#but I’m tired and frankly this is more than enough

[callmecoke]

Thinking of the first time the 141 discover you on a website for Sugar Babies...

TW: Sex work, specifically being a sugar baby. Mention of insanity, but it's mostly exaggeration; this one's pretty SFW, but I would proceed with caution because the subject matter is adult. Not Proofread!!

This is the first instalment of something I’ll continue writing about!!! And also my first post!!!! Yipeeee😆😆😆

I’m thinking about one tired, slow, dull day with our favourite 141 boys as they sit around waiting to receive orders and go-tos from higher-ups. They’ve done everything they could to pass the time: Polished and prepared the weaponry, sorted and stored old files, and Simon even got desperate enough to fold, wash and tuck in bedding for the second time. But eventually, they ran out of little distractions and were left waiting for orders that might never come. Bit by bit, it was driving them mad. The first to snap was Gaz, who was already pacing up and down the base like a madman. Out of desperation, he grabbed his laptop that he hid under his bed and opened it. He knew he wasn’t allowed to access electronic devices while at base; frankly, he wasn’t even supposed to have them at all. But Price couldn’t be bothered to chastise his sergeant, as he was equally starting to get desperate for some action too. 

Gaz just started opening tabs, looking for anything to pass the time. He wasn’t sure what his goal was other than to find something that might quell his building insanity. That’s when he saw it. Some sort of…dating website? No, not entirely that. It was filled with livestreams, gorgeous younger men and women just talking. He looked further and found it was some kind of sugar baby service where people could come on and interact with lonely rich fellas with cash to spend. Interesting, but not his thing. He was about to exit the page when he spotted your livestream. You were attractive, no doubt about that, but you also seemed a lot more nervous than the other ‘sugar babies’ on this website acted. Like you were new to all this. Your live stream was just you sitting on your bed with the laptop in front of you, only having a dozen or so viewers at most. Curiosity struck him, and his finger moved to click on your livestream. 

The audio of you talking played out of the speakers on the laptop, making the other three men's heads turn in Gaz’s direction. You spoke softly, careful with your words as you talked about yourself and your day, answering questions now and again. It was intriguing. You had each of their attention with the way you spoke. None of them had spoken to a civilian for months. Outside of the 141, they barely even saw another human being with the way they were stuck there. So hearing your voice felt like singing angels to them, one that came to pull them out of the darkness of their minds. Soap and Simon silently shuffled to where Gaz was and leered behind him, watching you talk over his shoulder. Price continued to sit on his side of the room, but he was still entranced by your voice. Even ordering Gaz to turn up the volume if it got too quiet.

Gaz soon realised that the livestream was nearing its end. You hadn’t earned a lot of money, and you were slowly losing steam. But Gaz was desperate. He needed to hear your voice again. To talk to you, speak to you, interact with you somehow. His fingers moved before his brain did, and he input his card details into the website faster than the speed of sound. You had to pay in order to leave a comment and interact on this kind of website, so he tipped you a healthy sum of cash before typing out the quickest sentence he could to get your attention.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

[livvyofthelake]

crazy things happening in redacted land. horrific era remember i can’t speak about it directly i can only make vague hints and sort of make little jokes and jests. i don’t know how i’ll ever get my fyp back to normal when all this is over for me wow. oh well that’s a problem for another day. anyway. crazyyyy things happening in redacted land!!!

[1roentgen]

.

[mostly-imagines]

There’s A String Tied to My Lower Left Rib, Third From The Bottom

dick grayson x afab!reader

aka the professional boyfriend

warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader wears dresses, sexual content at the end (18+)

Dick Grayson is a vigilante. He’s a master martial artist and gymnast. He’s something of a playboy and a heavy flirt. But the claim he really takes pride in is that he’s basically a professional boyfriend. That he’s your professional boyfriend.

And pride really is the right word. He’s so proud that he gets to have this pretty girl on his arm and buy her pretty things even when you insist you have enough. He loves getting to help you take your makeup off when you’re too tired and make you laugh like it’s his job. He’s absolutely gratified that he gets to be your prodigal, sweet boyfriend that, despite your protests, insisted on carrying all five of your shopping bags for you.

You step over an uneven stretch in the sidewalk and lean slightly against Dick’s shoulder. “I’m worried the navy one is too…much.” You say, thinking back to how the blue cocktail dress fit on you, how it stopped barely below your ass.

He furrows his eyebrows with a pout, “Too much?”

You look over at him, matching his expression. “It’s really short. I mean it’s cute and I like it, but…I don’t know, this is kind of a fancy event isn’t it?” 

He puckers his lips, shaking his head. “Short’s good. I like short.” Yeah, you’d noticed with the way his eyes had been glued to the hem of your dress, willing it to slip up just a little more.

You laugh, “And I’m sure you and all the old businessmen will appreciate it greatly.”

His face drops at that, not thrilled at the prospect of those, usually very sleazy, old men getting to see so much of you. “The black one’s good too.”

You peer over into one of the bags, “Or there’s the red one with the—”

Dick shakes his head quickly, “Not red.”

You snicker at that, knowing full well what his problem is with it. “Then why did I get it?”

“Just for me.” He pauses, “Or for something my brother won’t be at.” He mumbles, scanning both sides of the street. He shuffles the bags in his right hand onto his forearm so he can take your hand in his as you step into the road. “No, the black one looked great on you. And we won’t have to go searching for a matching tie.” 

Once you reach the other side he lets go of your hand and he circles behind you, nudging you over to the inside of the sidewalk.

You glance down at the row of bags littering his arms and the red indents beginning to mark his skin. “Will you please let me hold some?” You frown.

“Will you please hold my hand?” He echoes, matching your serious tone with faux urgency of his own. You deadpan him but take his hand anyway. You don’t notice it, but he’s got a dedicated gaze focused on your fingers intertwined in his.

You continue on down the street, hand in hand, the warm sun shining on your necks. You pick up the pace a bit as you approach your apartment building, aiming to get the door for your boyfriend. You reach for the handle only for Dick to call out, “Don’t touch that!” followed by him clamoring like you’re about to touch a hot coal, rushing over to beat you to the punch.

“Oh my god..” you mumble to yourself, biting back a smile. The bags haphazardly fall further down his arms, no doubt uncomfortably as he pulls the door open for you, pretending to be far more eloquent than he actually was. He gestures you in and smiles sweetly at you when you give him a flat look. 

“What is wrong with you?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder at him with amusement glittering across your face as you dig for your keys.

“Not a thing.” He grins, watching with adoration as you open the apartment door. Frankly, you’re surprised he didn’t attempt to juggle the bags and unlock the door himself.

He kicks the door shut behind him as you help slide the bags off of his wrists, piling them on the counter. “When do we need to leave?”

“Uh…” he glances at the wall clock, “Not till seven.” He places his hands nicely on your waist, looking down at your lips. “You wanna get something to eat before we go?”

You muse, “This is the one with those mini stakes, isn’t it?” He nods. “No, I wanna get my fill on those. Oh, and the bruschettas! I love these caterers.”

His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a sly smile playing on his lips. 

You break away from his gaze and turn to the counter, preparing to scoop the shopping bags up when you’re interrupted by his relentless fervor.

“Ah, ah.” He hooks a finger into the loop of your jeans, tugging you back to him. “Give me a kiss.” 

“Dick.”

“Just one.” Yeah, right. You oblige him though, pushing up on your toes to meet his lips. His thumb strokes your cheek as he kisses you deeply. You break the kiss after a moment only for him to chase your lips to follow it up with another. And then another. And another. He hums against your lips, smiling wide. “Thank you, baby.”

You pull back again and smile as you stop his chest with your hand when he follows. “Ah, I’m not new around here. I know where this’ll go if I let you.”

He nods complaisantly, “Then let me.” His eyes are focused on the small space between you, where his touch lingers along your ring finger. You lean up again and place a kiss on his forehead that has him getting hopeful, only to be met with disappointment when you back away from him, bags in hand. He throws his head back with a groan just to really hammer home the severity of his dismay.  

It doesn’t last too long though because the second you’re back in the room he’s trailing after you like a puppy, following you down to the couch. You roll your eyes at him when he opts to sit ridiculously close to you, though there’s a ghost of a smile on your lips that makes your act lose all credibility.   

He nestles his face into the crook of your neck and is clearly very pleased when you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You exhale contentedly, resting your cheek against his head. You lie idle like that for a few minutes, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and casting a daydreaming gaze out the window. And apparently, he was daydreaming too. 

“I wanna marry you.” He murmurs into your neck after a while. 

You laugh incredulously, “Have you been drinking when I have my back turned?”

“‘M serious.” He nudges you off him so he can look at you.

You hum, sweeping his hair back from his forehead. “You’re being very…” you scrunch up your mouth to the side, “…Ostentatious today.” 

He barks out a laugh, “Wow. Word-A-Day teach you that one?”

You shove at his forehead back with no real force, biting back a giggle. His eyes flicker back and forth between your mouth and the crinkle in your eyes as he grins. “I’m going to let that one go because you got me some really nice clothes today. As your repayment.” you say, running your finger over his lips. 

He takes your hand, pressing a firm kiss to it. “Let me marry you?” 

You sigh bashfully, “Dick—”

“Please?” He sticks his bottom lip out and gives you his puppy eyes, causing you to avert your gaze quickly. You’re not convinced he doesn’t have a superpower in that area.

You know he’s not really proposing right now, he’s too much of a romantic to do it like this. He’s just getting the idea in your head, getting you excited about it. It’s working.

“I’d be such a good husband to you.” He kisses your collarbone, “So good.” He murmurs against your skin, lips never departing. You struggle to keep your face neutral, making a point of closing your eyes in an attempt to increase your odds of success. He’s being nice though, you know. To let you play pretend right now when you know he could break your facade in a second if he really wanted to.  

“Mrs. Grayson…” he squeezes your hips, lips traveling further down. “Doesn’t that sound pretty?”

It really does. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about marrying him before. He’s nothing if not husband material and honestly you really really want to hear him call you his wife. Call him your husband.

Your hand moves to his hair, petting it softly as he goes on. “Buy you a nice ring. Pretty white dress ‘n a big party just for you.” He brushes your shirt up and trails open mouthed kisses down your stomach. Your chest feels warm and you can feel your pulse thrumming all throughout your body.

He slowly guides your underwear down your thighs, his lips following the hem close behind. “Come home to you every night, kiss these pretty thighs,” He scoops both of your hands up in one of his, pinning them to your stomach. “Kiss this pretty pussy.” He places a chaste kiss on your clit and looks up at you expectantly.

You’re not nearly as hesitant on this as you’re pretending to be, and you both know it. But he’s perfectly fine with begging a little while you pretend you’re not lightheaded at the idea of marrying him. “I’ll think about it…” 

He grins at you before going in on your core without mercy.

He’s trying real hard to land that promotion.

🩵 reblogging = supporting; likes don’t do the job 🩵

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic!Danny Phantom- pt. 8

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

If I had a nickel for every time I’ve been to the hospital in the past three years, I’d have enough money to buy a bag of skittles from Target. Most of it wasn’t for me though lol I’ll add this onto the list in a bit, but I tend to do that from my desktop but I’m still currently attached to an IV drip. I’ve also never been this hydrated in my life lmao

——

Danny poked a puffed up pufferfish. The poison floated through his ghost form and did nothing but give him a little zap. Danny chuckled, wiping away a bit of oil that had gotten onto the fish from a nearby oil spill. Jesus fuck. Danny knew that bald headed, easily drawn Vlad wannabe from across the river would do something terrible to Gotham’s waters (not that it needed help being atrocious to Danny’s clean water appreciation).

The puffer fish- Danny gave up on understanding Gotham’s water ecosystem, having realized that it was a cursed mix of saltwater and freshwater and swamp- gave a fearful little wiggle and Danny let it go, turning to the oil particles floating around.

Danny took out his phone.

“Danny? Why the hell are you calling at three in the morning?”

Danny raised a hand and blasted out some ice, gathering the oil up. “Hey Sam. If I got you into contact with Poison Ivy, do you think you could team up to get rid of Lex Luthor’s new holding company in Gotham?”

“Danny, are you asking me to commit an act of ecoterrorism?”

“That’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve ever asked you to do.” Danny placed a hand on the ice mass and flew it, the oil, and himself across the river to Metropolis.

“Deal.” Sam’s voice gets further away as she pulled her phone from her ear. “I’ll text Tucker, see if he could futz with Luthor’s taxes. I heard her doesn’t even give his workers a livable wage, and that’s so not gonna fly.”

“Perfect! Thanks! We could totally meet up and hang out with my new friends!”

“Hah! That Tim guy? The one that wanted you to introduce Phantom to him?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, goth girl.”

“Sure, dork. I’ll swing by Friday?”

“Sure! Want me to pick you up?” Danny phased through Lex Luthor’s frankly ridiculous amounts of security measures, still completely invisible and towing a giant mass of oil covered ice.

“Cool. Now hang up. I actually need sleep.”

“Ah, you must be dead tired. I get it.”

Sam hung up, and a second later, Danny got a pic of her holding up a middle finger with her signature purple nail polish.

Danny stared down at the sleeping billionaire. Gross. He let his face re enter the visible spectrum and lowered the temperature of the room drastically. Luthor groaned, waking up as he shivered like a hyped up chihuahua.

Danny bared his teeth, glowing green skin reflecting the black holes of the universe and imploding stars and burning planets as he leaned towards the frozen two bit villain.

“RESPECT THE PLANET,” Danny snarled. He unmelted the invisible ice as he simultaneously made the oil visible, the entirety of the oil spill coating every single inch of Luthor’s penthouse bedroom. Danny winked out, but not before snapping a quick picture of Lex Luthor’s absolutely covered in his company’s oil spill.

If Danny had made sure that there were fish droppings mixed in with the oil… that was his own damn business.

——

Danny floated over to a brooding Batman.

“Do you have two hundred dollars on you?” Danny asked in lieu of a greeting.

Batman grunted a yes.

“Two hundred dollars for a photo of Lex Luthor being hit with karma.”

Batman instantly handed over the cash and received a printed out photo of Lex Luthor (in his Lexcorp pjs) covered by fossil fuel.

"Is this..."

"The oil from his oil spill? Yes."

Batman stared at the picture.

"Why was this more expensive than ID'ing corpses?"

"Cause it's funnier. And dead people deserve more consideration than a egg looking ass polluting everything he touches."

Superman zoomed into the space in front of them, face eager.

"I heard you had something about Luthor?"

Danny figured that Batman probably contacted the hero, and confidently said, "$200 for personal use, $300 for commercial use."

Superman quickly got together three hundred dollars in cash and quickly forked it over. Danny gave him another physical copy of the photo and a usb drive with the photo in a digital format.

"I am so pinning this up." Superman muttered.

"Get out of my city." Batman said flatly. Superman waved a hand, beamed at Danny, and left.

"Did you know Gotham's waters is a mixture of freshwater, swamp, and saltwater habitats?"

Batman grunted.

"Also, please stop stalking Danny Fenton. It's odd."

Batman swiveled his head over. "What."

Danny stared him down. "Stop. Stalking. Innocent. Bystanders. Or else I will recreate the phrase "drowned rat" with you as the subject."

Batman stilled.

"I don't kill, by the way. I can, however, dunk you in the sea and lift you up like a goth version of Simba."

Batman relaxed minutely. "I can't."

"And why not?"

Batman gave him a despairing look. "Have you met my children?"

"... Point."

[purinfelix]

FELLOW FRANCO LOVERS RISE!!

Ok I’m not good at making requests but I think it would be cute if one of the interviewers wears an Argentina jersey and Franco is blushing and yapping in the media pen (and then he posts about it a million times like his handshake w Lewis)

good journalism ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ - franco colapinto

a/n: YES FRANCO LOVERS JOIN MEE i honestly love writing fics for this flirty little shit pls send more requests like this one eee it was so cute w/c: 922

It's all for the sake of good journalism.

At least, that's what you kept telling yourself - and all the other interviewers who were questioning why you were sporting an Argentina kit to a race that was being held in Singapore. Watching, buried in a hoard of other photographers and journalists, the race drew to a close and suddenly the crowd around you sprung into action. As drivers started trickling in, with tired expressions - some happy, others not, you resigned yourself to waiting. It was pretty clear you were only here for one.

He spots you as soon as he enters the media area, even though you're concealed by about a dozen other people. You watch as his eyes light up at the sight of the familiar blue and white fabric and he beelines towards you, ignoring the sound of others calling his name.

"Hello," he says, breathlessly with a beaming smile - you chalk the flush in his cheeks up to having just finished a race.

"Hi!" you spring immediately into interview mode, listing off question after question about the race. He answers them all as earnestly as he can, and the entire time you're watching him with an awe-struck look. The clamour and sound of camera flashes around you are drowned out as the two of you talk, and before you realise it you've forgotten you're conducting an interview and not just having a conversation.

"Well that's all the questions I had prepared, good job out there today, you did amazing!" you say, fully aware that you're gushing at this point but you're relieved when he offers you an earnest smile.

"Nice shirt," he points out, and you realise suddenly how keen he is to keep talking. You laugh, a little shy at being so openly acknowledged.

"I knew you'd like it!"

"Who's on the back?" he asks curiously and you turn around to show him, "Ah, Lionel of course, a woman after my own heart." You chuckle softly as he places a hand over his chest. There's a beat of silence when you honestly think he's about to leave but then he leans in a little closer.

"Blue looks good on you, maybe a Williams shirt next time?" He says it so casually it takes you a while to take in what he's saying - and to realise how boldly he's flirting with you.

"Ah," you let out, though it's more of a gasp than words, "I'll have to talk to your merch department about that."

"I'll be waiting," he beams, giving you a sly little nod before disappearing back into his garage. It's only once he's gone do you realise how sore your cheeks are from smiling non-stop. Letting out a shaky breath, slightly overwhelmed by how well that interaction went, you turn around to snake your way back through the crowd. You try to avoid eye contact with anyone but the other camerapeople only smile at you knowingly, and you can only hope some of them got good enough photos for you to remember this moment by.

It's only once you get back to your hotel room and open up your phone do you realise just how many pictures had been taken of the two of you - and how many of them were far better than 'good enough'. In one the two of you are deep in conversation, your brows furrowed in a frankly un-flattering way, him as perfect as ever. In another, you're both laughing, about what you're not entirely sure, but just looking at the photo makes your heart flutter. Your favourite by far though, is one where you're looking down at your notebook trying desperately to remember the questions you had wanted to ask him. There's a childish pout at your lips that you cringe at - but what makes it your favourite is the look on Franco's face as he watches you, cheeks flushed as his lips curl subtly at the corners.

You don't seem to be alone in this opinion either - at least, that's what you've deduced from the half a dozen times Franco has posted it. Clicking through his stories, you're taken aback by the fact that he posted more about your interaction than him scoring points - the photo of the two of you even becomes the cover of his post dedicated to the weekend. Looking at the post you're not even bothered by the hundreds and hundreds of comments speculating what's going on between you two. Instead, your attention is captured by the caption he's added to it - "A race weekend to remember, for more reasons than one."

It's a little corny, and you let out a soft chuckle as you scroll through the rest of his page shamelessly, though you're sure not to like any of his posts for fear of letting on too much. The two of you spoke once, and if you're being completely honest you're a little embarrassed to still be thinking about him at this moment.

Just as you're about to set your phone down though, it chimes with. a notification that makes your eyes widen - a follow request from none other than the man of the hour. The rational part of you begins questioning how he managed to find your profile or the professional concerns of a journalist and driver following each other. These concerns however do little to slow you down as you race to hit accept because at that moment the only thing you can think about is one thing - that he's thinking of you too.

[eoieopda]

insomniac | ljh (m)

there are certainly worse ways to tire yourself out.

summary: it’s 2:00 am, and you can’t turn your brain off. thankfully, your boyfriend knows just how to scramble it. pairing: lee jihoon x reader au: established relationship type: one-shot (smut) word count: 5.2k rating: 18+ cw: reader is afab but no pronouns are used; reader has insomnia (unspecified re: prof. diagnosed or self-diagnosed); there’s a sentence about reader taking “an inadvisable amount of melatonin gummies” — don’t do this! — but they’re not impaired in any way; reader’s internal monologue is kind of angsty/self-deprecating at times; blonde!woozi has his hair in a bun, which is a warning in and of itself; completely unedited because my perfectionism has killed every wip i’ve attempted for months. ✰ minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my work. smut warnings: big dick lee jihoon™️, nipple stim, v fingering, unprotected p in v penetration, wee bit of aftercare. there are a total of six (6) orgasms in here because i believe in going big from home, incl. nipple stim & a-spot orgasms. a/n: i haven’t written anything in forever, due in large part to the fact that i’m exhausted but can never fucking sleep. i truly hope this isn’t incoherent garbage. 😵‍💫 dedicated to my fellow woozi-simping insomniac, @sailorrhansol. may we eventually rest in peace. multi permanent taglist. seventeen permanent taglist.

You should be asleep.

With the day you’ve had, you should’ve drifted off the second your body hit the sheets; and you should’ve stayed that way — unmoving, unconscious — for several hours, at minimum.

If the week’s worth of sleep debt wasn’t exhausting enough in and of itself, every single circumstance surrounding you begs you to give into the weight of your eyelids. To let yourself be lulled, just this once. Soothed.

From the vent in the corner, the gentle hum of the aircon goads you. It does its very best to convince you to curl up under the softness of your comforter, and to some extent, you’ve listened. You’re burrowed beneath your blankets with only the upper half of your face exposed, which should be more than enough to sway you. 

It’s not, though.

With no ability to keep your eyes closed, you stare dejectedly at the wall in front of you. Laying on your side, gazing straight ahead, you watch the faint echoes of the city lights as they wash over white paint. Not much bleeds through the blinds, leaving only hints of cobalt and red to blend into some sleepy shade of lilac. Whether or not you want to be awake to perceive it in the first place, you have to admit it: it’s beautiful.

But it’s not enough.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down the groan building in your chest. With how closely he’s got you nestled against his body, Jihoon would feel it if you let that frustration manifest. You already ache from the sheer amount of time you’ve been policing your own posture; making any amount of noise now would interrupt the slow, delicate breaths he’s aiming into the back of your neck. Frankly, you’d rather die.

Taking his silence as a sign that you’ve remained off his radar, you let out a measured sigh, too worried that the full rise and fall of your chest will disturb him. 

Nothing.

But then, the arm draped over your waist shifts. 

“Fuck,” you mouth to no one.

It wouldn’t be out-of-character for Jihoon to feel the restless energy pouring out of you in waves, even in the depths of a sleep cycle. He senses every tiny change in your ecosystem long before you do. As unlikely as he is to ever admit it, it has to be exhausting to be attuned to someone so neurotic. He deserves every second of sleep he can manage to get.

You grit your teeth and demand yourself to calm down, all while refusing to acknowledge how completely your actions and commands conflict.  

Maybe, you attempt to bamboozle yourself, you can sleep vicariously through him. 

He’ll wake up rested, and when you look in the mirror later, the first thing you see won’t be the cartoonish bags under your eyes.

It’ll be fine. 

It’ll be fine.

If you go to sleep right now, you’ll get five hours and thirty —

“You haven’t unclenched a single muscle since you climbed into bed,” notes the world’s groggiest voice from over your shoulder.

Jihoon’s lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck when he speaks. Without that tickling sensation, you might’ve deluded yourself into thinking that you were simply hearing things just now. That it was merely a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and the inadvisable number of melatonin gummies you ate before brushing your teeth.

He shifts again. This time, there’s no mistaking his movements. The arm slung over your side pulls you closer. So close, in fact, that you can feel the contented sigh leave his body, like his isn’t separate from yours at all.

With the distance erased, his face — the cold tip of his nose and the sheet-creased warmth of his cheeks — can nuzzle properly into the crook of your neck. You swear you feel the hint of a smile there somewhere, too. If you had to guess, it matches the upward curve on your lips.

“What are we spinning our wheels over tonight?” He asks without a hint of judgment, as if your burdens are automatically his, too.

The fact that he can’t see your face doesn’t stop you from frowning. Yet again, you’ve managed to drag him into your insomnia. Jihoon may never fault you for it, but you don’t need him to. You’ll hold it against yourself — grudge by proxy. 

“I don’t even know,” you admit with a frustrated huff. “There’s nothing coherent going on up there.” You lift your hand and gesture vaguely in the dark. “Nothing articulable, just… blender brain.”

“Mmm.”

Jihoon sounds so fucking sleepy, so at peace next to you, that it makes your stomach hurt. You wish you could be like him. For as calm as his presence makes you, you’ve learned that you’re incapable of feeling fully relaxed. At least, not in the way he is when he’s got his arms around you. He deserves to have that effect on you.

A beat passes in silence, save for his soft breathing. For a minute, you’re convinced that he’s fallen back asleep; and you pray to whoever that he has. He deserves that, too.

“How do we unplug the blender?”

You have to bite back a smile for two reasons: the way his words sound slurred when delivered directly to your skin, and the distinctly Jihoon drive he has to fix a problem that isn’t his.

When the love sickness leaves you down bad, and you forget to respond with words, Jihoon prompts you softly. “Hmm?” 

He punctuates this reminder with a kiss to your shoulder, then lets his lips linger against your skin, musing, “I can think of two things that usually do the trick: getting you hotteok from that cart down the block, which is currently closed, and —”

The rest of that thought fades out. Leaving you on the edge of your seat, Jihoon continues to kiss a languid line along the perimeter of your shoulder, as if he’s conducting some meticulous, geographical survey. Like missing a single spot will have grave consequences. A perfectionist through and through, even half-asleep.

You feel yourself melting, bit by bit, into his torso; the warmth of his bare chest against your back only expedites the process. Nevertheless, you peep, “What’s the second thing?”

His answer comes with a slip of his hand, down down down along the slope of your waist to your hip, long before he verbalizes it. It’s simple, delivered in that rough, early-morning voice you love so much. It’s more than enough to make you shiver:

“Making you cum.”

But as crazy as that statement makes you, you can’t make yourself act on it.

At any other time, you’d jump on that opportunity — jump on him — in a heartbeat. All you’re able to do now is jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound. 

Somewhere, deep down, you know he wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t truly want it, want you; but that goddamned, sleep-deprived goblin taking up space in the far reaches of your mind is far louder than the voice of reason.

He’s only offering so you’ll stop keeping him awake.

He’s as exhausted as you are, if not more so for having to deal with your disorder again.

Burden.

Placing your hand on top of his, you slip your fingers into the spaces you find and squeeze once for emphasis. “I love you,” you start. He stills. “But, Jihoon, you’re so tired. I can hear it in your voice. Please, go back to sleep. It’s okay — I’m okay.”

Jihoon doesn’t push back. He stays within bounds, honors your shitty decision because, after all, it’s yours to make. With another kiss to your shoulder and a squeeze to your hand, he murmurs, “Love you,” before relaxing back against the pillows.

Minutes pass.

Maybe hours, for all you know. 

As the window of opportunity creaks shut, regret seeps through the gap. You know you’re wrong; you know he meant it; and you know that someone would have to be out of their fucking gourd to politely decline what he’s offering.

The unbearable heat licking up your neck is either embarrassment or the ghost of orgasms lost coming to haunt you.

Maybe you’d be better equipped to tell the difference if you could just — fucking — sleep.

Driven half mad, you try to keep from squirming.

You fail.

Maybe, since you can’t sleep, you and your wilted little brain should’ve let your perfect, empathetic boyfriend fu —

“That’s enough,” Jihoon grunts.

The hand underneath yours is suddenly above it, overtaking it and tugging carefully until your whole body moves. In the time it takes for you to roll from your side, Jihoon sits up and clears space for your frame to settle. You barely have time to blink dumbly up at him from your back before he cages you in with one hand on either side of your head, knees now on either side of your thighs.

Your breath seems to have gotten lost in the fray, but it’s not the sudden moves that shook it loose; it’s the sight of him looming over you, damn near scowling despite his lead-lidded eyes. It’s the disheveled bun of platinum hair at the crown of his head, which must’ve shifted in his sleep and spilled out the tendrils that now frame his set jaw.

The very best you can come up with is, “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” he retorts without missing a beat.

That face — god, that face — doesn’t budge. On the contrary, your stomach flips. This the most stern you’ve ever seen him. Confusingly, his tone isn’t even remotely harsh when he continues, “If those gears in your head grind any louder, the whole neighborhood will be, too.”

Grimacing, you open your mouth to apologize, but Jihoon’s eyes are searching your face with a distinct flicker of concern. You know that look. You also know that nothing you can think to say will make it disappear.

He speaks when you don’t, hard edges softening slightly. “I can fix it,” he insists, though you know him well enough to hear the plea hidden in there. 

Let me take care of you.

That little spark of desperation burns you up in a flash. You wonder if he can feel the fire spread when he lifts his right hand off the mattress just to swipe his thumb slowly over the edge of your cheekbone. Without thinking, you let go of the tension in your neck. Your head tilts automatically, seeking comfort you’ve only ever found in him, and rests against his palm.

“I have to admit it, though,” Jihoon confesses. “Yours isn’t the only mind that’s restless.”

He moves his hand away from your face but keeps his eyes trained on you. The incessant need you feel to apologize bubbles up yet again, uninvited. You swallow it. As you do, his fingertips trail down the length of your neck at a snail’s pace, effectively turning your thoughts to static.

“I’ve been holding you for hours now, and all that time —” 

He pauses just long enough to glance down at his hand, which hasn’t.

“— I’ve been wondering if I should have you channel that energy and tire yourself out on top of me —”

His touch whispers over your collarbone. It’s the only proof that you have any bones at all. Until now, you were sure that the rest of you had melted entirely, puddling uselessly on the sheets below. This time, when you bite your lips and swallow weakly, it’s not an apology that you’re keeping to yourself but a whimper.

“— or lay you back against the pillows —”

You don’t mean to directly contradict his statement the moment he makes it, but you can’t help it. The thin, cotton fabric of your top does nothing to dull the sensation of his hand on your left breast; leaves you with the unmitigated brush of his thumb tracing delicate swirls over your nipple. The breath you’ve been holding comes out shuddered, back arching off the mattress to chase his touch.

Emboldened by your reaction, Jihoon pulls his gaze off his own ministrations and directs it through his lashes back up at you. One eyebrow momentarily flexes in challenge. “— Take my time, and —”

Whatever desperate look you give him earns you some amount of mercy. He picks up where he left off in that dizzyingly deep voice of his, words molten, and drags the hem of your shirt up your torso. “Fuck you deep, until the only thing you can do is relax.”

Gobsmacked is too weak a word for the impact that suggestion has on you. The idea alone sparks a kind of relief so foreign and so sorely needed that it almost makes you cry. 

You don’t, thankfully. 

Instead, you stagger along the borderline of babbling. 

“I want that,” you announce on a shaky exhale. Then, with a shake of your head, you correct yourself, “No, it’s not even want. It’s —” Frustration over your inability to form a coherent thought drives you to scrub your hands over your face. “— need. I need you.”

You accompany that declaration by slapping your hands down at your sides, finishing off with a muted thump when your palms hit the mattress with enough force to bounce them upwards again. 

Even with your eyes screwed shut, you know Jihoon is sitting back on his knees, watching you with equal parts surprise and amusement. There’s no need to open them to confirm it, but you do anyway. His pupils have dilated widely enough to rival the moon floating over the skyline.

Though he’d be well within bounds to tell you to chill the fuck out, he doesn’t. He never has, as far as you can recall. In fact, Jihoon doesn’t say a thing. His hands speak for him, reaching for the shirt he so nearly got off your body before you lost whatever was left of your mind.

Keeping his word, as always, Jihoon takes his time. He takes care in sliding that tank top up and over your head without snagging your earrings, then he wordlessly drops it off the side of the bed to be forgotten about.

With your chest bare, it’s obvious how rapid your breathing is. Noting the quick rise and fall, he traces the curve of your waist with the side of his right index finger and softly says the quiet part out loud: “Let me take care of you.”

And you do.

You let him maneuver your body so he can settle with one knee between your thighs, rather than straddle them. You let go of your death grip on the sheets and thread your fingers through his hair when he leans back down to kiss you; and when he licks into your mouth, you let him swallow the moan that builds under the delicious weight of his body on yours.

Already, you feel every shitty, stupid thought begin to dissolve. You should’ve known this would be the case. 

He said he’d fix it, didn't he? 

And here he is, proving to you that his touch is magic. All it takes to coax the tension out of your muscles is the tender pass of his hand.

Whatever effect Jihoon has on you seems to be mutual. When he pulls back, he’s equally as breathless, likely just as starry-eyed. Awash in that lilac glow peeking in from the outside, he’s downright celestial — almost too divine to look at directly without watering eyes.

Undeterred, you stare right back at him and sigh, “You’re beautiful.”

His nose scrunches for a split second, just like it always does when you make him suffer through a compliment. Your exposure therapy is working, though. For once, Jihoon doesn’t groan or tell you to keep your praise to yourself. The corner of his mouth curves upward — just barely — and he shakes his head.

“I mean it,” you quietly insist.

Smirking slightly, he extends the index finger on his right hand and holds it to his lips. “You’re relaxing, remember?”

Though you could double-down, any fight you might’ve had in you fizzles out the second he bows his head and connects his lips to the underside of your jaw. Your head tilts further back with every centimeter he trails down the length of your neck, granting him increased access to wreck you even further. You have to keep your hands on whatever you can grip of his biceps — which ultimately isn’t much at all — to keep from floating away.

“Bold of you to call me beautiful,” he murmurs against your body, “When you just exist like this.”

You don’t argue. You can’t argue with a man who sounds so fucking reverent. Not in good faith, anyway. He says it with the kind of sincerity that underlines an undisputed fact; and you know better than to debate an expert.

With nothing to say, all you have left is to keen and melt even further into the mattress.

Like everything else he does, the way Jihoon kisses you is rhythmic. Steady and thoughtful, each feather-light graze of his lips on your skin causes your eyelids to flutter until you eventually decide to keep them shut. To cut out the visual and hone in on the physical sensation; to be truly present in the body he can’t get enough of.

As it turns out, being present earns the gift of his tongue circling one of your nipples. Soon after, you get the plush heat of his mouth enveloping the sensitive bud; the slow, deep pull of the suction he creates.

Eloquent as always, you moan, “Fuuuuck.”

The hand not holding up his weight massages your other breast, too considerate to leave half of you lonely. Whatever gentle pressure he maintains there builds inside you, further down.

It’s incredible.

No, it’s fucking perfect.

Jihoon switches sides, grazes your other nipple carefully with his teeth, and it’s over for you. You shudder beneath his body, back arching and a breathy sigh floating out of your chest.

Apparently, he’s just as surprised by this turn of events as you are. Your eyes blink open and find him hovering over you with his jaw partially dropped, still smiling somehow.

Your questions overlap.

“Did you just —”

“— make me cum from this?”

His bemusement switches in an instant to something you can only describe as bewitched. Voice gravel-lined, Jihoon groans, “Oh, shit.” Adding immediately and twice as earnestly, “Goddamn.”

A flash of conflict makes him freeze. You know he’s facing the same internal debate that you are: he needs to be inside of you in the worst way, right now, but that’s not a conclusion the pair of you can just — leap to. 

There’s simply too much of him to take if he doesn’t fuck you open with his fingers first.

Jihoon shakes his head, as if he’s telling himself no. Like he’s reminding himself of what he promised — or threatened, more like — earlier, that he’s taking his time.

As much as you want to beg otherwise, you know you shouldn’t. So, you don’t. You reach out, encircle his wrist in your hand, and bring him back within reach. 

With undivided attention and darkening eyes, Jihoon watches you take his index and middle finger into your mouth, cheeks hollowing and tongue circling. He fights to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head, all the while professing, “You’re perfect.”

Not generally, no.

However, Jihoon has a habit of ending up correct, even if you disagree. This isn’t a battle worth picking. In this moment, you’re willing to entertain the possibility that you’re perfect for him.

A soft pop underscores your choice to release him. His mouth must’ve gotten jealous; it swiftly replaces his fingers, tongue reclaiming any territory he wrongfully assumes he’s lost.

You’d be content to stay this way forever — and likely could, if it came down to it — but Jihoon has an agenda. He sticks to it, to the letter, and in dropping his hand down your body, he lets his knuckles drag softly over the trail he blazes. The little sleep shorts you wear are moved aside, and your thighs part for him, too, offering unrestricted access.

Two fingers slip inside of you easily, no doubt aided by the orgasm that snuck up on you — the one you’re still thinking about; the one he’ll secretly hang his hat on forever, having brought it on without touching you here at all.

“Listen to you,” he smirks against your lips with a curl of his fingers. 

As if you weren’t already acutely aware of the way you’ve drenched him to the base knuckles, he rolls his wrist, stroking your g-spot while the heel of his hand nudges your clit. Even the dulcet hum of the aircon isn’t enough to mute the obscenity; you hear the slick rush with every slow thrust of his fingers.

You respond with some sort of whimper. The sound barely registers without any breath behind it. If Jihoon hears it, he doesn’t let it affect his pace — just the stretch. He scissors his middle and index on the way out, then returns with his ring finger, unearthing a proper moan from the very bottom of your lungs.

His head tilts to the side. Warm breath hits the shell of your ear, prompting a contradictory shiver. “I think you’ve got another one for me, don’t you?”

Buried in you, he taps his fingers against that same, spongy spot. Every neuron you have begins to buzz.

“In fact, I think you want to cum all over my fingers,” he whispers, goading you with his rough voice dropped low. “Think you wanna soak my fucking hand, so I can fill you properly.”

You think you’ll have to apologize later for the crescent-shaped indents your nails leave on his shoulders.

When your second orgasm overtakes you, you feel it tingling all the way up at the crown of your head. Just like the first, it’s not a clap of thunder but a roll — patient. The intensity only builds, the longer it lasts. Jihoon makes sure it does — makes no adjustment to the slow, steady tempo, as it pulls you fully apart.

Every muscle you tensed as you came goes limp. It’s anyone’s guess whether you have any bones left. You’re sure that the only thing keeping you from seeping like honey through the mattress, or pooling on the floor below, is Jihoon’s body caging you in.

“Don’t ask me what my name is.” Your head droops to the side, and you mumble, “I do not remember, and I do not care.”

He kisses the temple that isn’t smushed against his left forearm, which, coupled with his elbow, now holds both of your weight. “If you’re spent, I can sto—”

“Don’t you dare.”

The emphatic look you muster lacks energy, you’re sure, but the point still stands, even if your stamina doesn’t. Half-lidded, you stare at him with all the force you can find.

“I’ll stay awake for the rest of my life if you stop now. I swear to you, Lee Jihoon, I will die on this hill.”

“Easy, tiger,” he purrs. Out of the corner of your narrowed eyes, you clock the fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The whole point of this was for you to relax.”

To prove that you haven’t lost the plot entirely, you close your eyes, rather than roll them. Then, you cave completely. 

You whisper, leaving no question as to how badly you need him, “Jihoon… Please.”

“I’ve got you.” He nudges your temple with the tip of his nose. “But I can’t fuck you unless you give my arm back.”

Begrudgingly, you scoot your head several centimeters across the pillow, heaving a put-upon sigh as if he’s asked you to move a mountain instead. You give yourself a moment to mourn the loss of your headrest, then you open your eyes. As you do, any thought of pouting flies out the window.

Having crawled back to the end of your bed, Jihoon gets to his feet. Once there, he drops his hands and eyes to the loose knot cinching the waistband of his sweatpants. It’s a sight you’ve seen a thousand times — his naked chest so pale in contrast with his usual, all-black attire — yet it’s one you’ll never truly get over. Even harder to cope with is the fact that he’s never been in a hurry; not once in his goddamn life.

If you’re being honest, that’s one of the things you’ve always loved most about him. Envied, even. You fret endlessly about the process, whatever that may be; he trusts it. You scale the walls in anticipation; he’s never been caught sweating.

The best example of this comes the second he finishes addressing that knot. His sweatpants pool at his ankles; he kicks them aside; and you immediately set to wondering how in the motherfuck he managed to be so patient with you when he’s this incomprehensibly hard.

Really, you don’t deserve him.

Nevertheless, you get him anyway. 

Him pushing his flyways out of his face; him reaching out slowly to hook his fingers under the elastic band of your shorts; him cursing under his breath when he tosses those shorts over his shoulder and finds you wet and wanting.

In return, Jihoon gets you right where he wants you — trembling underneath him, with pliant legs opening wider at the request of his hands on your thighs. When his body fills the space between them, those same legs wrap around his back to keep him close, just like the arms you slink around his neck.

“Deep breath,” he reminds you as he lines himself up, only half-jokingly.

It’s good advice — something Jihoon probably should’ve heeded. 

He doesn’t. 

You keep your eyes on his when he slides inside of you, and you swear you see his mind blow in real time. Not that you have room to judge, however. In fact, that’s precisely what’s causing you to short-circuit: the perfect pressure of his length within your heat, sinking in slowly so as to not shock the system.

When he eventually bottoms out, low moan splintering from the depths of his chest, you have to blink quickly to keep tears within your waterline.

To check in, Jihoon runs his hand along the side of your thigh then back again. “Alright?”

Whatever you say in response comes out through a dreamy sigh, framed in quotation marks by fluttering lashes. Nonsense, most likely, or never better. In either case, he’ll understand; he always does.

Placing your hand on his, you slip your fingers over the top and pull him forward. He lets you, comes down carefully until the comfort of his weight against your frame makes you feel anchored. With every inch that’s erased between you, he fills you further, pushing out whatever air remains in your lungs through some needy little whine.

Among the million sensations you have to grapple with, the most hard-hitting, ironically, is comfort. Pure and unadulterated. You enveloping him, enveloping you.

To prove it to yourself that you’re not dreaming, you slip your fingers into his hair, nails scratching delicately over his scalp. In return, he rolls his hips forward, just like he promised — slow, steady, deep. You clench around him involuntarily, a reflex your body must’ve learned to keep him close.

“Love the way you grip me, but...” Jihoon exhales a sigh against your neck, head tilted to keep your face in his periphery. Pulling out further just to thrust in deeper, he warns, “You keep that up, and I’ll cum too soon.”

He’s one to talk.

Every time he grinds his hips languidly towards yours, you have to talk yourself off the ledge. 

If you let him wear you down again, you fear that there won’t be enough left of you to savor this; and you never want this moment to end. You want to live in it — to feel the delicious drag of his cock along your walls — to hear that obscene tide ebb and flow whenever he fucks himself further in you — to feel so fucking full —  for as long as he gives you. 

It was a valiant effort on your part, if you do say so yourself. Futile, though, because Jihoon pulls out all the stops. The next time he pulls himself from you just to roll back in, he swivels his hips as he thrusts, ensuring that you feel him everywhere.

“Oh.”

One syllable on a gasping breath, then you forget every single word in your vocabulary. Like warm molasses, bliss washes over you at half-speed, seeping in and sticking until the blender motor in your brain is fucked beyond repair.

At least you’re not the only one.

“Fuck, fuck —” 

Holding him as closely as you are, you feel each muscle in Jihoon’s body tense one-by-one, rippling as your third orgasm steals his first, going lax when his release floods. “— Fuck,” he groans, all the while twitching inside you.

Though he slows, he doesn’t stop. It’s not until he pants, “Kiss me,” that you realize it: Jihoon doesn’t intend to stop.

Neither, it seems, do you.

Maybe you’re greedy. Maybe you’re too obsessed with the brush of his tip against your cervix with every gentle, shallow thrust. Maybe, above all, it’s the way his cock doesn’t soften inside of you but his face does when he catches you looking at him from under a heavy curtain of lashes.

You catch him by the mouth, just like he asked. It’s indulgent — messy, echoing the other point where the two of you connect. Licking into him while he fucks himself into you, ragged breaths barely loud enough to overpower the explicit, sodden sound below.

“Can you still speak in sentences?” He pants in a rare moment when his lips break from yours.

Can feel you in my stomach, you want to say. 

“I’m — you’re gonna make me —”

You can’t choke out the words, though you suspect Jihoon gets the point. This far in, his touch reaches a detonator you didn’t even know existed; there’s no way he misses the explosion of pleasure throughout your entire goddamn body.

He’s caught in your blast radius, your walls pulsing and spasming to such an insane degree that he can barely move. Mind blown to fucking smithereens, your ears ring too loudly to hear whatever he says to you when he cums again — hard — and the arms bearing his weight buckle.

Jihoon’s flushed cheek winds up pressed to your shoulder. He stays there while your joint trembling subsides, then any muscle that could make him move is too spent to do so.

“What just happened?” He sounds as delirious as you feel. “That was… shit. What did your body just do?”

You have no idea. 

You have no capacity to form any.

All you have is the weight of his frame on yours and that of your eyelids, which flutter as you try and fail to keep them open. The best you can give is a non-responsive, utterly fucked-out sound — not enough shape to be a word, not enough breath to be a sigh.

Eventually, although you can’t imagine how, Jihoon finds enough strength to shift himself off of you. You don’t see anything that happens next, but you feel it all — the kiss to your temple; the hollowness when he pulls out and the sticky rush that chases him when he leaves.

“I’m coming back to clean you up,” he promises in a hushed tone from a million miles away. Chuckling despite his own sleepiness, he adds, “Don’t move.”

I won’t, you think but don’t say.

And you don’t move.

At least, not until the smell of hotteok reaches you eight hours later.

svt taglist: @ashonheavenscloud @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @rasparagus @bouclesdefeu @ourkivee @sourkimchi @gyuguys

multi taglist: @bahng-chrizz @jihopesjoint @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon

also paging the cap gang: @daechwitatamic @yoongukie-ff

[icarryitin]

Episode 16: Pretty

spencer reid/gn!reader

i realised i’ve done a lot of introspective narratives about Feelings™️ but not a whole lot of interaction so pls have some as a treat ilu🧡

series masterlist

word count: 1.9k // warnings: there is so much pining in here it could be a forest

summary: Late nights in strange towns lead to the most unexpected conversations and confessions.

You can’t sleep.

Sheep have been counted over, and over, and over again and still, it evades you. For a day where you’d been looking forward to nothing more than collapsing into bed at the end of it; you’re not best pleased. It’s a rough case as it is, you don’t want to be sleep deprived on top of everything else. But it just isn’t happening.

You count seventy three individual little swirly panels on the ceiling before you decide to get up. A walk might go a fair way to unravel your nerves enough to get a couple of hours, at least you hope it will.

With your jacket thrown over your old college hoodie, you don’t bother changing your sweatpants for jeans, and just slip your feet into your boots. Garcia would be outraged at the clashing colours. The look won’t win any best dressed awards, but at this time of night you’re more concerned with clipping your holster in place. You’re not taking any chances. Especially not with the victimology of this case - although you do have the advantage of knowing the Unsub is out there somewhere. It’s still not an overly comforting thought. But you’re out of options, it’s this or counting the rest of the ceiling panels and, frankly, you’re sure you’ll go blind if you have to stare at plaster swirls for much longer. So you tuck your phone and room key into your coat pockets, and leave the dingy little room behind for a while.

The hotel is, thankfully, almost completely dead, save for the night manager dozing at the front desk. Faded carpet plush under your feet, you’re quiet as you descend the stairs to the lobby and its dimmed lights. The world is dark outside the front doors and you hesitate. Is it really the best idea? To walk around in a city that’s home to a serial killer whose victims bear a striking resemblance to yourself? No, no it’s not. Especially not at, you tug your phone out of your pocket to check the time - jesus, two o’clock in the morning.

“Hey, you.”

It would honestly be wrong to say you’re not expecting his voice - if you were to guess which of the team would still be up and about at this time of night, you’d pick Spencer. It’s a no-brainer.

“Hey, me. Couldn’t sleep either?” Your smile is more strained than you mean for it to be when you turn it to him in response, he must have just come back, snuck in unnoticed while you were glaring at the time on your phone. He’s similarly dressed, coat huddled around mismatched pyjamas, another victim of case-induced insomnia then. His eyes are tired, they are more often than not these days. Yours aren’t all that better.

There’s a comfortable moment of silence where you just exist together, in the hushed quiet of the hotel lobby. Breathing in the calm of the night. It almost makes up for the chaos you know awaits the team in the morning.

“Is it nice out?” You ask, toeing the carpet with your scuffed boot.

“You’re not going for a walk, are you?”

“I’m armed, genius, and I’m twice as scary as anything out there.”

Spencer just huffs your name through an exasperated sigh and looks at you as you waltz past him with your hands in your pockets, turning at the waist to watch you go.

“So come with me.” There’s the vaguest hint of a teasing smile on your lips as you walk backwards towards to the front doors. He’s still not moved when you spin on your heel to push them open and walk off into the night - but you could live a hundred lives and still know the footsteps that follow you down the concrete steps anywhere.

He’s not exactly intimidating, but having him by your side in the small hours makes you feel safer than the weight of the gun at your hip ever could. You try not to think too hard about what that means.

“How many ceiling panels are in your room?” Your breath puffs out in a cloud, words winding around each other in the chill of the just about morning.

“A hundred and nine, if you count the ones that are cut in half.”

“Damn, I gave up at seventy three.”

“I’m not sure how much I believe that, I’ve never seen you give up on anything.” Spencer kicks a pebble into the road at the same moment your feet stop working.

To think he’s paid enough attention to you to notice a thing like that. Maybe you should expect it, especially being part of the team that studies human behaviour, but it still takes you by surprise. The idea that he could, would want to, notice things about you. It’s borderline dangerous. Stubbornness isn’t cute - you’ve been accused of being like a dog with a bone when it comes to your theories more than once. But the way he says it so casually yet so reverently, like it’s something to be proud of, like it’s something he admires. You just about manage to get your legs to cooperate before he can realise you’ve fallen a step behind.

He offers his elbow to you, an uncharacteristic first move, and you almost don’t know what to make of it. Spencer doesn’t initiate contact, ever. Or at least, you’ve never known him to unless it’s to check your tac-vest, and yet here he is. Hands in his pockets, sticking his arm out for you to take. You’re sliding your own arm through his before you even really realise it. Well, it would be rude not to wouldn’t it? When he’s offered so kindly?

In the name of safety, presumably. When there’s a killer on the loose and you just so happen to fit the victimology. Keeping you close is a precaution. You steer the conversation towards the case, if neither of you are resting then you might as well be trying to unravel the latest psycho’s motivations. Another precaution, although a little selfish this time around, to save your heart from falling even further for the man beside you.

“Statistically, people who are attractive are targeted more often that those who aren’t. This Unsub isn’t exactly going against the grain, he’s picking pretty victims.” He rattles off the thought as though it doesn’t threaten to stop your heart in your chest.

It was Spencer who’d pointed out the striking similarities between you and the victims in the first place.

“Doctor Reid, do you think I’m pretty?” Your scandalised gasp matches the hands you press against your chest in faux-shock. And, for once in his life, he doesn’t seem to have any words. He just stands there beside you, gulping like a fish. You like him too much to leave him squirming any longer than he already has.

“I, uh-“ He scrambles for a response.

“Because you’d be right, I am pretty.”

The answering chuckle you get is enough to encourage you to link your arm back through his.

“What you’re saying is,” You press on, shaking off the moment, giving him the time to recover, “There’s no shock factor. Single bullet to the head, dumped unceremoniously with the trash. There’s nothing that says ‘hey look at me’ about this guy.”

Spencer hums in agreement, suddenly very interested in his shoes as they traipse along the drizzle dampened pavement beside yours, and the conversation lulls. But you don’t mind. It’s never an uncomfortable silence with him, it never has been. You’re both more than content to just exist in the same space together - his is a calming presence, for all his nervous energy. There’s never any expectation to be anyone but yourself when you’re around him, no judgement, no pressure.

You’re more than happy to trundle along beside him between the streetlights, dodging puddles, the weight of your linked arms nestled comfortably between you. Except, you’re a profiler. So, for all his valiant efforts to keep your suspicions to a minimum, they’re just not quite effective enough. One glance at his face confirms that he’s thinking far too hard about something. You let your shoulder knock into his, your elbow in his side jolting him out of his thoughts.

“You’re doing it again.” It almost feels blasphemous to disturb the peace that’s settled over you.

Spencer releases his lip from between his teeth.

“There’s something we’re missing.”

“We’ll find it. With fresh eyes in the morning, I bet it smacks us right in the face.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you, and you’d have to agree with him there, but the furrow of his brow relaxes at your gentle reassurance. That’s enough for the moment.

A car door slams up the street and makes you both jump. For all the security the gun at your hip awards you, you’re still a little on edge. It’s just you, Spencer, and the door-slammer on the street - though the stranger seems to be so absorbed in his own world that he barely registers the pair of you. While you’re both fairly confident that the man walking towards you isn’t the Unsub, Spencer tugs you closer into his side by your linked arms all the same. He makes sure he’s solid where he stands between you and the passing stranger, even though you both know he wouldn’t stand a chance in that fight with his lanky frame. There isn’t a bit of you that minds the protection. Something catches in your chest, blooming, warming you from the inside out. It’s dangerous.

You’re not sure when you looped back onto yourselves, but the shadow of the hotel looms and suddenly there’s plush carpet under your feet again. Part of you is glad that your chances to embarrass yourself tonight are numbered. He’d be kind enough not to point it out if you did, though.

The elevator is too close to the front doors, there aren’t enough storeys to pass to get to the floor commandeered by the team, and your rooms are the first in the hallway. Doors opposite each other, the irony of the parallel isn’t lost on you. But it’s so rare that you get to spend time with him without any external pressures of a case or the prying eyes of more than a few colleagues. It feels a little unfair that the time has gone so quickly - an hour, your phone confirms when the screen lights up as you fish around in your pocket for your room key. There’s that pang in your chest again, the one that makes you feel like an impatient child. You know you can’t have him the way you want, you know why you can’t, you know it would probably end in heartbreak for everyone. But god, do you want him. It’d be worth every painful second.

Spencer’s voice across the hall stops your hand, room card outstretched halfway to the scanner in your fingers.

“For the record, I do.”

He’s chewing his lip again.

“You do what?”

You know what he means. He knows you know what he means. But neither of you will admit to it out loud. So it just hangs there, in the air between you, as you stand in front of your respective hotel room doors for a moment longer. And then he’s in his room, and you’re swiping your own keycard through the slot, and you’re shut away again. No less wired than you were when you left - but it’s hard to find it in yourself to worry about the sleep you definitely won’t be getting tonight, there’s no doubt about that.

Because Spencer Reid thinks you’re pretty.

if you’re reading this then thank you i love you i owe you my life i can’t wait to put these guys in more situations 🧡🧡🧡

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Hi! Spencer Reid x reader where reader is kind of panicking because she’s worried Spencer will get tired of her and find someone that’s more like him personality wise? But then Spence reassures her that he loves her and only her? 🎀🚬🤍🤎

fem bimbo!plus size reader, wc: 589.

a/n: no i am not going to let bimbo reader sleep, but also i've been posting so much aaron recently, which is funny because i've been so obsessed with spencer recently. thank you for your request!

cw! angst :(

“I guess opposites really do attract huh?”

It was just a joke. A harmless, well meaning joke that completely spun your world off of its axis.

You were aware of the differences between you and your boyfriend, but you never felt bad about it, nor did he ever make you think that you weren't good enough for him. You would have liked to think that your differences was what made Spencer fall in love with you; but now you’re not too sure.

Yeah, sure, you needed help with understanding certain things, and your processing was a bit slower than others, but that didn’t make you stupid or annoying… right? 

What if you talked too much? What about that time that you kept interrupting Spencer while he was reading? Did you irritate him? Did he think about breaking up with you? You’d never had thoughts like these before because you never had a reason to. You always felt secure in your relationship with Spencer, like you were his equal. 

Spencer wasn’t used to your silence, it was unusual and quite frankly it raised the red flags in his mind. He was so used to your rambling about anything and everything that the quietness of his apartment was making him itch. 

“Sweetheart?” He called out softly.

It was almost as if his words scared you, your body jumping at the sound of him breaking the serene atmosphere of his almost dark academia-esque apartment. 

“Yes?” Your voice was hushed and meek and Spencer absolutely hated it.

He set his book down on the side table where he uncurled his legs and patted the spot on the couch next to him. “C’mere.” You looked almost hesitant to move, but nonetheless you got up and sat down. 

He grabbed your hand and held it firmly, but you didn’t make any effort to hold it back. It made Spencer nervous; did he do something?

“Sweetheart,” He reiterated. “Is something wrong?”

“Am I too much?” Your panic was quick to build. “What do you mean?” Spencer’s brows were furrowed inquisitively. “Like - like do I talk a lot? Or - or are my clothes too colorful? Do I ask too many questions?” Your speech fired out rapidly, almost as if you didn’t say what you wanted to know you may never do.

“Hey, hey, hey… no, no, stop.” Spencer was quick to shush you, opting to hold your face instead of your hand. “Did someone tell you that?” You shook your head, “No, yes? I don’t know. It - it was just because of that stupid joke Morgan had made.”

Ah, he remembers now.

“The one about opposites attracting?” You nod feebly. “And it got me thinking… what if I’m - what if I’m not a good match for you? You might want someone that’s similar to you,  one that knows how to play chess and understands all those super cool facts you know.” 

“Honey,” Spencer interrupts with a light laugh. “No.”

He wasn’t laughing at you, he was laughing at the sheer fact that he couldn’t imagine ever wanting someone else.

“I want you. I’ve only ever wanted you. I - I do admit that we are different, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I like that you aren’t like me. It’s comforting, and I just… I just love everything about you. I love you.”

“You promise?” You asked wetly with a pout. His lithe thumbs swipe at the tears trickling down your cheeks as he nodded, “Of course.”

“I love you too, Spencie.” 

There you were. His girl.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

[help-itrappedmyself]

Danny punches a Clown Part 7

Masterpost

Danny wakes up some time later. Red and Agent A are there waiting for him in chairs on either side of his bed.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Less tired at least.” Danny was well enough he could feel his wounds trying to heal. “Could probably use some food though.”

“I will go retrieve it for you now that you are awake.” Agent A walks out of the med area.

“You feel up to meeting a few people? They’re going to be around so you should know who they are.”

“I guess so.” Danny sits up on the bed, bringing his knees to his chest.

Red leans out past the curtain and waves some people over. When he takes his seat, a man in a blue and black suit with a mask on and someone in an all-black suit with a head covering that comes down over his eyes comes in behind him. They stay standing by the curtain.

“You met Nightwing earlier, and this is Batman.” Red introduces. Nightwing waves when Red says his name. “We all work together here.”

Danny nods.

“Hey, Danny!”Dick comes over to sit in the chair on the other side of Danny’s bed. “We have a few questions that we would like to ask you if you’re feeling up for it.”

Danny shrugs.

“Okay, well we know you haven’t been in Gotham long, where did you come from?”

Danny wonders if he tells them a different dimension if they would believe him. If they would try to send him back. “Illinois.”

Nightwing let out a short whistle. “That’s a long way Danny.”Danny snorts at that. “Did you come here by yourself?”

“Yeah.” Danny starts picking at the edges of the blankets, trying not to look anyone in the eye- not that he could, they all have some form of mask on.

“Okay. Well, we have some concerns. Don’t know if you remember what you were talking about before you went to sleep, but you said some things about being shot at a lot, by your parents and some other people.”

“What part of that is a question?” Danny leans forward and rests his cheek on his knees, watching himself pick at the blanket. He found a loose thread that he’s started twirling around his fingers. 

“Can you tell us more about the people who were shooting at you? We’d like to look into them.”

Something in the tone Nightwing is using makes him sound all clinical. Like a social worker. Or a cop. It shouldn’t matter really because the people that did this to him are inaccessible unless they have some way to dimension hop. 

“Doesn’t matter anymore, I’m here now.”

“What made you come here? Do you have a family member, or friends that you were meeting?”

“For real, are you a social worker? Psychologist, cop, what.” Danny looks up at him. “You brought me to a cave f and you’re all wearing masks, but you’re talking to me like I’m going to freak out or something. You can stop acting like I’m a child. I know what’s happened to me. Frankly, the fact that I’m trapped in a cave with people dressed the way you are is more concerning for me than being back on the street. So can we get on with you doing whatever you’re going to do?”

“We’re not going to do anything Danny.” Red leans towards him. “We just want to make sure you have somewhere to go.”

“I don’t.” Danny states plainly. He knows his circumstances and he can’t risk going back home for a while, shouldn’t go back at all except to grab his stuff and leave again. 

The three share a few glances back and forth, having quite an in-depth silent conversation. Danny rolls his eyes and goes to stand up, they all immediately try and stop him.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Nightwing asks.

“Where are you trying to go?” Comes from Red.  

“You’re injured, you should stay in bed.” Comes from Batman.

Just then, Agent A pushes aside the curtain, walking in with a tray.

“I do hope you aren’t overwhelming the patient.” He brings the tray over, Danny straightens his legs and A situates the tray in his lap. “This boy needs to eat, and to rest. You don’t need to worry about where he’s going until he is fit to be out of bed. He’s not going anywhere until he’s improved.”

“Sir, I’m sure it’ll be fine-” Danny starts.

“Nonsense. I will not stand for it. You need proper treatment or your wounds will get infected. Now, eat or your body will not have the necessary fuel to heal.”

Danny bows his head and looks at the tray in front of him. A brought him chicken noodle soup, he starts to eat as A shepherds everyone back out and closes the curtain behind them.

“Now, I know this cannot be easy for you, being injured and alone.” A comes to sit in the chair that Red vacated. “I assure you that you have a place here at least until you are better. Even if you wish to leave now, you will not be able to get better on the streets.”

 “Thank you.” Danny says. “I didn’t mean to snap at them.”

“I’m sure they will forgive you for it, you are under a lot of stress right now.”

Danny nods. “Thank you for the food. It’s amazing.”

“Of course, Mister Danny. I will be making sure you are well nourished while you are with us. Please, let me know if you have any preferences.”

“Anything that’s not alive is good for me.”

Agent A just looks at him. “You did mention something about fighting your food last night. I had thought you were talking out of a bit of delirium.”

“Oh, no that used to happen. The chemicals my parents used reanimated the food sometimes. Had to fight some hot dogs. A chicken. Our kitchen was a hazard.”

“I dare say so.” A has a very scrunched up look on his face. “Rest assured nothing of the sort has ever happened in my kitchen.”

[torasplanet]

❝𝙄 𝙍𝙐𝙉 𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙏.ᐟ❞

H. RAN + AFAB. READER ft. I. KUROKAWA

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ; ran gets so mad that he can't see through your fake apologies but izana does. he thinks it's cute how you believe that you run shit.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ; smut, threesome, oral(reader giving and receiving), p in v, degradation,, izana and ran arguing over uuu, arguing, throat bulging, hair pulling, gagging, deepthroating, dp ig, daddy kink, brown skinned reader but skin color not mentioned, mention of rindou, petnames (slut, whore, princess, doll etc), couch sex, overstimulation, i think thats it, oh p2 to this

marls notes 2 u(*´▽｀*) ; here are the people who wanted prt 2 reallyyy badd!!! @mysouleaten

The photo of Izana gazing up at the camera while his face so deep in between your thighs was shoved in your face as Ran glared down at you “You’re a fucking slut, y’know that right?” Ran cursed at you as you swatted his phone away from your face. As much as you like looking at the picture, he was pissing you off by shoving that fucking phone in your face “I asked you what you did and you lied in my fucking face knowing you sent this shit to me.” The long-haired man angrily said to you getting all in your face. Nose to nose. Ran had never been this worked out about anything but it didn’t scare you, not one bit because you didn’t care. He could only blame himself for your infidelity.

Ran wasn’t willing to get on his knees for you like you were for him so you found someone who would without you even having to suck his dick. Well, you did suck Izana’s dick but that was after he ate you out. “I’m a slut because I wanted someone to eat my pussy? You weren’t going to do it so what the fuck was I supposed to do?” You asked pushing him away from you roughly. Ran looked at you as if you didn’t have any fucking common sense “I don’t know, not fuck my boss [Y/n]!” He yelled at you. The neighbors were probably ready to call the landlord on the two of you because of all the yelling that had been going on for the past half hour. Rindou was smart enough to leave when Ran asked you what you did the other day and got upset when you said nothing.

“I wouldn’t have had to fuck him if you did what I asked.” You said in a way calmer tone than his showing your true lack of care for the situation; it pissed ran off way more than the entire situation did. “You say it like I’ve never eaten you out before.” The Haitani male answered rolling his eyes at your comment which you scoffed at. “Once. I asked again and you didn’t but for some reason, I keep sucking your dick. Stupid.” Ran shrugged his shoulders as he chuckled a bit under his breath as if he didn’t care but you knew that he did.

“You know why. You’re the one that’s always pleading for more and more.” Ran paused to raise his voice a few octaves prepared to mock you “Daddy, I can feel it in my tummy! So warm! Uhn, Uhn, Uhn!” He teased with that stupid smirk on his face as you frowned, your nails digging into the palms of your hands in agitation. No matter what, Ran always made it his mission to tease you and be an absolute dick, especially in arguments. It didn’t matter how mad he got because his mission was to make you more upset than he was.

You glared at him “I ain’t fuck him because your dick was bad, I fucked him because his head was good.” Ran’s eyes narrowed at you just as yours did to him before he let that word slip from his mouth again “Slut.” Your hand was quick to swipe across his face leaving a red handprint on his right cheek. You were getting pretty fucking tired of him trying his hardest to irritate you because it was actually working. Whatever he was going to do, you wanted him to just do it and get the fuck out of your face.

“If you’re gonna leave just leave.” You said as Ran looked at you frankly unbothered by the slap to his face. He couldn’t count on both his hands how many times you’ve slapped him and this was not the hardest. You could do better honestly if you really wanted him to leave. “Nah, I wanna hear you say why you cheated. I want to hear those words come out of your mouth.” You scoffed once again. The fuck else did he want? A porno of you and Izana?

When you didn’t respond, ran began to walk closer to you forcing you further back until your lower legs hit the bed but he didn’t stop there, he kept walking until you were forced to sit on the edge of the bed and stare up at him as he loomed above you just waiting for you to speak “Wanted someone to eat that slutty pussy huh?” Ran asked brushing back his long hair that was free from the twin braids it usually was in. You didn’t say anything but nodded, still looking up at him through the small blades of hair that rested on your eyelids. His attitude right now was sort of turning you on…getting so worked up and upset. If he wasn’t going to leave, the least he could do was take out all that anger by fucking you. Maybe you were a slut like he said.

Ran gave a smile full of false sympathy as his hand crept up and grabbed your chin tilting your head up forcefully, he glanced down at your legs and saw how your thighs were beginning to rub against each other showing your need right now “Aw, wanna get fucked?” The Haitani male cooed to you. You knew exactly how to play ran to get what you wanted, all you needed was to play the embarrassed role and give a small apologetic look. “Yeah.” You said nodding gently and Ran cooed again as his smile grew.

His hand dropped from your face “Why don’t you get your new boy toy to help then?” He said not dropping the gentle tone he had just to toy with you a bit and you will admit, it did throw you off a bit but it’s okay. Sometimes things took a little more work for you to get what you wanted. “No please ran.” You said grabbing hold of his hand before he got the chance to turn his back on you. You looked up at him with fake tears glazing over your eyes “I’m sorry…I really am.” You pleaded trying to drag him closer to you.

“Are you sorry or do you want dick?” Dick. You could never be sorry for getting what you want, it’s not like you did it without asking him to eat you out because then you’d feel bad but you gave him a warning. Not like he cared about that bullshit so you had to give him a little apology to give him what he wants. The number one rule to not letting a man run you is learning when to give those fake tears and apologies so you can get whatever you want. “M’ sorry. Please, Daddy.” Ran’s grin turned nasty at how you addressed him. He was so easy to please.

Ran grabbed your jaw and leaned down to connect his lips to yours roughly leaning down just a little bit. He forced his leg between your thighs making you part your legs wider to give him better access and he pushed his leg right against your clothed cunt making you moan into his mouth “Feel good?” Ran asked in between kisses as he put his hands on your shoulders. You hummed happily in response letting him push you to lie on the bed, legs still dangling over the edge. Ran broke the kiss and caged you between his arms and stared at you, his long hair coming undone from behind his ear and floating above your face.

“I don’t wanna give you a reason to go to him for some shit like this ever again,” Ran said sternly and you grinned up at him as your thighs squeezed around his leg “Then eat my fucking pussy ran.” You said a bit meaner than you anticipated but it got your point across because his hands went to your legs that were clamped tight around his leg that had stopped moving at this point. Ran lowered himself to his knees onto the carpeted floor of the bedroom and spread your legs wide for him “As you wish pretty.” The blonde and black-haired man said as his fingers traveled up your legs tickling your skin on the way. His long fingers hooked onto the waist of your pants and panties and pulled them both down in one swoop, you kicked them off to a random place in the room and stared down at Ran just waiting for his head to go between your thighs.

He made eye contact with you before slowly putting his face between your legs and he began to lap at your clit making you mewl. You grabbed at the blankets and bucked your hips up as a way to tell him to stop teasing you making him smile on your clit and just when he was getting started to tongue-fuck your hole that was just soaked, squeezing around pure nothing, there was a knock at the door.

What the fuck. You groaned loudly sitting up as Ran rose from your pussy “I got it.” He said delivering a light slap to your pussy making you shiver before he hopped away toward the front door leaving you there with your lower half naked. If that was Rindou who forgot his key, I’ll kill him, you thought rolling your eyes as you waited patiently for your boyfriend to get back and give some stupid excuse for what it was. “Pretty, why don’t you come here for a second?” You heard Ran shout from the living room confusing you.

You gently tilted your body to the side to peek out of the open door and your heart dropped just a tad bit. Ran was grinning at you and Izana in the doorframe of the front door with that careless look on his face that he always had. You had completely forgotten that you told Izana he could come over today. In your defense, you thought that Ran and Rindou were going to be out doing some stupid shit today not that you and Ran would argue until it lead to angry sex. Standing up, you felt a bit nervous and you didn’t want to go out there at all but you did.

Izana’s eyes drifted from your face to your lower half and a small smile appeared on his face but he didn’t say anything “Pretty, why don’t you answer the question I asked you earlier? Seems like the perfect time right now.” Ran said draping an arm over your shoulder, he didn’t look at you because his gaze was locked on Izana. There was a smile on his face but it was obvious from the look in his eyes that he did not like Izana being here, hated it actually and it was probably taking everything in him not to launch at Izana.

Maybe it was because he just got the best idea of his life or because Izana could beat his ass very easily. Your eyes shifted to Ran as you nervously shifted in place. You would like to say that you didn’t know why you were so nervous now when you were just so confident about defending your actions but you knew. Having Izana and Ran near you while you were practically naked and dripping was embarrassing. You didn’t know how you’d be able to handle both of them. Telling ran whatever he wanted to hear would not be what Izana wanted and vice versa, you would not be able to lie to them and make them both happy. Rule number two of not letting a man run you is to know when you’re outnumbered and when it’s time to give up and standing here with these two men looming over you waiting for you to speak was definitely telling you that it’s time to give up. Your false apologies may work on them if you played your cards right but that’s it and you didn’t want to risk it failing.

“Don’t look at me, look at your little boy toy.” Ran said glancing down at you before looking at Izana once again who gave a snarky smile “Don’t call me little.” Izana not being bothered by being labeled as your boy toy was not surprising but he was not little. Not by a long shot in any way.

Your eyes shifted to Izana like you were told “Go ahead, tell him why you ran to him.” Ran said a little more stern this time showing he was getting upset at your lack of words. He slapped your bare ass hard making you yelp and jump slightly earning a laugh out of Izana “Wanted to get my pussy ate…” You muttered. The nervousness and hesitation to answer the question were real this time and Ran grinned, you wondered if he knew you were lying the entire time. Izana cooed at your demeanor and then his eyes flickered back to Ran.

“So what? Is this your way of telling me you want to watch when I eat your girlfriend out?” Izana asked with a mocking grin on his face and Ran almost laughed seriously. “Ha, no. I want you to tell me how you did it so she never has a reason to see you again.” Ran said. He wasn’t asking, he was demanding it and luckily for him, Izana wasn’t too against this idea especially because of how you seemed to quake at the request. Ran was so serious about you not leaving that he’d actually do this shit? Was that the case or did he just want to embarrass you to teach you a lesson? To teach you that in fact, you didn’t run shit.

Izana leaned against the door that had closed behind him a long time ago. “So a tutorial? I’ll do it but if you think that’s gonna stop her from coming to me or for me, you’re stupider than I thought you were.” Ran went to protest against the assumption but when he noticed that Izana wasn’t even looking at him and instead focusing on you, he decided to be quiet and listen to what was going to be said. Izana lifted his hand and gestured for you to come closer to him with two of his fingers, his grin widened as he observed how nervous you seemed. From the moment he walked in the door, the air in the apartment seemed to shift and he almost giggled as he remembered how your once calm and slightly annoyed look dropped when you saw he was here.

He wondered what happened before he got here. You stepped just a bit closer to him and his hand went to your chin holding it gently and you seemed to get even more nervous, you didn’t want Ran to find out about your false apologies. Izana didn’t look like he’d care that much but ran would and knowing Izana…he’d exploit that annoyance and use it to his advantage. What would happen after that was beyond you but you knew you’d be a part of it.

And you wanted it. You wanted it so fucking bad.

Izana’s lilac eyes flickered past you and to Ran “What’d you do to her? Princess looks like she’s gonna cry…” He said in a mocking tone and you damn nere were going to cry with how he was saying that “Nothin’. She was just begging for me a second ago, how she was so sorry for getting a side bitch.” You should’ve known better really…if you remembered that Izana was coming over, maybe just maybe you would’ve done literally anything else than lie to ran because of course he was going to bring it up to be petty. The purple gaze that was lighter than your boyfriend's came back to you and his hold on your face became cold and you got even more scared. You were just mere words away from getting cornered because of your own lies.

“Really? Are you sorry?” Izana asked knowing damn well you weren’t. See Izana was a lot smarter than Ran, not to say Ran was stupid but Izana was definitely smarter and he saw right through those lies despite not hearing them from you himself. You were not sorry. If you were sorry, you would not have invited him over. You lied to ran and that dumbass believed you because you stuck your bottom lip out and acted like you needed him. But he wasn’t going to be the one to break that news to ran, he wanted you to do it and admit that you lied. Ran raised an eyebrow at your silence as you avoided eye contact with Izana, Ran’s hands found their way on your hips. As if to give you a little push in the direction of answering but you remained silent until Izana tilted his head giving you that look. It was a threat.

“I don’t know…” You muttered quietly and Izana’s thumb grazed over your cheek “So I guess that’s a no.” Izana muttered almost as quietly as your words were and Ran chuckled lowly from behind you “Why am I even surprised? You’re lying so you can get dick?” He said and you knew that his words had evil intent. He wanted revenge.

Izana nodded in agreement “Seems like princess wants two. Such a bad girl being selfish.” Izana said with that kind tone he always used but it was different. He was mocking you just a tad bit. He got closer to your face, and his grip on your chin was harsh forcing you to make eye contact with him “I’ma help your dear boyfriend learn to eat your sloppy pussy out and then we can find out what to do with you, understand doll?” Izana asked and you nodded in response still remaining eye contact with him and Ran did not like that at all. His fingers dug into the bare skin of your hips before he yanked you away from the white-haired man.

“Get on the couch and spread ‘em,” Ran said reaching his hand around to slap your cunt making you squeal and hurry over to the couch. Izana and Ran then made eye contact after watching your form scurry over to the couch and lie down “You seem upset.” Izana said, the smile on his face not faltering at all.

“I’m not. Why would I be?” Ran asked with the same smile, his words were almost teasing.

Izana shrugged. “I’d be mad too but I’m just the side bitch, so I wouldn’t understand, right?” He said with his smile growing into a toothy one before walking past Ran and making his way over to the side of the couch where your head rested. Ran wished he could hit Izana, beat his ass even but he’d never win that fight. He’d die before he got another hit on the Kurokawa so he just sighed lowly and focused on his anger toward you.

Ran sat on his hind legs on the couch right in front of your spread legs, on the opposite end that Izana was leaning on just floating above your head. He looked at you and then his eyes slowly trailed down to your bare cunt that was wet. Slut. Getting wet from watching them argue over you and out you as a liar and a cock-hungry whore. “Let’s get this off, princess,” Izana said grabbing the end of the shirt you wore before pulling it off and throwing it somewhere in the room and he grinned at the sight of your bare tits, nipples already hard. “No bra. Just how I like you.” Izana muttered pressing his lips against your cheek getting closer and closer to your lips with each small kiss and as much as you wanted to kiss him back; Ran was glaring at you almost daring you to kiss him “Uhm…” You said quietly to gain Izana’s attention.

He looked at you and then at Ran as his hands trailed down to your shoulders and rested on your collarbones “What are you waiting for? Show me how you go down on her.” Izana said to Ran a bit upset because he stopped you from kissing him back. Ran’s hands grabbed your thighs before he immediately dove his head in between your legs after rolling his eyes at Izana.

“No wonder she came to me. You just dive right in like a maniac.” Izana insulted caressing your face gently as you leaned your head back on the arm of the couch to look up at the tanned male with little whimpers leaving your lips. Ran slapped the inside of your thigh forcing you to look down at him, he had a sour look on his face obviously annoyed by Izana’s talk. However, you could care less what was going on between them because you were between the two of them, you just wanted ran to finally touch you but they were too busy arguing.

Izana reached his hand down to your chest and began to play with your nipple making you moan with a few sobs laced between it “See? Gotta tease her a little bit, work her up, and make her beg.” The short-haired male said remaining eye contact with Ran as you shook beneath him. It pissed Ran off so much that Izana was just there playing with you like you were his toy while staring at him dead in his eyes but Ran couldn’t say that he didn’t enjoy watching you squirm and whine.

Ran did what Izana told him and began to deliver small kisses on your bare thighs, biting just a little bit and smiling into your skin as he got closer to the parts of your thighs that were completely soaked from your arousal showing your true need for them. “P-Please…just want more.” You mewled grabbing Izana’s hand holding it tight and digging your nails into his skin but he merely chuckled and cooed at you “You can wait. Just a little longer.” Izana’s breath was hot on your ear and it was teasing.

Like everything else going on right now, it made you wetter and more needy. You just wanted them to touch you but they weren’t going to do that, they wanted to play with you like a game. “You say it like she deserves it.” Ran commented with a chuckle before biting into your thigh harshly making you squirm more, you reached for Izana in hopes that he might convince Ran to go easier on you “Izana…p-please ‘m really sorry.” You whined grabbing onto his hand while looking at him with teary eyes but he didn’t even get a chance to respond because Ran once again, bit your thigh making you yelp.

“He’s not saving you. He’s enjoying seeing you all teary-eyed, baby.” Ran said with an evil grin on your face as you looked at him while Izana continued to silently fondle with parts of your body. You sniffed while whining just wanting him to stop being so mean. Ran has always been mean but he’s being extra mean. Biting you harsher than normally, grabbing at the fat of your thighs to dig his nails into your skin causing indents, he was being a jerk but you were a liar. A whore and a liar. So he felt like you deserved it and Izana did too but he was mainly enjoying it than rather indulging in it.

This dynamic was so entertaining to him along with how you jumped at the slightest touch. Showed how needy you were for some dick. “’ M sorry Daddy!” You whined aloud. Izana resisted the urge to laugh, of course, you called ran ‘daddy’, guys who don’t eat pussy always wanted to get called daddy. “Princess…I’m feeling a little neglected. Maybe if you showed me some attention, I’d give you what you want or…one thing.” Izana said with his grin extending during his pause and you looked up at him.

“I’m sorry…make me feel good baby. Please.” You pleaded just wanting some form of relief, and ran’s kisses every-fucking-where but your clit was beginning to piss you off and he shoved you down every time you tried to buck your hips up. Izana leaned down and pressed his lips to yours engaging in a sloppy kiss, his tongue swiped along your bottom lip asking you to open your mouth and you obviously did. Izana’s hand held onto your face as he deepened the kiss and took control “W-Want…” Your whisper in the kiss made Izana laugh just a bit. So greedy.

He broke the kiss and stared at you with the same sneaky grin on his face and his thumb ran over your bottom lip making you open your mouth thinking he wanted to shove his fingers in your mouth. It was almost shameful how slutty you were acting “Such a filthy hole. Gonna put it to use okay?” His words were so filthy. Disgusting and you drooled at the thought of him fucking your face. You wanted his cock so bad or ran’s. Both.

It was almost hilarious how bold you were earlier in comparison to how you were just begging to be silenced by cock. You looked up at Izana with an upside-down view as he began to shuffle his sweats off and his tight-fitting boxers allowing his cock to spring up, his brown tip leaking a bit of precum. Your lips popped open wide prepared for him and it made him grin, he had you wrapped around his finger like a ribbon but from the way your body was shaking from just small touches from Ran and him blowing on your clit; it seemed like he’d have to share you but he didn’t care really…as long as he still had you at his feet even if ran was right beside him sharing your gaze.

“Ah–” You said quickly as Izana grabbed hold of your face before stuffing his thick cock into your mouth, his heavy balls resting on your face as you sucked him off as best as you could from the position of your head. A glob of drool began to trail down your chin and Ran watched as you fell apart over just some dick in your mouth, your mouth as almost as sloppy as your pussy that was drooling just as you were. “So messy,” Ran muttered tucking hair behind his hair before placing his hands back on your thighs to prevent them from closing. He could tell that you wanted to close them badly from how they flinched toward each other every other second.

“Keep ‘em open for me,” Ran said and you hummed in response to this, not even being able to nod or speak because of Izana’s cock. His hands drifted from your inner thighs and to your cunt where he spread your lower lips watching as your hole squeezed around nothing. As ran began to drift down for his mouth to meet your cunt, Izana found an opportunity to piss him off. “Didn’t I say not to act like an animal? Suck on her clit first.” The short-haired male said with a helpful tone but it was obvious to everyone else in the room that he was not trying to do that.

Ran growled loudly under his breath intensely annoyed with the other man but still grinned at him “I was just going to do that so why don’t you focus on fucking up her face?” He said similarly to Izana’s words with false kindness making Izana let out a small chuckle before he tilted his down at you and ran his fingers across your cheek “Looks like daddy’s angry–” Izana’s gaze went to Ran again “better take that out on her.” He continued flashing his whites at the man before shoving his dick farther down your throat making you choke all while remaining eye contact with your boyfriend.

Ran merely rolled his eyes and continued his actions, immediately latching his lips onto your clit like earlier and you shouted around Izana’s dick but it was only a muffled sound whose only purpose was to be laughed at by the male above you “Fuck. So pretty moanin’ like this–ngh.” Izana moaned with you as he slowly began to move his hips to fuck into your mouth. Your thighs clamped around Ran’s head, his hair tickling the back of your knee as your back arched up from the cushions of the couch. Ran’s large hands held onto your hips as he began to eat you out, tongue-fucking your soaking hole.

“U-Use your fingers too–ugh. Makes her cum like a virgin.” Izana directed squeezing his eyes shut while he continued to fuck your throat raw making it sore, there was even a small bulge in your throat from it. One of Izana’s hands made its way down to your chest and he grabbed at your tit harshly, teasing your nipples and pinching them while Ran did what Izana told him to. He began to plunge two of his fingers into your pussy as he made out with your clit.

His fingers swipe over the ridges of your plush walls teasing you and purposefully missing your g-spot just by one small touch “P-Please Daddy.” You managed to say, it was hardly a sentence from how mangled it was but they both understood it enough especially Izana with how you looked up at him with watery eyes just begging him to tell Ran to make you cum. “I don’t think you really deserve it, princess. Liars don’t deserve anything.” He said harshly making you whine.

Your walls got tight around ran’s fingers hoping he’d touch your sweet spot. Ran removed his lips from your clit and looked up at Izana “Nah, I think she does deserve it. She deserves everything.” You were too busy in your dreams of bliss to even notice what he said or how he and Izana looked at each other, having a silent conversation about the fate of your pleasure but they had come to a conclusion that they both agreed to. You deserved to cum. You really did.

“Hm, you’re right. Make the whore cum all over the couch.” Izana said and Ran didn’t have to be told twice to dive back between your legs that were quaking just begging him to go back under. The fingertips of ran’s fingertips grazed over your sweet spot making you moan like a pornstar.

He began to ram his fingers in and out of your pussy, the wet sounds echoing in your ear and Izana threw his head back, moaning not only at how good your throat felt closing around his dick but how nasty your pussy sounded. Ran’s long fingers hit your g-spot over and over making you yelp with each hit and your legs trembled around your boyfriend’s head while you allowed Izana just to use your throat as he pleased. It was enjoyable for you too, you felt yourself inching closer and closer to your orgasm as they both used you how they wanted.

Izana groaned loudly with his deep voice bouncing off the walls as he came down your throat. You coughed just a bit as you swallowed it, the thick and slightly sour consistency sliding down your aching throat with ease as if you were built for that purpose only “So fucking good.” The man said rubbing his hands all over your body as he came down from his high, breathing heavily as the white stands of his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead but you…you were still enjoying yourself. Your moans were audible now and they were sluttier than they were muted.

Your hands immediately flew to Ran’s full head of hair grabbing at his long locks “Ah! D-Daddy, f-feel s’good!” The moans spilled from your swollen lips, it was so hard for your words not to become mush with how they were playing with your body. Izana leaned forward and pressed his cheek against yours while tweaking your solid nipples “Baby…t’much. Can’t take ‘nymore!” You mewled blinking up at Izana, it felt so good but it was too overwhelming for you. He was playing with your body while Ran was fucking you with his fingers and sucking at your bundle of nerves.

A small kiss on your cheek and a simple statement were all you got from him “Yeah you can doll, gon’ take as much as we give you right?” Izana asked lowly in your ear and when you didn’t respond, he frowned. You continued to blabber out incomprehensible moans completely ignoring him and he didn’t like that, at all. He slapped your tit harshly making you yell loudly “Yeah, Yeah! I will, baby I promise!” You shouted squeezing your eyes shut and letting the tears stream down your cheeks that would leave marks when the salty liquid dried.

You bucked your hips up to get Ran’s fingers to go deeper, you were almost there. Just right there. “Ah! Cummin’, ‘m gonna cum!” Ran smiled into your pussy as he continued to lap at your clit and quicken the pace of his fingers to make you cum faster, drool dribbled from your lips as you continued to whimper, moan and shout from everything they were doing to you. Your thighs quaked whilst your walls fluttered around ran’s digits. Quickly, your orgasm rushed over you and you squirted all over Ran’s hand and face, dampening the couch cushions in the process.

As you breathed heavily, coming down from your high while Izana kissed all over your neck and face to soothe you, you saw Ran lifting his face from your cunt but then he started to play with the button of his jeans “...Huh?” You huffed in confusion tilting your head slightly and you felt Izana’s lips stretching into a smile onto your skin “Did you think we were done doll?” Izana asked and you didn’t respond and only continued to watch as Ran got rid of his pants and boxers. His hands grabbed hold of your thighs again and dragged you down the couch closer to him.

Ran let go of your thighs and then began to put his hair in a low ponytail with the hairband on his wrist “You wanna cum so bad? You’re gonna keep coming until we feel like stopping.” He said with a malicious grin on his face. Ran’s anger was no longer directed toward Izana, you weren’t even sure if he was angry anymore. But he pushed it aside regardless to team up with Izana to make you regret what you did and you were already near to tears before they even started.

You thought you ran shit but you didn’t. They ran everything, they ran your mind, your orgasm, your pussy and they were going to run that slutty ass pussy all the way through.

©torasplanet .ᐟ reblogs and likes are very appreciated! pls do not repost!!

[muzansfangs]

hello, may I request bleach male characters reaction to F! reader breaking up with them in a modern au?

You break up with them.

Starring: Kyoraku Shunsui x f!reader; Jugram Haschwalth x f!reader; Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x f!reader; Urahara Kisuke x f!reader; mention to Jushiro Ukitake, Ulquiorra Cifer, Yoruichi Shihoin and Sosuke Aizen;

Format: short-imagines;

Warnings: sfw, angst, modern au, breaking-up, alcohol consumption, toxic relationship, self-deprecating behavior, mental struggle, anxiety, psychological abuse, inferiority complex, suggestive themes, mutual pining, power imbalance, family problems, trust issues, infedelity, violence, gore;

Plot: Once upon a time, you were happy by their side. Things changed, though. Their flaws, their behaviors hurt you to the point of no return. You left them, they are now coping with the absence of the only woman they had ever claimed to love, whilst you try to build yourself up again.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Kyoraku Shunsui.

Lumpish, unsteady steps approched your bedroom. He probably figured you were already asleep. After all, it was three in the morning. However, you were wide-awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, a luggage at your feet and a livid expression plastered over your face. You had spared him the fatigue of moving cautiously in the room not to startle you. The last act of magnanimity you had ultimately decided to grant him.

“What are you doing awake, sweetheart?” Shunsui slurred, a frown on his face, droopy eyes boring into yours as he sauntered towards you confidently.

You scoffed, even jumping on your feet to catch him in your arms, when he tripped over the carpet. He was blind drunk, the stench of saké wafting over your face making your skin crawl and your heart shatter in your chest. It was already broken, for what could matter, hence your decision to leave. On the other hand, you cared way too much about him.

Shunsui sighed, slumping down onto the bed, weary from the lack of sleep and hours spent chugging down enough alcohol to slip you, or anyone else, into an ethylic coma. Dark circles under his eyes, disheveled hair and a feminine perfume that was not yours had given him away that night, like the privious ones. This relationship was toxic and you were not going to spend the best years of your youth attempting to save the life of a lothario who had a tendency of loving self-destructive activities.

“I’m leaving, Shunsui. We’re done. I can’t do this anymore” you simply explained, watching him sulk, obviously expecting you to give up on him, sooner or later.

“Is there anything I can do to make you stay?”.

You felt tears prickle at your eyes, jaw clenching as you shook your head and picked up your trolley. You were devastated.

“Don’t make it harder than it already is. — you admonished him, swallowing the lump in your throat as he stood up and tried to reach for your hand, but you stepped away — No, Shunsui. I tried really hard to show you how much I cared about you, about us. All you did was choosing bottles of liquors over me”.

“Honey, wait, I care about you, let’s go to sleep. We can talk about it tomorrow—” he rambled, his grey eyes shimmering in the dimly illuminated bedroom. They always seemed sincere, even his tone was softer and somehow more serious than it usually was. Yet, you knew better than falling for his sugarcoated promises to work on himself.

“There’s no tomorrow for us. We’ve been there before, Shunsui. I’m tired of being the only one invested into this relationship! It’s one-sided and, frankly, I don’t deserve it” you declared, watching him slick back one of his unruly cowlick constantly tickling his nose. You were going to miss him, of course you were.

No one fell out of love in one single night. Naturally, you were not an exception. You could not stop the tears rolling down your cheeks, not even a sob escaping your quivering lips, but you could run away to save your heart from being buried underneath a pile of ashes and dust, shambles of the wildfire consuming what remained of your love. Shunsui knew he had lost you. He fell onto his knees the moment you turned your back at him and walked out the room. He was in no condition to chase after you, not right now. He cussed and fell onto his knees, hands planted onto the carpet, fisting the fabric in his huge hands out of frustration and despair. It was all his fault and he knew you were right.

The sound of the front door slamming close made his heart sink into his chest as he punched the floor in anger. He was worried sick about you. Disappearing from his life in the dead of the night, alone, in a city as big as that. He felt miserable. He wanted you back. He wanted you safe in his arms, not alone at the bus station looking for a place to spend the night at.

You were right to leave him. He had no right to stop you. Shunsui knew he did not deserve you. But he could try to change and, hopefully, win you back. The last thing he did before laying down onto the floor was sending a message to you.

“Please, send me a text, when you’re somewhere safe”.

Obviously, you did not text him back, but your mutual friend Jushiro did. At least, Shunsui thought, you were in good hands. Better than his ones, undoubtedly.

Haschwalth Jugram.

It happened after the umpteenth dinner at the Royal Palace. Your relationship with him was balanced. He treated you with so much care, stared at you from across the rooms in adoration and reverence, gave you more than you could have ever asked for. The real problem was who he was: a Prince, the scion of a Royal family that had never truly accepted you and the class you came from.

His father’s glacial stare spoke volumes, it made you feel so out of place you often ended up having panic attacks during balls and dinners. The spotlight was perpetually on you. Snippy remarks from his mother and the uptight members of the upper class hanging around the royal family poisoned you to no end. Restless nights and a sudden incapacity to concentrate on easy tasks, such as walking down aisles alone, or dancing with your beloved boyfriend under their attentive eyes, were the results of their ferocious tongues.

The worst part of it was that you had no one to talk to about the stressful situation you were experiencing. You had been forced to move to the castle with your boyfriend, determining your connections outside to keep their distance from you. Your old flat had been abandoned along with your ordinary life. Nights out in a pub with your friends had become a taboo and even the necessary visits to your parents had been drastically reduced to mere lunches with bodyguards roaming through their house.

Talking to Haschwalth about your uneasiness and discomfort had led to arguments between the two of you and you had not failed to notice how his mother seemed uncharacteristically gregarious the day after your altercations with her son. Maids talked a lot, unfortunately. However, you were not going to tolerate this situation any longer. Collecting your clothes and belongings into a bag, you had asked Haschwalth to meet you at the train station, after escaping the bodyguards’ watch, while shopping at the mall.

When he found you, alone, piercing blue eyes pinning you on the spot, he realized it was the end of the road for you two. You were distraught, hands wiping away the tears from your face, whilst you attempted to talk.

“I love you. I really do. But that’s not the life I expected to live with you. It’s never the two of us. They hate me, Haschwalth” you started, your boyfriend’s jaw clenching.

“I am expected to become the King of this Country. If you wish for me to turn my back at my family, you are clearly mistaken” he replied lowly, twisting the blade in your heart already making you bleed out before his magnificent eyes.

You shook your head “That’s why I have to leave, Haschwalth. I don’t want you to give up on the throne, or go against your family. I just… I needed you to stand by my side, when they denigrated me publicly” you punctuated, but even this was not enough to make him flinch.

They had taught him how to suppress his emotions well. Stolid, impassive, detached from sentimental matters. Maybe way too much for him to build a strong, intimate connection in a healthy relationship.

He did not look away, instead he took a single step closer to you “You do understand that’s not affordable for the future heir of the throne? It’s something beyond my willpower. — he replied, voice firm and devoid of any affection he had usually opted for in your regards — I would never ask you to disrepect your parents, if their antics offended me. Insofar as possible, I’ll make sure you can rely on me. Don’t make a scene”.

“No, Haschwalth. I refuse to be mistreated by the band of lackeys your mother surrounds herself with and pretend everything’s fine! — you blurted out, drawing the attention of some people waiting for their train on the platform — I should have known I meant less than a noble title” you choked out, right before turning around and heading straight to the coach assigned to you.

His eyes followed you, a turmoil of contrasting feelings making their way in his mind. This was far from the life he wanted to share with you. Only when he saw the train departing, he realized he had lost you forever and how severe the emotional damage his parents had inflicted to him really was. He felt kind of dehumanized, an empty shell even in private matters.

Your absence affected him more than you could have ever imagined. He watched you from afar for months, making sure you were fine without him. And you were. It hurt him immensely and, even though he wanted to contact you, he did not. You needed space and time and it was probably for the better. He had watched your lovable smile fade from your face through the time you had spent at the Royal Palace. Now, watching you eat a pizza with your friends, he witnessed to you blossoming again into the radiant girl he had met a long time ago.

Maybe, one day, if you still wanted him, he would have come knocking at your door again, offering his heart to you on a silver tray.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

From the moment you had seen him getting off of his motorbike outside a bar, black leather jacket and cheeky grin modeling the wondrous eyes of the girls sipping on their drinks into glossy hearts, hoping vainly for him to choose them, you knew he was troubles. The wise ones turned their heads away from him, reminding themselves of who he was, where he came from and what kind of a player he was. You had tried to do the same, but you were a little more adventurous and naive back then.

He bought you a drink, rizzed you up and you decided to stay by his side for more than a one-night stand. Boy, how delighted you were to find out he actually had decided to stop collecting broken hearts anywhere he went. You dated for a while, then you settled down and your life turned upside down. You met his friends, learned a little more about the place he came from and you had the confirmation he was part of a gang called ‘The Espada’.

You thought you could handle the situation. You even stitched up his friends for free, when they dropped by your house wounded, collecting scars from the violent fights with cops, or members of other gangs. It took a while to realize Grimmjow did not want to change his lifestyle. According to him, he already had made a lot of progresses since you two had become a couple. You would have been a liar not to agree with him on that: after all, he had even dressed up in a nice clean white shirt and attended a dinner with your parents. He behaved that night, you felt on cloud nine.

But things changed abruptly a couple of weeks later.

He began to come home later than usual, battered, nervous. The news an emerging gang was raising and had declared war to ‘The Espada’ began to spread.

It was your best friend’s birthday and Grimmjow had been invited too. He was busy patrolling a zone, hence he had let you know he would have met up with you later. When hours began to pass and most of the guests had left the party, you sensed something had gone wrong. You hopped into your car, driving to what you had grown to learn was his gang’s den. Of course they tried to keep you out of the situation, but how could you not fight your way inside, when you heard someone screaming at the top of his lungs. The scene welcoming you into that barrelhouse made your stomach churn. A man, battered, tethered like an animal to a chair. His face was a bloody mess, but so was your boyfriend’s one.

When your eyes met, he cussed and punched that man one last time before marching towards you. For the first time ever you feared he was going to harm you too and, when his hand gripped your forearm with far less grace than you expected, you began to wriggle in terror.

“Let me go! Grimmjow, hands off, now!” you squealed, your protests falling to deaf ears as he led you out of the pub.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”.

“Is that even important?! Look at yourself, Grimmjow! That’s blood! There’s blood on your clothes, on your face! What the Hell was that?” you questioned him, hands trying to reach for his face to check on him for any injuries.

He groaned and turned his head to the side scornfully “It’s not mine, alright? Mind your damn business, princess. That’s not a place for you. What is it, don’t you like this anymore?”.

His words blinded you, the sound of your hand colliding against his cheek made you flinch as well. You had hit him. You really had. Despite that, the one sobbing before his eyes were you. He sighed, glaring down at your smaller frame like a caged animal. He was restraining himself.

You took a step back, swallowing thickly “I can’t stand there and watch you ruin your life and… And kill people” you stated then, hands shaking.

Grimmjow shoved his hands into his pockets, eyeing you contemptuously “I was like that before I met you, sweet cheeks. — he gruffly said — If you want to stick around, suck it up. Otherwise, go hook up with a Prince. One of those fuckers whose hands smell like money, not of gasoline and blood”.

The world seemed to shake under your feet, your hand clasped over your mouth as you realized how stupid you had been to fall for him. To believe he could actually change. He was toxic for you. He was a monster. This was not your boyfriend.

“Fuck you” you muttered, jogging towards your car with a blurry vision and stomach cramps. You drove away into the night, miraculously making it back home safe and sound. Clueless, among other things, that Grimmjow had sent Ulquiorra after you to make sure you were fine.

Deep down he knew he had screwed up and, every single time he drove by your house, he remembered all those summer evenings spent on your rooftop with your fingers running through his soft blue hair and how much loved he had felt for the first time ever in his life. It was not just sex. It was not just about the way he fucked you. You were not a random girl. He loved you.

Urahara Kisuke.

A brilliant, laidback engineer who had easily whisked you off to live a colourful life travelling the world by his side. It was easy loving Kisuke Urahara. He never missed a chance to make you laugh and tell you to pack your stuff for your next tropical destination, a trip organized specifically for a project he was working on. He was also a party person, very popular among important people and, unfortunately, with the ladies.

Kisuke would have never broken your heart. This was what he had promised you so many times, espacially while you were tangled into the bedsheets of your bedroom. Panting, sweating, he swore to love you through breathy groans. You believed him, of course you did. Maybe, you should have kept an eye on him and his best friend, the eclectic artist Yoruichi Shihoin. Maybe you should have not let her hang around with him so often. Still, you did not like being controlling. You had no apparent reason to be resentful to her, or to put a leash on your boyfriend.

Staring in horror at the two of them, naked, into the bed where Kisuke had told you so many times you were the only woman he loved, felt like someone had kicked you in your guts. They had played you like a complete idiot. It pained you to find out your boyfriend’s rival was right. He had tried to warn you about Kisuke’s habit of enchanting people with words and hide his second nature masterly.

“I can explain!” Kisuke breathed out, reaching for his sweatpants in a hurry to chase after you.

Yoruichi, on the other hand, sat comfortably on your side of the bed. Her topaz yellow eyes bored into yours, a mocking grin gracing her lips. She could keep him, for all you cared. A man who cheated would have done it again and again.

You scoffed and stormed out of the bedroom hastily “I don’t need a goddamn oculist, Kisuke. Go to Hell” you snapped, hellbent to leave that house as soon as possible.

He ran after you, quick to block your path “Baby, please, I know I fucked up. I’m sorry, I’m terribly sorry! Just… Just let me explain” he pleaded you, the vulnerability in his eyes almost making you faltering. But it was enough. You were fed up. He had cheated on you, you had wasted opportunities and chances to support him in his work. All for what?

Where did it get you? To be disrespected in your own house, under your nose.

“No, thank you, I don’t want to hear another word coming out of your mouth. Congrats for having reduced our relationship to a huge pile of shit. That’s the best construction you’ve ever made” you spitefully hissed at his face, your throat constricting with each hateful word leaving your mouth as you pushed past him and ran off to your car.

Kisuke fell onto his knees, hands fisting his sandy hair, while he realized what he had done. He felt lost without you. Yoruichi made her getaway almost immediately, leaving him alone and with a shattered heart in his chest. The bitter taste of your break-up indulged on his tongue for a long time, culminating in a terrible phase of regrets when he saw you walking by Sosuke Aizen’s side. A gleeful smile on your lips, you let that bastard loop his arm around your waist.

You seemed happy. You truly were. The problem was you were happy without him. This was something he could have never done a damn thing about.

Kisuke knew he had lost you forever.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Angst, yes, a lot of angst. If any of the above shit happen to you, RUN FROM THAT MAN. Those are not red flags, those are RED BLANKETS. Love you all! Let me know what you think about this!

As per usual, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Love,

Luce

[honeybunhottie]

Oo headcanons for Chris or Josh crushing bad on Alt!reader? maybe like a gothic or metalhead style?

feel like both would be absolutely geeked about some scary looking women!!!

- 🦐

Omg I love this idea! Sorry in advance if this is totally off, I'm not super knowledgeable about the styles or culture but I tried my best! Please keep sending requests!!

Chris and Josh with an Alt! Reader

We’ll do this before the events of the game because I feel like they’d have too much going on otherwise.

Chris

This man LOVES alt baddies and I can say this for a fact

My source? I’ve never known a nerdy man who didn’t like an alt baddie

He and Josh are jokesters through and through. And also lowkey pervs

I can just imagine one day Josh is teasing him about never getting any

And then here walks by you, dressed head to toe in an outfit that’d probably make his mother scream

And he can’t take his eyes off of you.

Immediately his friends catch onto his (frankly, not subtle stare) and start teasing him

Eventually they have some pity and tell him your name at least.

This man makes it his mission to have an interaction with you

Spends at least a month stalking observing you in the hallways

What outfits you wear, what your friends wear, your fav eyeliner brand, how much you hate your lab partner, your plans after school, all of it

One time you bumped into each other and dropped your notebook

Papers flying everywhere and all

He helps you collect them all, and when your fingertips brush his hand feels like it’s evaporated. He didn’t know it was possible for appendages to feel like sparkling water, but here it was happening

When you say a simple “Thanks, Chris” he swears his heart stops

He kicks himself for the gaping stare he gave in response as he stuttered out something unintelligible. Like it seriously keeps him awake at night 

He knows he’s bordering on the weird line of things, but there’s literally no chance you guys would cross paths otherwise (in his mind at least)

Because little does he know, the was also a fact about alt baddies

I’ve never met one who didn’t VICERALLY NEED a nerdy man

Yep, you have noticed this blond nerd always around

Yes, you did think he was cute

And yes, your friends absolutely do notice

Eventually, they get tired of your mutual pining because it’s more than obvious that neither of you has enough balls to ask each other out. 

They set up a plan with the other squad to set you up, because everyone is tired of these two dorks fumbling around each other

They decide to pull the “make group plans but nobody shows up” card for the new movie coming out

Chris is chilling in the hallway on his phone,anxiously glancing at the door every other minute because why the hell aren’t they here yet?

He freaks out when he sees you walk in, dressed even cooler than usual, all by your lonesome. 

You seem lost, looking for something before checking your phone. You sport a flustered look afterwards.

At the same time, Chris feels his phone buzz with a text too

‘Have fun man!’

‘Good luck!!’

‘Take ‘em to the bone zone buddy!’

He rolls his eyes at the last one before realizing what they’re referring to

He looks up from his phone only to get jumpscared by you standing right next to him

“Looks like we’ve been set up”

He immediately starts apologizing before you put a finger to his lips to shush him’

“I’m kinda looking forward to this”

Lord help him

He’s still singing Josh’s praises years later though, so something worked out right!

Josh

I loveeeee Josh

And nothing about this man screams subtle to me

Will he immediately tell you to your face how hot he thinks you are?

Probably not

Will he find every opportunity to hang out and find things in common with you?

Yes, 100%

This man is around every corner, every turn with that bewitching stare and stupid laugh

I feel like he would love your alt style. I mean he’s super into horror movies and the darker side of things, I feel like he’d enjoy someone different.

Flirty jokes galore, he loves making them, he’s kinda weird like that

He loves it if you match his energy too

He’s always asking about what music you’re into, have you seen that new movie? There’s this new haunted house coming soon.

He loves quality time, and he wants to become friends before he makes a move or anything.

Once you guys are FRIENDS, then he starts making moves

This man is playing chess while we are playing checkers

I have a feeling that it’s not too noticeable at first

Lots of jokes still

Lots of “jk jk, unless…”

Nahhhh

Unless…

He’s always getting you the new album for your fav band, or buying you cool stuff when he gets dragged to the mall with his sisters.

Is a firm believer that it’ll happen if it happens

And is very content to just ride along with you.

Overall, 10/10 we love them both

[romanhughesy]

Aftertaste

quinn hughes x indie singer!fem reader

summary: quinn is dragged out to a show at a dive bar, and finds himself drawn to the lead singer...

wc: 5.3k

notes: ive seen a lot of nhl stars x pop girlie reader (a slay every time) but something about the idea of straight laced quinn x indie girl compels me..

As a professional hockey player, it was one of Quinn’s biggest gripes when people told him he only cared about hockey. Mainly because people always said it like it was a bad thing, something they were uncovering that Quinn didn’t know about himself. Something he should be ashamed of. But Quinn knew, and he wasn’t ashamed at all. Hockey was in his blood, inextricably linked with his real biggest priority. His family. Luckily, hockey and family had always gone hand in hand for Quinn. Even when hockey took him far away from everyone, even when people tried to pit him and his brothers against each other, it never strained their relationships. They all knew it was just the nature of the game. Reaching his dreams, being an impactful player, it took thick skin. All three Hughes boys had been raised with that knowledge. 

But, that didn’t mean things didn’t rattle him occasionally. Like now, sitting on a teammate’s couch, trying to savor what he thought would be a chill afternoon sprawling into a quiet evening. Until someone’s phone rang. Dakota Joshua’s girlfriend was on the line, trying to convince everyone to go out. Her friend was in a band playing that night, and ‘there was no cover, so everyone should come.’ Because a bunch of professional athletes worried about paying an entry fee. A couple guys said sure, a couple more said they had plans, and when it was more or less worked out who’d be going, a few of them turned to look at Quinn. He shook his head, not moving from his slumped lean against the back of the couch. He was tired. And comfortable. So he verbally answers, “I’m not a huge live music guy. But thanks for the invite.” 

He hadn’t expected his voice to carry through the phone, really just speaking to his teammate. But the girl on the other line must’ve heard, because she scoffed. “Is that Quinn?” her voice crackled through the speaker. “Figures. He couldn’t care less about anything that isn’t hockey!” 

Quinn could hear that she was joking, but it still stung. He didn’t even know this girl that well. Why was she looking down on him for prioritizing his job, that he was, frankly, great at? Joshua immediately came to his defense, shooting an apologetic look over his shoulder and saying, “Hey, Captain’s locked in. Can’t complain, especially with the way the season’s going.” 

The conversation shifted, and then ended altogether, but Quinn was lost in his thoughts until some of the guys who weren’t going to the bar stood up to leave. What would he do with his evening, if he did go home? Slump on his own couch, watch tape or other games on TV that evening, talk to his mom or Jack or Luke, if they were free? Those were all things he enjoyed, that brought him joy, but none of his excuses sounded good enough when the guys asked if he was sure he didn’t want to go. So, he lets himself be half-dragged into the bar, and if he’s nursing his beer on the edge of their crowded booth a bit grumpily, hopefully everyone will let it slide. The group of people was bigger than he’d anticipated for a free show at a pretty run down bar. Quinn’s not even sure this is technically a concert, as very few people are lingering anywhere near the stage, and no one seems to be paying any attention to the people tuning instruments up there. 

“So, wait, how do you even know this girl?” Quinn hears someone ask, and that brings his attention back to the situation at hand. Joshua’s girlfriend, clearly pleased to hold the attention of the table, smiles widely. 

“Oh, we went to university together! It’s been awhile since we’ve hung out, but she was always so talented. She never actually made her own music in school though, which I thought was strange. So when she mentioned joining a band, I just knew they’d be great!” 

Awesome. Quinn’s been dragged out to see an amateur musician who’s a former classmate of someone he barely knows. He might need a couple more beers to make it through this. 

“What kind of music do they play?” Someone else chimed in, apparently not as put off by the previous answer as Quinn was. 

“I’m not really sure. I think, like, indie rock? She mentioned they’d be doing a lot of covers, because they’ve just recently started playing together. She said they wanted to go ahead with gigging to work out what kind of sound they wanted for their own music, so cool!” 

Quinn was seriously impressed by this girl’s loyalty to her friend. He wouldn’t call himself a big indie rock fan, but there were way less palatable genres, so maybe he’d survive after all. He looked towards the stage, at the band tuning their instruments and checking mics, and turned back to the table with a question of his own. 

“Is she the brunette with the bass?” 

“Nope!” Joshua’s girlfriend answered, eyes bright. She obviously hadn’t expected Quinn to show any interest. “She’s not up on stage right now. But that white guitar they’re sound-checking right now is hers. I recognize it from her Instagram.” 

Quinn nodded, curiosity satisfied. Conor rose from the other side of the booth, clearly heading to the bar, so Quinn slid out too, maybe a bit overly eager to step away from the larger group. Lucky for him, they lingered by the bar even after getting their drinks, so Conor was either a mind reader, or just felt similarly. They made easy chatter, and Quinn felt some of the tension in his shoulders unwind. Before he’d even thought of rejoining their other teammates, the bar lights dimmed. Quinn hadn’t even realized it was possible to make the space any dimmer. Turning his gaze towards the stage, all the same people as before were settled with their respective instruments, leaving a gap in the middle of the stage. Quinn’s eyebrows raised. A few seconds later, the missing member quietly entered the stage, smiling bashfully. 

Quinn felt like he’d been hit over the head, and that was putting it mildly. Fiddling with an acoustic guitar, high points of her face getting kissed by a spotlight, the lead singer was maybe the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

“Hi, everyone. We don’t quite have a name, or much original music right now, but we’re gonna play some of our favorite songs for you guys tonight. Hope you enjoy.” Her voice was soft, tinged with nerves, but still warm. Quinn couldn’t look away as she adjusted her grip on her guitar one more time, and shared a glance with the bass player on her right. The band started playing, and Quinn’s breath was stolen. 

They were playing an older song Quinn vaguely recognized, quiet, soft rock. He hadn’t really ever considered someone’s singing honest before, but that’s how it felt. Clear, sincere. Just singing from the soul, like she would sound the exact same even if the room was completely empty. 

“You live your life, you go in shadows

You'll come apart and you'll go blind

Some kind of night into your darkness

Colors your eyes with what's not there”

He stood, transfixed, until Conor elbowed his arm and tilted his head towards the booth. He looked like he had some taunts ready, but spared them as the men moved through the mostly quiet room. 

Back of his neck burning, Quinn slid back into the booth. Most of the group had gone to stand by the stage, bringing the amount of people at the table to a much more manageable amount. For Quinn’s social capabilities, at least. Not that he was paying much attention to anyone at the table, eyes glued to the middle of the stage. 

The band had launched into their second song, this one apparently not requiring the singer to also play guitar.  Quinn appreciated its absence, as it gave him an unobstructed view of her. She was in a sleeveless black mini dress and calf-high boots, which should’ve been little dressed up for the dingy bar. But, she pulled it off effortlessly, hair down and catching the light as she tossed in time with the music. Quinn certainly wouldn’t call himself an expert, but he wasn’t even sure if she was wearing makeup other than some lived-in eyeliner. She looked like a girl in a 90’s movie, effortless yet put together, all at once. It was intimidating, but something about her presence was also unmistakably warm and open. Quinn couldn’t look away from how she moved with a casual grace, the way her whole body seemed to respond to the song, guiding her voice. 

“I feel naked when you look my way

You can see it on my face

You're the only reason I came here

You're the only reason I stayed here

And I'm livin' on the aftertaste

Don’t you tell me it’s too late”

Dancing along to the music was obviously shaking off a lot of her nerves, but even far from the stage, he saw the singer’s cheeks flush as the crowd applauded at the end of the song. Cute. After saddling her acoustic guitar once again, the singer leaned into the microphone. 

“This next one is one of my favorite songs. Hope you guys like it.”

“During practice she’d say that about, like, six different songs. I just have to let everyone know.” The person sitting behind a keyboard chimed in, and the singer’s shocked laughter made Quinn feel lightly carbonated. Fizzy, reactive. What was wrong with him?

“I’ve got a big heart. Anyway!” 

She led the band into the next song, and they continued to play a few more, with minimal commentary. They weren’t playing anything Quinn was familiar with, but he didn’t really mind letting the music wash over him. The band were talented, and Quinn could see people around the room who clearly did know the songs enjoying themselves, further validating his assessment. At some point, Conor disappears, and brings back new drinks for the both of them, giving him that taunting look again. This time, he delivers. 

“You know, I thought you weren’t really a live music guy? Seem to be enjoying yourself plenty.”

“Oh, shut up.” 

“What? Just making small talk. Need me to be quiet so you can focus on the music? Maybe she’ll sign your forehead at the merch table later.” 

Quinn lets out a long-suffering sigh. There’s nothing he’d change about his life, really, but he sometimes dreams of a world where he’s a scary captain that people don’t make fun of for their own entertainment. That’d show them. He settles, instead, for making fun back, like any respectable adult with younger siblings. 

“Signed a lot of autographs lately? She could probably teach you how.” 

Conor lets out a shocked sound, but their back and forth is cut off by applause echoing through the bar. 

“Thank you!” The singer is once again guitar-less, nervously fiddling with her mic stand with dainty hands that Quinn’s eyes get stuck on. They must be tough, for how deftly she plays her guitar, but they look small. Quinn buries a half-formed thought of brushing against them, holding them in his own. He’s losing it. 

“We’re gonna do a few songs with some different vibes, if that’s okay with you guys. We’re still working on pinning down what style of music we really like making as a band, so we’d love to know what you think of these. This first one is called Starling, and it’s actually an original of mine.” 

Her cheeks flush at the scattered cheers through the room, and once the song starts, Quinn understands why. The song is raw, subdued instrumentation highlighting her voice. She sings most of it with her eyes shut, but not tightly. Not fearful. She’s swaying gently, and her voice soars through the dingy bar. 

“And she says we're the lucky ones

And you know why

To meet another is a miracle, let alone you and I

You and I, you and I”

The applause at the end of the song is noticeably louder than the songs before. Quinn claps, and Conor doesn’t even make fun of him, because he’s clapping too. The lead guitar player pats the singer on the back as she takes a swig of water and visibly tries to settle her nerves. 

“Okay, that was scary! Let’s have fun now.” 

The next song is folksy and upbeat, old-fashioned. It reminds Quinn of something his parents would listen to. The band really digs into it, the audience responding in turn, and Quinn feels weirdly connected to it all. It reminds him of being on the ice, a good shift where he feels like a live wire and can anticipate the moves of all of his linemates. Everything ramps up towards the end of the song, and it’s actually Conor who’s shoving Quinn out of the booth, towards their teammates closer to the stage.

“Seems like the last few songs are fun. Let's be social.” 

Quinn lets himself be dragged, like he has all night, folding into the group. A couple of the guys seem shocked to see them, Soucy throwing a “We thought you guys bailed!” over his shoulder. Quinn shrugs, but tries to fake-nonchalantly answer before Garland. Whatever Conor might say would do him no good. 

“Nah, just hanging back at the booth. Still tired from earlier.” 

“Nice. They’re doing a good job up there. Joshua’s girl is losing her mind.” 

Quinn is too, a little, but he refuses to say that out loud. Luckily, they’re interrupted. 

“Thanks for really getting into that last one. That’s one of my favorites.” One of the other band members snickers and starts to interrupt, Quinn sees their teasing smile from where he stands. The singer cuts them off, grinning widely and continuing her sentence,

“This is our second to last song. Laugh at me if you want, but it truly is my favorite song these days. Not one of my favorites, just my favorite. This is Juna by Clairo. Let’s dance!”

He’s never heard it before, much like the rest of the set, but this song is definitely his favorite, too. It’s still playful, but has a sensuality that’s completely out of left field. Taking the microphone from the stand, the singer slinks across the small open area of the stage. Her hips sway, free hand gesturing with the music, and she looks so good Quinn almost can’t bear it. She’s singing directly to the audience, confident and present in a way he hadn’t seen from her so far. And he’d definitely been paying more attention than he’d admit to anyone. 

“You know me, you know me

And I just might know you too, know you

Come to me ready”

Joshua’s girlfriend throws her hands up when the singer looks their way, and the singer looks down at her friend with a dazzling smile, sweeping her eyes over the rest of the group. Quinn has a weird instinct to avert his eyes, or run away, but he’s too late. The singer is looking at him. Quinn swears he sees her eyes widen, just a fraction, but the moment breaks, the rhythm moving her across the stage. He spends the rest of the song— and most of the following one— in a daze. He claps when everyone else claps, lets himself be moved like the crowd moves, but he’s mostly just drinking in the singer’s appearance. Her charm, her confidence, it’s magnetic. He’d be embarrassed, but he’s definitely not the only one looking. And that makes something smolder in him, stifling and warm. 

“Thank you all so much for being here. This was actually our first show all together as a band, so it’s been very special. Enjoy the rest of the evening!” 

The audience gives one last hardy round of applause, and the band don’t bother with theatrics, unceremoniously beginning to break down all their equipment. Quinn, as per usual, lets himself be led to the bar for another round, and then back to a table. Some of the girls in the group are chatting about how much they liked the set, how they’d love to see them again, but one comment in particular lands heavy on his brain. It’s Joshua’s girlfriend, pretending to be casual when she boasts,

“I told you guys Y/N was amazing! I texted her and told her she should come hang with us for a minute when they’re all packed up. I hope she has time.” 

Conor elbows him. The little shit. Quinn gives him a withering look, but he knows at least one of the other guys had to have noticed the interaction. 

“Oh?” Dakota raises an eyebrow at him. “Interested in meeting Y/N? Didn’t really think you cared for live music, Cap. Had to drag you into the bar and all.”

Quinn visualizes the alternate universe where he’s intimidating his teammates, and decides to play dumb in real life. 

“Who? The only reason I haven’t left is because Garland keeps buying me drinks.” 

Joshua doesn’t quite buy it. 

“That’s nice of him. Means you have room for a couple drinks for Y/N on your tab, then. She was the lead singer. Seemed like you were keeping an eye on her.”

“You know, not a huge live music guy, myself, but I’ve heard when people are onstage you’re supposed to pay attention to them.” Quinn chirps, perhaps belatedly realizing getting defensive about the girl would only make things worse. The guys laugh, and the conversation moves on, so he must’ve said just enough to be let off the hook. 

Quinn lets his thoughts wander, rather than taking part in the mindless chatter. He really is tired. Everyone will tease him for leaving, but he’s been more than a good sport. He’s absolutely far surpassed his “not hockey” quota for the day. Just as he decides on getting up and telling everyone goodbye, other people around the table are standing, and some of the girls are fussing. Did someone else decide to leave before him? Even better, he can just tack onto someone else’s goodbye, slip out with even less attention on him. He gets out of his chair and realizes he’s fallen into a trap of sorts. 

In the middle of all the commotion is Dakota Joshua’s girlfriend, bragging about her friend while wrapping her in a tight hug. The lead singer. She’s clearly overwhelmed by the enthusiasm, but gives the group a genuine smile. 

“This is my boyfriend, Dakota, and these are a bunch of his teammates!” She rattles off their names, as if the singer will remember them, and Quinn feels something inside him ignite when he locks eyes with the girl again. 

“Nice to meet you guys. Thanks for coming out! So glad I didn’t realize who you all were until now. I would’ve freaked out.” The singer’s smile turns shy, and Quinn sees a couple of the guys almost visibly puff up their chests, enjoying the recognition. He is too, sure, but he hopes it’s not too obvious. 

“Big Canucks fan?” Joshua asks while slinging an arm around his girlfriend, pulling her closer. 

“Born and raised. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love a picture to send to my parents. They’re gonna lose their minds.” 

Dakota’s girlfriend is already whipping out her phone before the singer can finish her sentence, gathering everyone into the frame. Conor, ever the meddler, shoves Quinn towards the center, and he ends up right next to the girl he’s been admiring all evening. He breathes in her clean, citrusy perfume, and isn’t sure he remembers to smile for the picture, dazed. Joshua’s girlfriend looks through the photos and seems pleased, so Quinn must look normal enough.

“They came out so cute! Y/N, do you have a favorite player? If he’s here let’s get a picture of just you two!”

The singer, Y/N, he mentally corrects, stammers out an excuse, but she seems to quickly learn the lesson Quinn learned in his earliest days in the sport. Give hockey players an obvious weak point, and they’ll exploit it, on or off the ice. A few of the guys tease, lightheartedly, but still pressing for an answer. 

“Um… it’s 43. Hughes…” She’s avoiding his eye, and the guys are going wild, but Quinn hardly notices. He’s floating, mentally thanking every extra rep in the gym, every early practice, even his parents for loving the sport so much they passed it onto him. Quinn can’t help his small smirk as Joshua’s girlfriend gestures for Y/N to hand her phone over, opening the camera and telling them to get together and pose. 

Quinn takes a step closer, hovering his arm around her waist, until he finally catches Y/N’s eye. He tilts his head, wordlessly questioning. She nods and wraps her own arm behind his back, so he lets his hand settle. It’s not hard to smile for the picture when he’s pressed against her side. His guys are jeering, but he pays them no mind as Y/N is handed back her phone. Now or never, probably, Quinn thinks to himself. So he dives. 

“D’you mind sending those to me?” He asks, trying to keep his voice low amongst all the chaos of the group. He doesn’t exactly want commentary as he’s trying to shoot his shot. 

Y/N blinks up at him, and he finds her visible confusion endearing. 

“You want me to send you the pictures of us together?”

Quinn just nods. She blinks some more, brow furrowed. 

“Yeah, sure, I can. Why?” 

Quinn wishes he had some witty or charming response, but there’s something about her straightforwardness that disarms him. She doesn’t seem to realize how interested Quinn is, for better or for worse. 

“Well,” He rubs the back of his neck, “It was the most casual way I could think of to ask for your number.” 

At that, Y/N’s eyes widen, but she also smiles in a coy way that makes Quinn think he might be in over his head. 

“Oh! Well, in that case, I’d be more than happy to send you those pictures.” She hands Quinn her phone, already open to a new contact, and he takes it from her outstretched hand.

“You guys did great up there, by the way. Especially for a first show. I never would’ve guessed.”

Y/N gives him that warm, happy smile, and he melts. 

“Thank you! I haven’t performed in front of a crowd since middle school choir, so I’m honestly just proud I made it through the set at all.”

Quinn, once again, is floored. Sure, she seemed anxious at first, but he still gets visibly nervous before stepping on the ice all these years later. The idea of doing something for the very first time with so much grace makes him jealous, in a weird way. He doesn’t know how to express all that to a stranger, so he doesn’t. 

“Really? You looked at home up there.”

Y/N’s gaze softens a bit, something that wasn’t quite shyness— maybe vulnerability— creeping in. 

“That means a lot. It’s something I’ve always dreamed about, always craved. But I was too scared until really recently.”

“That’s really brave.” he responds, thrilled by her flushed cheeks and bashful smile.

“That’s funny,” Y/N says, taking a step closer, holding steady eye contact now, “I find it really brave to hold onto your childhood dreams. I never had that strength.”

Now Quinn is the one flushing. Of course, plenty of people praise his hard work, but many also say his success was handed to him. He’d never deny his good fortune; his amazing parents were certainly the foundation and entry point for his dream. But, he couldn’t have gotten to this point if it was just his parents’ dream for him. He held firm through a lot of exhaustion, pain, and uncertainty. Someone else acknowledging that makes all of the old feelings almost tangible. It’s an uncomfortable sensation for Quinn, one he doesn’t like to linger on.

“It takes a village.” He answers, trying to sound at ease. Y/N laughs.

“How diplomatic! I forget you guys get media trained.”

At that, Quinn laughs, too. He’s fascinated by the discerning sharpness that almost underscores the warmth and openness the girl projects. As if, somehow, she’s looking right through him, but she likes what she sees. He wants to see more of her, in turn. 

“You’ll need some of that too, soon enough. I bet the band’s gonna get big.”

“Let me get used to playing in dive bars first, even just thinking about anything bigger is going to give me a panic attack for the foreseeable future.”

“You don’t wanna come sing the anthem at a game?” Quinn can’t help but tease, rewarded by Y/N’s eyes going wide. 

“That honestly makes my knees weak. Do you ever get used to playing in front of all those people?”

Quinn tilts his head, considering his answer. He doesn’t want to sound full of himself, but he wants to be honest. 

“A lot of times, I’m not really thinking about the audience. I’m just focused on the ice. But, when the crowd gets really worked up, it can definitely impact the game.”

Y/N nods, brow furrowed as she thinks over his answer. 

“For better or for worse? Depends on where you are?”

“Yeah,” Quinn answers with a smile, but it’s tight around the edges. “Some places can be fun to play but not exactly welcoming.”

“That’s so interesting. I never thought about how much of the game is mental. No wonder you guys try to be so even-tempered in interviews and stuff.”

Quinn’s lips lift into a smirk. 

“You watch a lot of my interviews?”

Y/N huffs, rolling her eyes, but he sees her cheeks darken a bit.

“Oh, hush. I mean, like, whoever gets star of the game or whatever. Always giving generic answers.” 

She’s certainly not wrong. Quinn wants to keep talking, but the bass player of the band steps into the conversation, with an impish smile and hand on Y/N’s shoulder. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but Y/N, do you still want a ride? I’m about to head out.”

“Yes, please.” Y/N replies, and if Quinn wants to believe there’s a bit of reluctance in her tone, he will. She turns back to him with an apologetic smile that certainly helps his interpretation. “It was really nice meeting all of you guys. Thanks again for coming out. We’ll absolutely be bragging at every show about how the Canucks were at our very first gig.” 

“Of course,” Quinn replies. “We’ll have to get you guys out to a game soon.”

“A cultural exchange, of sorts.” The bassist chimes in with a laugh. Y/N shakes her head, but Quinn laughs along.

“Exactly! See you guys around.”

If he watches the two girls walk away, heart thudding when Y/N looks over her shoulder to wave goodbye, that’s between him… and Conor, who scurried over the second the musicians walked away to clap a hand on Quinn’s shoulder and shout something that sounded vaguely like “Attaboy!”. He must’ve had a few more rounds after the show ended. 

—

A few days later, Quinn’s just getting home from an early morning practice when his phone buzzes. He mindlessly opens the notification, not realizing it was a text from an unsaved number until he’s staring at pictures of him and Y/N, with a caption that makes the corner of his lips raise. He saves the contact, and pretends he’s not looking at the photos some more. 

From: Y/N 🎤

so… when’s the next game? :)

To: Y/N 🎤

Coincidentally, tomorrow. You guys free?

Quinn busies himself with preparing lunch, refusing to sit idle by his phone, as much as he wants to. When he sits down with his food a while later, he allows himself a glance at his messages, as a reward for his restraint. 

we don’t have to do the anthem, right?

Not this time. Just show up and have fun. As long as we get some tickets to the next gig, of course

well then… i’d love to! 

everyone else says they already have plans :(

Quinn takes a deep, calming breath, trying to summon up some courage. He thinks of Y/N, wide eyed and beautiful, calling him brave, but the image actually makes him more nervous. He shoots off a text anyway, before he can overthink it too much. 

Tough crowd. But you still wanna go? We could grab dinner or drinks after

He does a few laps around his apartment, wearing down his rug a bit more, before his phone buzzes. Quinn’s not proud of how quickly he dives back onto the couch, but at least no one is around to see. 

i was hoping you’d say that :) 

see you then!

Well, that settles that. Quinn does a few more nervous laps, suddenly feeling keyed up despite very recently finishing a grueling practice. He’s trying to mentally settle himself before he does something dumb, like tear through his closet and stare at every game day suit he has and decide he hates them all. But, he’s not quite sure where to put all the nervous energy he has. He forces himself to sit back down, thumbs moving across his phone screen. 

Need any gear? I can have someone bring you some

He doesn’t want to name the feeling that compelled him to ask. But it grows when, a few minutes later, Y/N answers. It’s another picture, but not from the other night. A mirror selfie. She’s in leggings and a Canucks jersey, facing forward but twisted just enough for Quinn to read the backwards 43 on her arm. His stomach soars, or free falls, he’s not quite sure which.

[image]

born and raised fan, remember? my parents would disown me if i showed up to a game without a jersey

He decides to play it cool, trying to slow his heart rate by joking around.  

Looks good, outdated though. Gotta get a C patch

Y/N’s response is quick, like she’d been waiting around for his reaction. Quinn tries not to think about it too hard, tries not to put too much stake into all of these little signs that a girl like Y/N is interested in him. 

🙄 not all of us have an equipment team

I’ll take care of it. See you tomorrow, Y/N

see yaaaaaa

good luck! 🍀

Quinn swears he moves through the rest of his day like normal. He goes through the motions, and he tries to pay as little attention as possible to his wandering thoughts. He’s used to fixating on hockey, trying to predict how games will go. Forecasting what will go right, and, maybe more importantly, what will go wrong. He’s built his career off of his attention to detail, his extra effort. It’s easy, and comfortable, to prepare for games with his team. As the hours go by, inching ever closer to puck drop, he can’t deny his excitement. For the opportunity to keep playing the game he loves, with his guys, for their fans. And maybe, just maybe, he also pictures Y/N, swathed in one of his jerseys with red cheeks from the cold of the rink, wearing that bright smile. He thinks about taking her on a date after the game, and how badly he wants to impress her, like she impressed him with her music. Thank goodness, he’s been working all his life to rise to the occasion when he’s out on the ice.

--

hiding a playlist/song recs in this fic bc i love u all.. songs directly referenced are fade into you by mazzy star, aftertaste by katie gavin (title inspo!), and juna by clairo! the "original song" is actually starling by sarah kinsley, and her music is GORGEOUS i highly recommend if you like indie singer/songwriter vibes.

some other artists i'd recommend you listen to ~for the vibes~:

phoebe bridgers, boygenius, mitski, fiona apple, and the newest beabadoobee album was super inspirational for this!!

if u made it this far you should send me a song rec of your own hehe

[blackbirdsblackberries]

Don't drink the Kool-Aid pt.1

I'll create a tag list if people want to be tagged. There's a meaning behind Savior Anwir's name! This chapter is a bit short considering it's technically a prologue.

Your day is a boring loop yet one you’ve grown to love.

You wake up, get ready for the day, wait in line for your tray of shitty food, sit with your “team”, finish eating. 

During the morning you spend your time exercising until you’re about to collapse. This will end around lunchtime in which you’ll get your lunch delivered to wherever you are in the place. Afterwards you are expected to show your devotion to your higher-ups, your family, your saviors. The rest of the day you either practice combat or defense.

Tiring as it might be, it was your life and you loved it. 

You don’t remember your life before joining Savior Anwir in her division of the Daughters of Eve. The division is based in Gotham City, a place even the devil himself had abandoned. Atleast, that’s what you’ve been told. 

You see, you’re not allowed out of the confines of the estate. It’s too dangerous, what if men take you away and use you? What if you get lost? What if you accidentally get killed? It’s terrifying to think of and keeps you away from the outside world.

Today however things have gone a bit differently, after showing devotion to your saviors you and everyone else is herded to the main hall - which was just the foyer area. This only happens when they take on new members. 

Will they be mean? Would they be overjoyous? There’s so many options and you don’t like any of them, you don’t like new people or change, you like how everything is now.

You take your place in the second row. 

The first row is for kids, the second for teens, the third for young adults, the fourth for adults, and the fifth for people over that age.

Savior Anwir stands atop the stairs in front of everyone, two people next to her. 

One is a girl with blonde hair, tanned skin and striking blue eyes, she’s in a purple hoodie and black leggings. The other is a girl with short black hair, brown eyes and beautiful clear skin, she herself is in a blackish gray graphic t-shirt and light gray sweatpants.

People start to murmur, a teammate of yours turns to you. 

“They seem off, right?” You don’t know why she’s asking you. Frankly, you don’t care, your team is full.

“I guess, but they seem nice enough.” Is all you say, no point in conspiring against people who haven’t even been in your presence for more than a minute.

The murmurs die down as soon as Savior Anwir raises her hands.

“Now, I understand everyone is excited for new sisters to be joining us,” Savior Anwir glances at the two beside her as if silently asking if she’s correct to call them sisters. Savior Anwir doesn’t actually care, she is simply doing it to make them seem more welcomed - you’ve been around long enough to know that.

She continues.

“But we must calm down and not cause strain on their mental capacities!” Savior Anwir puts a hand on either girl’s shoulders. “Please, introduce yourselves.”

The blonde one speaks up first “I’m Stephanie but everyone can call me Steph!” She seems energetic and like she doesn’t truly belong here.

The other one doesn’t speak up. Steph chuckles and speaks up again “This is Cassandra, you can just call her Cass! She’s mute.” Mutism is common here due to many people coping by not speaking at all. That’s probably why she’s mute, she was attacked and now chooses to be mute!

Right? Right.

Silence envelops the room then and you don't miss how Steph awkwardly looks around as if expecting applause - something you will not do until Savior Anwir says so.

Savior Anwir nods. "Thank you girls, you are very lucky to be joining today, it just so happens we've found some of our trainees have been plotting against us. So we have openings for you!"

You raise a brow, who would be so stupid to plot against your own family? The very family that graciously took you in and nurtured you, protected you and showed you true love.

Savior Anwir holds her hands out. "The two traitors who have decided they do not love us are none other than Mary Hailstone and Annie Malcomb! Please, come up here and shake hands with your replacements!"

You freeze, Mary and Annie belonged to your team, you three were as close as people get in this cult. They wouldn't of betrayed you... Right?

You watch as the two slowly ascend the staircase, heads down and hands shaking.

When you betray DoE there is only one punishment.

Mary and Annie both shake hands with Steph and Cass before Savior Anwir hands the traitors a gun each.

They had a choice, shoot each other or shoot themselves. They chose themselves.

You watch as Steph's eyes widen in horror and Cass's eyebrows twitch slightly.

You suppose you should pick up on little things they do now considering they'll be your new team members...

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

For All I Care

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Asexual!Tav, Astarion x Bard!Tav

Astarion's POV, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Astarion being bad with emotions, hints of one-sided Gale x Tav if you squint

Warning: Canon typical violence, violent thoughts toward Tav

Summary: After a fight with a hag, the rest of the party wakes up to find you still fighting for your life. Astarion feels himself at a loss, afraid and helpless in a way he has never felt before. And it's all your fault.

A/N: Just a gentle reminder that I have not played the game, so in terms of the exact placement on the timeline, it's a little sketchy. Just know that this is well before the events of I Want It All, and we'll call it good. And, as always, PLEASE REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO SURVIVE!

Word Count: 6.2K

If Astarion never saw a hag again, it would be too soon. Just one was more than enough for several lifetimes. The bitch was not only a sore to look at but hit like a brick wall. Even after a full night’s sleep aided by Shadowheart’s magic, he still felt stiff all over. 

The rest of camp wasn’t much better. The sun was almost fully overhead by the time everyone stumbled out of their bed rolls. All morning banter was replaced with mumbled greetings and not so subtle groans. Even Lae’zel remained quiet, seemingly too occupied with her own discomfort to comment on the weakness of everyone else. 

Astarion counted himself grateful for that. He didn’t think he could endure a lecture on top of an aching back. 

“Here we are,” Gale said, a little too cheerfully. “I know last night's excursion was rather strenuous, but if this doesn’t cure what ails you, nothing will. No offense, Shadowheart.” 

“I would take offense, but I’m frankly too tired to care,” she countered, dryly. 

Gale gave a good natured laugh before handing her a bowl of something hot. 

The pout on her face fell away as soon as she took her first bite. The rest weren’t far behind, the low murmur of pain turning to something more pleasant. 

Astarion observed, doing his best to push down the bite on envy in his chest. He could eat, technically, but it went right through him, not even granting him the temporary relief of a full stomach. If it didn’t smell appetizing, he wouldn’t mind so much, but it did. Yet another minor torture of his existence. 

Eventually Gale did turn his gaze to him, that annoyingly persistent enthusiasm faltering.

“Do you…ah, require a refreshment?”

Deciding to have some fun, Astarion gave him his best seductive smirk.

“Very much,” he purred. “However, if you’re the one offering, I’ll pass. I’ve got someone much more appetizing in mind.”

He turned his head towards your tent, and immediately frowned. You still hadn’t made an appearance. Granted you were always one to rest in, but this was getting ridiculous. 

Gale followed his eye line, grimacing as he came to a similar conclusion. 

“Might need to hold off on that. They got it pretty rough last night.”

“I’ll go check on them,” Wyll volunteered, pouring a fresh bowl of stew. “If anything will get them out of bed, this will.” He then turned to Astarion, giving him a hard look. “Try to keep your fangs to yourself until they’ve eaten something.”

He answered with a mocking pout. “Oh mother, must I?”

Wyll didn’t raise to the bait, rolling his one good eye before making his way towards your tent. 

Something odd twisted inside Astarion. He was struck with the sudden urge to trip the man. Childish perhaps, but he just couldn’t stand that tone of altruistic condescension. He would have spoken up if Wyll hadn’t beaten him to it. He was rather partial to the idea of you and him sharing breakfast in bed. It would only be breakfast, but he wasn’t in a position to try for more. At the very least, it would be a convenient excuse to check on you himself.

Gale hadn’t been exaggerating. You had gotten the brunt of the hag’s attention, running between everyone to provide whatever aid you could. By the time you made it back to camp, you could barely stand, skipping your nightly check-ins in favor of falling straight into your tent and a soundless sleep.

This troubled him in a way he couldn’t properly explain.  It wasn’t like he needed you to tuck him in, but he had grown accustomed to your face being the last he saw before closing his eyes. He knew the others appreciated it as well. It was how you had found yourself as the leader of this merry band. You weren’t the strongest or the most powerful, you simply took the time to care.

It should have bothered him more. Gods knew he clashed with Wyll and Karlach on more than one occasion concerning their bleeding heart heroics. Perhaps it was because your heart always put the party first. You’d extend it to others, but never to the point it needlessly put them and, more importantly, him in danger. 

You just…helped, with clear eyed understanding and so little fanfare it made it easy to forget just how much you did, until the moment you couldn’t. 

He blinked hard, mentally yanking himself from wherever his mind was leading him. 

He wouldn’t feed on you today, he decided. There had to be some boar or deer around. It’d be best if they stay put another day anyhow. No need to rush into the next life or death scenario.

“Shadowheart! Gale!”

Everyone turned, to see Wyll running from your tent. The two spellcasters were up the next second, all exhaustion rushing from their bodies, readying for a fight. 

“What’s going on?” Gale asked.

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong with Tav.”

“What? How?” Shadowheart interjected. “They were fine last night. I healed them myself.”

Wyll shook his head. “That may be, but they’re not waking up.”

“We better have a look then,” Gale said, with an authority that left no room for argument. He took the lead, the two others falling quickly behind. 

Astarion stayed where he was, frozen. There was a hard twisting in his gut. He could feel the hair rise on the back of his neck as the sudden need to run shot through his veins. He recognized the symptoms; fear was an emotion he was intimately familiar with.

Before he realized what was happening, he was on his feet, taking long strides towards your tent. 

It couldn’t be as bad as Wyll was making it sound. Admittedly, you had been run rather ragged, but nothing the rest of them hadn’t felt. Perhaps he had taken one bite too many. This was nothing. You were fine. You were supposed to be fine. 

He stopped at the threshold, pushing aside the flap. 

Whatever breath he had in his lungs rushed out in an instant. 

The first thing that hit him was the smell. It clung to the inside of his nose reeking of damp sickness. Your body was drenched in sweat, your hair plastered to your forehead in soaked clumps. He swore he could feel the heat of your skin burning. Your breath came ragged as if someone had wrapped an invisible hand around your throat and was slowly choking the life out of you. He could see how your body twitched and jerked. It was taking both Shadowheart and Wyll to keep your limbs in check as Gale mumbled some enchantment over your body. 

His hand gripped hard on the fabric. He needed to take a step back. He had little experience with disease, but it was plain enough that whatever this was didn’t play by any rules he was familiar with. The survivor in him screamed to use this perfect distraction to grab whatever he could carry and run. Still, he didn’t move. 

“What’s wrong with them?” he said, his voice rough even to his ears. 

“I don’t know,” Gale admitted, clearly disturbed. “I haven’t seen anything like this before.”

“They were fine,” Shadowheart insisted. “I healed them, and they went to bed. Nothing else happened.”

“There were a lot of spells being thrown around last night. Maybe they were hit with something the rest of us weren’t,” Wyll suggested. 

“Oh Gods,” Karlach said, just behind Astarion’s shoulder. “Do you think it’s the tadpoles?”

Something heavy sunk straight into his stomach at her words. It certainly was a possibility. They all knew the symptoms, but why now? Why you? 

There was a slight rustle of movement just behind him. Lae’zel by the smell. A quick look out of the corner of his eye saw her standing just behind Karlach. Her back was stiff and her expression hardened in a way he had come to recognize. 

He never moved faster in his life. 

Before anyone could react, he ducked under Karlach’s arm, knocking Lae’zel off her feet. Her sword scattered clear of her grip, skittering into the grass. She fell with a hard thump as he used the momentum to trap her under the weight of his body and dagger at her throat. 

“Now, what were you planning to do with that,” he said, as smooth as a knife. 

Her surprise was evident, but quickly overtaken by a low growl straight from her chest. 

“Unhand me, or I will unhand you.”

“Might need the sword for that.”

“Oi! What’s going on?” Karlach said, finally turning towards the scene. 

“If it is the tadpoles, we cannot risk them turning,” Lae’zel snapped. “I am prepared to do what is necessary.” 

Red blinded Astarion’s vision, a hiss escaping his lips as they pulled back to show bared fangs.

“Necessary?”

“We don’t know that yet,” Wyll said, stepping beside Karlach. “Just think a moment. If it was the tadpoles, wouldn’t all of us have felt something by now?”

Lae’zel ignored him, her eyes turning straight to Astarion’s. Her expression lost none of its fury, but there was a coldness to it that forced an air of calm. 

“You know I’m right,” she held. 

His jaw clenched. He did know. If even one of them turned into a mind flayer the rest were bound to follow. Killing you would be the logical thing to do to preserve his own survival. Still, it wasn’t your neck he was poised to cut. 

“Nobody is killing anyone!” Wyll interjected. “Gale and Shadowheart will figure out what’s wrong with Tav. In the meantime, we are not going to do anything we would sooner regret.”

“Astarion?” Karlach said, cautiously. 

There was a long pause. He could feel their eyes burning the back of his skull, but neither stepped closer. It was easy to imagine what he looked like; half crazed, teeth bared and blade ready. Not his best moment. 

With what grace he could muster, he pulled away, quickly putting some distance between himself and Lae’zel.

She got to her feet, decidedly not reaching for her weapon as her eyes moved between the three of them. 

“They live for now,” she allowed. “But if Tav does turn, you know what we’ll have to do.”

Astarion’s spine stiffened. The dagger twitched in his hand, just in time for Karlach to step between them.

“Walk away Lae’zel,” she said, sternly. “I’m not kidding.” 

Lae’zel’s brow furrowed, her face twisting in disgust. “Tsk'va,” she cursed. “Cowards. All of you.” 

She turned then, picking up her sword before making her way back to her tent. 

Once she was a good distance away, some of the tension left Karlach’s shoulders as she pulled her attention back to him. 

“You okay?” Karlach asked.

“Well, I certainly haven’t made any new friends,” Astarion said, his voice tighter than he intended. He glanced over at Wyll. “I take it still no answers?”

Wyll gave a long sigh. “Gale said he’ll need more time to detect the exact cause. He doesn’t think it’s the tadpoles, but there’s no telling just yet. Luckily, Shadowheart was able to calm them enough to sleep. At the very least they’re no longer at risk of hurting themselves.” 

“So what do we do?” Karlach asked. 

“Wait. This isn’t something we can fight. Gale and Shadowheart will do what they can, but ultimately, this is Tav’s battle.” 

Astarion bit back a growl as red once again danced across his vision. 

Wait? That was the fabled Blade of Frontier’s brilliant plan? Hells below was everyone in this camp completely useless?! He didn’t need to be a cleric to know what was happening. He knew what dying smelled like and none of them, not a single one, could think of an actual, tangible solution besides wait?

Forget tripping the man, it was taking every single ounce of restraint to keep from strangling him. 

Draining the last of his patience, he turned on his heel, and made his way towards the treeline. 

“Where are you going?” Wyll called. 

“To go kill something,” Astarion spat. “Unless you want me to stay here and do it.” 

Wyll looked like he was going to say something that would put his neck in Astarion’s teeth, but Karlach spoke up first. 

“We’ll make sure Lae’zel keeps her distance. Don’t wander too far.”

Astarion didn’t have an answer. He just managed a tight nod before continuing out of camp and out of sight. 

He didn’t know how long he walked. He just knew that by the time he stopped the sun was much lower in the sky. The sounds of his companions deafened in the overgrowth leaving him well and truly alone. 

A shuddering breath escaped his lungs. Whatever strength in his limbs left him. He only just managed to catch himself on a tree as his hands began to shake. 

What in the nine hells had he been thinking? 

Well, that was the trick, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been thinking. Fear had been driving him and he had done as he always did when fear took over; he found a way to survive, damn anyone who got in his way. The difference was, it wasn’t his life that was in danger. When had your survival become so vital to his? 

He knew he was reliant on you to keep him safe from Cazador. You were the only one who trusted him. Without your vote of confidence, chances are he would have been left to his own devices a long time ago. He needed you alive if he were to maintain the protection of the others. And he had put that protection in direct threat by holding a knife to one of the group’s best fighters. 

He let out a frustrated groan, rubbing his face in his hands. 

Fuck, this was a disaster. He had never been particularly gifted when it came to strategy. It was difficult to anticipate consequences when he never knew what fresh hell awaited him in the morning. Compound that feeling by two hundred years and it was no wonder all his plans fell apart. 

Even if you did survive, he still had no way of guaranteeing you would stay loyal to him. All his attempts at seduction had failed.  You certainly enjoyed his company, and he was sure you gave him more attention than the others, but he didn’t know what you wanted. Every single day he waited for you to name your price and every single day you failed to answer. It was driving him to insanity.  

No wonder he had been so quick to draw his blade. Any grasp he had on safety was already hanging by an invisible thread. 

He let out a deep breath, forcing himself to calm. There was little he could control at the moment, but he could control himself. It was a new sensation, one he was still getting used to. He’d have an easier time of it once he fed. 

Blood of thinking beings was out for the moment. He’d have to settle for something big and preferably angry. There would be nothing elegant about this hunt. 

He got his wish. While he might have preferred a bear, the raging boar did well enough for his purposes.

It was an ugly kill. He didn’t just bite the beast. He tore into its neck so deeply the bones of its neck became exposed to the open air alongside bloodied muscle. His hands did the rest, ripping it fully open so the innards spilled out onto the forest floor. In the end, he didn’t even get much blood out of it, allowing the earth to become wet with carnage. 

He breathed it in, hoping it would somehow erase the smell of your convulsing body from his mind. 

It didn’t work. 

Even with fresh blood in his mouth, he could only think of your labored breaths and racing heart. The relief of sated hunger became tainted by the taste of sickness on his tongue.

He forced himself back on his feet, not bothering to wipe away the blood as he stumbled further into the forest. 

There was nothing he could do. He’d sooner drain the life from you than save it. It was baked into his nature; a disease in his own right.  

If he just had a target, something he could trick or kill, it would be different. Instead he was left to wait; useless…powerless. 

His hands clenched, his nails digging into his palms to the point of pain. 

Surely he didn’t need you so badly. If you died, he would just have to refocus his efforts on somebody else; Shadowheart perhaps, or even Gale. He wasn’t about to get sentimental now. He would survive you as he had done countless others. This wasn’t his end.

He found a deer next, performing the same ritualistic slaughter. Blood filled him. He could feel his mind becoming clear, but it wasn’t enough. He moved onto a burrow of rabbits, then a badger, and even a weasel. It was only when he caught himself seriously contemplating gutting a squirrel did he realize how futile it was. All the blood in the world couldn’t make up for his inherent weakness. 

He had grown too dependent on you. It was making him sloppy, unbalanced. Maybe you were better off dead. He would be free then. 

That was the point of this whole venture wasn’t it? To be free. Free of Cazador. Free of fear. And here he was ready to chain himself to another just because they’d shown him a bit of kindness. What was that kindness worth when the loss of it inspired a terror he'd never known before.

A fury rose within him, one he clung to like a lifeline. 

This was all your fault. You brought him to this. How could he possibly forgive you?

He let the anger fester as he took the time to clean himself up. Blood caked his hands up to his elbows with tendons stuck under his fingernails. It took several washes in a nearby stream to get it all out. He counted himself lucky his shirt had managed to escape most of the viscera. The last thing he wanted was an interrogation. 

He needn’t have worried. It was well after dark by the time he crept back to camp. All was still, in the same way a body became when holding its breath. 

He spotted Gale easily enough as he poured over some tome, his lips moving along with the words. Lae’zel and Wyll sat together, polishing their weapons without exchanging a word. Shadowheart looked to be meditating while Karlach sat next to the fire, brow furrowed while throwing the occasional stick into the flames. 

Aside from the faint scrap of stone on metal, not a sound came from any of them. 

Against his own will, his gaze turned to your tent.

It struck him then, why the quiet filled him with such dread. 

By now a steady flow of strings should be teasing the edge of his ears. You seemed convinced a half inch of fabric was enough to muffle your rehearsals. None of them bothered to correct this assumption. On more than one occasion, he found himself forgetting the book in his hand as he listened to you work out some new melody. There was something about the way you played, as if each note lifted a burden on your soul. And if the night wasn’t filled with your music, it was touched by your voice. 

You had a way of sparking conversation, sharing countless stories while encouraging the others to do the same. You knew when to listen, when to comment and just when to laugh to make the telling all the sweeter. He spent more time than he cared to admit thinking about how to pull that sound to your lips. He found it had the same effect on him as your plucking.

Then there were the rare times, when banter dwindled and everyone became lost in their own thoughts, he could make out a song just under your breath, an unconscious hum to accompany your work. 

It brought a comfort he couldn’t describe, one he hadn’t realized he needed, until it was gone. 

With quick steps he made his way to you, slipping into your tent with not even the barest rustle of fabric.

He’d never been in your tent before. If it were any other day, he’d be taking the time to examine every inch of it, but all he could focus on was you. 

You were so still. An improvement from before, but not an especially encouraging one.  It was clear from the perfectly arranged pillows you hadn’t moved since Shadowheart put you back to sleep.  The only hint you were alive was that barest intake and outtake of breath.

His jaw tightened, his body tensing as a growing panic rose within him. 

No, this was good. You were stable, for now. He still had options, more time to plan. He didn’t have to make any decisions tonight. Best he left and waited to see what the morning would bring.

You took a sharp intake of breath, slightly deeper than before. Your eyes twitched behind your lids and then you settled.

He paused, glancing to the entrance, half expecting somebody to come rushing in.  He was surprised nobody was in here with you, or at the very least watching the door. He had slipped by without so much as a “hey you”. Any vagrant could just wander in. 

He could end it right now. All it would take was one quick slice. The picture became clear; a single surprised gasp, the smell of your blood and then…silence. Forever. 

Bile rose in his throat. He shut his eyes trying to will the image away as that new desperate terror threatened to drown him all over again.  

Damn you. Damn you to every circle of the hells! 

The gods were mocking him. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He couldn’t just like you. No, he had to go and start caring.  

A small whimper broke through his thoughts. Your head jerked, your brows pinching in distress. 

Shadowheart. He needed to get Shadowheart, or Gale, or Wyll. Hells, she may not be able to touch you, but Karlach would undoubtedly have a better bedside manner. Besides Lae’zel he was the worst person suited for this. Gods, what was he even doing here? 

You took a sharp intake of breath, flinching away from something only you could see. 

He was on his knees the next second. 

Your body settled, but your breathing came hard and fast. At least it wasn’t rasping. 

His hands hovered over you, unsure of what to do. He had officially given up on the idea of leaving. He’d just have to improvise the rest. 

Hesitantly, he let his fingers brush across your forehead, pushing aside a few of the loose strands. You were hot to the touch, but he took comfort in the fact you weren’t sweating as you were before. Whatever had taken hold of you that morning, it seemed to have loosened its grip. 

You began to calm, a soft murmur of contentment stumbling from your lips. 

The irony was not lost on him, but it didn’t stop a part of him from melting at the sound. 

“Now that’s hardly playing fair, darling,” he whispered. “I’m trying to be angry with you.”

You didn’t answer except for a sigh as you turned your head, following his touch. 

He allowed himself to linger for a moment before placing the back of his hand against your skin to feel it properly. You really were much too warm. The relief you were expressing no doubt came more from his body temperature than his caresses. 

Slowly, he pulled away as he glanced around the small space. There had to be a water skin in here somewhere. Surely the idiots would know better than to leave you to burn yourself from the inside out. 

A soft groan caught his attention as he spun back to you. 

You shifted under the blankets, rolling back and forth as if to get loose of your cocoon. Your eyes darted quickly behind your lids. Another huff of breath and then, all at once, there you were.

“Tav?” he breathed. 

Your eyes were bleary. Your skin was sallow. Your hair was a mess. Everything around him smelled of sweat and sick. And for a moment, he swore he could feel his heart beat again. 

A hint of a smile touched the corner of your mouth, your brows rising slightly. 

“Tav? Must be pretty bad then.”

He had to laugh. It was a short, strangled thing, and just about the only thing he could do to keep the stinging in his eyes at bay.

“Worse,” he said, managing to gain some hold on himself. “Of course, it must be said, your worse is most best.” 

You huffed out a small laugh of your own, which quickly turned into a series of dry coughs. 

He straightened in alarm before quickly spotting the water skin hanging on the center pole of the tent. Thankfully it was full, allowing him to waste no time lifting your head as he guided the water into your mouth. 

As soon as the liquid met your tongue you scrambled for more, pushing yourself further up to guzzle the rest. 

“Easy,” he warned, pulling back the container. “Can’t have you choking to death after all of that.”

You gave a slight sputter, proving his point as you caught your breath.  “Sorry. Just thirsty.” 

“Clearly,” he quipped. “Do you need more?”

You averted your eyes, your expression turning suddenly sheepish. “Please?”

As tempting as it was, he decided to save his teasing for later.  It was always more fun when you could give it right back anyway. 

He lifted your head, resting it on his lap before guiding the lip of the lid back to yours. 

“Slowly this time,” he cautioned.  

Your muscles tensed with restraint, but you followed his lead, taking no more than he gave. 

He tried to ignore the tight feeling in his chest. His mind flickered to his own thirst and, for a moment, he could see his own desperation reflected in your eyes. 

Something stirred inside him; an ache he didn’t recognize. He’d do just about anything to keep that look from marring your face ever again. 

Once you’d gotten a few more mouthfuls he pulled the water skin away, setting it down on the floor beside you. 

“Thank you,” you said, your voice still a little rough, but an obvious improvement. 

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “To anyone.”

“Don’t worry, nobody would believe me anyway,” you teased. 

“Truer words.” 

Without really thinking, he let his palm rest on your forehead. He had already gotten a sense of your temperature, but the way your eyes closed as you relaxed into his touch was too good to pass up.   

“How are you feeling?” he asked. 

“Like a band of goblins decided to make a riot of my insides,” you admitted, before turning your gaze upward. “What about you?”

“Me?”

Your mouth turned in an apologetic half smile. “No offense, but you look a bit ragged. Did something happen?”

He blinked, surprised by the sudden flash of anger your question inspired. Of course he was a bit ragged. You had started this morning on the verge of death, the knowledge of which had been torturing him for near on…oh, who bloody cared how long. And yet you had the audacity to ask if something happened, as if that wasn’t enough; as if you weren’t enough.  

It must have shown on his face, as your brows furrowed in concern. 

“Astarion?”

He mentally shook himself, pushing down the emotion as best he could. 

“Don’t worry about me, darling. Let’s focus on getting you better.” 

You frowned, your lips parting as if to say something when the entrance of the tent burst open. 

“Hey, thought I heard your voice!” Karlach said, with a beaming smile. “Good to see you awake soldier. Told’em you’d bounce back, just a matter of time. Shadowheart! Gale! Tav’s awake! Astarion is with ‘em.”

Astarion prickled at the announcement. He didn’t need the entire camp knowing his business. He had decided to sneak back for a reason. Surely nobody had seen him. 

He got his answer, as Karlach turned back, lowering her voice. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Noticed you slip in earlier. Thought I’d leave you to watch Tav, but then I heard talking and well…you know.” 

“Yes, thank you,” he clipped, hoping the note of embarrassment would be blamed on getting caught and not…other things. 

“Thanks Karlach,” you said, smoothing over any lingering tension. 

“Don’t even think about it. Few more rounds of healing and you’ll be right as rain.” She then turned her gaze to him. “You got’em?”

His brow furrowed slightly. He could say no. Gale and Shadowheart would need space to do their work. It would be the perfect excuse to walk away and try to forget any of this happened. 

He glanced down at you, your head still resting in his lap. 

You looked so fragile. It was a word he had never thought to use before when describing you. The sound of it rang with a dissonance that made his hair stand on end. Still you managed a half smile, your head tilting as silent permission to leave if he wanted. 

And what exactly would he do if he left; wait in the dark, just as helpless as before. He may not be able to do much, but he could do this. It was better than nothing. 

He turned back to Karlach, his purpose clear. “I’ve got them.”

She didn’t say anything back, simply nodding in acknowledgement before dipping out, and allowing Shadowheart and Gale to enter. 

Shadowheart immediately took a place beside you, her hands glowing with magic as she got to work. Gale, meanwhile, remained standing seemingly unsure of what to do. 

Astarion couldn’t help but notice the way the wizard’s eyes shifted awkwardly between you and him. Some petty part of him felt vindicated in staying. Apparently he had taken his designated spot. 

“Glad to see you awake,” Shadowheart said. 

“So am I, funny enough,” you said. “What happened?”

“Nasty bit of business,” Gale explained. “That hag didn’t hold anything back. Combination of cause fear, ray of sickness, a few other bits of spell work and bestowed curse to keep them all knotted together. The healing magic Shadowheart gave you last night was able to mend your physical wounds, but little else. 

“Luckily once we were able to identify the spells, I was able to untangle most of the effects and pluck that curse right out. All told, it looked much worse than it was. With the hag dead, it appears your body has been able to fight off most of the remaining effects on its own. Honestly, if you were at full capacity at the start of the fight, it likely wouldn’t have gotten as bad as it did. Much easier to recover when all your blood is inside your body.” 

Gale’s eyes flicked over to Astarion. 

His jaw clenched, knowing full well what the wizard was implying, but he wasn’t about to admit he was right. 

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I take an arrow to the shoulder,” you said, dryly. “Just don’t bleed.”

Shadowheart gave a short laugh. “Good to see your sense of humor is intact.”

Astarion and Gale broke eye contact allowing whatever argument was about to ensue to die on their lips. There were more important things to worry about. 

“What can I say, I’m a born entertainer,” you said, ruefully before turning your gaze evenly among the three of them. “I’m sorry to have caused so much trouble.” 

“No trouble at all,” Gale assured. “When compared to Karlach’s engine or my own condition, this is little more than a sniffle.” He glanced over to Shadowheart. “Anything I can do?”

“Honestly, there’s not much even I can do at this point,” she admitted. “We’ll just have to see how you feel in the morning. One of us should stay with you at least, in case something happens.”

“I’ll do it,” Astarion said, earning shocked looks from both spellcasters.  He did so particularly love the look on Gale’s face. 

“You’re sure?” Gale said, skeptically. 

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’m not planning to sleep much anyway. And don’t worry, I’m just as capable of yelling as anyone else in this camp. Besides, I doubt either of you are going to be much use to anyone in a few hours.”

Gale looked like he wanted to argue, but not before you spoke up.

“He has a point,” you said. “The pair of you have done enough as is. I’m feeling a lot better already. I’ll be fine.” 

“Alright,” Gale relented, with a grimace. “There’s some stew in that container there if you get hungry. See if you can keep some food down. And if they so much as twitch in their sleep–”

“I’ll handle it,” Astarion cut off with a sharpness that left no room for dispute. 

Gale appeared taken aback. So did Shadowheart for that matter, but Astarion couldn’t bring himself to care. You had in a very polite, roundabout way told them to leave. His job was to make it clear how much better that would be for everyone’s health. 

Both Gale and Shadowheart got the message, ducking out without another word. 

Astarion waited, counting down a solid minute to make sure nobody else would come barging in. Only when he was certain they were gone did he finally allow his body to relax. 

“You don’t have to stay.”

He pulled his attention back to you, his brows furrowing. 

 “I really am feeling a lot better,” you insisted. “I’ll be alright.”

His instinct was to argue. He wasn’t in the mood for any more quiet heroics from you, but something in your eyes gave him pause. 

“Do you want me to go?” he asked. 

“I…” You swallowed. The emotion in your voice was clear even from that one word. “You don’t–”

“Do you want me to go?” he repeated. 

For a long moment, you didn’t say a word. 

He waited for the predictable guilt to appear, an obvious sign of your irritating selflessness with maybe an apology thrown in on the side. There were hints of it, yes, but something else lingered, moving across your features despite your best efforts to bury it away. 

“No,” you confessed, with a yearning deeper than he felt he had any right to know. 

He thought back on what you told him, the bits and pieces you shared about your life. It was never obvious, just comments that slipped through, as if by accident. 

You didn’t know your mother. Your father was little more than a memory. You never mentioned any siblings. A flurry of names and faces filled your stories from across Faerun, but they never stayed the same between tellings. Now that he gave it proper thought, he couldn’t think of a single one of them you had named friend. 

He had to wonder how many nights you suffered through a fever alone, how many times you bandaged your own wounds and kept your own company on long nights in the middle of nowhere. 

You hadn’t given him permission to go out of the kindness of your heart. You had expected him to. You just wanted to give yourself the illusion of control over when. 

And yet, you asked him to stay. 

“Well, that settles it,” he soothed. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Your lips parted as if to say something more, but you closed it again swallowing the words back down. 

He counted himself grateful. He was liable to say any number of foolish things if you let him. 

Slowly, your eyes began to droop as sleep overcame you once more. 

As promised, he didn’t move, not daring to so much as shift your head. 

Maybe…maybe this was your price. He couldn’t be sure. He doubted he would ever be sure of anything with you, but maybe this was what you wanted; somebody to care. 

It was a dangerous notion. He had never provided anything real before. The concern he felt for you now was against his will. If he started caring for you on purpose, who knew where that might lead; the things he would be willing to do, all for you. 

He blinked the thought away. He was getting ahead of himself. A little went a long way, especially with you. Honestly, it would be almost too easy; a kind word here, a helpful hand there, and he would have you curled around his finger in no time. It wasn’t so different from what he had done before. All he needed to do was not care anymore than he already did. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He could stop any time he wanted. 

It was the thought that kept him through the night, the one he repeated to himself as he came as close to holding you as he dared. 

He had a plan now. What could possibly go wrong? 

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