morning.  I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“I’m glad you have Superman in the payroll.  The E.M.T. who carried me out was a total hunk,” she replies playfully.

“Rafael?  Yeah, his biceps could qualify as the eighth world wonder.”  I sigh dreamily.

Dolores snickers and looks at Ethan.  “He gets it.”

“I don’t want to interrupt but I would like to listen to Delores’s chest,” I say.  

“Delores, this is Dr. O’Shea,” Ramsey says.  “Delores was my very first patient when I was an intern.”

I feel my lips curling up into an impish smirk and I slowly turn my head to stare at him.

Sensational.

Ramsey narrows his eyes, clearly not liking the look I’m giving him.

“Tell me, Delores, was he always so handsome?”

Ramey’s jaw drops.  “Excuse me?” he sputters.

“He was cute, but to be honest, I think he’s aged like a fine wine,” she answers, playing along.

“Dr. O’Shea, the examination if you don’t mind?” Ramsey barks, scowling at me.

I widen my eyes and pout.  “But I have so many more questions!”

A vein in his temple starts throbbing, so I decide not to push my luck.  I take out my stethoscope and warm the cold metal on my palm before I press it to Delores’s chest.  

“Deep breath for me please.  So what brought you in back then, if I can ask?”

“Burst appendix,” she answers.  “I was totally freaked out, but Ethan calmed me down.  Even kept in touch a bit over the years.”

I arch one eyebrow.  “Dr. Ramsey has friends?”

“Rookie,” he growls warningly.  

“Her breathing is short, as you’d expect.  I’d like to get a chest x-ray,” I say quickly.

Ramsey glances over her chart, frowning.

I move to his side, keeping my voice low.  “What is it?”

“Her elevated B.P.  It should be low after smoke inhalation.  Let’s get a urine sample too.”

“Excuse me, Dr. O’Shea?”  Delores calls.  “I remember having my purse on me when that hunk carried me out.  Did they bring it in?”

I find the bag on the floor beside her bed and watch in concern as she searches through it, frowning.

“It’s not here!  I must have dropped it outside the office,” she says mournfully.  “It sounds stupid, but I saw this adorable stuffed frog on my lunch break and had to buy it for my little tadpole.  Both of my parents are gone and the father’s not in the picture. I just want everything to be perfect for him.”

“That doesn’t sound stupid,” I assure her.  “It sounds like you’re going to be a great mom.”

“Thank you.”  She smiles weakly.  “I just… I really wish I hadn’t lost that little frog.”

“We’ll go find it!” I offer impulsively.

Delores instantly brightens.  “Really, Ethan?  You’d do that for me?”

“Er... um.  Well…” he flounders for a second.  “Of course. But let’s get that urine sample to the lab first.  I’ll give you ten minutes, then meet you in the lot.”

Soon enough I’m in the staff parking lot, easing myself into the passenger side of Ramsey’s luxury car.  He turns on the radio as we pull out of the lot and classical music drifts from the speakers.  I turn to look out the window so he doesn’t see me wrinkle my nose in distaste.

“Sooo…” I draw out the word.  “Are you and Dr. Emery doing the do, or what?”

He gives me a sharp look.

“I saw you two this morning,” I forge on.  “It looked… intimate.”

“I don’t like advertising my private life at work,” he says slowly.

I stare at him, patiently waiting him out.

He sighs.  “We were an item.  And then only on again, off again.”

A feeling I don’t care to identify, something dark and poisonous, curls in my gut.  “And now?” I ask, fighting to keep my tone even.

I don’t care.  I don’t.  I don’t even like him.  Why would I care?

“Off.  As of last year she’s my boss.  Not that my personal life is any of your business.”

“My lips are sealed.”

Ramsey smiles at me briefly.  “Good.”

“Did Dr. Banerji really quit?”

“I was wondering when you’d get around to asking that.”

I shrug.  “It’s all anybody at the hospital is talking about.  So did he?”

“Yes.”

I straighten up in my seat.  “What?  Why?”

“That’s between him and Chief Emery.”  A muscle in Ramey’s jaw twitches.

He’s hiding something.

************************************************************************************* 

O’Shea gazes at him from the passenger seat, those pale green eyes studying him with intense concentration.  Ethan focuses his gaze on the road, careful not to give anything away.   Rory eventually turns towards the window and he relaxes back into his seat.

“You’re in charge of the diagnostics team now.  That’s a lot of pressure,” Rory murmurs.

“More than you can imagine,” Ethan admits.  “Naveen built that team from his own blood, sweat, and tears. I can’t let him down now that he’s moved on.”

It feels good to confess that, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders now that the words have been spoken.

“But is that what you want?” Rory presses.

“What I want is to confront the impossible mysteries of the human body, and understand.”

Rory blinks, eyes wide behind his glasses.  “Um, not exactly what I meant but okay.  Did you always want to lead the diagnostics team?”

“The team gives me the opportunity to face the questions no one has answered, so in that respect, I supposed the answer is yes.”

Rory sighs, reaching up to undo the elastic that’s holding his hair back.  He runs his hands through his loose hair, and Ethan risks glancing over, his breath catching in his throat as he admires Rory’s profile in the warm glow of the streetlights. His hair curls gently around his face, brushing against high cheekbones, the rich black of it a stark contrast to his pale skin.  He worries his lower lip between his teeth, and Ethan struggles to resist the urge to reach over graze his thumb over that sumptuous mouth.  Rory glances over at him and he snaps his gaze back to the road.

“I feel like you’re being deliberately obtuse, Dr. Ramsey,” he murmurs.

They drive a few more miles in silence before Rory speaks again.

“I’m actually surprised you were up for this little rescue mission.”

Ethan chuckles.  “You think I don’t want to spend my time searching for stuffed animals?”

“I suppose I thought you’d think it was beneath you.  You’re a busy man.”

“There’s no element of patient care ‘beneath’ any doctor, from interns up to, and including, attendings.”

“And Delores is a friend,” Rory says.

“She’s a patient first, while she’s in our care.  But yes, she’s also a friend.  If a stuffed frog will help her get though this, then I’ll find her the damn frog.”

Rory gifts Ethan with a gentle smile, the expression so different from the usual glares and disappointed looks he gives him.  Ethan tries, and fails, to ignore the feeling that smile gives him.  It’s something he wants to see, wants to be reason for, again.  Many times over.

“I think you might be a softie at heart, Dr. Ramsey,” Rory teases him.

“Far from it,” Ethan scoffs.  “I’m practical.  And that’s enough prying for now.  We’re here.”

Ethan hurriedly exits the car, eager to get some space from the intern, and the feelings Rory stirs within him.

************************************************************************************** 

The rancid smells of burning plastic and plaster make me sneeze as I get out of the car.  Across the street, firefighters are still battling the blaze that’s fully consumed the office building.

“We can search the perimeter, but if it fell from her purse in there…”  Ramsey looks disheartened.  

“Well let’s hope it didn’t,” I say, marching forwards.  

We search methodically, investigating the street where Rafael may have parked the ambulance.  I’m getting increasingly frustrated and starting to think we’re on a wild goose chase when Ethan cries out.

“Look, it’s there in the storm drain!”  He points down at the small, green stuffed animal.

I eye the storm drain warily.  “Oh, fuck off with that bullshit.  I am not going down there.  Haven’t you seen ‘IT’?”

“Seen what?” Ramsey asks, confused.

I groan loudly and clasp my hands behind my head.  “Fine.  We’ll lower me in.

“Worth a shot.”

I lay down on the ground and slide my top half into the storm drain, leaning into the darkness, Ramsey gripping my left hand to hold me steady. 

“I swear to Christ if I see a red balloon I’m going to shit my scrubs,” I mutter.

“What?”  

I don’t answer, stretching out my free hand towards the frog.

“Can you reach it?” Ramsey asks.

“Almost…” I stretch a little further and – “Got it!”

Ramsey hauls me back out, and I stumble a little as the blood rushes back to my head.  He quickly catches me, his hands on my hips holding me steady.  The warmth of his hands feels scorching, and I look up to see him staring down at me, his gorgeous blue eyes dark and intense.  I shuffle a little closer to him, and Ramsey tightens his grip; I can feel each of his fingertips pressing into my skin through the thin fabric of my scrubs.  The air around us seems almost electrified and I’m suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

I quickly step back, shattering the moment, and hold up the frog. “Mission accomplished.  You’re an excellent sidekick, Dr. Ramsey.”

He shakes his head, as if he’s trying to brush off the intensity of whatever it was we just shared, before flashing a brief smile.  “I’m Batman, you’re Robin, and don’t you forget it, Rookie. Now get in the car, we need to get back.”

8:47 p.m.

“Dr. O’Shea!”  Marlene stops me as I walk by the nurses’ station.  “Miss Hudson’s urinalysis results.”

My shoulders slump as I read the results.  

Shit.

I hurry to find Ramsey.  I find him in Delores’s room, the two of them laughing as they watch T.V.  I knock lightly on the doorjamb and nod towards the hallway, wordlessly urging him to join me.  I hand him the lab results as soon as he exits the room, and watch as he comes to the same realization I did.

“The baby’s in trouble, isn’t he?”

Ramsey meets my eyes, clearly worried for his friend.  “Let’s go tell her.”

I take a few deep breaths to steady myself for the news I’m about to deliver.  I’ve personally never been good at dealing with bad news, preferring to bury my problems so far down that the Earth’s core is the only thing deeper than my issues.

Ramsey turns back to look at me.  “This is the job, Rookie.  Come on.”

“I know!” I snap, surprising both of us with my vehemence, before softening my voice.  “I know it’s the job.”

Delores’s smile fades the instant we re-enter the room.  “What’s wrong?” she demands.

Ramsey nods at me to take the lead.

“I don’t want you to worry,” I begin.

Delores pales.  “That exactly what people say when you should be worried!”

“We found an abnormality in your labs,” I continue, giving her what I hope is a reassuring smile.  “You have pre-eclampsia.  This is a fairly common occurrence in pregnancy, and it’s usually manageable if monitored, but yours is quite serious.”

“How serious?” she asks quietly.

“The flow of blood to the placenta is greatly reduced.  Soon it will start to deprive your baby of oxygen and vital nutrients.”

“Your baby is at risk,” Ramsey says bluntly.

Tears well in Delores’s eyes.  “But everything feels fine!  I can still feel the baby kicking!”

Ramsey takes a small step towards her and softens his voice.  “This just means we’re going to have to deliver the baby early.”

“No!  It’s too soon!”

“Babies delivered at twenty-six weeks have a good chance of survival,” I say soothingly, raising my hands in a placating gesture.

“A chance?”  Delores’s shoulders slump.

“He’ll have to spend time in the N.I.C.U., and there’s risk of post birth complication -”

“And some babies don’t make it at all!  Is my baby in danger right now?”

Ramsey and I exchange an uneasy glance.

“Not immediately, no,” he answers.  “But -”

“Then my little tadpole is staying put,” Delores declares with a firm nod.

“Delores -”

“No, Ethan!  Just… give me a week.  Give me as long as you can.  Please.”

“I’ll give you tonight,” he concedes.  “To come to your senses.”

“I’ll keep checking on her,” I say quietly as we walk out into the hall.  “Maybe we can talk her around.”

Ramsey shakes his head.  “No.  Just go home. Your shift’s been over for hours already.”

I stare at him in confusion.  “She’s my patient.  As long as she needs me, I’m staying here.”

He sighs, rubbing his hand over his mouth.  “I’m taking over this case.”

“You can’t do that!”  I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.

“Go home, Rookie!” Ramsey shouts.

“Don’t raise your fucking voice at me,” I retort, more out of shock than actual protest.

“You’re not ready for this.  Now go home.” He spares me one final, cold stare before he storms away.

“Fuck!” I grind out through gritted teeth.  I turn to look into Delores’s hospital room.  She lies in the bed, tightly holding the stuffed frog as tears streak down her cheeks.  “Fuck…”

10:23 p.m.

I flop down onto the sofa next to Sienna with a despondent sigh.  

“Are you still brooding about Ramsey?” she asks, setting aside the book she had been reading.

“I don’t brood!” I insist.

Sienna doesn’t bother to reply, merely arching an eyebrow at my protest.

“Much.  I don’t brood much,” I mutter.

“I’m sure Dr. Ramsey had his reasons for taking over,” she says soothingly.  “The patient is his friend after all.”

I snort and roll my eyes.  “His reason is he doesn’t think I can handle it.  He flat out told me I wasn’t ready for it.  If he’s worried why doesn’t he keep overseeing the case? What was the point of kicking me off completely other than to be a massive douche canoe?  I just… I don’t like leaving her there all by herself.  I could have helped, I could’ve walked her through the procedure, answered more of her questions, anything instead of just… leaving.”

“Do you not trust Dr. Ramsey to take care of her?”

“No!  No, it’s not about that.  In spite of being a total jackass, the man is a brilliant doctor.  She was my patient though.  I talked to her, got to know her a bit.  I guess I feel responsible for her now, in a way.  And I’m worried.”

Sienna gives me a kind smile.  “You might be the one person who worries more than I do.”

“You take that back,” I gasp, placing my hand on my chest in mock hurt.

She giggles and wraps her arm around my shoulders in a quick hug.  “You’re a good doctor, Rory.  But there is such a thing as caring too much.  Sometimes you need to take a step back and breathe.”

“Yeah, I guess.”  I lean my head against hers, close my eyes, and try to relax, thankful for the new friendship blossoming between the two of us.

“Hey Rory?” Sienna asks after a few minutes.

“Hm?”

“What’s going on with you and Dr. Ramsey?”

I open my eyes.  “What?”

“This… whatever it is between the two of you.”

“The only thing between us is mutual loathing.”  I turn my head to look at her.

“Are you sure about that?” she counters, smirking.

I throw my hands up in the air.  “Ok, I’ll admit he’s attractive.  I’d have to be dead to not notice how fine that man is.  But he’s just so… Ramsey.”

“Can you expand on that please?” Sienna prompts me.

“You’ve seen what he’s like.  He’s unnecessarily mean to the interns, to nearly everyone actually.  He’s so damn highhanded about everything, and god forbid you have a different opinion than him, because then in his eyes you’re just an idiot who’s wasting his time.  He’s jaded and he always looks for the absolute worst in people and treats everyone like they have an ulterior motive.  And he’s rude and he’s tall and -”

“What does him being tall have to do with anything?”

“I don’t like having to look up when I talk to him,” I mutter.  “It hurts my neck.”

Sienna sits quietly, waiting for me to continue.  

“I don’t know,” I sigh.  “He discombobulates me.  Every now and then it seems like maybe there’s something else beneath all that snark and cynicism and I think we’ve had some moments, but then he’s right back to being an asshole.  I don’t understand him.”

“And that bothers you because…?”

“Because I want to,” I quietly admit.  “But he’s never going to let me.  He dated Harper Emery; he’s never going to look twice at some intern he can barely stand.”

“Dr. Ramsey dated Chief Emery?” Sienna squeals.

“Oh shit.”  I clap my hands over my mouth.  “You cannot tell anyone.  Ramsey made me promise to keep my mouth shut about that.”

She nods vigorously.  “I swear I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thank you,” I sigh, relieved.

“You know,” Sienna says, looking at me out of the corner of her eye.  “There’s this thing called the irresistible force paradox.  Wayne told me about it once.”

I bite my tongue to hold back a snarky remark about her invisible boyfriend.  I haven’t met him yet, but I already hate him, purely for the way he treats Sienna.

“What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?  Nothing can stand up against an irresistible force.  And no force can budge the immoveable object.  I think in this situation you’re the immovable force and Dr. Ramsey is the immovable object.”

“So what does happen when the irresistible force meets the immoveable object?”

“Nothing.”  Sienna shrugs.  “They cancel each other out.”

I stare at her.  “That is… supremely unhelpful.”

“No, wait!”  She laughs and grabs my hand, pulling me back down onto the sofa as I move to stand up. “You and Dr. Ramsey have all these issues because you keep pushing against each other.  But fighting isn’t getting you anywhere, you just stay in this grey area where you’re angry with each other.  So maybe it’s time to stop pushing against the immovable object.”

I grimace.  “I don’t know…”

“I’m not saying roll over and agree with everything the man says.  But maybe try to be a little more patient and understanding if you want to have anything more than a ‘moment’ with him. He might be a more open if you are too. ”

“I hate it when you’re mature and make sense,” I groan.  

She laughs and gives me a playful shove.  “I call dibs on maid of honor.”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself there, Trinh,” I snicker. “We still need to manage to have a full conversation that doesn’t end in an argument.”

My pager suddenly goes off, interrupting the lighthearted moment.   My heart twists as I read the message.

“What happened?” Sienna asks, concerned.

“My preeclampsia patient just got rushed into surgery,” I whisper. “I have get back to the hospital.”

“Go.  Call if you need me.”  Sienna offers me one last reassuring smile before I rush out of the apartment.

#choices #pb choices #choices fanfic #choices stories you play #choices fandom #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x oc #open heart ethan #ethan ramsey x mc #OPH #open heart #oph2 #open heart fanfiction #open heart fanfic #open heart male mc #open heart pb #open heart male oc #ethan x male oc #ethan x male mc #ethan ramsey x male mc #ethan ramsey x rory oshea

[goodday-goodmorn]

Rahhhh it’s Christmas and i’m back! Today’s feature (feature? Should i start calling them that? Sounds kinda cool-) is the amazing @charliemwrites, specifically a little drabble (unedited as always), based off of their Keeper/Kept AU. Not thier most recent stuff- (I think it’s Neighbor Johnny or the Woof Woof series-) You know what? Just- Here. Everything they write is gold <3

Anyhow, i present: Domesticity and Devotion

“Oh to be a wild bird…”

You sigh, chin in your palm as you leisurely stare out at the window.

“Or a stray cat.” You muse, watching as one of the kitties of the neighborhood walks along outside.

“Those fuckers have it good. No shitty job. No rent to pay. Just free pets and wandering the world… and if someone’s being a dick they can hiss and bite all they want.”

You hum, reaching for your drink and sipping on it leisurely.

“I don’t think I could survive in the wild though.”

You say after a moment, realizing how you’re cuddled up in your blanket and sipping on your wendy’s lemonade, the TV playing some random comfort show and your laptop open as you halfheartedly play Papa's freezeria.

“Can barley survive in domesticity.” You mumble, glancing towards the envelope on the kitchen counter that you got this morning about a rent increase.

You sigh.

“Maybe in my next life i’ll be lucky enough to be reborn as some rich white ladies cat. Those fuckers are livin’ better than me that’s for sure.”

————

This is not what you meant.

When you wistfully wished to never have to step foot into the capitalist hellscape that was life again- that was not an open invitation for you to be whisked away against your will.

Apparently though, the 6 foot giant of a military man named Simion Riley, heard it as one.

Because now here you were, pampered and cared for like a bloody sugar baby or pure breed persian cat. Kept at some random location and fed and groomed and meticulously attended too.

All against your will, mind you.

However it’s hard to complain because well- you’re living life good. This realization, of just how good you have it- hits you when you feel yourself getting genuinely angry at the shitty romance novel you were reading.

The Male lead was treating the MC like shit- and the MC was letting him get away with it!

You feel your face physically grimace. To calm yourself down (because you are getting genuinely heated when she lets him shove her to the damn floor over asking him for a drink-), you set your i-pad down.

(It had been a gift; something sort of like a kindle, where you could only read books and listen to music. You weren’t sure what Simon did to it exactly- but it wasn’t just published books you had access too, comics, original works, poetry, you could get all sorts of reading stuff on here.)

“This mother fucker-“

You mumble to yourself in disbelief, shaking your head before huffing and picking the device back up. You’re close to cheering as you read the MC’s internal dialogue about wanting to bite his ass- (Truely an MC after your own heart- they were one of the main reasons you were still reading this shitshow-)

And yet, what does the main character do?

They get the drink for themselves and then let him snatch it from their hand and down it.

Nope. You’re fucking done. You’re fumin’ now, irrationally angry on the MC’s behalf because they’ve been putting up with this guy for fifteen chapters now.

The audacity of men- oh my god. You can’t believe this guy.

“Who does he think he is?!”

You grumble and then just for your own purposes you yell—

“Simon!”

Predictably he is at your side in a moment, dropping everything for you.

You have your arms crossed, as you say, “Go get me a drink.”

He tilts his head slightly, eyes crinkled just a tad at your strange mood but doesn’t deny the order. Simply asks,

“Cold or hot?”

“Cold.”

And with that he’s gone, returning with a fresh glass of ice cold lemonade, complete with a little lemon slice on the rim of the glass. You sip it, set it aside and cross your leg, tapping your forehead.

“Give me a kiss.”

He doesn’t hesitate for a moment, gently kissing your forehead.

“Kneel.”

His eyes are crinkled now with a bit of amusement, but he drops to his knees easy. Gently holding onto your soft thighs. (Always so gentle with you.)

“Course, pretty.”

He mumbles low, head tilted up to you in a question, “Need me to take care of you?”

You hum, absentmindedly messing with his hair and ignoring the way the question sends a slow pool of warmth into your tummy.

“No.”

It’s decisive. You’re practically preening with satisfaction at his actions.

“You can go now.” You say and like that, he gets up. Not a complaint on his lips even when you notice he’s got a raging boner.

“Wait!”

You call and he pauses, looking at you with a questioning hum.

“Kiss me again.”

And he does so, this time a soft gentle kiss on your lips. When he pulls away he mumbles an ever softer-

“Dinner will be ready in 10.”

You nod and pick up your tablet with satisfaction curling low in your gut. (For the duration of your reading all you can think about is how Simion would never.)

————

“And another thing-!”

Simion is absentmindedly (as absentmindedly as Simion of all people can get anyway-) rubbing circles into your back as you rant. You’re sat in his lap, coaxed into sitting there after he asked about your day.

So obviously you started to babble about the book you were reading, which turned into a whole rant session about how stupid the Male lead was.

“That stupid idiot- that moron- you wanna know what he does simion?”

He knows it’s a rhetorical question. You’re gonna tell him anyway. Still he hums to show he’s still listening.

“This bastard shoves them into the ground. To the ground! Can you believe the it?”

He shakes his head lightly with a tsk.

“Exactly. God and then when they get the drink he has the audacity to snatch it from their hand and down it in one gulp before they can even say anything.”

You shake your head, so far into your little rant you don’t realize how much you’ve made yourself comfortable. Sitting in his lap fully, ranting to him like he’s an old friend. Your tongue is loose with comfort right now. And that must be what possessed you to say—

“Me personally? I could never. If you ever pulled that shit— God i don’t even know what i’d do but it would not be pretty

You close your eyes with a nod to yourself at your own words. Not aware of the way Simon’s eyes seem to soften. Not until he gently kisses the top of your head.

“Never.”

He says it so quietly you almost miss it. (Feverintly. Reverently. Like the very idea is absurd.)

“If i ever do something like that you run and break into my gun cabinet and bloody shoot me.”

And god his voice- he’s 100 percent fucking serious. Suddenly you feel warm and small in his lap, utterly tiny compared to the sheer size of his devotion for you.

It’s all you can do to mumble out a weak.

“Good.”

And the rest of the night is spent with you reading the rest of the book together. When the MC finally is able to get rid of the Male Lead, it is a joyous occasion that ends up with her absolutely clocking the guy in the face with a champagne glass. Which then leads into a curious conversation with you and ghost about how much damage that would actually do.

It’s a good day.

#fanfic #cod fanfic #fanfic of a fanfic #(?) kinda #reader insert #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #Look at Charlie’s blog right now. #Specifically obsessive Johnny because when i tell you i was- #GAGED #Jaw dropped #Charlie’s got such good characterization #In the case she sees this- #…did you like it? #also hello

[tellodona]

the brothers + side characters with an mc whose first language isn't english

heads up: gn!mc, slight swearing in levi's part and mentions of male genitals in simeon's, italized means a different language, no mephisto + thirteen + raphael because i haven't met them yet 😔

i don't really know the common language between demons and angels, so right now i'm asumming they speak in english mostly

lucifer

he probably knew beforehand

i mean, he was the one who randomly chose us after our paper fell off his desk so he's bound to know

wasn't interested at first, like, so you speak two (or more) languages, what's there to make a fuss about?

apparently, a tinsy bit should be fussed about

you were half asleep, it was the weekend so you slept in, and lucifer did not know that so you were in his study helping him organize documents

he gave you three stacks that was at least half your height

it was going good actually. despite being sleep deprived you were able to do your task

that is until wind from his open window knocked down the stacks

you swore in your first language with so much vigor that lucifer looked at you

mc what the hell are you saying???

you kept talking in that language and started complaining and mentioned his name

that really caught his attention

"what was that?"

oops, good luck explaining to him what you said

if he was in a good mood, he'd probably chuckle in amusement. if not, it depends

after that, he'd probably try to learn a thing or two about your language, but with how busy he is, that'd be a stretch to do

mammon

he doesn't know

i mean, it's not like he had any way of knowing, and you never really bothered to mention him before

you and mammon were conversing in your room about literally anything. mostly about money but there are other mundane topics being tossed around

"and then that demon had the gall to blame me! me, the GREAT mammon!"

"that must've suck ass" you reply

he looked at you weirdly and confused

you thought he was confused by your response and explained why you thought that way, still in your first language

"woah, woah, woah! stop right there! human, stop speaking gibberish!"

now it was your turn to get confused

"what- oh."

you stared at each other for a moment before you explained this was your first language

he was actually intrigued and shook your shoulders asking if he was the first one to know

i mean, he is, right?! he should be! he's your first man!

has tried to learn your language, promptly gave up after three full sentences

leviathan

he had a hunch since you keep muttering things whenever you play with him

he first thought you were complaining under your breath because why wouldn't you? he's just a yucky, disgusting otak-

oh wait, he doesn't understand what you're saying

actually, that made him more nervous than before

right now, he got you hooked into this one game that just got released and you both were enjoying it

you enjoyed it a bit too much

so when you both finally defeated that big boss you were trying to kill, you were ecstatic

"FUCKING FINALLY! AFTER SO LONG!" you shout in his ear drums

he had to cover his ears first because you were cheering so loud and that you were shaking his shoulders

he was too busy having his organs shook around to be embarrassed

"m- mc! s- slow down!"

you finally calmed down for a while, still giggling and ranting to him, in your first language, while he calmed his racing heart

mc, he doesn't understand you, please slow down

"mc....... i don't u- understand what you're saying........"

you stop and stare at him. he flinched thinking you got offended

"oh, i'm so sorry!"

you had to explain to him slowly that you were speaking in your first language

after that, he got so interested

he spent the whole night to learn your language, and the night after, and the night after that, and the night after the night after that

so yeah, expect him to hold a proper conversation with you in two languages

satan

has probably put two and two together when you both visited a library that had a few books from the human world and you were looking at books with your first language

he was interested

so when you were holding like three books by the counter, he asked:

"what language is this?"

you answered him, and also added that it was your first language

he nodded, and made a mental note in his head

when you were walking home with your books in hand, he asked what the books were about and you explained bits of it and why it intrigued you enough to buy them

he was also interested in the said books, and finds it a shame that he wouldn't understand its contents

unless.......

yes, expect him to ask you to be his tutor about your language

after all, isn't it better to learn straight from the source?

and he also used it as an excuse to hang out more with you

before you know it, he's the one who's reading the books you've bought

you haven't even finished them yet!

that's a pity then, mc. just one more chapter and he'll give it back-

asmodeus

like mammon, he wouldn't know without you telling him beforehand

you and him were having a spa day in his bathroom

it wasn't sexual or anything, he just wants you both to have a relaxing time together! isn't that lovely, mc?

you were both in his bathtub, with him massaging your shoulders to sooth your sore muscles

"doesn't it feel good, mc?" he asks, a grin painting his face when he sees you relaxing under his very touch

you nod, "feels so good. keep going, asmo."

he stops

what was that, mc?

you furrow your eyebrows, "is there something wrong?" you turn to look at him

he looks dumbfounded, before shaking his head and his grin widening, "oh, mc! you didn't tell me you know another language!"

you both ended up chatting about it, him listening intently as he continues to massage you

he might learn a thing or two to flirt with you just to see your cheeks tinted pink, but he mostly wouldn't learn a lot

beelzebub

you cook lots of stuff from the human world, mostly from your culture, so he ended up asking you what these dishes are and you mentioned it came from your home country

so he should know by now, since he likes listening to you talk and asked a lot of stuff, and by extension, your culture and languages

you were on cooking duty for dinner, and he managed to convince you to let him help out with the promise of not eating everything

you were cooking your favorite dishes from your country, and happily explained to him what they are

he listens intently (while eating a block of cheese you gave him), nodding along

anything food related intrigues him, so if he comes across a dish he hasn't heard before he'd be curious about it

when you mention the name of the dish, he tilts his head and tests it out with his mouth "...am i pronouncing it right, mc?"

"a little more work, but you've got it!"

he butchered it

but it's fine, it's beel. he doesn't know your first language in the first place!

dinner comes around, he's the one mentioning to his brothers what the dishes are (still butchering the name, but a little better than before)

the brothers did not understand what he just said

be sure to be ready for him to ask for seconds, thirds, fourths, and so on and so forth

he'd be interested in learning, but would probably learn more about your culture (especially the food) since he doesn't want to mispronounce anything

belphegor

has probably heard you talk in your sleep before, so he put two and two together as well

beel was out so you two were alone in their room

you were asleep, cuddling beside him, and he was about to drift as well when you-

"belphie... the stove is on..."

???????

what are you talking about?

he furrows his eyebrows and shrugs it off, pulling you closer to him

"i think the kitchen... is on fire... lucifer did it..."

what is it with lucifer now?

"what the hell are you dreaming..." he mutters under his breath

he closed his eyes, drifting to sleep

after your nap, he asked you what in the world you were dreaming that you were sleep talking about him and lucifer

you were embarrassed

he mentioned that he didn't understand you for the most part (you were relieved) so you explained it to him

he finds it intriguing, but doesn't show it. he shrugs it off

"just don't bother me with your sleep talking..."

oh please keep doing it

the next time you sleep talk he was wide awake, his ddd on, and doogle (google) translate at the ready

he was definitely laughing his ass off when you muttered "lucifer lost his pants..."

diavolo

same way as lucifer, he knew beforehand through your documents

he did take the time to learn a few phrases though to surprise you when you both had gotten closer

you were having tea with him in the castle gardens and he suddenly goes "how was your day, mc?"

you had to do a double take, but then a big grin makes it way to your face

he finds it adorable

but then you suddenly reply in your first language in perfect clarity and continously that he already lost you at the "i'm"

"ahahaha....... i'm not that knowledgeable yet, mc......."

"oops."

you both end up talking about it more, and he asked how you knew english and you answered with how you did

he listens intently, nodding along

when you went home after a few hours, he had barbatos bring him a dictionary with your first language and has made it his goal to learn it (while juggling his responsibilities)

he's a pretty fast learner that the brothers have to suffer with you both talking each other's ears off and they can't get the tea

barbatos

are we even going to ask

this man definitely knew

he's lived long enough but he didn't have the time to learn it before you came to the devildom because he's a terribly busy guy

he has his day offs however, so he of course wanted to spend it with you

he had invited you over for tea and you both ended up talking about the human world

he took this chance to ask if you speak your first language by any chance with that sly smirk on his face

you were surprised, but you answered yes anyway

it's better to not question anything when it comes to him, to be honest

will probably ask good references to learn your language, and you provided some that you knew

he may ask for your help though

just to spend time with you

before you know it, he's talking your ear off with your own language that you had to ask him to slow down

he just smiles

solomon

he wouldn't know you speak the language, but he knows how to speak it himself

let's face it, he's a smart guy, what's wrong with learning a few languages?

you're in his room, you helping him out by giving him the things he needs for some experiments

you both were just talking about mundane things and you end up asking

"what's one thing i don't know about you?"

he paused, but continued his work, humming in thought

"hm... i speak a few more languages, actually."

"that's expected, to be honest." you nod

out of curiosity, you ask him about your first language

he chuckles and nods that he does speak it

you gaped

"no way?!"

"oh, no way?"

you both continued conversing in that language

"you know, i was there when it was created. it was long ago, but it was such a fine time."

okay, old man

simeon

he wouldn't know without being told either

you both were texting each other, he's gotten good at typing now and he's proud!

he managed to type a long word without any typos and was so happy that you were happy too

without thinking, you congratulated him in your first language

uhm. mc?

"wait, are you having typos now, too?!"

he sends a worried sticker and was genuinely confused and concerned it's actually adorable

you had to explain it to him as simple as possible that it was your first language

"ooooh, i see."

has asked you a few quotes to be translated in your language so he could add it in his books

he thinks they're fine literature and can really set the mood and add thrill into it

he, however, searched up a few words himself and asked you what they mean

"mc, what does dick mean?"

oh, lord

luke [platonic]

wouldn't know either

you and him were discussing human world delicacies and ingredients and you ended up with your country

he volunteered to search it up and you told him he doesn't need to because you know it yourself

mc????? that's so cool!

you ended up cooking together, and he took it as an opportunity to ask questions about your culture and your language

"the food already smells so good, mc! what was it called again? anyway, how did you learn english? was it hard? do you always get your language and english mixed up?"

you had to remind him to take out the batter from the oven before it overcooks

needless to say, he has another thing he wants to learn besides baking and cooking

#omswd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me #goddamn that was a lot #FINALLY FINISHED #i love them your honor

[pocketjoong]

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆noctem⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ 〘act 1, chapter 2〙

〘Synopsis〙『Your hatred of dragons is a hate born of witnessing their flames consume your village, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. The worst of all is the beast that haunts your dreams, the very dragon whose memory fuels a burning desire for revenge within you. But life has a way of unsettling even the most steadfast convictions. And when you stumble upon a truth that shatters the boundaries of your understanding, you begin to question the very essence of the world you live in.』

〘Pairing〙『Night Fury!Seonghwa x afab!Reader』

〘Genre〙『FANTASY, ACTION, SMUT』

〘Word Count〙『2.5k』

〘Chapter-specific Warnings〙『Based on How To Train Your Dragon. Canon-compliant violence. Mentions of dragons attacking the mc's village. Mentions of fire. Passing mention of injuries. MDNI.』

〘Banner Credits〙『@playmetheclassics』

please note: there will be NO taglist for this series

By the time you finish tending to the injuries of those who had been sent to the infirmary, the sun is rising in the distance. A weariness settles over you as you dress the wounds of the last person you have to tend to, and you look forward to the two weeks of peace after a dragon attack.

You rinse the grime and blood from your hands in the basin tucked in the corner before rushing out of the building. Relief washes over you at the sight of familiar figures at the edge of the cliff that overlooks the port. Even though they’re merely silhouettes against the morning light, you know each of them well enough to recognise them by their shadows.

As you move closer, you note that Yunho, Wooyoung, and Mingi, the village blacksmith, look battle-ravaged and tired. But they are watching the sunrise with content smiles. You approach them with a smile of your own, but you can’t help but scan their figures for any injuries that might need healing.

Amusement dances in your brother’s eyes at your worried expression, “I'm fine. Mostly unharmed save for a few small bruises and the soot lining my clothes.”

When you turn your focus to the others, you find them grinning back at you. “And you guys?”

“No open stitches or any new injuries. I told you I’d be careful,” Wooyoung declares, his tone light-hearted.

Mingi ruffles your hair while he offers his own reassurance, “I’m fine as well. I stuck to my workshop until the very end, only leaving when Yunho and Wooyoung needed assistance with the ballista.”

“Let’s go back home and get some rest. Wooyoung and I have a meeting to attend at the hall in a few hours,” Yunho says, leading you towards your home with a guiding hand on your shoulder. Mingi trails behind silently, waving in farewell before taking the dusty path to reach his house, which also doubles as his workshop.

You, Yunho, and Wooyoung share the house overlooking the village. All three of you moved here after losing your families to a brutal attack years ago. Despite being only a few months older than Wooyoung and barely a year older than you, Yunho seamlessly assumed the role of guardian for both of you. The weight he shouldered at the tender age of twelve, stepping into the shoes of a village leader after the tragedy, often made you feel bad for him. His duties far exceeded what any child should bear, but he bore them with a grace beyond his years.

The dream claws at your consciousness, a relentless reminder of the incident that tore through your family. You can handle the sympathetic looks of your fellow villagers, but the nightmares are another story. You hate them, for they persist, leaving you exhausted and weary even after a full night’s sleep.

You unlock the door, ushering the two males inside. As the door creaks open, the comfort of the space envelops you like a familiar embrace, and you can’t help the sigh of relief that leaves your lips.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

You know you are dreaming, but the panic that grips your throat is a tangible force that twists your heart and leaves your hands shaking. It’s a suffocating reality that is too familiar, too hauntingly real.

Your surroundings are too hot, too bright, and suffused with smoke that blinds your vision. The orange flames dance menacingly in front of you, searing painfully against your skin. Your brain is screaming for you to do something, to move. But you are frozen in the face of danger and struggle to comprehend the unfolding nightmare.

There’s a presence beside you, but the ringing in your ears drowns their voice. Squinting through the smoke, urgency compels you to find an escape route. If you don’t move, you’ll be burnt to a crisp by the flames, and you won’t let a dragon be the reason you meet your end. 

There’s no time to waste, you realise when there’s a crash in the adjacent room. The sound is what finally jolts you into action, and without hesitation, you grab the person next to you and bolt towards safety.

The relief when you escape the fire all but vanishes as the sight in front of you changes, and you find Yunho trapped in the claws of a massive dragon. His desperate struggle mirrors the fear etched in his eyes. The image shakes you to your core. It’s new, and you know why you’re seeing this: every time Yunho is out fighting the dragons during an attack, you can’t help but worry about his safety.

There’s a beat of silence as if the world has stopped around you before you jump towards the creature holding him hostage. But you’re too late. You meet the ground with a crash while the dragon takes off, taking Yunho away from you.

You jolt awake, your heart pounding so hard that you feel it wants to escape your chest. You’re covered in cold sweat, and you feel it trail down your back. You gasp for air, for the relief that comes with your lungs being filled with oxygen. Instinctively, you look down to check your hands, half-expecting to find the remnants of blood and soot on them.

Dazed and disoriented, you rise, stumbling towards the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, you wince at your wide-eyed and tear-stained face. You’re breathing fast, too quick to be considered normal. Staring at your trembling hands, you run them beneath the water before splashing the cold substance on your face.

Feeling a presence next to you, you turn around to find your brother gazing at you worriedly. But before you can ease his worry, Wooyoung walks in through your bedroom door, which is now wide open courtesy of Yunho.

“Is everything okay?” Wooyoung breaks the silence, voice is still gravelly from sleep. You feel bad for waking them up and worrying them like this, but right now, all you can focus on is the raging panic inside of you. “I heard you screaming, Y/N.”

You blink; your throat definitely feels raw, but you can’t remember hearing yourself scream.

“I think it was a bad dream,” Yunho mutters softly, eyes still trained on you.

Dream?

It’s almost as if everything falls into place when you hear Yunho’s words. You had the nightmare once again, the same one you had had since you lost your family during an attack when you were ten years old. With clammy hands, you tightly grip the bedside table in a futile attempt to steady yourself. Stumbling, you crash onto the floor as you try to calm your furiously beating heart.

Yunho scrambles to kneel next to you, brows furrowed in worry. “Y/N, breathe with me, c’mon. ’S okay, you’re safe.” You let him tuck you into his chest, the touch becoming an anchor to help you ground yourself. You breathe deeply, timing your breaths in tandem with Yunho’s. You remind yourself over and over again that he’s safe and sound.

“Was it the same dream?” Wooyoung’s voice is closer now, and you open your eyes to see him in front of you. You shrug as an answer to Wooyoung’s question.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” you whisper apologetically, but they quickly shush you.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Wooyoung murmurs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as if he already knows your answer, “Or would you like to help me with lunch?”

“Brunch,” you declare, carefully disentangling yourself from Yunho, who has fallen asleep. Little snores leave his mouth, and you suppress a giggle. You grab a pillow from your bed, gently supporting his neck to ensure he sleeps comfortably even if he’s on the floor.  Quietly, you follow Wooyoung into the kitchen.

“What are we making?” You question, standing in the middle of the room while Wooyoung rummages through the cupboards.

“How do omelettes and buttered toast sound? Yunho bought bread from the village baker last evening, and I’m sure we haven’t run out of the jam we prepared,” he stops his hunt and starts gathering the things needed for the proposed meal.

“We also have some leftover meat pie,” you inform him, fishing out the pie from the pantry and setting it on the table. Grabbing a large bowl, you crack some eggs while Wooyoung chops the vegetables, the two of you falling into rhythm easily.

Wooyoung reaches over to add the chopped vegetables to the bowl, stirring them with the eggs as you place two pans on the stove. Soon, you have two omelettes sizzling in unison. Carefully, you add different spices and ingredients to each one based on your individual preferences. Spotting extra vegetables, you throw them in a pan to sauté them while Wooyoung handles the omelettes.

“Wow,” Yunho walks into the kitchen, drawn in by the aroma of food. He peeks over your shoulders. “That’s a feast right there.”

Eventually, you and Wooyoung finish cooking and carry everything to the table with Yunho's assistance. The three of you happily devour the food, joking, teasing, and laughing between bites.

“I have to go into the forest to gather more herbs. It’s amazing how fast we burn through them after the attacks,” you sigh, already tired by the mere thought of having to haul a huge batch of herbs from the forest.

“Be careful,” Yunho warns you. “The forest is safe right now, but you can’t be careful enough.”

“Don’t worry,” you reassure with a smile. “I’ve done this so many times.”

After bidding goodbye to the two males, you follow one of the trails behind your house that leads into the forest. You hum a small tune as you walk through the woods. Despite the village being attacked every fortnight, the forest is safe because the dragons avoid lingering for fear of getting captured. The chirping birds and the small animals frolicking around in the undergrowth lift your spirits. You take a deep breath, unable to stop yourself from breaking into a smile.

The sound of a nearby waterfall catches your attention, prompting you to change course towards the opening through the trees. However, you halt in your tracks when you spot broken trees and upturned earth, suggesting that something came barreling down from the sky.

The only thing that would crash down from the sky is a dragon.

Unsheathing your shortsword, you slowly approach an outgrown rock where the wreckage seems the worst. You take a deep breath to calm yourself before peeking to check if you’re right, only to hide behind the rock once again quickly. There, on the other side, is a dragon you’ve never seen before.

It doesn’t take a genius to identify it as a Night Fury, also known as ‘the offspring of lightning and death itself.’ The beast’s scales are pitch black, adorned with small horns that spike from above its eyes, down its neck, back, and tail, the tip of which fans out like that of a whale. Surprisingly, it doesn’t look as terrifying as its reputation suggests, resembling more of a feline than a vicious reptile. For being a dragon dreaded across the seven seas, the beast looks tamer than the ones you’ve come across over the course of your life.

Peeking from behind the rock again, you realise the dragon is tangled in rope. There are signs of struggle, showing that it tried but failed to free itself from the binds. As it seems to be asleep, you approach cautiously, awed by the sheer size of the creature. The dragon likely hears you because, even though it can’t move, one of its eyes opens, fixing a stare at you. It releases a warning growl when you move even closer, but you scoff, knowing fully well that it won’t be able to harm you.

“You know, you really look more like a cat than a dragon,” your tone is belittling as you tilt your head to meet the dragon’s gaze head-on.

The dragon emits what seems like a scoff, earning an eye-roll from you. “You should be nicer to me. After all, I could kill you, and then what would happen, huh?  Your little family would find it harder and harder to attack us, considering that you’re the one who makes it difficult for us to bring down the rest of your kind.”

It hits you that this would be your first dragon kill, and for some reason, it gives you a sense of satisfaction. Eliminating the Night Fury is a step closer towards your goal to avenge your family and the countless others who were destroyed by these beasts.

Raising your blade, you look down at the beast with a blank expression. The dragon gazes at you with big, pleading eyes, its pupils round and sparkly like that of a cat. Your grip on the weapon falters, and sensing your hesitation, it lets out the most pathetic of whimpers.

“You have some nerve, really,” you sigh, the urge to harm the creature gradually ebbs away the longer you look into its eyes. It’s a living, breathing creature, and it goes against all your ideals as a healer to kill a sentient being. “First, your kind kills my family, then you guys literally cause so much damage to my village every time you attack, and here I am, wanting to spare you? Why can’t you be as ugly as a Gronckle?”

The dragon blinks at you in confusion.

“Stop looking at me like that!” You scold it, only causing the dragon to huff, this time in amusement. Sensing that you’re not going to kill it, the beast lets out another whine and closes its eyes.

Sighing once again, you use your sword to cut through the ropes, loosening the bonds that bind the poor creature. That is your second mistake because the moment it is free, the dragon lunges at you, pinning you against the rock as you gasp in shock. It growls at you, keeping you restrained with its claws.

“Oh, isn’t that just lovely?” you mock the dragon. You know you’re playing a dangerous game, but you can’t stop taunting it. “I save your sorry life, and you thank me by pinning me to a rock? Quite the peculiar way to express gratitude, I must say… and quite kinky.”

The beast regards you with a look of sheer disbelief, scoffs dismissively, and turns around to fly further into the forest. Only when it crashes into an outcrop of rocks, do you notice the unsteadiness of its flight.

Is it injured?

Your brows furrow as a pang of worry pierces through your heart, but before you can act on it, the realisation of how late it it dawns upon you. You haven’t even started collecting the herbs you had ventured into the forest for. Deciding to return tomorrow to check on the dragon, should it still be around, you start the laborious task of gathering the herbs you need.

#cromernet #k-labels #wonderlandnet #kvanity #cultofdionysusnet #outlaw/noctem #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez reactions #ateez fluff #ateez angst #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa reactions #seonghwa headcanons #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa angst #seonghwa smut

[thebellearchives]

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 🔞 minors dni

~ simeon ; obey me

✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : simeon knows he shouldn’t be doing this but his desires get in the way of his angelic status, will he give in?

‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : smut, fem!reader, corruption kink, dry humping, oral sex (male receiving), simeon struggles with religion

‧₊˚ a / n : i had this idea in my head for so long omg it’s finally done!! if i’m missing anything in the cw please let me know !

Intoxicated, disoriented, overwhelmed. Three of the words Simeon’s writer mind chose to describe his current feelings, a war had been set ablaze on his mind. He knew he wasn’t supposed to do this, he knew the right thing to do would be to stop you. But how could something wrong feel so right? The touch of your fingertips exploring the tanned skin of his chest, your shaky breath pouring in between his lips like the most luscious drink the three worlds could’ve ever produced. Your lips snapped back onto his like magnets and his shaky fingers found their way in between the strands of your hair, keeping you in place so he could indulge in the incessant frenzy your kiss wrapped him in.

“Simeon…” a needy wail left your lips, your voice like honey calling for him to join you in the bliss of the most lascivious of desires “touch me, please”

Your request was torture to him, he yearned to slide his hands up those mouth-watering thighs, to taste in his own mouth the skin of your neck and feel on his tongue the pulsating blood running through your veins in a rush of lust. He was convinced only you could make corruption feel so enticing, his will power shattering and arousal increasing the burning need for more of your whimpers.

“MC please” he cried “I’m falling for you”

“Isn’t this between you and I better than the damned glory of the skies?” your whisper just as painful as inviting “please, Simeon”

How could he deny you anything? He’d give you a throne in the celestial realm if you asked for it, with that provocative voice and those exquisite lips of yours.

So his hands flew to your knees, making their way upwards and squeezing softly, a sigh of pleasure coming from your throat to bless his hearing and feeding an uncontrollable need for more of your sounds, which clouded his mind and rationality. His turquoise eyes relished in the hypnotizing waving of your hips, until he closed them harshly and let his head rest over your chest, his heartbeat galloping faster than ever before. His stuttering breath sounded louder throughout the walls of his bedroom, so he bit his lip to stop it, begging in his head for you to please have mercy on him.

But you didn’t. Your voice called his name again, your fingers diving deep into the dark ember strands of his curls behind his neck and pulling until his open mouth was lifted up in your direction. You kissed him again, the urge to kiss back burned his throat to the point of madness, and still he didn’t.

“Just let go” you asked in a pained groan “please, I just want a kiss, it’s just a kiss”

Just a kiss. What was so wrong about a kiss? What was so wrong about this love? If heaven didn’t want him to act like this then why did it give him this filthy impetuous soul? why would they make you so painfully sublime? Simeon’s hands gabbed onto your hips and his fingers fitted so perfectly in the curves of your body, his lips kissed back and molded so flawlessly with yours that he couldn’t help but think: why would heaven make such a creature so ideal for him and not want him to have it? what kind of twisted game was that?

But then your body left him, and the cold that came with your absence almost felt like pain in his very bones.

“What are you doing?” his anxious heart suddenly scared of the idea of you leaving, even when it meant relief in his conflicted mind, his heart sang for your weight over his body again.

“I’ll show you better than heaven” and you got on your knees.

You might’ve been human but the words leaving your mouth formed the most devilish sentence he had heard since setting foot in the Devildom. The pace of his breathing quickened, watching as your hands caressed the inner sides of his thighs and made their way to the zipper of his pants, your doe shiny eyes stabbing through his, bearing a beautiful false innocence. Simeon gasped harshly when your indecorous fingers managed to pull his hard member out from his clothes, arms searching for stability on his bed. The feeling of your warm breath on his exposed and humid skin made his head spin, once again he closed his eyes in anticipation.

“God forgive me for what i’m about to let happen” the angel’s raspy voice dragged the words out of his throat, the last of his pleadings.

He allowed the seductive sense of sin finally take over his mind when the feeling of your soft tongue lapped from the base of his shaft all the way up to the tip. With a moan, he clutched the bedsheets, his throat closed up in an attempt of controlling his language and his legs almost jolted in a hurry to close. There wasn’t a single drop of leniency or hesitation in the way you held him with your right hand, swirling your tongue around the tip and then slowly taking him inside your mouth. Simeon’s agape mouth exhaled in another breathy moan, he called your name in low huffs and instinctively held your head with his hands, fingers curling in your hair. You started moving, the walls of your mouth and your tongue creating a wet friction that he felt in every single one of his veins.

“Don’t stop, just like that” he begged, slowly picking up your rhythm, his hips unconsciously beginning to buckle against you.

He enjoyed the way his judgment had now been burned away by the hellfire you ignited in him, embraced the way forbidden pleasure that travelled through his frame. all he could think about was you and the way you touched him. Soft, slow delight was then replaced by intense and fiery one the moment you sped up the pace.

“W-wait-” his body contorted forwards, his fingers pulled your hair, gaining an erotic groan from you “… fuck”

He was heavily panting at this point, the muscles in his belly started to tighten, pleasure waves started to pulse throughout his whole body.

“S…Stop, if you don’t want me to- I’m gonna-”

You didn’t care, you didn’t stop, his throbbing member releasing his seed inside your mouth.

Quickly, you pulled away and swallowed the warm liquid, gasping for air afterwards and making Simeon’s eyes fly open and dart towards you. There you were, shiny lips and hazy eyes, your hair messy, and even a drop of his arousal sliding down from the corners of your lips, which you dizzily wiped away with your forearm. Simeon couldn’t believe his eyes. Even when his eyes were used to the beauty of the heavens, he had never seen anything more beautiful than you.

And yes, you were better than heaven.

#; belle after hours #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me smut #obey me simeon #simeon obey me #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #omswd simeon #simeon x you #simeon x mc #simeon x reader #simeon x y/n #simeon smut

[tomakoshark]

Man, I can't hold it in any longer. Every time this card pops up, I just have the strongest urge to LAY ON HIM.

His pose is literally so inviting. Like legs open, leaning back. I just want to lay in between his legs and nuzzle my face into his stomach while I hug him.

And I mean, man's got some handcuffs on, I can think of a few other things I could do while I'm there,,,,,,

Just imagine him laying like that often, casually and innocently, minding his own business. And then you just happen to come up, target insight.

Small Fic Below, Male Reader x Leviathan

Just some poorly written kissing and fluff, kind of suggestive

I would've made it spicier/spicy, but I don't think I'm good enough at writing to do that yet eheheh

And just … Oh how he sat there. So comfortable, in a position so inviting. In a way, looking so confident. Even his quick glare has you transfixed, rendering you with a want to do nothing more than to advance.

Stepping closer towards him, he shoots you another brief glance, too absorbed in his switch to properly acknowledge you. Encroaching further into his personal space, you finally plop down in front of him, startling the poor demon as he suddenly pauses his game. “Wha- MC! What are you-?” Before he could finish his question, you crawl a little closer, knees finding their way in the little spot between his legs. Your hands now on each side of him, trapping him in his place. “Ah- M-MC, I don’t know what normie tactic this is b-but- eh!?”

Putting the rest of your weight onto Levi, you nuzzle your face into his abdomen, too absorbed into the warmth of his body and just … how soft he is to care about his current state. 

Which is panic. But, a good type of panic? Is it a good type of panic? Should he be happy about this?

He can’t help but feel his face get warmer, his heart beating out of his chest but … this is nice. Unsure about what to do next, or whether he should move, he stiffens further as he feels your arms snake their way around him. Finding purchase around his back, your hands pressed against him and, ah- are, are you tracing patterns on him?! 

‘This is it Levi, this is the way you die, by the hands of a normie and in your own bedroom!’ Though, it is really nice. To have you to himself, your breath slow and steady, warm on his chest. The weight of your body, like one of the best blankets in the three realms. And the feeling of your fingers on his skin, which even through his shirt feels … heavenly. He’s calm now, breathing syncing up to yours, his muscles relaxing. And he can’t help but stare. 

It was as if he was an angel all over again. Enamored by your presence alone, he finds his hand moving. Ever so slowly, cautious, not wanting to ruin this time with you. Shaking slightly, his fingertips finally reach your head, gently, as though you were the most fragile thing to exist. Lost in this moment, he let his hand wander along with his mind. Stroking your head softly, feeling your hair transition into skin as his fingers began to trace patterns of their own onto your neck. Traveling trails unknown to anyone but him, further onto your back. 

That is until you move, picking your head up to rest your chin on him instead. Eyes locking with his. And your smile, small and gentle, pulling at his heartstrings and increasing his now growing anxiety. 

‘You’ve done it now Levi, you idiot! Pathetic, stupid otaku, thinking you have a chance with him! Ah- he must think I’m a freak, I have to-’ “Ah- I’m sorry! I shouldn't have touched you! I-” “Levi, it’s okay.” You assure him, giving his waist a squeeze for comfort as a small chuckle escapes your lips. “Are you sure, I stopped paying attention. Ah- to my hand that is, you were just so comforting, a-and warm and … cozy. I-I …” Having pushed yourself off his chest, your face was now hovering only a few inches away from his, the smile on your face impossible to hide. 

“M-MC.” “I liked it, Levi. You don’t have to apologize. I like feeling your touch, getting to lay on you, be with you. It’s nice.” His face was covered in a deep blush as his eyes found any other thing in the room to glance at. Meeting your gaze, right now, he might combust. “Levi?” ‘Oh shit.’ Your eyes locked again, the call of his name drawing him back to you. And he can feel it, his heart beating faster, his hands becoming clammier. “You enjoyed yourself didn’t you?” ‘Fuck.’ “Of course I did, th-though not in a weird way, or anything, just-” ‘You’re losing it Levi, control yourself for fucks sake!’

Closing his eyes he took a deep breath to ground himself before meeting your stare. Determination filling his eyes. “I liked touching you- ah I mean, holding you! I just, I don't want to make you uncomfortable…” Slipping a hand up to caress his face, skin warm against your fingertips, you give him another smile. Same as the last but serene, enough to put him at ease. “You’re not going to make me uncomfortable, though I appreciate it. For a demon you have a soft heart…”

You slowly inch closer to him, at least he thinks you do. His chest is getting tighter, however, he’s just as calm again as he was earlier. Eyes flickering from yours to your lips and back once more, the doubt in his mind leaving as quick as it entered. Your lips were soft, softer than he could have imagined. Eyes closed, softly caressing each other's faces, he felt as though he could stay there forever. You and him, sharing this moment throughout time and space, nothing getting in the way, nothing stopping you two from being together. He’d like that, and so would you, but good things must always end. Of course only to begin again, as he chases your lips, stealing as much as he can while you pull away. 

And even as you stare into each other’s eyes, breathing regulating and the moment fleeting, he can’t help but feel as though it’s still just the two of you in existence. “MC?” “Mhm?” “Could we … Will you stay here? With me?” You take in the sight before you. Levi, with blown out eyes and cheeks as red as a sunburn. A longing look on his face hopeful for your answer. For something more. Confidence seemingly radiating out from him, compared to his usual self, he appears bold. Still cautious, but bold. It’s a nice look on him.

“Of course I’ll stay.” You lean down and give him another kiss, savoring the way his lips mold to yours, moving in time together like a dance. Pulling away again you hear a huff of slight annoyance coming from the demon below. You can’t help but smirk. “We can continue if you want. I mean with the cuddling, unless you want to-ah!” And with one fell swoop he rolled the two of you over, an embarrassed expression on his face. Slight worry and longing knitted into his eyebrows as he scanned your features. He wanted to make sure he was right, that you wanted him too. “I want to continue, more than cuddling …” 

#obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #om! nightbringer #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #obey me leviathan #obey me x mc #obey me x male reader #om! shall we date #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writer #obey me fanfic #obey me fluff #obey me levi x mc #obey me levi x reader #obey me drabble #obey me x trans reader #obey me x trans mc #obey me trans reader #obey me trans mc