#his silence is deafening and it makes me fucking sick

[mountain-in-springtime]

the cody ko allegations going on make me so sick

[cimmanonrowl]

Don’t Blame Me pt.1

Part Two | Masterlist

The moment you laid eyes on SSA Aaron Hotchner, you just know that man will be yours one way or another— no matter what it takes. And if Penelope Garcia was on your trail trying to track you down, no one would blame you for crossing all the lines just to get a split second of Aaron Hotchner’s undivided attention.

Pairing: aaron hotchner x stalker!reader

Theme: spicy hotshot

Contents: age gap, implied female masturbation, unsolicited nudes & sexual videos, powerplay: boss/subordinate relationship, stalking, obsessive behaviour.

He didn’t even look at you.

Not with a polite glance, not even a quick peek.

Aaron Hotchner just didn’t fucking care.

When you woke up this morning, you had such high hopes for your first official internship day at the BAU Headquarters. You woke up early to prepare everything. You put on your best outfit: a soft pink blouse paired with a tailored pencil skirt; a calculated attempt to catch Aaron’s eye. You even did your make-up prettily and sprayed your best perfume from Paris— all in the hopes of getting his attention.

Nothing.

And hell be damned if that doesn’t make you furious.

Earlier, as Aaron stepped inside the elevator just when it was about to close, you caught almost instantly how his presence commanded the small space. The two other agents standing behind you greeted him politely, which he only acknowledged with a quick nod.

You watched him in keen interest through his reflection on the elevator wall. Aaron looked so fucking good in his dark suit; the sharp lines of his coat emphasizing his broad shoulders. In the early morning hours, his eyebrows are already tugged to a frown. And you thought to yourself, if only you could kiss that frown away, you’d be on your knees to make sure he stays in a good mood the entire day.

You quietly leaned to one side, moving a bit in an attempt to get him to look your way. Your sleek pencil skirt was fairly fitting, hugging your figure tightly. You even fuss with the collar of your blouse, tossing your hair and showing the faint outline of the delicate necklace you have on. But Aaron Hotchner never once acknowledged your presence, not even a simple glance at where you are standing.

His attention was absorbed completely by his phone conversation, his deep voice a quiet mumble while the elevator purred gently in the background.

“Yes, Reid. We need to have those reports by Friday,” He said, his tone firm but patient. “No, no exceptions. I expect a fair amount of paperwork from each one of you.”

“Of course I know you’ve been taking in some of their loads,” He continued. “They can handle it, Reid. Just take the day off.”

You felt a tug of frustration at the pit of your stomach. How could he not notice you? You cleared your throat softly, a rather desperate shot to get him to look at you, hoping to divert his attention to something else other than his sick colleague on the phone.

But Aaron’s focus didn’t waver.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow. Get well soon, Reid,” he said softly, ending the call with a quick press of his thumb.

The silence in the elevator was deafening. You could feel the wild beating of your heart against your chest, a bitter mix of anticipation and frustration. Aaron’s presence was too overwhelming; all you wanted to do was be as close to him as possible and get his attention as fast as you could.

From the very start, you knew that he was a very busy man. You suspected that when you started doing research about him... but what you didn’t expect was to become another blurry figure seen in the periphery of his busy life.

After being checked in as a new intern by the office security, you were directed to a conference room where several other interns and new recruits were already gathered. The room thrummed with nervous energy, everyone chattering amongst themselves about the prospects of finally working with the Bureau.

“Hi, everyone. Good morning,” A tall, blonde woman with gentle features and a clipboard stepped to the front of the room. “I’m Agent Seavers. Welcome to the Behavioral Analysis Unit Headquarters. Today, we’ll be covering the rules and expectations for your time here.”

As Agent Seavers led the orientation, outlined the protocols, discussed confidentiality agreements, and the importance of teamwork, you found your thoughts drifting to Aaron. Your eyes occasionally flickered to the glass door, expecting him to walk in at any moment, to give a welcome speech or even to take a look at the new interns.

He never appeared.

Hours crawled excruciatingly slow as several agents took turns addressing the group. They discussed the history of the BAU, the structure of the team, and the critical nature of their work— as if everyone was stupid not to do their own research. You had envisioned today differently; a chance to catch Aaron’s attention, to impress and charm him on your very first day.

You couldn’t shake your bitterness because none of it happened.

When lunchtime came, the orientation showed no signs of ending. The agents gathered in small groups to discuss case studies and get to know each other a little. All the while, you kept glancing at the clock and the cafeteria door, hoping to catch a glimpse of SSA Aaron Hotchner.

Still nothing.

And it wasn’t until late afternoon that Agent Seavers answered a question from another intern that jolted you out of your raging thoughts.

“I know most of you are expecting to meet SSA Hotchner’s team but unfortunately they were called out this morning for an urgent case out of town,” She explained with a friendly smile. “They’ll be gone for a few days, but don’t worry, your work here is needed for our ongoing cases.”

This brought a swell of anger and resentment to your body. Aaron had left without a word— not that he’s obliged to inform you… yet. He hadn’t even spared you a glance today or given the impression that he knows you exist at all!

Fucking hell, you feel angry and bitter. You waited patiently for this internship for months and crafted your plan for so long. The man of your desires had been so close today, yet he never felt so distant as he did before.

Four days had passed in a blur of reports, briefings, and training sessions. You threw yourself into your initial tasks, trying to prove your skills and take your mind off your growing frustration with Aaron Hotchner. Each day you’d expect to see him in his office, but the BAU team had not yet returned from their out-of-town case. And truthfully, your impatience was mounting.

What’s the point of going through all the troubles to get into the Bureau if Aaron Hotchner won’t be around, right?

Right.

It was Friday when you finally received a message to report to his office. Your heart was hammering against your ribs as you made your way down the hall, rehearsing everything you might say to him. You spent a good fifteen minutes in the ladies’ room earlier, reapplying your make-up, brushing your hair, and making sure the first button of your blouse was undone and that you subtly pushed your boobs to be available just for him.

Finally.

You knocked on the door with eagerness. And after a few seconds, you heard his deep, authoritative voice call from inside his office.

“Yes, come in.”

You stifled a giggle as you felt a tingly sensation at your core. You spent countless nights fantasizing about hearing that voice in bed- breathless and hoarse as he rammed his big cock in and out of your tight cunt.

“Good morning, sir. You asked for me?” You said, feigning confusion and innocence as you pushed the door open.

Aaron stood behind his desk with his dark eyes focused intently on a stack of files. He looked up as you entered, his expression turning polite, but didn’t carry any hint of recognition whatsoever.

You kindly offered a handshake after introducing yourself. “Lovely to see you again, Agent Hotchner.”

“Are you by chance related to Chancellor Valdez?” He asked curiously, shaking your hand with a firm grip.

“Yes, sir. He’s my stepfather,” You smiled through gritted teeth. How can he remember your stepdad but not recognize your face? “I attended your two-day seminar at our University last year. I was in the front row.”

“Hmm…” He nodded simply with a smile, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

You sat down obediently, trying to calm the thrill rushing through your veins. The room was silent for a moment as he continued to look through a file. After a few moments, he set the folder aside and met your gaze.

“I understand that you’ve been here for a week now,” Aaron began, his tone professional and too cold for your liking. “I hope your orientation has been thorough.”

“Yes, sir,” You replied without hesitation, very eager to please him in every way. “I’ve been looking forward to working with you… and the team since your seminar.”

Aaron nodded, leaning back in his chair. “That’s actually what I wanted to discuss with you today. You will be transferred to Anderson’s team effective immediately after a change in the staffing plan.”

Wait. What?

What?

You blinked as you absorbed his news, feeling as though you’d been slapped in the face. “I’m sorry, sir?”

“I understand that you wanted to work with our team, but this decision is final. Agent Anderson’s team needs additional support, mainly analytical, and your skills will be valuable there.”

“But I wanted to be under Miss Garcia’s guidance,” You argued quickly. “I- I admire her work as an analyst. I want to know- I mean, learn- what exactly she’s doing. I want to be part of your team.”

Aaron’s expression remained calm, nodding in understanding. “I understand that was the initial staffing plan, but the analyst on Agent Anderson’s team will be transferred to a different organization. You will be trained by him on his 30 days of rendering.”

“But Aar— Agent, sir,” You corrected yourself quickly, stumbling over your own words. You even leaned forward to his desk as panic rose in your system. “I can contribute here. I know I can, sir. Just give me a chance to prove myself.”

“This isn’t about your abilities, trust me...” He sighed, rubbing his temples briefly before responding. “It’s about the needs of the unit. Anderson’s team is handling several critical cases that require immediate attention. Analysts are vital members for us.”

With how desperate you are to convince him, you almost missed the way his curious eyes flickered down the unbuttoned part of your shirt and the red, lacy strap of your bra.

“But there are other interns you can transfer to their team...” You clenched your fists, your mind racing nonstop.

You’ve spent days and weeks trying to convince your parents to let you join the Bureau. They weren’t happy with your whim but they gave in eventually. You polished your plan by building new connections and using the ones your parents already have. You begged your mother and stepfather to pull some strings, use your family connections, to make sure you would be assigned to Aaron Hotchner’s team, yet this still happens. What are the odds of that?

All you want to be is as close to him as possible and it’s slipping away right in front of you. “I don’t understand...”

Aaron’s gaze softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. “This is for the Bureau’s sake. Believe me, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to grow and learn with Anderson’s team. Besides, you can always turn to Miss Garcia if you need help.”

“I don’t want to be with Anderson’s team. I want to be here. With you.” You stood up, anger and disappointment lidded your expression.

Aaron remained in his position, leaning on his swivel chair with a slight frown, his eyes locked onto yours. For a moment, something unreadable passed over his face. Then, he sighed deeply.

“I’m sorry, but the decision is made. Report to Agent Anderson first thing on Monday.”

“Agent Hotchn—”

“That’s all for now. Close the door on your way out.”

“Sir, is there a chance we can talk about th—”

“As I said, this decision is final. Thank you.”

Feeling defeated and absolutely furious, you turned without saying a word and left his office in silence. The door closed behind you with a soft thud, and you stood in the empty hallway, trying to process what had just happened.

You had been so sure that this was your chance to get him, and now it felt like everything was falling apart.

You spent one year and three months preparing everything and getting to where you are now. You made a backup for a backup plan for a backup plan you made. But all those plans were to ensure you make him like you one way or another. You had so much self-assurance that you didn’t bother thinking about what would happen if you were re-assigned to another team that isn’t Aaron’s.

But in your defense, it shouldn’t be your problem. Your stepfather promised he’d make sure you will be sent to Aaron’s team. It was an obvious fucking mistake to trust him.

The dining room was filled with the heavy smell of roasted chicken and vegetables, the clinking of silverware, and the distant hum of a French song in the background. As she often did, your mother had gone all out for this monthly family dinner. The table was set with the finest china and a bouquet of fresh flowers displayed at the center.

You sat across from your parents, poking at your food with a distant look on your face. Silently, you listened to both of them engaging in a conversation, knowing that they were subtly watching you from their seats.

Your mother smiled warmly at you as she caught your eyes.

“How’s your first month with Anderson’s team going, dear?” she asked, her voice full of interest and concern.

You just shrugged, your fork pausing mid-air. “It’s fine,” you replied blandly, not wanting to delve into the details. “It was my trainer’s last day of rendering today, I’m officially on my own on Monday.”

“I heard Anderson’s team is handling some critical cases. Must be exciting,” your stepfather smiled.

“Yeah, right.”

Both of your parents exchanged confused glances.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

“Exciting, Dad? Is that what you call it?” You dropped your fork with a soft clatter, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “It’s not where I’m supposed to be. I told you a million times I want to be on Aaron’s team. That’s where I belong- with him.”

Your mother’s brow furrowed in concern, taken aback by your sudden outburst. “Sweetheart, we know how much you wanted that, but Anderson’s team is a great opportunity, too.”

You shook your head stubbornly. “No, Mother, it’s not. You know what I want and now I’m stuck with Anderson’s team because of some stupid staffing decision. You told me you’d handle it!”

Your stepfather set down his glass, his expression serious.

“These things happen in the field, dear. It doesn’t mean you won’t have your chance with Aaron’s team later on.”

“Later on?” You snapped, your voice rising. “I wanted my chance now. And you two—” You darted your eyes accusingly at them, your anger directed outward— “You’re both so well-connected. You have common friends with Aaron, for God’s sake. Why didn’t you make sure I stay on his team?”

Your stepfather’s eyes widened in shock. Your voice was hoarse in desperation and anger. They know how much you wanted to join the Bureau, albeit out of nowhere, but you begged and begged until they had to let you go. They had no idea where this obsession with Aaron’s team came from.

“We didn’t think it was necessary to interfere, sweetheart. We believed in your abilities and thought you’d succeed on your own terms.”

“But we did talk to some of our friends inside, dear.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Well, whatever you did didn’t do me any good, did it? All those connections and it’s still useless. Aaron’s the only one who matters to me, and now I’m not even on his radar!”

“Sweetheart,” Your stepfather cut you off gently, “Aaron’s a professional man. I’m sure these decisions aren’t personal.”

“Not personal? Are you hearing yourself, Dad?” You echoed incredulously. “Because this feels pretty damn personal to me. I’ve been working my ass off, trying to prove myself and make him change his mind, and I'm still in Anderson’s team! And mind you, he didn’t even notice me in the elevator on my first day!”

Your mother reached out to touch your hand, her eyes filled with concern. “Honey, what’s happening to you?”

“Since I got transferred, it’s like I don’t exist to him...” You mumbled to yourself, blinking the unshed tears pooling in the corner of your eyes.

“We’re sorry you’re feeling this way, dear. But you need to focus on doing your best where you are now. Aaron will see your dedication eventually.”

You pulled your hand away, shaking your head. “No, no, mom. I don’t want to wait for ‘eventually.’ I want him to see me now. I want to be closer, and now it’s all slipping away because you didn’t do anything to help!”

The dining room fell silent, the tension thick and palpable. Warm tears continued prickling at the corner of your eyes. Your mother and stepfather exchanged worried and confused glances, unsure of how to respond to your outburst.

“Maybe,” Your stepfather said carefully, “You should talk to Aaron directly, dear. Express your feelings and let him know how much this means to you.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “And what good would that do? He made his decision! If he wants to play hard to get then that’s exactly how we’re doing this.”

Your mother sighed, looking at you in defeat. “I’ll see what I can do, sweetheart. Maybe we should have a conversation with Aaron soon.”

It took all the courage not to roll your eyes at your mother. Of course, they’ll wait for a whole damn month before they even think of helping you out! Yet instead of lashing out, you shook your head again, standing up and tossing your napkin on the table.

“It’s too late for that now. I’ll figure it out on my own. As I always do.”

With that, you stormed out of the dining room, leaving your mother and stepfather in stunned silence.

You stormed upstairs with your heavy steps echoing through the hallways of your home. The sound of your parents’ voices faded as you distanced yourself, and the heavy thud of your bedroom door closing punctuated your frustration and your parents’ confusion about your emotional outburst.

The anger and frustration lingered just beneath your skin as you paced back and forth in your room, biting on your nail.

In the corner of the room was a large corkboard filled with pictures and news articles about Aaron Hotchner. Each photo was meticulously placed, collating the events and his achievements in the Bureau. Some were candid shots from past social parties, others were professional images you found online, and a few were even slightly blurry from your initial attempts to photograph him from a distance.

You walked over to the board, your fingers tracing the edges of a photo where Aaron was smiling— a rare, genuine smile that makes your heart race every time you see it. It was taken from the University seminar they did last year— the very first time you saw him and the same day you promised it wouldn’t be the last.

As far as you can recall, it all started with a simple admiration. He looked so handsome as he stood on the auditorium stage, his voice deep and soothing. You’ve never seen a man as authoritative yet as kind as him. On the first day, he smiled back at you on his way out of the building. On the second day, he praised your question and suggested that you work with the Bureau in the future.

If that’s not a sign that he’s interested, then what is?

On your study desk was a small journal filled with notes about Aaron. It contained details of your interactions from the very first time, his likes and dislikes, and even the dirty dreams you had about him. Now that you work with the Bureau, you’ve gotten to know his schedule, his favorite coffee shop, his lunch order, and even the route he takes to work— all thanks to the ever-kind and gullible Penelope Garcia.

She didn’t know that all the time you spent hanging out in her office, pretending to be upset and pressured as an intern analyst, was your way of gathering information about Aaron. You couldn’t do it yourself given the situation but that won’t stop you from getting Aaron Hotchner no matter what it takes.

“He doesn’t understand...” You muttered to yourself as you stared at a photo where Aaron looked particularly serious and focused. “He doesn’t see how perfect we are for each other. And all these people trying to keep us apart…”

The sound of your burner phone buzzing pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced at the screen— another notification from a spy tracking alert you had set up to track Aaron’s location. He had been seen leaving the Bureau a few hours ago, likely heading home after a long day in the office.

You bit back a smile as you checked your inbox.

3 unread messages.

You were giggling as you typed in your reply. Not even a second passed and your phone vibrated with several new notifications.

A high-pitched squeal slipped from your lips when you read his reply, blushing hard at the vulgar message. You perfectly know he’s trying to trap you and have you punished for doing something “against the law.”

Still, that didn’t stop you from sending another video with your fingers buried deep in your wet cunt and wishing to God it was Aaron’s big cock ruining your innocence instead.

Because, well, it should be his in the first place.

This is Part 1/2. Next one is pure smut.

My Achilles heel is writing short stuff and I can’t write smut without an established background so see you all in part 2! I’ll make sure to write it as filthy and as nasty as I can as a gift to anyone who enjoys part 1. 😅

[mrs-kodzuken]

empty promise ⟢ kenma k.

synopsis: you notice that your boyfriend, kuroo, of almost three years has been acting strange lately. you confront him on it and then suddenly you’ve made the decision to leave him. luckily, your best friend is always there for you.

other: cheater!kuroo x fem!reader, best friend!kenma x fem!reader, angst, break up, little mention of ED, comfort, manipulation, gas-lighting, asshole!kuroo, best friend!kenma helping rebuild reader, therapy, best friend!kenma has loved reader since 4eva eventual fluff

"Kuroo, I know it’s happening again.” You sighed, knowing this wouldn't end well, just like last time didn't end well per say either. You stared at the man across from you in the kitchen decorated with picture frames of the both of you as he hovered in front of the fridge, probably wondering why you didn't cook tonight.

“What are you talking about?” He sounded snippy; his demeanor changed as he peered his sharp gaze back at you, immediately becoming defensive. His slick, black suit that he wore leaving for work this morning was hardly as neat as it was, adding on to your suspicion. 

“You’re hiding something from me, I know it.” You finally got out, your heartbeat quickening as it usually did when you would have to confront your boyfriend of three years. It was upsetting that you would have this anxious-riddening feeling that made you sick everytime you defied him. 

“Seriously? This again? You’re fucking kidding me,” He snapped, slamming the refrigerator door shut, into which you jumped at the loud, sudden noise—eyes widening. 

“Yes, Kuroo, this again. I can't set it aside any longer; the feelings are tearing me apart.” You attempted to say, “I just want trust, and—and I feel like I’m not getting it from you,” You stammered, trying to reason with the man; his expression held anger as if he couldn't believe you felt this way, especially about him.

“There you go with your crazy talk; are you sure you’ve been talking with the therapist Y/n?” He accused you, the scoff apparent in his voice as he rolled his eyes. 

Furrowing your brows, you couldn’t believe that he would ask something like that. “Yes, at every appointment, and sometimes I text—“ You were abruptly cut off, the anxiety ate away at you, making you chip your nail polish. 

"I just think you’re being dramatic. Honestly, I think you’re the one who's making this relationship go without trust,” He hammered in on his accusations. The kitchen light flickered as a few beats of silence passed between you two. 

The absolute quietude in the house was almost deafening. The living room TV wasn't on; no soft music, nothing. No noise except the small buzzing from the refrigerator that you have always, always hated.

You took a deep breath and tried to collect your thoughts, you followed the steps your therapist gave you for moments like this. 

“Kuroo, where were you tonight? You’re home extremely later than you said.” You purse your lips, wanting to know, but the ache in your stomach was becoming too much. At this point, it hurt to love him, to question him. You knew what he would say, you could probably even guess the exact words that would come out of his mouth.

His taller frame stood across the kitchen; the usual loving eyes now turned cold and hard and it was all directed at you.

“At the office, I was working.” He snarled, “Oh, you think I’m fucking someone at my job now, huh?” He raised his voice, your eyes widening at the thoughts your mind crept to, but you wanted to discuss it first. Wanted to calmly talk about it, this is what your therapist told you to do. 

“No, Kuroo, I don’t think anything; I didn’t say anything like that. "All I said was that I had a feeling and I wanted to talk with you about it.” This is what your therapist had specifically told you to do; you could feel the crease between your eyebrows becoming more apparent with every sharp word Kuroo said. 

“Oh yeah, because I’m totally cheating on you. I told you that last time would never happen again; why are you having these ‘feelings’?” He rudely said, as if you didn't notice the signs.

The late nights, the alcohol on his breath, the lack of physical intimacy with you, the ruffled, messy state of his clothes and hair. It was painfully obvious at this point. You felt ashamed for not saying something sooner. 

“..There was just one night where you came home smelling like another woman and I—I just don’t know Kuroo. I wanted to make sure that last time wasn’t happening again.” You averted your gaze, not being able to stand the hatred in your boyfriend's eyes. You felt small against his larger frame and even larger, hurtful words. 

“Ha! Isn’t that something? You’re probably cheating on me with how much you work from home.” He dryly chuckled, throwing accusations as if they were sharpened knives now. 

“Kuroo, why aren’t you listening? You saying things like that hurt me, you know? I've been faithful since we agreed to be in this relationship. I'm just worried that history is repeating itself.” You try to get his attention back on the topic; he just wasn't listening to you.

You could feel your eyes starting to water, the buildup of arguing, the ache in your stomach, and the painful incriminations he was throwing. It was beyond hurtful, it ached.

“You’re delusional if you think you smelled another woman on me. There was no one at the office; nothing has happened since last April; nothing.” The bellowing of his voice was meant to try and beckon you to listen to him. And you were finally silent; you knew your pathetic voice would waver if you said something, anything right now. 

You watched Tetsuro open a bottle of alcohol, not caring that he just openly hurt your feelings without any regard to how you might actually feel and didn’t try to console you either. 

Opening your mouth to try and say something to reason with him, you couldn’t even say a singular syllable. 

“Just fucking drop it,” He muttered before trying to slide past you into the cupboard to find something to eat. 

"I’m leaving you.” Your voice harrowingly got out, and you glared at the floor, hating that you got dealt these shitty cards. You carefully took off the promise ring that you now realize was nothing more than just an empty promise and set it on the cold counter. 

"Fine, you'll realize that you're the problem. The toxic, insecure, crazy one and then come crawling back to me,” He said without a hint of remorse; you knew though. You knew that he wasn't your caring, sweet, helpful boyfriend anymore; he was someone's. And you damn sure were not going to fight for him. 

You watched as he left the house through the back door; you didn’t bother to check Life360 as you probably knew where he was going. You were right, unfortunately yet again. 

Not being able to take the heartbreak, you decided to pack. You wanted to leave this home; you wished Kuroo made you happy like he did in the beginning of the relationship, but instead all he does is make you stressed and upset. 

You gather your at-home work supplies, main toiletries, important documents, sentimentals, and clothes to last you three whole weeks. You could replace everything else; hell, you were a working woman, not some rando he could kick to the street to make you fend for yourself.

You figured he’d clear out the rest of your things before he invited his new girl here. 

You carefully put your personal belongings in your car before leaving the key to the house under the front door mat. You decided to take a few minutes to give yourself a cry; you needed it. Your entire life of what you thought you knew was completely destroyed within thirty minutes; you had to cry or else you wouldn't be okay. 

When you pulled out of the driveway, you called Kenma from your car. Kenma has been your best friend since college; he actually introduced you and Kuroo to each other.

And look how that turned out. Although, you had hardly spoken to him in a few because Kuroo cut off your contact with anyone that wasn’t him—mostly any male. 

Once the dialing ended, Kenma picked up. You tried to gather what to say in a few short moments, watching the streetlamps pass you by as you drove.

“Can I stay at your place for a few days?” You asked before he could ever say 'hello'. You cringed at your voice, which was raspy from the argument and the tears you shed. 

“Oh, yeah, sure. What happened?" Concern laced Kenma's voice for you; he was always so observant of your emotional state. But then again, you did sound horrible right now. 

“Kuroo cheated on me again; I left him this time; I should've—I just should’ve left the first instead.” You tried to keep it together and not have to pull over and cry about the situation. 

There was silence over the phone for a few minutes except the small sniffles and clearing of your throat. "I’m sorry, Y/n. You deserve better than someone who easily breaks your heart like this.” You could tell that Kenma felt guilty because he was the one who set the both of you up on a date.

"I’m sorry that I’m going to crash at your place to get my life together; I know I’m a lot.” You sighed, parking in his driveway. His house was as huge as ever; living the rich life did suit him though. 

“No, you’re not a lot. Things happen, and I’m glad I’m someone you can lean on.” He genuinely reassured you, peeking out of the living room curtains and seeing your headlights, then ending the phone call.

You gathered your things and headed inside to Kenma's house, not having been here in a couple. It was just as admirable as the first time you were here.

“Were you just streaming right now?" You called in the house curiously; you could hear gaming sounds in the background of the phone call, they were much too familiar to listen to. 

Kenma came from around the corner of the kitchen; he was in his typical comfortable merch that he made. His hair was pulled back, and he had a bowl of curry in his hand. 

He paused, taking your form just like you did to him, except he was wary of your blotchy face and red eyes. 

"..Yeah—yeah, I was. But don’t feel bad; I was supposed to get something to eat anyway.” He half smiled at you, a small crinkle in his eyes. 

“You can make yourself comfortable in any room in the house; I'm going to finish my stream. If you need me, you know where to find me.” He turned away from you with a glance that you didn't see as you got familiar with his home again. 

“Thanks, Ken,” You mumbled as he was already gone. You were going straight for the room that has always brought you comfort—Kenma's bedroom.

Collapsing on his fluffy bed was the highlight of your night, letting the feelings of the breakup wash over you. You knew that it would be something you'd bring up with your therapist this week; she would help you and talk you through your mind process like she always did. 

Your eyes wandered as you controlled your breathing, grounding yourself with the distant memory that you last had about Kenma's room. It was always your safe space back then. You sighed and rolled over onto your back.

After lounging around and letting your emotions process thoroughly, you finally got up, the heartache from the past few hours still fresh. 

"I didn’t expect you would pick my room, but that’s okay. It brings back memories of our sleepovers.” Kenma's voice rang out, opening his black-painted bedroom door, effectively startling you, which made you jump. 

You regained your posture and gave a small, worried smile. “Are you sure? I can leave. Sorry, this just, just brings me comfort, you know?” You softly smiled, gazing around the room that you both would always share. 

Back then, if Kenma hadn't introduced you to Kuroo, you would have probably confessed to him. The thought made your eyes widen a bit, and you blinked it to the back of your mind because anything else could come of it. 

He leaned on the door frame and said, "No, it’s okay for you to stay. Were you about to sleep or something?” He raised a brow, not knowing that you planned to sleep with him. Nevertheless, he didn't care because, after all, he's missed you. 

You winced, not fond of the idea of sleep right now. “Not really. I know I shouldn’t mess up my sleep schedule like this, but life kind of got in the way." You dryly chuckled, gathering your comfortable clothes that you would usually sleep in at your now-old home. 

You sighed with despair, not being able to keep it in. The silence only egged you on as Kenma waited, his gaze only on you.

"I just keep feeling sorry for myself. How I should’ve been stronger to leave instead of being so lenient with him cheating on me so easily.” You were getting teary-eyed again, hating the situation you could've left from but didn't.

A soothing voice and an even more soothing hand surrounded your senses, trying to calm you. “That's normal. You thought you could trust again, so you tried it, and he proved you wrong. It just shows that you both weren’t compatible, a shitty thing for me to say, but I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you; you know me.” You could even hear the smile in his voice at that last part.

However, you were oblivious to the painstakingly ache in his posture due to the guilt of him putting you through that. 

“Yeah, I do. Thank you for always being honest with me. I really appreciate it, Kenma. It means a lot. You’re practically the only person I trust—to always give me the truth.” You paused at that bit, realizing how awfully true it was. 

“Always. I don't think I’d lie about anything; I don’t really see a point in it.” Kenma pondered out loud before going to light a few candles and turn on a warm-colored lamp for you since you’d be in here.

“Don’t worry about finding someplace to go yet. It’s okay for you to recuperate from life for a few days first.” He finished, his kindness for you glaringly obvious, but that's all you took it for, was kindness. You nodded, physically there but mentally not. 

“What are you doing?” Broke you out of your trance-like state; staring at a computer screen for hours on end didn't do your eyesight any good.

“Working..” You mumbled out, knowing he was able to scold you about this. You never stayed up late to do work, to party, to drink, anything. You felt like you were boring and this was a way to combat it, especially with you feeling guilty for yourself.

“Why? You’ve had like three hours of sleep; I thought you were going to recuperate from life.” Kenma asked, he had noticed that you were knocked out earlier. He came into his room to check up on you, but you were sound asleep, peacefully. Knowing you were finally safe from harm in any way made him feel good inside. 

"I tried; it didn’t work.” You turned back to your screen, wheeling around in Kenma’s office chair. You didn’t bother pretending like you didn’t know what you could and could not touch or act new with him. 

“Have you thought about trying harder?” He snorted, but he genuinely cared about your wellbeing right now. He flicked on the above light, it was better than nothing right now, he also cared about your eyes. 

"I’m only joking Y/n. want me to stay here with you or at least bring you something?” You saw his reflection on the screen, being able to notice his change of clothes now that you were sitting in complete darkness with the only light from your computer shining. 

“No, I’m fine.” You said, earning yourself a squint from Kenma, not that you could see it as you were still typing away.

“You’ve been here at my house for almost eight hours and have yet to eat or drink something. Restricting your body from things like that as a poor coping mechanism isn’t healthy.” He scolded, being actually serious. Ironic how he learned that from his best friend in high school, however, Kenma wasn’t even sure he wanted to call Kuroo his best friend after what happened tonight.

"I—I know that, I wasn’t going to.” You stammered, trying to think of an excuse with him standing right there, taking a few small steps to further his point. “Okay, maybe I was going to, but now I obviously won’t.” You rolled your eyes, not bothering to lie to him. 

"I’ll bring you something, and then we’ll see if you change your mind about working.” He patted your head like he used to, it brought you back to an easier life, a simpler life where you were actually happy and didn’t live your life anxiously. 

Being with Kenma was like breathing, it was simple. 

You didn’t feel insecure because you didn’t have make up on, or that you cried, or probably didn't look the best right now. Kenma wasn’t Kuroo, Kenma cared. 

You knew he always had and probably always would. It was beyond palliating to know that Kenma cared about the important things like whether you were okay, if you had eaten or drank anything, if you needed someone to support you emotionally or help you vent.

He didn’t care about the other things like pressuring you to always look perfect or to stray out of your comfort zone for business parties with people who made you uncomfortable. 

That brought you back to the present. “This, my god, this is so good Kenma. I'm stuffed.” You groaned at the last bite of the delicious meal Kenma made you. The pristine glass plates that Kenma knew you loved, he plated your food on that like he always used to do when you stayed over.

"I’m glad you like it. You can have the recipe if you want it.” He offered, sitting comfortably on the extra chair he pulled up so he could make sure you ate and finished the meal. 

“That’d be perfect, thank you.” You smiled an actual happy smile, you loved when Kenma did things for you without you having to ask. 

“How do you feel now?” He took your plate in his hands, standing up and wiping off the desk with your unused napkin. You watched him and yawned before responding. 

“Kind of sleepy; I just want to lay down or something.” You mumbled, rubbing your sleepy eyes, your body finally going into relaxation after he had pulled you out of the state you were in. 

“Told you.” Kenma pointedly said, “Go on, I’ll shut this stuff down for you.” He resisted the urge to kiss on your temple, watching your figure sleepy shuffle into the hallway. 

“Thank you, Kennie.” You sleepily said before leaving, hoping he would come sleep with you too, you missed those nights. The gloamings you spent with him was comforting, you wished you didn’t trade that up for someone like Kuroo who hardly ever wanted to be away from work for you. 

That night, you went to bed sound asleep. Unfortunately, Kenma couldn’t bring himself to 

“You make me feel like my breakup wasn’t the end of the world.”

“That’s because it wasn’t the end of the world. How long have you gone without basic human decency?” Kenma asked you, already knowing the answer to that.

Between the last few days, Kenma’s been your listener, besides your therapist, to help you overcome your breakup. The way he has cared for you without expecting anything else in return was endearing, almost too endearing that it hurt your heart.

You knew your feelings by the end of the few days of staying at Kenma’s, the feelings that came back from when you both used to be close. However, even if he was ready for you, you weren’t for him. You had to go. 

Moving the conversation along away from the awkwardness that surrounded you both, "I’m glad I got a therapist a while back because between you and her, I think I’ve helped myself a good amount from the breakup, and it’s only been almost two weeks.” You surprisingly said, grateful for the fact that you mentally checked out of the relationship a while ago but still needed to process it. 

You continued, not watching Kenma but your phone to show him. “That reminds me; I’m going to start looking for apartments so I can be out of your hair soon. You’re amazing for letting me stay so long, Ken.” Smiling, you pushed the lit up screen towards his view, showing the apartments that were way nicer than you expected. It even had an elevator! You were fondly surprised at that. 

As you kept raving about all these fancy apartments you found, occasionally scrolling through the apartment list to remember the details, you were interrupted abruptly by Kenma. 

"You can stay." Was all he said, that’s when you finally looked at him. The room seemed to still as you met eye contact with him too, in his eyes…you could tell he didn’t want you to go.

He wasn’t ready for you to leave after he finally just got you back. Unable to eventually stop you from going, he had to tell you how he felt about you leaving. 

You were speechless when it came to responding to him. Of course, you wanted to stay but it would go against what you planned, however you knew what you would say. Besides, you haven’t even put a payment in for the apartment number yet. 

Kenma scratched the back of his neck, a random habit he never got rid of when you were around. "If you'd like, it's nice to have you around more often." The tenderness in his eyes was just so familiar now to you that you just had to accept his offer.

Living with your best friend who you may have a slight simmering crush for, knowing that it was requited too wasn’t the worst idea. Quite frankly, it seemed like one of the better options at this point. 

And so, you happily agreed, you finally got the taste of comfort again and you desperately wanted to keep it. Your mind felt at peace, not racing with horrid thoughts all the time about whether or not Kenma had ill will towards you. You loved, and needed, your best friend because the nights he brought you were everything you lacked without him. 

The warmth from the lamps that he turned on every evening as soon as the sun went down because he knew you loved them. Kenma would always light a small candle or two before you both got comfortable on the bed that you now sleep in with him. He even kept your Nintendo switch that he bought for you because you expressed interest in it once.

You always wondered where it went too, however, nights with Kenma dwelled on animal crossing and your favorite sweet treat. You didn’t have to worry about restricting yourself to no end because you were told to keep your shape up.

Looking up from your switch, you watched Kenma’s concentrated face, loving the little details you could see up close, especially his blue light glasses. You also adored how he kept his hair long, sporadically putting it in a pony.

The face framing pieces of hair, that you now play with every so often, were your favorite.

“Ken…thank you, for letting me come back into your life. I wish I never left.” You paused, letting him hold eye contact with you.

“It was worth it though, because now I know.” You hinted, but didn’t say anything else. Relishing in the fact that Kenma’s response was purely just to pull you closer to him. 

a/n: requests are open! hope you like & this is all my work <3

[vixen7243]

Undivided Attention: Team bonding

TF141 X AFAB!Reader

Masterlist | Soap | Snake in the Garden | Team bonding | Like a Dream

MDNI!!!

Tag list 🖤: @jenniferpendragon @amyg1509

Hearing John's rough panicked voice sent a shiver down your spine as you squeezed your knees closer to your chest holding your breath. "Y/N? Dear, please, open the door. What's going on?"

"What do you care?" You croaked out sniffling, the silence deafening making you laugh, "Never cared before."

"Gorgeous, let u-"

"No, no, no. How many times do I have to say ..." Pushing yourself up, "no, " Turning and unlocking the door, "and to just go away?" Swinging the door open you glared at all of them.

They had all stiffened at the sight of you, your eyes were blood shot, cheeks flushed, dark bags under your eyes, you looked miserable and angry. "Luv."

"Go to Angie, tell her all your problems." The look of compete shock made you laugh pushing John's chest making him step back a little, "Didn't think I knew? She can't help but to walk around base talking about how all of you are pent up dogs eye fucking her and begging her to stay with you all." You hated even more that they were just standing there quietly, fear and worry in their eyes.

"Bonnie-"

"Don't, just..." Taking a deep breath as a few tears slid down your cheeks you groaned, "I may look stupid, we never said anything on being exclusive so you guys can do anything and one that you want. I know it's none of my business." The hurt in their eyes as you continued to speak make you choke up, heart clench but they hurt you first. You didn't want to hold back, "But seriously? John? As much as I've comforted you, held you and we've fucked I really thought you would be nice enough to tell me that you guys had some other medic on the missions." The visible flinch as if you had just slapped him across the face made you scowl, you waited a beat, still they said nothing. "Why didn't you tell me you replaced me?"

"I didn't-"

"Yes you did."

He scowled right back at you, you know he believes he didn't technically replace you, but to you, he really did. "I wasn't trying to dear, I jus..." You started crying, he froze, as he tried to step forward to wrap his arms around you but you stepped back shutting the door locking it again. Sobbing you fell to your knees, "Darling, I'm sorry ple-"

"She's touched all of you, I've seen it, none of you push her away, none of you do or say anything. She's clung to Johnny like a fucking desperate slag and you let her! Kyle is so fucking friendly with her you stand right in her shadow. You let her touch your beard, you let her..." Hiccupping you clenched your chest, "And Simon, you were actually gentle with her." You felt so sick, so tired, "I can't look at any of you, I may be overreacting but I thought that after everything you guys would actually care about me." Your sobs broke your speech up but they understood you loud and clear and they broke with you, as you laid before the door crying they all sat down in the hall breaking down with you.

It wasn't till late in the evening that you pushed yourself up and went to your bathroom sighing, taking a quick shower before slipping on a tank top and shorts, combing your hair you looked at your door. Taking small quiet steps you tried listening to the hall, hoping that they had gone to their rooms you opened your door and before you could close the door again Simon held the door open, "Luv, please let us talk to you."

Fighting to try and close it before groaning you pushed back, "What?"

You hated how they invaded your space and all you still wanted was to just lay down with them and have amnesia and live in ignorant bliss. God your heart practically stopped when Johnny got in your view, his eyes just as blood shot from crying, you've barely ever seen him cry before and the few times you have it kills you. "We've told her so many times to not touch us, that she is just there for papers that there's a medic." Kyle said, your eyes still on Johnny.

"We're not saying what you saw didn't happen, but please believe us when we say we reject her, every time." John said, you looked at all of them slowly, they looked just as miserable.

"Guys have only just glanced in my general direction and you guys loose your minds, have done things for even brushing past me. Yet there's a girl throwing herself at all of you and you don't do a thing to her but say some words that mean nothing to her." You say wrapping your hands around your waist.

"She'll get hers luv."

"Why, because now I'm upset and know?" You scoffed pouting.

As Kyle and Johnny slowly walked to you Simon's eyes caught sight of your papers on your desk and while you looked to the other two he read the papers. "Bonnie, ye are everything to us, we've set boundaries and granted we weren't as hard as when things happen to ye but that's only because even if she were to of done anything more compared to the guys getting close to ye..." He was before you and as much as you knew what he was saying that they could handle themselves against her and that she would certainly be at a bit of a risk if the men on base decided to go against her consent. It angered you and annoyed you but feeling the heat radiating from his body made your body tingle and hands itch to reach out and touch him.

"Gorgeous, we'd never let her get anywhere near us more than she was even able to. You're the only person we have ever let near, embraced or loved."

Snapping your head to look at Kyle your eyes widened, "What is this?" You looked at Simon and froze. "You're trying to transfer?"

Fuck, you felt lightheaded as they all looked at you, "I-"

"Darling." You looked at John, he walked up to you, cupping your cheeks he made you look into his eyes, your heart pounded in your ears as everything zoned in on him.

"I'm sorry." Not what you wanted to say but it was the first thing that came out, you felt like you all were mirroring each other in emotions and it was weighing so heavily on your heart how broken they were with you. "It was all too much for me, I couldn't st-stay. I didn't want to see you all with her li-like that." Grabbing his wrists you nuzzled your head into his hands sniffling. "I don't want to lose you guys but..." Looking up you sighed. "I'm tired."

Simon and Kyle flanked you, while Johnny pressed his chest to your back, hands grabbing onto you as John leaned down and kissed you. Breaking, you pushed into him and kissed him back, you felt everyone's lips on your neck and shoulders whispers of them declaring their love and how you own them in every way you ever could. Gasping against John's lips as Johnny ground into you whimpering of apologies and pleas to not leave him. Turning your head you kissed Kyle, hand reaching for John's shoulder holding him close. You'd never been with all of them at once, this was new and exciting as you were on the receiving end of their praise and love, their rough hands gently massaging and groping.

Turning to Simon you moved his baclava up enough to kiss him, his tongue invading your mouth making you moan as Kyle nipped at your neck. Trembling slightly you gasped as you fully turned for Johnny who wrapped his arms around you holding you tightly as he kissed you moaning with you. Feeling as everyone was easing your clothes off, you leaned back slightly for Simon to pull your tank top off and Kyle removed your shorts and underwear. John wrapped his arms around you from behind, as you rest your head on his shoulder you gasped arching when he bit your neck moaning as Johnny kneeled before you, lifting a leg onto his shoulder he kissed your thighs before littering hickies and bite marks along your thighs and close to your dripping cunny, moaning.

"Johnny, please." Whining you pushed your hips closer to him looking down gasping when he latched his lips onto your clit making you moan and grab onto Kyle's shoulder.

"Look so beautiful baby, no one can even come close." Kyle moaned cupping your breast moaning against your neck. Huffing you started grinding against Johnny's face reaching down with your other hand to grab his mohawk keening when he teased your hole with his fingers, his tongue flicking your clit. Already your leg was shaking under you as you turned to Simon to kiss him, your moans muffled against him as you pushed your back into John. Shaking you threw your head back against John's shoulder whimpering before a strained scream ripped from your already sore throat, hips moving quickly with Johnny's pumping fingers. Your leg slowly giving out as you panted trying to push Johnny's head from your thighs.

"Shit, Johnny, please. I came, stop fuck." Groaning you squealed surprised when Kyle grabbed your leg and Simon grabbed the other, working together they hoisted you up, John tightening his hold around your waist as Johnny groaned against your clit the vibration going straight to your spine. "Oh god." Pushing both hands into his hair you tried leaning to Kyle whimpering when you couldn't reach.

As Kyle leaned forward you both collided hungrily kissing, panting into his mouth as Simon leaned forward sucking on your nipple. Feeling the second orgasm flooding through you, you tensed in their hold whining against Kyle's lips pulling harshly onto Johnny's hair making him whimper and moan as he slurped your juices as it trickled down his hand and wrist. As Johnny leaned back he slowly pumped his fingers into you, easing you through your release smiling when Kyle pulled back and you instantly looked down at him, new tears staining your cheeks from ecstasy. Your body shivering as he eased his fingers from you gently rubbing your clit as he put both hands on your inner thighs spreading you planting a soft peck to your throbbing clit and leave open mouthed kisses along your thighs before he stood up slowly kissing you. Kyle and Simon Carefully lowered your legs while John went to your bed resting his back against the wall as he sat in the middle of it, Simon and Kyle joined him on either side while you and Johnny got lost in your own world.

Looking at the others you gasped pulling back tasting yourself now on your tongue from Johnny, crawling up between John's legs you straddle one of his legs while pulling Kyle back to yourself kissing him. Moaning as Simon grabbed your waist and moved you back and forth on John's thigh earning a groan from the both of you. Having already came twice from Johnny your cunt was dripping wet and you were sure John's pant leg was already soaked. Feeling a thick pair of fingers slide between you and John's leg you sighed as Kyle slipped his tongue into your mouth exploring every crevasse moaning when you also slipping your tongue around his practically tangling the two of you. Feeling the bed dip behind you, you sat up and looked down biting your lip as John's fingers slowly worked your overstimulated clit. Griping John's shoulders you whined, "Mark me." Gasping as Kyle also slipped his fingers down, your slick making their fingers easily pass each other and play with your clit. "Please, mark me, fuck me. I want to mark all of you. Want everyone to know- shit urgh." Your hips stuttered in Simon's grasp as both John and Kyle's fingers teased your tight hole. "Want everyone to know you're all mine. Please."

"How could we say no to that darling." John moaned as you locked your lips with his, the others finding any space on you, sucking, biting, kissing, squeezing hard sure to leave hand prints. Being swept under the waves you leaned back and went to Kyle removing yourself from John panting as you frantically started pawing at his shirt and pants removing what you could with his help. Latching yourself to his neck making him groan as you bit and sucked at him like a leach as you drew a little blood with a bite that was a little too hard but you were happy to see it already start to bruise a little. Pushing him to lay down you went down his body leaving a scattered trail hovering over his pelvic when you felt Simon grasp your hips pulling them up a little. His tongue dragged down your slit, moaning at the taste before suckling on your clit his grip on your ass spreading you for himself.

Pushing fully back against him you continued to work on leaving marks now on Kyle's thighs, his shaking just as much as yours, his cock twitching. Grabbing his shaft you slowly dragged your hand up and down watching as his stomach tightened, moaning looking down at you. Feeling a swift slap to your back side when you tried to pull to sit up happy with the littered marks on Kyle's body you gasped looking over your shoulder at Simon, "Not done ye' luvie."

"But Si." You whined pushing onto his fingers that were pumping into you. "I want Johnny." Groaning as his fingers slid out of you before he man handled you up and sat you in front of Johnny. Dazed you clawed at him, his grin and shiver of excitement pushing you to leave darker marks on his neck his groan vibrating his throat against your lips.

"Come on bonnie, don't leave an inch untouched. Mark me to yer hearts content. I'm all yers. Always have been, always will be." It didn't take you long to scratch and bite your way around his body, loving how he sounded when you would suck dark hickies into him. The whine he made when you withdrew from him made you smile as you leaned over him kissing him, his hands squeezing your already bruising hips.

"It's John's turn baby." You whispered into his ear nipping his ear lobe giggling when he groaned letting you go.

Crawling and turning to John, you smiled as he had started removing his shirt for you, helping him remove his pants you couldn't help moaning with him as the guys took turns playing with your clit, building you to another orgasm. Settling between John's thighs you suckled on his cock, his fingers scraping your scalp before fisting your hair holding you tightly. Feeling someone's fingers pumping into you as the other two abuse your clit you lifted your head up, mouth letting go of John's cock with a pop, "God, please don't stop. I'm so close." You whined grinding your hips with them, walls clenching around fingers tightly before a breathy moan left your throat. Weakly sitting up you looked at Simon, he had removed his baclava, undressing him, you slowly trailed around his body, focusing on his arms mostly knowing that the rest of his body is always covered but on some rare occasions he does pull his sleeves up at times. You still wanted people to know he was just as well marked as the rest.

Straddling Simon after being content with your work you ground on him moaning when the head of his dick kept catching your clit. Getting up to slightly hover over him as he lined himself up with you you gasped as your cunt stretched around him as you lowered down. Moving slowly with his guided movements you looked at Kyle, leaned down by him and started suckling at his cock moaning as Simon started pounding up into you grunting as your walls fluttered around him. Feeling Simon's thumb rubbing your clit you felt close and moaned around Kyle's cock as he pushed the back of your head down groaning as he came down your throat and Simon pushed up into you as he held your waist down against himself cumming deep inside you as you also came.

Panting as you were laid down onto your bed, Simon gently moving himself. You noticed that as Johnny got between your legs, lifting your legs up to his shoulders, Simon had put his baclava back on, you wondered momentarily if he was also over whelmed but your mind blanked when Johnny eased his throbbing cock into your sensitive cunt.

You didn't see the slim figure in the hall or small flash of a light but Simon and John did, both irate, having clearly seen who had caught all of them and decided to take a picture of your most vulnerable moment. For the time being they continued to focus on you, deciding to give the person in the hall a show that will be their last.

John gently ran his knuckles on your cheek as you held your head off the edge of the bed guiding his dick to your open mouth moaning as Johnny's thrusts started rocking you into John, slowly forcing you to take more of him, relaxing your throat you thoroughly blanked out as the two fucked into you. Rightly using your holes as you came again, Johnny whimpering as you milked him but he refused to stop. Drunk off of you, he pushed your thighs down to your chest, his cock ramming into you as John rested a hand on your throat moaning as he could feel his dick fucking your throat.

Digging your nails into John's hips you moaned around him when you and Johnny came, the guys all pouring out their love and claim for you. John groaned as he pushed flesh against your mouth cumming, tightening his grip on your throat feeling his cock twitch, cumming deep in you along with Johnny. As both men slowly pulled out of you, you gasped whining at the lose and stimulation as you were moved careful to lay properly in your bed, Kyle laying with you as Johnny listened to whatever Simon was whispering to him. John got in behind you, cuddling you as everyone massaged your limbs.

Yawning, you wrapped your arms around Kyle resting your head on his chest, humming as John told you how much you mean to all of them. Falling asleep you whispered back to all of them, "Love you guys." When they were sure you were sleeping, Johnny and Simon quickly got dressed and left to retrieve the disgusting little intruder while John and Kyle stayed with you. You were none the wiser of what was happening but in complete bliss.

----

Like a Dream

I've been working on trying to get this done for the past few days and good lord!!🥴 I was so scattered brained trying to remember where each guy was and just absolutely getting lost in the damn fantasy. But here, declarations of love, group therapy, and some pizaz.✨ Really hope ya'll enjoyed. I'm thinking the next post will be a wrap up of this maybe two more posts but we'll see. I do have already another story brewing in my head that's bugging to get out but I want to finish this one. Let me know what ya'll think.

[prozacpussyprincess]

PHONE SEX WITH HAZEL I NEEEED IT

WARNINGS: smut! MDNI, established relationship, reader has female anatomy, use of feminine labels, reader and hazel are in college together, swearing, phone sex, reader is a bit of a tease, more dom!hazel, nudity mentioned

WC: 1076

You hadn't intended to start a fire or anything, or at least that's what you had claimed when your girlfriend called you four times in a row in the middle of her class. 

"Hi, honey," you purred into the phone. You figured you'd be nice by actually answering her fifth call. 

"Are you serious?" Hazel almost shrieked. "'Hi, honey'? That's how you answer the phone after sending me that fucking picture?" 

"What picture?" You could feel her clenching her fists on the other line at your innocent act. 

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she sighed, more impatient than exasperated. You knew what feeling was really behind her tone. "The picture of you in bed." 

You tapped at your chin, forgetting she couldn't actually see you. "Hmm, that doesn't ring a bell. Maybe you could describe it more?" 

"Your tits were out and your hands were in your panties," she blurted, sick of playing your game. "And now I'm getting in my car so I can come get in bed with you and replace your fingers with mine." 

It was so hard to pretend that last sentence didn't make you throb with desire. You almost felt bad for starting all this teasing now. "Too bad I'm not there." Her silence at the realization was deafening. 

"Fuck," she huffed. "You went home for the weekend early, didn't you?" 

"Yes, I did, babe." You fiddled with the sheets on the corner of your childhood bed. The two hour drive to spend time with your family was usually worth it, but now you were beginning to regret leaving Hazel at school. 

The sigh she let out was careful, but patient. “Then I guess we’re doing this over the phone, huh?” 

“What?” Your surprise was genuine this time. 

“You’re going to finger yourself while I talk you through it. Sounds good?” she asked. Your jaw fell open, and for the first time on this call you were thankful she couldn’t actually see you. Your silence began to startle her. “You still there, baby?” 

“Yeah, Haze, sorry, I–” You shook your head to snap back into reality. “I didn’t think you would like the picture that much.” 

You both laughed, the sound so familiar you almost forgot the dirty context. “So, you want to or not? ‘Cause I’m walking into my apartment right now and I’ll be fucking myself to that picture with or without you, sweetheart.” 

You found yourself speechless for the second time that day. After a few moments of listening to Hazel fumbling with her keys, you developed a response. “I’m not gonna stop you, especially when that makes me want to fuck myself even more.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Oh, she was getting cocky now. Normally you would have shot a clever retort at her for that comment, but this new experience had you feeling unusually nervous. Before you had time to even come up with your next line, your phone chimed. When you opened the image from Hazel, you audibly gasped. You heard her laugh at your reaction on the other end of the call. 

The camera was angled up from between her legs, a spot you wished you were in at that moment. Her tank top was pulled up over her chest, exposing her boobs and toned stomach with flexed, veiny hands framing them. 

“Jesus, Haze,” you laughed, trying to keep cool. “You just can’t wait to get naked for me even when we aren’t in the same house, can you?” 

Her laugh was always a wonderful sound, but it had never turned you on this much before. “More like I know you can’t wait to see me naked.” Her voice was breathier than usual. You wondered for a moment if she was already touching herself, but you were pretty certain of the answer. 

“You’re not wrong about that,” you sighed, snaking your free hand under the waistband of your underwear. The feeling of your fingers on your clit gave you enough confidence to start talking dirty like you usually do. “Fuck, Hazel. I wish you were the one touching me right now.” 

“Shit,” she huffed, the horny frustration an interesting combination. “Me too, baby. I can’t even describe the things I would do to you right now if I could.” 

“Try it,” you commanded. 

You began to think her dominant facade was fading slowly until she spoke up again. “I would lay you on the bed and pin you down even though I love seeing you squirm. I’d kiss you until you begged me for more.” 

“Fuck,” you whimpered. You were growing wetter by the minute. “Then what?”

“I know how much you love when I suck on those tits, so I’d pay extra attention to them. I wouldn’t stop until they were covered in purple. I could have your boobs in my mouth for days, honey.” 

Her voice was dripping in arousal, making you arch your back at the thought of her mouth on your breasts. “Yes, please, Hazel.”

“I would kiss down to your sweet pussy and take those pretty panties off nice and slowly. You’d have to wait for it. I’d start by licking all around your lips before getting where you really want me to go.” 

You were almost embarrassed by how horny this simple imaginative story was making you. Almost. Your core began to tighten and you had given up on trying to respond to her with actual words. You just moaned into the speaker, waiting for her to keep talking. 

“Then I’d eat you out while you squeeze those sexy thighs around my head. I’d have you screaming while you came. Then it would be my turn, and I’d grind on you to get myself off. Would you be a good girl for me while I fuck myself on your pussy?” 

“Fuck, yes, Hazel. I’d be so good.”

“God, babe, I'm ready to cum just talking about it,” she huffed. 

Your fingers curled inside of yourself, hitting the spot Hazel always found so easily. You were tiptoeing on the edge now. “I’m going to– Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Me too, baby. Come on, cum for me,” Hazel groaned. No more words were spoken for the next few seconds as the phone was filled with your combined sounds of pleasure. Your highs washed over you simultaneously and you couldn’t help but giggle together afterward. It seemed that this wouldn’t be the last time you had phone sex.

[shomixremix]

Sitting in his lap ♡︎

i need more Genshin fluff/smuf, lol, and I know I should really write for someone other than Neuvi and Wrio but they are my current hyperfixation sooo here's more of them ig

oh also alhaitham's and neuvillette's are kinda simmilar sorryyy

tags: Alhaitham, Ayato, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Zhongli, female reader, fluff, cuddling, smut, implied smut, cockwarming

-> your hardworking boyfriend has to deal with your incredible need for his hold, having no choice but to place you on his lap.

reqs open ♡︎ | minors DNI

-> alhaitham

the silence in the room was deafening. as the acting grand sage, alhaitham was always busy, which you, as his girlfriend, understood. but you hated it.

you couldn't disrupt him, of course, always competing with some book for his attention. archons, it certainly didn't help how good he looked when he worked. emerald eyes focused and sharp, eyebrows slightly furrowed, a small frown on his face. fuck, he was hot.

"..'tham? are you gonna be done soon?"

his eyes never leaving the book he was going through, he shook his head: "not yet. i have a lot more work here."

you pouted, feeling a bit neglected. alhaitham promised you he'd give you all his attention the second he finished with work. which was never, apperently. sick and tired of his neglect, you decide to take matters into your own hands. trotting comfortably to him, you sit back on his knees facing him and wrap arms around his neck.

"is something the matter, y/n?"

you nuzzle your head in the crook of his neck, sighing deeply. not only did he look good, he smelt good, too. like freshly cut grass and the sumeru rose. knowing it's going to awake a reaction in him, you press a peck on the pulsepoint of his pale neck.

"no. just missed you, 'tham"

his breath hitches in his throat as you kiss his neck, palms closing the book he was holding to wrap around your waist.

"....mm, missed you too, love. i suppose my research can wait a little"

-> ayato

"shhh, little one... they will all hear if you keep moaning like that. you need to be quiet for me, precious."

your fiancé hushed in your ear as you squirmed and whined on his lap. a meeting in the yashiro commission was ongoing in the next room, and the paper thin walls certainly weren't helping. but, sweet Raiden Shogun, how could you possibly ever keep quiet when you were sat right on the commissioner's dick?!

"mhh.. mmmph! ohh.. ayato.. p-please.."

you whine through a whisper, begging for movement. cockwarming the blue-haired man as he worked seemed like a great idea at first, but now you realize it was, indeed, not. ayato warned you that no matter how much you begged, he wouldn't be able to fuck you, yet here you were, still begging.

"you look so adorable like that, precious. yet, you know well that i can't give you what you want. so please, be quiet. you don't want the rest of the yashiro commission to know what a pretty cockslut you are, hm?"

you nod in agreement, resting your head on his shoulder with another whine. your pussy was spasaming around his length, desparately trying to give yourself the pleasure he was denying you. oh, you could feel him pulsing inside you, revealing that he was as desparate as you were - something you would never be able to tell from his calm and collected expression.

"please, ayato... i need- ohh!" you beg, yet he interrupts you with a harsh thrust, bouncing you slightly on his lap.

you were edged for hours and already at the brink of your high, so his thrust immediately pushed you over the edge. you reach your high, biting down on his shoulder in order to stop yourself from making any noise.

ayato chuckled at your behavior, pressing a light kiss to your temple.

"there, there, little one. shh... finishing after such a long time must have tired you out. rest on my shoulder now, precious, and we can continue this once i'm finished with work."

-> neuvillette

"neuvi, love, will you be done any time soon?"

you ask impatiently, laying down on one of the sofas in neuvillette's office in the palais mermonia. you understood very well he was the busiest man in all of fontaine, and yet... you wanted him to choose you over work just once. just once! was it really so wrong and selfish of you to want your boyfriend to make you and your needs a priority?

"hmm, no, i'm afraid not, my love. there are many cases and documents i need to review still."

you shoot him a saddened glare, turning away from him. he sighs in desparation, torn between his many duties and the needs of his lover. both very important to him, and both requiring his full attention.

"i'm sorry, mon amour... you know i'd love to give you all the time in the world, but i'm afraid the society of fontaine would collapse if i were to simply not show up for a day"

yeah, yeah, you knew that very well. the problem was, you sorta kinda didn't care? of course, you cared about fontaine and its people, but for once you wished you were more important than the next silly court hearing about something as meaningless as some lost cabbages.

as you were still giving him the silent treatment, the chief justice sighed.

"come here, mon cherie. maybe you'd like to sit on my lap while i work?"

you perk up at that, cheerfully making your way to him and plopping down on his lap. you nuzzle your face against his chest, one strong arm wrapping around your waist as you do so.

"thank you, neuvi.." you sigh as you kiss his cheek, finally content in his safe arms.

-> wriothesley

wriothesley is a man who was used to spending most of his time alone. at the end of the day, there wasn't much company inside the fortress of meropide, where he spent most of his days. he has long gotten used to spending hours alone finishing work in his office.

yet, that all changed once he met you. now, every minute spent alone in his office seemed like endless torture, unless you were sitting there, all dolled up and perfect, on his lap with him.

"aww, c'mon, doll, my lips are down here" he jokes as you press eager kisses on his forehead, leaving behind lipstick marks.

"mh... don't care... i wanna kiss you all over.." you tease back, your trail of kisses never faltering.

you two have been at this love game for some time now, your time spent in teasing, clothed grinding and desparate kissing. wriothesley barely finished any work, too focused on the woman in his arms. you could feel him from under you, hard as a rock as his hands roamed your body. for focalors sake, how he wished he could leave that damned office and toss you onto his bed...

"wrio, you have to get back to work..." you smirk, pulling away from his handsome face. he frowns, upset at the harsh reminder.

"you know i'd much rather continue kissing you, baby"

you grind down on him, earning a slight groan from him. his hands tighten on your hips, his lips inches away from yours.

"fuck, doll, you'll be the death of me..."

he muttered as he picked you up, finally losing his patience. screw work, screw everything else! he needed you, and he needed you now.

-> zhongli

"are you sure this is comfortable for you, darling?"

zhongli was still learning the ways of the mortals, not yet used to every custom and behavior. which is why he was a bit startled once you asked if you could sit in his lap.

you had to explain that it was a normal thing for couples and that it was an act of intimacy, that it meant you wanted him closer. this made the ex-archon wish for the same, delighted to learn you liked him so much.

"yes, dear. i told you, it's very comfortable! i love it!"

you chirp, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone as you sat in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist. he smiled at your reaction, amber eyes following your every move.

"i'm glad. you are welcome in my lap whenever you desire"

"then i won't ever leave"

a small tint arises in his cheeks as you say that. zhongli, the mighty ex-archon, wasn't the one to usually blush, yet moments like this and your sweet little confessions certainly brought a rise out of him. you giggle at how flustered you were making him, connecting your lips together and finally giving him a well-deserved kiss.

zhongli decides to deepen the kiss, his tounge prodding in your mouth as one of his gloved hands tangles in your hair. he's kissing you as if you were the only air he could breathe, the only food he could eat, the only water he could drink. it was very clear he wanted this intimacy to be even more intense, which you could feel from under you as well.

"mhhh... i'll take you upstairs to our room, beautiful. then, i'll show you the intimacy we both so crave. and you'll still get to be on my lap, if you so wish"

[natashaslesbian]

All I Want For Christmas

Summary: You fall sick while your mom is away on a mission, what’s worse? It’s Christmas Eve

Request: Blackhill x daughter reader and reader x Kate maybe - reader gets really sick whilst Natasha is away on a mission

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Flu symptoms

—————————————————————————

“Hey kiddo, how you feeling?” Your mom asked as she brought you a new bowl of soup. “Gross” you coughed as you sat up in bed. “Did you get through to mama?” You asked Maria “no sweetie I’m sorry, she’s probably just busy fighting” she said as she helped you to sit up. “I miss her” you whimpered, thinking of the redhead. Unfortunately, Natasha was called away on an urgent mission that was expected to last for at least three weeks. You had gotten sick just after she left and to make things worse, your mama would be gone for Christmas. Thankfully, you had your mom and your best friend Kate there to look after you. “I miss her too baby” Maria frowned “eat your soup and try to get some more sleep okay, Kate can call me if you need me alright” she said as she pushed away your baby hairs. You nodded weakly as the archer brought up a spoonful of soup to your mouth.

It was an hour later while you were sleeping that Kate noticed your sudden short breaths, you could barely breath through your nose. She gently tried to move your head and carefully pry your mouth open to allow more air. Although her touch was light, you woke up in a raging coughing fit. “Sorry baby” Kate cooed as she slowly sat you up, you struggled to suck in a breath and soon began coughing up the mucus from your throat. “Oh y/n, you’re okay, it’s okay” Kate said as she grabbed the trash can “I’m gonna call your mom okay” she sadly smiled. “I want mama” you cried. You loved your mothers just the same but Natasha held the softness that you craved so deeply right now. Maria was the ‘stricter’ parent so you usually went to your mama for comfort and to Maria for the more practical advice to navigate your teenage years. “I know baby” Kate said, trying not to take your words to heart.

Maria arrived at your room in record time “ok I think it’s time to go and see Bruce” she said when she saw your frail body leaning over the trash can. “No” you whined, leaning into your girlfriend’s cooling touch. “She’s right y/n, this isn’t just a cold anymore” Kate said, helping to shift you into your mom’s arms. “Put me down! I don’t want you!” You cried. Maria knew you didn’t really mean it, but she couldn’t help but wish Natasha was here to make you feel better. Your mom got you to Bruce quickly and the doctor concluded that you had a dreadful flu. “I have some antibiotics but I think she needs rest more than anything, try and get lots of fluids in her and make sure she gets some sleep” Bruce said. “I am here you know” you huffed from your chair. “Sorry y/n. You can head back up to your room okay. Hopefully you’ll be feeling a little better for Christmas Day.” You scoffed at his words “fuck Christmas. It’s gonna suck anyway” you said. “Language kid” Maria scolded, making you even more angry than you already were.

You stomped angrily back up to your bedroom, ignoring your girlfriends attempts to sooth you along the way. “What are we gonna do with her?” Maria sighed in defeat when she found the archer in the corridor. “She needs Natasha” Kate said, causing the agent next to her to frown “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that” she said. “It’s okay” Maria sighed again. “I’ll go sit with her, I have some schoolwork to get done” the archer coughed, walking away from the awkward situation she had accidentally created. Maria kept her welling tears at bay as she retreated to her own bedroom, hers and Natasha’s. The brunette sat in her own silence for a while before reaching towards her phone. It was almost deafening as the phone continued to ring, not connecting to the one person she wished to hear from. “Oh where are you baby” Maria said as Natasha’s voicemail came through the speaker. The brunette was about to give up when the familiar ringtone of her phone began to play. She quickly reached for the mobile she had just discarded on the bed “Natasha?” She asked in a hopeful tone.

You went straight to sleep once you got back to your room and considering you were so peaceful when Kate came to check on you, she decided to let you sleep through dinner and to the next morning, through to Christmas Eve. You couldn’t quite tell what time it was when you wake and the grogginess in your head was still present. “Hey gorgeous” Kate smiled as she opened the door, fresh cup of coffee in hand. “Mmm, what time is it?” You questioned as you rubbed at your sore eyes. “It’s just gone 11” your girlfriend said. “Ok, and ugh, what day is it?” You whined “it’s Christmas Eve” Kate said, joining you on the bed with a hidden gingerbread cookie. You rolled your eyes at her festivities “you could’ve just said December 24th ya know” you huffed, groaning when a rough cough caught you off guard. “Oh baby” Kate cooed “Still not feeling great huh?” She asked, you shook your head in agreement. “Is there anything I can do?” She said. “Mommy” you whispered, feeling the tears burning behind your eyes, you were too sick to be embarrassed about how pathetic you felt. “Oh my love, she’s not here baby, remember? Nat’s still away” your girlfriend frowned. “No, I want mom, I want Maria” you sniffled.

Kate scurried away like her hair was on fire and before you could even blink Maria was stood in your doorframe. “Hey kid” she sheepishly said “how are you feeling?” She asked. “Sick” you whimpered, finally letting your tears fall. “Oh sweetie” your mom cooed as she came rushing to your side “it’s okay, I’m here, I’m here alright and I know that you want your mama but I’ve got you for now okay” she said. “No, no mom I’m sorry” you sniffled “I do want you, I just want mama too. I want you both here” you cried, struggling to catch your breath in between the chesty coughs racking your ribs. “I know sweet girl, easy, deep breaths ok” Maria said. “Why did she have to go no of all times” you sobbed “we always have Christmas together, just the three of us” you whimpered, sinking into Maria’s arms. “Well you know what Fury’s like, but never underestimate the power of your mothers” your mom said, nudging you to look up at the door.

“Hey baby girl” a familiar voice said as she stepped into the light. “Mama!” You sobbed, attempting to throw yourself towards the redhead. “Hey, hey, I’m home, it’s okay, I’m home now” Natasha said, rushing to your side and making sure you didn’t use what little energy you had left to get up. “Bu- how- how did you?” You muttered through your tears, while holding on tight to your mama. “I told Fury where to stick his mission” Natasha smiled, pulling you into her embrace. “Won’t he be mad at you?” You asked. “Who cares if he is, my y/n needs me so that’s where I am” Natasha smiled, gently kissing your forehead. “Merry Christmas baby” Maria said wrapping her arms around her girls. “Merry Christmas mom, merry Christmas mama” you said, eyes still shiny with tears, happy tears. Because finally, all was as it should be.

—————————————————————————

A/N: Happy Xmas Eve everyone! Sorry this is a day late tumblr was being an ass

- Astara Bell

—————————————————————————

[Taglist]

@saraaahsstuff / @dannipotatoo / @tobiaslut / @nev-valkyriesdottir / @marvelnatasha12346 / @yelenasdiary / @mousetheorist / @ashadash0904 / @strange-night-owl / @acciowriting / @hatergirl-69 / @lovelyy-moonlight

[merxcywritesthings]

𝐵𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑛

A/N: I’m so full of Angst ideas and I’m not sure why. I promise to write more fluffier, cheesy stuff later on down the road, but for now, take this anguish my lovelies. (I might make a part two of this, only because I liked it so much.)

Word Count: 2.2k

TW: Cussing, Arguments, Brian and Tim are toxic, grief.

Reader is a female!

The apartment door slammed shut with a resounding crack, the force reverberating through the small space. You flinched, startled, and looked up from where you sat curled on the couch. Tim and Brian were back, their faces hard and unreadable, though the tension between them filled the room like smoke.

“It’s midnight, where the hell were you?!” you demanded, standing up as your voice quavered between anger and worry. Your heart pounded. They had been gone for hours with no word, leaving you to stew in an anxious cocktail of fear and frustration.

Tim tossed his jacket onto the back of the chair, not even sparing you a glance. “Out,” he muttered, the single word cutting through the air like a knife.

“Out? That’s all you’ve got to say?” You stepped closer, your fists clenched at your sides. “I was worried sick! You can’t just disappear for hours and not—”

“Are you even listening to me?” The words tumbled out, louder than you intended. The silence that followed was suffocating.

Brian leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were sharp, like he was sizing you up, ready to dismantle you piece by piece. “What more do you really want?” he sneered, his tone cold. “We’re back. Isn’t that enough?”

“Enough?” Your voice cracked. “You left me here, with no explanation, no text, nothing! Do you know what that feels like?”

Brian’s laugh was bitter, a sound devoid of warmth. “You’re so pathetic. Always clinging, always demanding.”

Your chest tightened, the words hitting harder than they should have. “What is wrong with you guys? I stayed up all night worrying about you. I thought you might’ve been hurt—or worse!” you snapped, though your voice wavered under the weight of Tim’s sharp glare.

Tim finally turned to you, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and something sharper. “Can you just fuck off already?” he said, his words devoid of emotion.

The ground felt like it was slipping beneath you. You stared at him, unable to process what he’d just said, eyes starting to form small beads, glistening when the kitchen light reflected off them.

Brian’s smirk widened as he tilted his head, his voice dripping with mockery. “Oh, is the poor little thing going to cry? Can’t handle a bit of truth, huh?”

You stood there, rooted in place, as the words rained down on you like blows you couldn’t dodge. Your chest tightened, each syllable slicing deeper, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The walls seemed to close in around you, the air growing heavier with every passing moment.

Tim remained unmoved, his gaze sharpening.

Brian pushed himself off the counter, his movements slow and deliberate as he walked past you, his shoulder brushing yours in a way that felt intentional. “Ever since we first met, you’ve been nothing but a burden,” he muttered, his voice low but clear enough to pierce through the din of your spiraling thoughts.

Something in you cracked. The fragile hope you’d held onto, that this was just a bad day and things would work themselves out, shattered completely. “Fine,” you said, your voice trembling but steady enough to carry the weight of your resolve. “Leave, then. Both of you. I don’t need this.”

For the first time, neither of them had a quick retort. They exchanged a glance—silent, unreadable—and without another word, Tim grabbed his jacket. Brian didn’t even bother to look back as they walked out the door.

The silence they left behind was deafening.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The door closed with a soft click this time, and the sound made your stomach twist. The fight was over, but it didn’t feel like a victory. The quiet that followed wasn’t peace—it was suffocating. You stood frozen in the center of the room, your arms hanging limply at your sides, heart hammering in your chest.  

You’d told them to leave. And they had.  

Tears pricked your eyes, blurring your vision as the weight of everything began to settle. Their words echoed in your mind, each one sharper than the last.  

“You’re so pathetic.”

“Can you just fuck off already?” 

“You’re nothing but a burden.”

Your knees buckled, and you sank onto the couch, trembling. You hugged yourself, as if you could somehow shield yourself from the bruises their words had left behind. It wasn’t the first time arguments like this had erupted between you three. The stress of working with the Operator, the endless, mind-numbing missions, and the constant danger had frayed everyone’s nerves. But tonight had been different.  

Tonight, they hadn’t just been angry—they’d been cruel.  

You wiped at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, your breath hitching as the tears came faster. “Why did it have to be like this?” you whispered to no one.  

For a moment, you let yourself remember the good days—the laughter, the late nights spent curled up together, the small moments of tenderness that had made all the chaos bearable. You’d thought that those moments meant something, that they could carry you all through the worst of it.  

But maybe you were wrong.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second dragging on longer than the last. The apartment felt too big, too empty without their presence, even if that presence had been brimming with anger. You couldn’t stop replaying the argument in your head, trying to pinpoint the moment where everything had spiraled out of control.  

Had you pushed too hard? Or had they finally shown you what they truly thought of you?  

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, snapping you out of your thoughts. You reached for it with shaking hands, half-hoping it was one of them. Maybe Tim or Brian would apologize, or at least explain what had set them off so badly.  

But it wasn’t them. It was just a useless notification—a weather alert. You threw the phone back onto the table, the small hope you’d allowed yourself fizzling out as quickly as it had come.  

A cold wave of exhaustion swept over you. You pulled a blanket over your shoulders, curling into yourself as the tears continued to fall.  

  ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Hours passed, though you couldn’t tell how many. You didn’t sleep—how could you, with your mind racing and your chest aching like this? You wanted to hate them, wanted to banish their faces from your thoughts, but it was impossible.  

The door opened again sometime near dawn. The sound jolted you upright, your breath catching in your throat. For a split second, you thought maybe they’d come back to make things right.  

Tim stood in the doorway, looking drained and disheveled. Brian was behind him, his face an unreadable mask. Neither of them spoke at first.  

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice hoarse from crying.  

Tim looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “We forgot some stuff,” he muttered. “It’s not like we came back for you.”  

The sharpness of his words was dulled by his tone—it wasn’t cruel, just... hollow.  

Brian crossed the room without a word, grabbing a duffel bag from the corner and stuffing a few things into it. He didn’t even glance in your direction.  

The sight of them, so detached and indifferent, made something inside you snap. “That’s it?” you said, your voice trembling with anger and disbelief. “You’re just going to walk in here, grab your shit, and leave? After everything?”  

Tim turned to face you, his expression darkening. “What do you want me to say?” he snapped. “That we’re sorry? That everything’s fine now? It’s not.”  

“I don’t want your empty apologies,” you shot back. “I wanted you to care. I wanted you to try.”  

Brian finally spoke, his voice cold and sharp. “We’ve been trying. You think this is easy? You think we can just continue acting like everything’s fine when it’s not?”

“Do you even hear yourselves?” you said, your voice rising. “You’re blaming me for this—like I’m the one who’s broken us!”  

Tim’s jaw tightened. “Maybe you should look in the mirror, then.”  

The room fell silent again, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a heavy stone.  

You swallowed hard, blinking back the fresh tears that threatened to spill over. “If this is how little you think of me, then why did you stay for so long?”  

Neither of them answered.  

Brian slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, his expression unchanging. “We couldn’t handle faking it anymore,” he said.  

You stared at them, your chest heaving as anger and despair warred within you. “Fine,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what I saw in you both to be together this long.” The words you spoke came out like venom, even shocking you.

Tim hesitated for a moment, but Brian didn’t look back as he opened the door and stepped out. Tim followed, the door closing behind them with a finality that left you breathless.  

And then, once again, you were alone.  

  ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The hours that followed their departure stretched endlessly, every second heavier than the last. The apartment felt like a hollow shell—an echo chamber of everything they had said and everything you hadn’t had the chance to say. Sleep evaded you; every time you closed your eyes, their voices lingered, cruel and sharp like glass shards digging into your chest.  

When the sun finally rose, its weak light spilled through the curtains, and you sat up, exhausted but restless. Their things were gone now, but the spaces they had filled—the chair Tim always slouched in, the spot on the kitchen counter Brian leaned against when he teased you—those remained, taunting you.  

By noon, you had reached your breaking point. You had to confront them—not to bring them back, but to purge the poison they’d left in your veins. You grabbed your phone and sent a message to Tim.  

We need to talk. Face-to-face. Please.

You didn’t expect him to reply. You didn’t expect him to come, either. But an hour later, there was a knock at the door.  

When you opened it, Tim stood there, his expression guarded. He had changed out of his wrinkled clothes from the night before but still looked just as tired.  

“Where’s Brian?” you asked flatly.  

“Not here,” he said, stepping inside. “He didn’t want to come.”  

“Of course he didn’t,” you muttered under your breath.  

Tim frowned, crossing his arms. “You wanted to talk. So talk.”  

The sight of him standing there, so detached, made your blood boil. “You promised me,” you said, your voice trembling. “You both did. You promised we’d stick together, no matter how hard things got.”  

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, well, promises don’t mean much when everything’s falling apart.”  

“You think I don’t know that?” you snapped. “I gave you everything I had. Everything! Look where that got me.”  

He flinched, just barely, but it was enough to spur you on. “Every time I look at you,” you said, your voice breaking, “all I see are the faces of the people who once told me they loved me, that I was the only bright spark in their dark world. And now you’re just like them—another person who tore me apart and left me here to bleed.”  

“Stop,” Tim said quietly, but you weren’t done.  

“You changed me, Tim. You and Brian both. You broke me down until there was nothing left. And the worst part? Neither of you will ever find someone who loves a soul as filthy as yours.”  

“That’s enough!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the room like a whip.  

The silence that followed was deafening. Tim looked away, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.  

You let out a shaky breath, your anger giving way to exhaustion. “Was any of it real? Did it ever really mean something to either of you?” you whispered, looking at Tim with some form of hope in your eyes.  

Tim’s head snapped back toward you, his expression shifting. “Of course it meant something!” he said, his voice cracking. “You think I didn’t care? You think none of it mattered to me?”  

“Did it?” you asked, your voice flat. “Because if it did, why did you let it end like this? Why didn’t you fight for us?”  

He stared at you, his mouth opening as if to say something, but no words came out.  

Finally, he shook his head and turned toward the door. “I can’t do this,” he muttered.  

“Of course you can’t,” you said bitterly. “Running away is the only thing you’ve ever been good at.”  

He hesitated, his hand on the doorknob, but didn’t look back. And then, just like that, he was gone.  

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The next few days passed in a blur. You didn’t hear from either of them, and part of you was grateful for the silence. But the pain lingered, festering like an open wound. You replayed the argument with Tim over and over in your mind, dissecting every word, every glance, every moment where things could have gone differently.  

You weren’t sure if you wanted to fix things anymore. Maybe there was nothing left to fix.  

But one thing was certain—you wouldn’t let them tear you apart again.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠! 🖤

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 @𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑙𝑦-𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑠

𝐺𝐼𝐹 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 @𝑘𝑟𝑣𝑝𝑖𝑘𝑎

[kryptznnn]

can you please please please make a bakugo x reader smau !!! fluff please 🙏

♡-Just a really sweet friend

꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂

꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂

➸ INTERESTS; -college au! katsuki bakugo x f! college reader

➸ BACKGROUND; - (requested submission) messages exchanged between you and katsuki, with a little extra dialogue of what’s happened to the two of you in person.

➸ WARNINGS; - wc. roughly 1k, romantic tension, fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, sickness mention, romantic confession, text messages.

➸a.i; - omg this is my first time doing this and i really enjoyed it, hopefully i didn’t fuck it up 😭. xoxo

꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂

You sighed as you dragged your covers over your head, closing your eyes to get some sleep in the late morning before receiving a notification on your phone from Katsuki.

You smiled to yourself as you texted him back, laughing aloud at the last part before he had hearted your message, ending the conversation. As it ended you fell asleep and soon woke up around an hour or so later to knocking on your door, you were slow to get there, but as you arrived there we no one there to greet you. The only thing that had greeted you was two grocery bags on the floor, one filled with bought food while the other was filled with medicine, already knowing they were from Katsuki.

He hearted your message again, as you began to unbox and put all of the new things you had just gotten away. Over time you had gotten better and in just a week you were back to perfect health. He was happy for you of course, now unafraid to visit you along side his friends without a mask on.

Currently you had gotten your room keys and ID before heading out, saying a quick goodbye to your roommate as you left. You made your way out in the elevator and began to walk off campus, as you played music through your headphones and looked around town at night, you were interrupted by a familiar ping ringing in your headphones. A notification, more specifically a text, yet again from Katsuki. You walked into the building you had planned to walk into before opening his text message.

You cocked a brow as you went into Life360, checking the shared group Kirishima had made to see Bakugos location. It was saying he was still at the dorms and as you continued to reload his page it buffered. You nearly had a heart attack when you felt him now standing over from behind you inside the pizzeria before scolding you for being out so late.

As the two of you spoke back and forth the cashier had asked if you were ordering, you quickly left Katsuki’s side to order as he watched you from behind. Before you were able to pay he quickly bud in, already tapping his card on the transaction machine as the payment was immediately accepted. You turned to look at him wide eyed.

“I could’ve paid for it myself.” You said stubbornly, taking the receipt that was printed before reading the price, thinking of how much you would’ve had to pay back.

“I know, I wanted to do it, ‘n don’t think about payin’ me back.” He replied, now removing the hoodie that covered his hair before digging back in his pocket and pulling out his wallet, putting his card back.

He was lying, he wanted to pay for you because he cared, and he was still not over the fact you left your dorm so late to walk to the pizzeria instead of ordering food because you didn’t have enough. When he saw your upset reaction at him paying he couldn’t help but smirk at you.

Thankfully enough for the both of you, your pizza had came soon after, and as before he was quick to take the load, carrying the hot box in his hands as the two of you walked back to your dorm. As you were in the elevator you had your dorm key ready in your hands, knowing your room was one of the first in front of it.

As you unlocked your door and opened it you had offered for Katsuki to come inside, he hadn’t said anything and just look at you. The silence was deafening as it seemed you two were in a short staring contest, him being the first to lose before he blinked and turned to the side.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, you were startled by his sudden question and the manner of it, the tone he was asking you in was serious. Before you could even get your joke out after you had nodded he immediately dived in, leaning in and kissing you softly, as you wasted no time kissing him back.

Before you could ask him why he did it or what caused him to even think of such he immediately shoved your pizza box in your hands before saying bye and leaving, heading straight for the stairs as you remained baffled.

He had known why, he liked you, he had for a while now. It was funny all things considering before he had made his way to you at the pizzeria Denki had slipped up and told him that you had a crush on him also. That was probably the first time his friends had ever seen him smile, especially so widely, it suited for the most part when it was natural.

As you now lied in bed, you couldn’t sleep, your head wrapping around the event that had occurred nearly an hour ago. You had told your roommate who you were close with, the two of you freaking out before getting a noise complaint. As you scrolled through social media you received a text from Katsuki.

As the two of you had shared a passionate moment outside of your dorm room in the hall, your roommate came up from behind you, opening the door and asking you if you were alright. When she got a look of Katsuki with your lip liner/lipstick smudged across his cheek and upper lip she laughed, quickly turning around and letting the door shut behind her.

You only laughed along with her, taking in the small mess you had made on the poor boys face before attempting to wipe it with your hands, most of it coming off as the rest was smudged. You said your goodbyes to one another as he walked off. You had immediately went to your roommates side, filling her in with all of the details before texting Katsuki.

What wonderful friends the two of you were, truly.

꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂

✴🕷 please do not copy, plagiarize, edit, or translate any works submitted by me. all works are originated and all other pictures used within those works are online images. thank you!! @kryptznnn

[haykawas]

✩•̩̩͙*˚ BLOSSOMING LOVE ROUTE

this is one of the possible endings to a story! lost yourself? begin here! Ah, so you've decided to go the easy route and continue with your childhood sweetheart, I see. Great choice! – wc : 2.1K

Satoru calls your name, confusion seeping through his tone. 

“Why are you chasing me, Satoru? Go away.”

“Why are you running away?” 

He catches up to you in a few strides, and you mentally curse at him for having such long legs. His fingers wrap around your wrist to stop you, but you violently yank your arm back.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me!”

He continues to speak, and although you can hear his voice, the words make no sense to you. 

It keeps ringing in your head. What’s wrong?

It’s like he has no clue what he does to you, how his actions make you feel. It makes you wonder if he even cares, with the way he never notices anything. It’s like he makes himself blind on purpose and turns off all of his senses when you’re in the room.

You’re sick of it.

“What’s wrong?” You echo him, “Do you seriously have no clue, Gojo? Or do you just pretend to, like you always do?”

He knows it’s serious because you never use his last name, and his heart clenches at the thought he’s possibly hurt you deeply.

“Pretend? What do you mean?” He presses his lips in a thin line. He thinks he might know why you’re so upset, and he’s afraid to hear you confirm it.

“I know you heard what I said.” You finally breathe out. “I saw the expression on your face change and the look in your eyes! You… You looked… Disgusted.”

His lips part to answer, but nothing comes out. 

“That’s what I thought.”

“Wait! Please, just…” His voice breaks. Of course he knows, because how couldn’t he? You always had this nasty habit of raising your voice when you talked about something you were passionate about, and this particular time, he'd been just on time to hear you speak of him with so much passion.

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. “It’s not… I don’t know how to do shit like this, okay? I’m not used to it!”

“Do what?”

“This! Just…” He waves his hands around, “It scares me, alright?”

“What? Feelings?”

He purses his lips together.

Your laugh is bitter, “And you think it’s easy for me, do you? That pining after my childhood best friend for months was fun? At least spare me a little and reject me upfront! What the fuck, Satoru! How could you be so- so-”

“So what?” He scoffs, “Say it.”

“So selfish!” You accuse, your voice echoing into the night. “You’re egotistical, and you always think the world revolves around you! Because you bear all the suffering in the world, don’t you? And I don’t know for the life of me why I fell in love with you!”

The words hang between you in the deafening silence of night. You don’t mean them, those words spoken under the influence of your frustration. 

Yet, you don’t correct yourself.

Still, a thin layer of regret starts to plague your mind when you see Satoru’s eyes flash with hurt and disbelief, and you avert your gaze.

You quickly dismiss the feeling. 

“Take that back. ” He demands, his voice a little rough. It’s more like a plea.

“What?”

“The last part, take it back. You don’t mean it.” 

Your frustration morphs into bitterness, and defiance bubbles into you.

“And what are you going to do if I don’t?”

“I don’t think you want to know that.” He shoots back, taking a step forward in defiance.

“Oh, yeah?” You scoff, still refusing to back down from the argument. “Bet.”

The tension crackles between you, so much that you don’t notice how close you are to him. You’re so close you can feel his breath against your cheeks as you gaze into his baby-blue eyes.

And you’re so entranced by the sight that you don’t notice as he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a passionate, forceful kiss. 

You gasp in surprise.

He tries to dominate you, and while it hasn’t registered in your brain that you are kissing him, you return it as simply as it is breathing. It’s a fight for dominance, one that leads your back to be pressed against the wall of an alley, 

And it ends as suddenly as it begins, leaving you panting and confused against a stone-cold wall.

Satoru’s breath is ragged, his pupils blown wide and his cheeks slightly rosy from the cold. A grin spreads, almost boyish in its charm, and he leans down to kiss you again. This time, he captures your lips in a softer, more tender kiss, like he’s apologizing for the previous one.

You kiss back.

It’s not until you part again that the situation finally dawns on you.

“W–what–” You turn your back to him when you feel your cheeks grow warm, your hands covering your mouth.

“Why did you do this?” You ask in a whisper, your mind still a little fuzzy.

He walks around to stand in front of you, gently taking your hands in his so he can take a look at your face. Your cheeks are flushed, and he finds it so endearing he could have melted right then and there. He leans his head towards you, his finger tapping on your jaw to get you to look at him.

“We’re friends, right? Friends kiss each other all the time.” He jokes, and you instantly hit him on the shoulder. He laughs, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Okay, okay! Stop!”

“I’m serious, Satoru. If this is some game to you…”

“Oh, come on! Am I such a whore in your eyes?” You look at him pointedly, and he says, “Actually, no, don’t answer that.”

“You know,” He sighs, “I’m surprised Suguru managed to keep the secret for so long.”

“What secret?”

He says your name ever so softly with a tone you’ve never heard from him before, “And here I thought I was being way too obvious.” He laughs softly, “I’ve actually..” He hesitates, and you realize it must be serious. You’ve rarely seen Satoru unsure of himself, when he’s usually the friend everyone goes to for a confidence boost.

He takes a deep breath, “I think I’ve loved you since forever, you know?” 

The revelation makes your breath catch in your throat, and he can’t seem to maintain eye contact. He’s rehearsed this moment so many times in his head, but now that he’s here, before you, he’s afraid he might just stutter and ruin it. Satoru might have been a confident man, but he isn’t used to expressing his feelings with words. He’s used to showing affection through actions or quality time, so this is uncharted territory for him. And he’s not sure he likes it.

“And I know what you’re thinking. That I’m full of shit because it feels like I’ve been pushing you into Sugu’s arms the whole time, but I genuinely thought you liked him.” He laughs softly.

All of it is true. The fact that he's been feeling strangely around both of his best friends since they started getting closer and going out without him. It used to be just you and him, or him and Suguru. Then it was all of you, but recently it'd felt like it was just the both of you.

And he felt... left out.

And as stupid as it was, he believed that making up a new crush and some excuses would spare him from confronting the sight of Suguru making doe eyes at you when he thought you weren't looking.

“And I wouldn't have blamed you," He chuckles, "Plus, you have to admit you’ve both been very close recently! I felt like some shitty third wheel most of the time.” He finishes with a playful roll of his eyes.

You hadn’t realized he felt that way, that your growing proximity with Suguru would make him keep his distances from you. They were always both trying to help you, in their own way. And you feel like you don’t deserve any of them in your life.

“But yeah, it’s…” He takes a deep breath, and says the words you've been wanting to hear for a long time now. “I love you. Since the first time I saw you play by yourself on those shitty swings at the neighboring park and decided to join you. You know how I’ve always been scared of heights? I mean, it’s not something I developed over time. I guess I just wanted an excuse to talk to you, at the time.” He chuckles. “Old habits die hard.” He adds with a shy smile, and you notice how he keeps shifting his weight from one leg to the other, as if to focus his attention somewhere else. He’s nervous.

“And the way I reacted when I heard you two talk earlier? I just freaked out, I guess. I was just so…”

Scared. He doesn’t finish his sentence, but the word hangs heavy. 

“It’s not every day you learn your best friend loves you back, right?” A small laugh leaves his lips, “I never thought it’d happen, but now that it is… I don’t know.”

“I’m not easy, you know that. And I don’t want to lose you over what-ifs.”

The weight of his words settles in the silence that follows, and it’s your crude response that shatters the stillness.

“You’re fucking stupid, Satoru.” Your words resonate harshly, but it has to be said. Because yes, you also considered the possibility this might not work out. You pondered over the question for hours on end, spent restless nights convincing yourself you shouldn’t act on it in fear you might lose your most precious friend as a result.

Yet, the accumulation of secrets has inflicted more damage to your relationship than the actual attempt to explore something new. And you’re tired of hiding between lies and excuses.

Satoru’s eyes widen, lips parting in protest, but you press on, not allowing him time to interject. 

“You’re stupid if you think things won’t change. Because flash news, Satoru, they will!”

“But you’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine.” You exhale. “But is that all you want me to be?” You ask. “Tell me it is and I’ll stop chasing after you like some fool. I’ll pretend this conversation never happened, and everything will go back to normal. I promise you.”

“You know I can’t do that.” He admits, voice soft. His eyes sparkle with an unknown motion, and you can’t avert your gaze. “I just didn’t want to complicate things.”

“And what if I like complicated?” You respond with pursed lips.

Your eyes lock, and he knows he won’t be able to change your mind. And just like that, you’ve won him over a second time.

“Alright.” He whispers. “Then let’s complicate them.”

You find yourselves back at your apartment before you can blink.

You can’t keep your hands off of each other, and he keeps leaning in to plant small kisses on your lips for every little step you take. 

It’s annoying, yet… Yet you don’t want him to stop.

You’re not usually that cheesy, but when it comes to him? You don’t think you know who you are anymore. You don’t care. He makes your cheeks hurt from smiling too hard, and your ears redden from the way he simply looks at you.

He’s your favorite color. Your favorite melody.

He’s light in the darkness, blinding you with the twinkle of his eyes and the gleam of his smile. He shines so brightly it burns you, scorching you whole when his skin touches yours, fingers groping at your flesh and tugging at your clothes. Your hands pull on his roots as you deepen the kiss he initiated, the shy little sounds he tries to hold back like music to your ears. You want this moment to never end, to be the last person he’ll ever touch like this, to be the only one to ever elicit such sweet sounds from him.

The taste of him lingers on your tongue as you part, and you feel like you’ve gone utterly insane. You’ve gone mad because his lips are like liquor and you’re drunk on them, the sole prospect of continuing your life without ever being able to taste them again making your heart ache.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t even notice you started tearing up until he gently tilts your head to the side, holding your chin so tenderly as he kisses your cheeks through the tears, his lips occasionally ghosting over your skin.

You should feel shame for showing Satoru your tears in a moment so intimate, yet you don’t feel anything akin to it, at all. He’s your best friend. He’s never let you feel like you had to be ashamed of your emotions, and that will never change. He knows you need this, that those tears are the result of months and months of accumulated frustration just exploding out of you.

“Let me make it up to you.” He whispers, eyes pleading. Regret is plaguing his mind. He never wanted to be the person who would make you cry.

“Yeah, how? You have a lot to make up for.”

He hums, his head nestled in the crook of your neck and his lips ghosting over your throat, “It’s up to you.” He whispers. “I’ll do everything you need me to.”

So? How should he make it up to you?

Sweet and soft, please!

No? ... Oh, you're dirty.

rbs are much appreciated <3

[wreckedandpolemic]

forgive me? - matty healy

prompt: lovers' quarrel

(mdni) and we continue ahead with valentine75!! ok pls do not look too closely at the argument here i suck so hard at angst i cant even half ass it as a setup for porn lol

warnings: oral (f receiving), hand stuff, idk there isn't huge amounts to this

The silence in your flat is deafening, stretching between you and Matty like a chasm, your anger welling so deeply at the bottom that you want to drown him in it.

“I’m sorry?” he ventures, and you whip around to face him. The sheepish grin he wears is, admittedly, distractingly adorable; usually, it’s enough to melt you at least a little, but this time you can barely see it through your blinding anger.

You scoff. “You’re sorry, huh? Oh, well, I guess that makes it totally fucking fine, then!” You kick off your shoes with more force than necessary, sending your expensive heels skittering across the floor. “Tonight was important to me, do you even realise that? Are you so up your own arse that you think everyone wants to be on the Matty show twenty-four seven, or do you just not care?” A sense of sick satisfaction spreads as he processes your words, expression crumbling for a split-second and reforming into a sharp sort of anger that warns that Matty isn’t going to make this easy for you.

Which suits you just fine. You’ve never been one for an easy win. Never been much for losing, either. You fold your arms as Matty rounds on you. “I’m up my own arse? That’s fuckin’ rich, comin’ from you, treatin’ me like a fuckin’ toddler all night!” He’s gesticulating wildly, accent thickening through his frustration, and it takes a tremendous amount of your self-control not to laugh. “Matty, don’t touch that. Matty, don’t talk to him. Matty, come back here.” He puts on an affectation of your voice and accent that’s equal parts insulting and hilarious, and you’re lucky he doesn’t pick up on your quiet snort of laughter. “You actually said come back here! Like I’m a damn dog!”

“Dog would’ve been better behaved, probably,” you mutter. “Wouldn’t have got belligerently drunk and accosted the press, either.” Matty steps closer, breathing hard, tongue darting out to wet his lips tantalisingly. Your traitorous eyes flicker down to his mouth, soft and pink and wet and tempting, and it’s a mission to haul your mind back on track.

“I didn’t fucking ‘accost’ anyone. I told them to get the fucking cameras out of my face, ‘cos I wasn’t gonna give them a fuckin’ story at your fuckin’ event.” Matty defends, and, okay, the sentiment is there, but he had just made everything endlessly worse.

Groaning, you bury your head in your hands. “I told you. I fucking asked you, one time, just nod your head, smile, say you’re proud of me. Was that so fucking hard for you?” You hadn’t meant to admit that part. That it stung not to have his approval.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Matty snaps. “Of course I’m fucking proud of you. You’re a fucking star. Just wish you weren’t so embarrassed of me,” he adds, and whatever part of your anger that had crumbled at first sharpens in your chest again at his attempt to guilt-trip you.

He’s not being fair — of course you’re not embarrassed by him, but his behaviour fucking embarrassed you! “You told a fucking crowd of journalists that Jamie, who I have been on a fucking months-long press tour with, and I quote, ‘acts like a massive wanker.’ And he fucking heard you!”

Matty shrugs. “Well, he does. Don’t like the way he talks to you. Could’ve called him a rude cunt, too. Would’ve been even more true.” he mutters sullenly, scowling at the ground.

“God, Matty, you are so— mmph!” You’re cut off by him surging forward, crushing your lips together in a bruising kiss. You pull his lower lip into your mouth and bite down on it, iron spilling over your tongue as the skin tears beneath your teeth. After a long, indulgent moment, you force yourself to shove him away, gasping. “You never fucking listen! You can’t just kiss me ‘cause you don’t wanna hear it,” you snap, pushing down the heat that wells instinctively between your legs.

He’s flushed, breathing hard, unfairly gorgeous like this. “You look so pretty when you’re mad, baby,” he murmurs, tucking a wisp of hair behind your ear, the gentle touch making you shudder. He’s a master at this; resolving your arguments with doe-eyed pouts and wet, needy kisses.

Your resolve is crumbling. “Matty, don’t,” you warn feebly, lust spinning dizzily in your mind and swelling until your rational thoughts are dissolved. Matty grins, predatory — he has you pinned, and he knows it.

”My pretty girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “My little star. Forgive me?” His eyes are wide, faux-innocence shining down at you as your last thread of self-control breaks. It isn’t lost on you that he hasn’t actually apologised, but as his lips press against yours and his tongue sweeps into your mouth, you can’t remember why you care.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours as he walks you to the sofa. Your stomach swoops as he pushes you down, desire thrumming in your veins. Every last thought falls out of your head as it knocks against the armrest, your back arching up towards him. “C’monn,” you whine, reaching out to him where he stands above you, his gaze hot as it roams eagerly across your skin.

Matty climbs over you, adjusting your legs so he can kneel between them, goosebumps breaking out where he slides a hand up your thigh, agonisingly close to where you need it. “Lift your hips for me, love,” he instructs, sliding your dress up your body until a puddle of satin pools around your waist, cool and slick against your heated skin. His warm fingers crook around your panties and he drags them down your legs, exposing your dripping cunt. A soft moan escapes you as he rubs a slow circle into your clit, pressing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. “So much better than fighting, hm?” he teases, and a flash of annoyance cuts through the lust as you remember exactly how you got into this position.

”Don’t push it,” you hiss, raking a hand through his curls and tugging harshly. He whimpers deliciously against your skin, a pulse of heat spiking deep in your bones. “I’m still mad at you,” you warn, searching your rapidly-blurring mind for your long-foregone anger.

“So take it out on me,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your cunt, your body tingling under his gaze.

”What?” Your mind is already hazy, the sight of his head low between your thighs infinitely distracting, the promise of his tongue unfathomably tempting.

“I’m going to put my mouth on your sweet little pussy, and I’m going to listen to everything you have to say until you come. Call me names, if you want. Tell me everything I’ve ever done in my life that’s fucked you off, and I won’t say a word.” It’s such a Matty way of resolving an argument that you can’t find a response. “You get to yell at me and you get to get off. Pretty good deal if you ask me.” Matty’s smirk splashes you with a bucket of cold water, latent frustration blooming under your skin — a sudden need to slap the smugness off his face overtakes you.

You beckon him, waiting until his eyes are closed and his lips are parted, a gentle breath brushing against your mouth. He relaxes, expecting a kiss, expecting to be off the hook, and you crack a hand hard across his cheek with a grin. “God, that felt good,” you say as he recoils, rolling your eyes theatrically at his punched-out moan. “Such a fucking slut. Put your mouth to better use before I change my mind.” He shouldn’t make it so easy for you to take back the upper hand.

It’s almost comical how quickly his tongue is buried inside you, a thick pulse of heat sent kicking in your cunt. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you swallow a moan as you bury a hand in his curls. “Wish I could fuck your pretty mouth. Shut you up proper for once.” Matty moans into your cunt, the sound deliciously gratifying as it vibrates through you. “That’s your problem, you know,” you continue, the effort of keeping your voice level monumental against the waves of pleasure rising inside you. “You never fucking shut up. You’re— mmh, so fucking arrogant. You act like— ah!” His teeth scrape over your clit and you cry out, grinding your hips against his face as heat throbs sharply under your skin.

”Go on,” he says, grinning up at you with wet, slick lips. He hisses as you yank his curls harshly, dragging his mouth back to your cunt. He licks at you like a starving man, heat pooling in your belly, your limbs trembling and toes curling.

”You act like the fucking world revolves around you,” you continue, struggling to drag the words to the forefront of your soupy mind. “You’re so fucking— God, Matty, fuck!” you whimper, the rest of your sentence lost in the mind-numbing pleasure swirling through you. Matty isn’t playing fair, licking and sucking and kissing at you sweetly, your world blurring around him.

He pulls away and quirks an eyebrow at you, like he’s waiting for your surrender. As fucking if. You take a moment to catch your breath, fingers digging into the edge of the sofa to anchor yourself before he dips his head again, licking a broad stripe along your cunt that makes you whine pathetically at him. “You’re ridiculously pretentious,” you bite out, gasping as his tongue fucks into you in an obscene, glorious rhythm. Ecstasy coils in your limbs, your body heavy at the edge of oblivion. “Disrespectful. And you just. Don’t. Fucking. Listen.” You punctuate your last words rocking your hips against his face, your cunt fluttering around his tongue.

Matty presses wet kisses to your thighs, sweet and teasing as you whine. “Are you done?”

“Repeat it back to me,” you order as he licks his lips, framed prettily by the V of your legs. “So I know you were listening.”

“I’m irresponsible.” He kisses your inner thigh. “Arrogant. Inappropriate at the worst times.” He licks at your clit and you buck your hips against his face, fighting to hold at bay the flood of heat waiting to overwhelm you. “The people you work with think I’m white trash.”

You fist a hand in his curls, tugging hard enough that you feel him hiss in pain against your skin. “Don’t be a smartarse.”

You can sense that he’s about to argue, but thinks better of it at the last second. “I’m pretentious. Disrespectful,” he continues. “And I just.” He laps at your clit. “Don’t.” Heat floods your body as Matty slides two fingers into your sopping cunt and crooks them at an angle that has molten pleasure spilling over you. “Listen.” He sucks gently on your swollen clit, the pleasure enough to pull you over the edge, ecstasy coiling deliciously around your insides. You whimper, grinding down against his face as you come, your cunt fluttering around Matty’s tongue.

You sigh contentedly. “Good boy,” you murmur, savouring his shudder. “So good when your mouth’s full of my cunt. Like you so much better when you’re not talking.”

Matty looks up, eyes wide and face soaked with you. “Forgive me?” he asks, wearing the same sheepish grin that had failed to sway you before.

You sigh dramatically, the seeds of an idea taking shape in your mind. “Come here,” you say, a fond smile tugging at your lips. It’s a struggle to keep it from turning cruel as he takes the bait. “Silly boy.” Eagerly, Matty climbs over you, cupping your jaw and pressing his lips to yours, gently at first, turning hungry as you swallow down the taste of yourself. He moans into your mouth, grinding his clothed cock against your sensitive core. “Needy, are you?” you tease, a faint edge of danger lacing your tone. “Want me to get you off?” Glassy-eyed, he nods down at you, sweet and pleading. “Use your words.”

He swallows thickly, blinking hard. “Want you to make me cum,” Matty murmurs, casting his eyes down like he’s ashamed. You raise an eyebrow when his gaze lands back on your face, and he adds a reluctant, “Please.”

Sliding out from under him, you lead him into your bedroom, laughing derisively as he strips out of his jeans and boxers before the door even shuts. “God, you’re pathetic,” you scoff, smirking as his eager expression falters slightly with the realisation you haven’t let him off the hook.

“Mhmm,” Matty agrees, switching tack and plying you with sweet doe eyes.

“Get on the bed,” you order, kneeling in his lap when he obeys. His hands wander to the hem of your dress, brushing over your thighs as he starts to lift it, and you swat him away. “Think you deserve to fuck me after the way you acted today?” You glare down at him, pulling at his hair to tip his head up towards you. After a long moment, his internal war clear on his face, Matty shakes his head mutely. “No. But you’re being good now, so…”

Matty inhales sharply when you wrap your hand around his cock, flushed and sticky with want. You pump him slowly, spreading precum over him, and he trembles with the effort of holding himself still, sweetly pliant under your hand. “Thank you,” he mumbles, swallowing thickly.

You lean down to press your lips against his, swallowing his needy, suppressed moans. “It’s okay, baby. Being so good. Can fuck my hand if you need to.” You’re being cruel, now, knowing how you’re going to leave him, but it’s sickly thrilling having him in your power like this.

Murmured thanks fall from his lips between sweet little whines, his hips bucking into your fist as his cock leaks over your skin. Languidly, you press your tongue into his mouth, trading long, sloppy kisses broken up by Matty’s pleasured moans.

Taking Matty apart under your skilled hands is easy, now; you’re practised in everything he likes. You dig your thumb into his slit, twist your wrist just so, swallow every sweet noise he makes. His body tenses, his groans deepening, turning rhythmic, signalling his orgasm. You let him chase his release up until the very last second, pulling away and smirking meanly down at him.

Confusion clouds across Matty’s face as he looks up at you, reeling from his ruined orgasm as if you’ve slapped him. You let him catch his breath before you take him in your hand again, working over him, pulling him to the edge again. “Do you have anything to say, baby?”

Matty’s mouth falls open, the struggle to pull any meaning from your words plain on his face. “Please?” he tries, face falling when you shake your head, a moan escaping him as you flick your thumb over his slit. “Thank you,” he mumbles thickly. “I love you.”

You cock your head, appraising him. “That’s nice. But not quite. Try to think a little bit harder, yeah? I know that’s tough when I’ve got you all stupid for me, but try,” you croon, tone sympathetic and deriding all at once.

Matty’s face scrunches in concentration. “‘M sorry!” he chokes out, whining when you press a kiss to the head of his cock.

“That’s it,” you breathe, kissing him softly in reward. “Good boy.” Arousal coils in your belly at the sight of him, breaking into a thoughtless mess under your hands. You stroke over his cock a few times more, watching his stomach tense and relax as his orgasm builds. Then you stop, letting him whine desperately into your mouth.

He hasn’t wised to your game, still hopeful through his lust-hazy gaze. “You embarrassed me today,” you chide. “Why?” You dip your head, lapping over the tip of his cock, letting him thrust into your mouth, a spit trail connecting your skin for a brief moment. You kiss the salt of him back into his mouth, devouring his desperate moans as you stroke him. “I asked you a question,” you murmur against his lips.

There’s an answer forming on his tongue, you can see, watching him struggle to swallow it down. You pull away, lifting your hand to lap the taste of him off your fingers, giving an exaggerated moan. Matty whimpers, desperate, hips rocking against nothing as you batter against his defences. A burst of pleasure licks up your spine when you drag your fingers through your still-soaked cunt. Matty’s answering moan as you wrap your wet fingers around his cock is nothing short of pathetic, low and thick with lust. Clicking your tongue disapprovingly, you repeat your question, the ensuing silence thick with the unsaid. You know the answer, but it’s no fun not to pry it out of him. “I was jealous, okay!” he gasps out. 

He won’t meet your eyes, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Aw, I know,” you croon sympathetically. Your touches turn tender, coaxing. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t need to be jealous. Don’t want anyone but you. I’m yours, yeah?” you promise, lifting his head to deliver your words into his shadowed eyes.

“Mine,” he echoes faintly, rolling his hips up into your hand and whining. Your thighs clench at his possessive tone; you love being his, being the only one who gets to have him like this. “Gonna cum, fuck, please let me cum, fuck!” The last syllable crumbles into a sob as you pull away, ruining him for the final time. “‘M sorry, ‘M sorry, please let me cum,” he whimpers, so sweetly pathetic that you almost want to let him cum.

Almost. Matty’s chest heaves, struggling for breath and sanity as you climb off him, smoothing your dress down nonchalantly. Pouting down at him, you click your tongue condescendingly. “Poor baby. You don’t get to cum tonight, okay? How are you gonna learn a lesson if I give you what you want now?”

He gasps, chokes, twitching as he fights to stay still. “Please?” he murmurs, so quiet that you aren’t sure whether he’s addressing it to you or subconsciously voicing his need.

Either way, you shake your head at him with a shrug. “Get control of yourself and we can watch a movie, yeah?”

Matty gives a shuddering nod as you turn to leave, squaring your shoulders so you don’t look back at him.

After a few minutes, Matty slopes into the living room, dressed but still looking fucked-out, hair wild and eyes downcast. You rest your head in his lap when he comes to sit beside you, smiling blithely and uncaringly up at him.

“Are you still mad?” he ventures, petting your hair tentatively.

“Depends,” you answer, feeling his body tense at your words “Are you gonna pull that shit again?”

“No,” he replies without hesitation, shuddering at the thought of what you just put him through

“Then no,” you grin, and Matty relaxes under you. “But you still don’t get to cum,” you can’t resist adding.

He pouts down at you, but his eyes are shining with mischief, any lingering tension fully faded now. “Can I make you come again, then?”

Sitting up, you climb into his lap and kiss him for a long, luxurious moment, heat swelling between you as his tongue slides against yours. “Say please.”

[f0point5]

The new fic was wonderful, I cant get enough of Em and Max I hope you never stop writing about them! That being said, I'm curious, would you write about one (or all four!) Times Max had to run around a city looking for Emelia?

Okay I’m sorry about how this turned out 🫣 I know in the fic it referenced that Max didn’t know there was a problem and only found out once she left but I am taking some artistic license with this being one of the four times! Don’t hate me 🫠

I did actually start a different one featuring Emilia’s dad so I may finish that one and we will get a funnier/more on brand instance of Emilia running away but…I hope you enjoy this one in the meantime!

✨Set in September 2021✨

They nicknamed her “The Bolter”

Max watches the sunrise in total, deafening silence. He thinks at some point he gets up to feed the cats. He thinks, but he isn’t sure. He’s so tired. His eyes are watering. It’s not tears. He can’t sleep. He wants to. He doesn’t want to. It doesn’t matter if he wants to, he can’t. He can’t sleep knowing you’re not home. He can’t sleep not knowing you’re safe.

He looks at his phone again. He has it on loud and on vibrate but he still checks. Still hopes.

Daniel: Did you hear from her?

Lando: She’s not answering me sorry

Clara Albizzi: You fucked up

That last one makes me feel sick. He did fuck up. He knew the second he’d said it. The way your face just fell and you couldn’t look at him. The way your shoulders hunched over.

You’re the reason she’s not here!

You hadn’t even packed a bag. Hadn’t even taken keys for a car. You’d just picked up the shoes that were lying in the hallway and left.

And he’d let you.

It had taken everything in him to stand still and let you leave, even as the fear set in. Fear that smelled like freshly cut grass and petrol. Fear that felt like crisp night air. Fear that looked like headlights in the dark.

The restraint had only last a few minutes.

You had blocked him, of course. So he’d called your friends. He’d ended up calling half of Monaco including more drivers than he ever spoke to regularly. Everyone denied hearing from you. He’d actually driven to Daniel’s to confirm his story that he wasn’t home. Max wondered more than once if you’d earned more loyalty from his colleagues than he had. Even if one of them was lying to him, at least you were safe.

But he couldn’t take the chance that you really hadn’t ended up at someone’s place. You didn’t have you bag with you, or even comfortable shoes. You couldn’t pay for a cab. It was that thought that had sent him to the Hotel de Paris. It was your favourite hotel in town, you even checked in for staycations sometimes. They would have your information, so you wouldn’t even need a credit card. The receptionist had refused to tell him if you were staying there - illegal, apparently - but something about his appearance must have incurred her sympathy, because she’d said that they hadn’t had any unexpected guests.

That had sent him to Sass Café. A long shot, because you didn’t usually self medicate alone, but he’d tried anyway. Fifty times he thought he’d seen you across the room as he’d weaved his way through the hoards of people. Normally he could spot you anywhere but when all he wanted was to see you he’d seen you everywhere.

By the time he’d got home, some time in the wee hours, Max could feel himself starting to shut down. As he’d called your name to no response and checked your room to find it empty, he could feel himself starting to get cold. He’d sat down on the couch, intending to think about what he was going to do next, but the thoughts had started to get away from him. The memories of the last twelve hours began to fold in on themselves, becoming smaller and squarer and so too did the feelings. The anger, the frustration, the panic, the disappointment, it all got more manageable, packing itself away in the corner in his mind that Max had so often found himself hiding in.

Even the fear had gone. The fear had gone somewhere around 5.30 am, when the darkness started to wane. As he sat on the couch and watched the sky go from black to blue to the colour of the dress you wore to Luka’s christening, his leg stopped shaking, his fists unclenched, and the tightness in his chest disappeared.

Finally, emotions had given way to a familiar and encompassing emptiness. Max just felt numb.

You’re the reason she’s not here!

What had he even been so angry about? He could almost laugh at himself. He hadn’t been angry. He’d been embarrassed. You’d told him you’d found underwear that wasn’t yours in the washing machine and he’d been so fucking embarrassed. And then he’d thought, what did he have to embarrassed about, and he decided in a split second it must be because you were judging him, and who were you to judge him when you were the reason he was fucking random girls in the first place. His relationship had ended because of you.

You’re the reason she’s not here!

Except you weren’t the reason. Not really. It had been Max’s choice and he knew that. Max needed you more than he’d wanted her and he had never once regretted that choice, although wherever you were, you probably thought he did.

He almost wishes he could feel all of it. Whatever it is that’s been forced under the surface because he can’t deal with it. He can’t feel anything. His eyes are sore and unfocused and they sting.

He drags a hand over his face. He should do something. Get flowers, or call the police, or…anything. But he doesn’t. His limbs don’t move. He just sits there…like he’s waiting for someone to pick him up.

You’ve got to come back.

Don’t worry, Max. They always come back. You’ll apologise. You’ll do better next time.

His eyes water again. This time it might be tears.

Somewhere behind him, one of the cats meows. Maybe he didn’t feed them after all.

“Max?”

At the sound of your voice, Max’s head turns so fast his neck hurts. He blinks furiously at the sight of you. For a second he thinks he’s imagining you.

“I brought strudel,” you say, holding up a small folded pastry box.

Max gets up before his he tells himself to. He wants to pull you into his arms, the urge to do it is the only thing he’s felt in hours, but stays still. You’re back, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgiven.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he says. His voice sounds hoarse.

“Not everywhere, clearly,” you say with a shrug.

“I went to Sass, Daniel’s, I called Lando, Alex, Clara, Zita,” he says, as if trying to prove that he’d tried. “I went to the hotel to see if you were there. I’ve been around the whole city all night, I didn’t sleep,”

“Oh.”

You look a little sheepish, almost guilty, as you make your way to the kitchen. Max follows, too far behind for his liking but he’s still too scared to get closer.

He sits on one side of the island and you stand on the other. He really takes in your appearance now. Hair up, no make up. Wearing a pyjama shirt. Where the fuck did you get pyjamas? He doesn’t care. His eyes run over you one more time. He might never let you out of his sight again.

“Don’t scare me like that,” Max admonishes, though there is no strength behind his words.

“Don’t piss me off like that,” you retort, and there’s strength behind yours.

The look you give him cuts like second place, and he looks away. He looks out to the balcony. The sky is cobalt now. What time is it?

“Did you mean it?” You whisper into the silence.

Max looks at you now. “No.”

“But-“

“No.” This time it’s an oath.

You shake your head as you open the pastry box. “Max, you obviously kind of meant it,” you say, turning to pick up two plates from the counter. “And I don’t blame you. I know I’m the reason you and-“

“You’re not the reason,” Max insists. “She’s the reason. She thought…she made that choice. And yeah, a part of me is still angry about it, and I cannot talk to her so I took it out on you. That wasn’t right and I’m sorry. I don’t know why I even- I’m sorry. It was my fault,”

Take responsibility. It’s your fault. You caused this to happen. If you don’t like the outcome then stop making people angry.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter this time. Even to his own ear it sounds a little more desperate.

You stare at him, eyes narrow, like you’re trying to read him, and Max almost flinches under the scrutiny. Finally, your face softens, and you sigh. Something in your posture eases.

“Max, it’s okay,” you say gently. “People fight. I just felt like shit and you know how I get. You’re fight, I’m flight, remember? I was…anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’re okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Max says. “Of course.”

You don’t look like you believe him, but he’s telling the truth. If you’re okay, then he’s okay. If you’re there, then he’s okay. If you’re home then that’s where he wants to be.

You shuffle around the island with two plates of strudel, padding on bare feet towards the living room with Max in hot pursuit.

“Where did you go?” He asks, now noticing that not even your shorts are the ones you left in last night.

“The Maybourne,” you explain, settling on the corner of the couch, legs outstretched. “The concierge gave me some spa pjs,”

Max takes a seat next to you, further than normal but closer than he’s been to you in what feels like forever.

“I’ll pay you back for the room,” he says with a rueful smile.

“Yeah, I think you will,” you say haughtily, and Max forced himself to laugh. There must be something in his expression that tips you off, though, because your face falls. “I’m sorry I left,”

Please don’t ever do that again.

The words are on the tip of his tongue but he swallows them. He doesn’t ask. He can’t. He has no right to ask you that, because no one can ever promise not to leave and he can’t promise to be worth staying for.

“It’s not the first time,” Max says with a chuckle, nudging you with his elbow. “I’m used to it by now,”

You roll your eyes and turn on the tv, flipping through to find the Moto GP race as Max yawns. The buzz he felt at your return is wearing off and the exhaustion is creeping up on him. He doesn’t want to sleep yet, though. Not when you’re still in his periphery. It’s stupid, but some part of him needs to be consciously in your presence for a while.

“Max, you can go to bed, if you want. I know you didn’t sleep,”

“No,” he says, a bit too quickly. He imagines that he blushes when you notice. His cheeks certainly burn. “I’m just….I’m fine here.”

You reach over to pick up a pillow and lay it on your lap. “At least lie down,” you say, patting the pillow like you do to get one of the cats to sit on you. Max hesitates, but only for a moment, because he’d do just about anything you told him right now.

He settles his head on the pillow, eyes fixed on the tv. He used to do this with his mum, he remembers. The first night joke after being with his dad for months, she’d put on a movie and Max would lay his head in her lap while they watched. He doesn’t think he’s ever told you that.

Your hand running through his hair is like a little jolt of energy, somewhere above him he hears you giggle at the shiver that goes through him. You don’t stop, though, finger massaging his scalp. It quiets all of his nerve endings.

“You need a haircut,” you tell him. He knows what you’re doing, but he can’t bring himself to care. As long as it’s you doing it.

“Yeah,” Max agrees. It’s the last thing he says before he finally falls asleep.

[jennaispunk]

Save Me

Summary: A professional rejection leads Dieter down a dark path. Can he find his way back?

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Word Count: 2k

Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, worry, drug use, mentions of abusive childhood (Dieter), mention of Dieter being a bit of an asshole (but he loves reader), two people in love who are just trying to figure it out. Internal dialogue is in italics. No physical description of reader is given. The photos in the moodboard are for aesthetic only.

A/N: This is for @bitchesuntitled sober Dieter challenge. I’m so proud of you, bb!! 💜💜 This story was inspired by Save Me by Jelly Roll. If you haven’t heard it, go listen right now. It’s an amazing song that really captures the reality of addiction.

Somebody save me, me from myself

I’ve spent so long living in hell….

Dieter groans loudly and shields his eyes. Why is it so bright in here? Where the fuck am I? He didn’t even know what day it was or how long he’d been there. His throat feels like it’s been sandblasted. There’s no clear memory of how he ended up here. He falls off the couch and stumbles to the bathroom, his head still spinning. Swiping his hand down his face, he looks at his reflection. He doesn’t even recognize the person staring back at him. This must be what rock bottom feels like. He supposed this was bound to happen; he’d always been one for self-sabotage. He had the girl of his dreams, more money than he knew what to do with but somehow, he’d managed to fuck it all up. He’d been able to brush off rejection before, but this one felt personal. That role was going to make his career. His father’s words kept ringing in his head, taunting him. An actor? You can pretend all ya want…you’ll always be a loser, kid. Don’t come crawling back home when it doesn’t work out. He chuckled darkly. That lousy old man never believed in him, but he sure had his hand out when the first big check came in.

He thought he had it all under control. He’d managed to keep his drug use to a minimum for months. He’d been so determined to change, and you’d been such a big help with that. You were the supportive presence he needed, always there to talk him down off the ledge.

He whispers your name to his reflection. The acrid tang of bile hits the back of his throat. You must be worried sick. He’s surprised you weren’t blowing up his phone. Dead. Ah fuck, this is bad. He said some awful things to you, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you’d packed your shit and gotten as far away as you could. He deserves all that and more for what he’s done.

Three days…That’s how long it’s been since Dieter slammed the door as he walked out. The rattle still echoes in your head as you sit on the overstuffed couch in your shared penthouse apartment. You’d never seen him so angry. He wasn’t the type to yell or get overly upset about anything. You knew it was the drugs and depression talking, but that didn’t make his words hurt any less. You knew his demons; he’d shown you the parts of him he kept hidden from the rest of the world. He told you about his shitty childhood, how his father had been emotionally abusive to him and his mother, and how he struggled with depression. There had been times when he’d disappear for a day, but he always came back to you. He never left you overnight without a word.

You stare at your phone willing it to ring. God, please let him be okay. You can feel him slipping further away from you every minute he’s gone. All you need is to hear his voice, to know that he isn’t hurt or worse, but all you get is silence…and it’s deafening. You’ve called anyone that you think might know something. The answer is always the same: I haven’t heard from him. I’m sure he’s fine. You know Dieter, don’t worry so much. The thing was, they didn’t really know Dieter at all. They knew the chaotic, free spirit who was always down for a good time. They didn’t know the parts of him he only let you see.

Looking back on it now, you should have seen it coming. This last rejection really hurt him. You knew how bad he wanted that part. It was going to be a game changer for him, his chance to prove to Hollywood that he was a serious actor and that was all torn to shreds when they went with another actor. At first, he been able to brush it off, but as the days wore on you could see how much it affected him.

It started with little things: sleeping in late, changes in his appetite. Then he started snapping at you. He’d yell at you for the littlest things. One time it was so bad that you hid in the bathroom and cried. It all culminated with his drug use getting out of control. He had been doing so well up until that point. He hadn’t touched any hard drugs in months, just the occasional smoke or edible, mostly when he was painting. When you came home three days ago to find cocaine sprinkled over the coffee table, you confronted him and that’s when everything went to hell. You argued, he screamed at you and then he left.

You were so worried about him that you’d barely eaten or slept. You drove around the streets of LA, stopping at some of his old hangouts hoping to find him. The only thing keeping you from calling the police is that you don’t want the press to somehow find out that he was missing. That would be a disaster for his career, and he would never forgive you for that.

Tears prick at your eyes as you check your phone for the millionth time. He hasn’t called or texted and no one has sent word that they’ve heard from him. Your chest feels tight, it’s harder to get air in your lungs. The longer he is gone, the more likely it is that something terrible has happened to him. You can’t take not knowing any longer and dial the number to the local police station, your shaking thumb hovering over the send button.

Your eyes snap up as the door to the apartment opens. Dieter walks in and you gasp softly.

“Dee!”

You rush to him and throw your arms around his neck. Tears leak from your eyes as you hold him close to you. He stands like a statue in your grip making no move to wrap his arms around you.

“I’m so glad you came home.” You whisper in his ear.

He’s shocked that you’re still here. His throat is dry, and he swallows hard. How does he even begin to apologize? Forgiveness isn’t something he deserves.

The sickly sweet mixture of vomit and whiskey hits your nostrils, and you slowly pull away from him. Your jaw drops, as you notice just how awful he looks. Disheveled clothing and extra messy hair make the dark circles under his eyes stand out even more. A small cut adorns his forehead, the dried blood crusted to his skin.

“I’m sorry, babe.” he croaks through chapped lips. It’s weak, a piss poor apology for what he put you through, but that’s the best he can do right now.

Your heart felt like it was in a vice grip. Nothing would have prepared you for this. The stories that you heard of his past pale in comparison to reality. This is not the man you fell in love with. The man in front of you is broken and defeated. He’d never let himself get this down before, at least not since he’d met you. That was all in the past. What has he done to himself?

“It’s okay, baby.” You coo softly. “We don’t have to talk about it right now. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You take his hand and lead him to the bathroom. You simultaneously thank and curse every deity you can think of. The man you love has been reduced to a shell of himself and you’re not exactly sure how to help him. The last thing you want to do is make this worse, comforting him is your only goal now.

He’s completely silent as you turn on the shower. You strip him of his dirty clothes as the steam fills the room. The first thing you need to do is get him clean and get him some sleep. The serious conversation you need to have can wait until morning.

You undress yourself and guide him under the hot water. The water cascades over the two of you and you smile at him, hoping to assure him that everything is fine. You encourage him to tilt his head back to wet his hair. You scrub his hair, massaging his scalp with loving care. After rinsing the shampoo from his hair, you scrub his scruffy beard to remove the bits of dried vomit stuck there. Next, you wash his body with slow, gentle strokes. You can only hope this shower is comforting for him, he’s devoid of emotion right now. The soapy suds slide down his body and onto the shower floor as you feel him start to finally relax just a bit. If it were only that easy to wash away his hurt and his pain. You bite back your tears as you turn off the water. He doesn’t need to see you cry right now; he needs you to be strong for him.

His jaw twitches as you guide him from the shower. I’ve royally fucked up; how can she forgive me for this? He really went off the deep end this time and he knows it. His last act of love will be to make you save yourself; to give you an out so he doesn’t ruin your life too. He’s done enough damage.

“You should go…” he says softly. “I’m a lost cause. I’m just going to drag you down with me.”

Your brow furrows. Leaving was not an option for you. You were in this for the long haul, and you weren’t going to let him push you away. There was no way in hell you were walking out.

“I’m not going anywhere, babe. You’re stuck with me.”

Tears well in his eyes and he crushes you to his chest. He holds onto you like his life depends on it, a desperate act of a drowning man.

You silently wrap your arms around his waist, your own feeble attempt to anchor him, to let him know that he’s not alone. You’ll be there every step of the way, but you can’t save him; He has to be the one to save himself.

His shoulders bounce as he silently sobs. He murmurs apologies into your hair over and over again, tears streaming down his face. “I need help… please help me. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

You silently thank every God or spirit you can think of. He’s asking for help and you’re going to do everything in your power to get him whatever he needs.

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” You whisper. “I’m going to help you, baby.”

You guide him to the bed and help him lay down, encouraging him to lay his head on your chest. Unshed tears prick your eyes as you try to find the right words to say to soothe him.

“Sleep now.” You murmur as you stroke his hair. “We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”

The quiet hangs heavy between you; his occasional heavy breath punctuating the silence. His asking for help was only the first step of a long journey. Nothing was going to be fixed overnight; you couldn’t just snap your fingers and make all of this go away no matter how badly you wished you could.

He knew just how big of a mess he’d made of things. Storming out on you like that and going on a binge was a horrible mistake. It was going to take work to fix this, but he had to do it, for himself and for you.

“Please don’t give up on me.”

His whispered plea shatters your heart into a thousand pieces. You clear your throat to choke back your tears.

“I won’t ever give up on you, Dee.” you whisper as you wrap your arms around him even tighter.

“I love you too much to quit on you now. Don’t give up on yourself.”

He lets out a shaky breath. Too many people had given up on him in the past, written him off without giving him a chance, but not you. He’s so grateful that you want to stick around. He doesn’t know if he could do this without you.

“I love you, too.”

He had a long road ahead and it scared the shit out of him. Could he finally get sober after so many slip ups? Honestly, he didn’t know but he was going to try, whether that meant rehab or outpatient treatment, whatever it took. He was going to try like hell to be the man he wanted to be, for himself and for you.

[bellysoupset]

Three fics from me in a day? More likely than you think!

----------------------------------

Jon wasn't surprised when he woke up in the middle of the night with the sound of retching.

Like clockwork, Leo's stress tanked his immunity and he got sick. Despite being sleepy and his whole body hurting thanks to all the flying around and his messed up sleep pattern, Jonah stumbled to the bathroom, nearly walking into the doorframe.

He poked his head in and sighed, Leo was hunched over the toilet, one arm wrapped around his stomach, the other one draped on the seat.

Before bed they had shared a ridiculously long shower, until they both felt like people again. Now, Leo's humid hair fell in front of his face, the very tips nearly reaching his mouth.

"Aw, Leo," Jonah groaned, walking in and crouching down, pulling back his boyfriend's hair. He planted a hand in the middle of Leo's back and cringed as he could feel the heat rolling off of him, "how long you've been here?"

"Uhm... Dunno," Leo spat in the clear water, unable to keep the drool in, "I don't feel well..."

"I know," Jon rubbed vigorously, snorting to himself as he realized he had missed even this. How stupidly in love was he that he missed rubbing Leo's back as he threw up?

Leo lurched forward with a deafening retch, but didn't bring up more than some acidic spit and he let out a moan, "I can feel it..." he pushed in his own stomach and Jonah cringed in sympathy as he heard a growl coming from the upset organ, a wet burp rolling out of Leo's lips, "ugh. Not coming."

"Come to bed," Jonah grabbed his shoulder to keep Leo from falling against the bathtub, "I'll bring a bin for you, but come to bed."

"Noo..." Leo's eyes squeezed and he gulped down, "I'm gonna be sick."

"Yeah, no shit, baby," Jonah rolled his eyes, "I don't want you in the cold bathroom ground, c'mon-" he wrapped an arm around Leo's chest, using all his force to pull him up. The blonde stumbled, nearly taking them both down, before he straightened up.

He braced against the sink to wash his clammy face and caught Jonah's eyes in the mirror, "you're clingy."

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder and all that shit," Jonah smiled at him, appreciating the glimpse of his boyfriend's personality under all the nausea and heartbreak. Leo swished some water around in his mouth and spat it out, hanging over the bowl for a second as he took measured breaths.

"Yeah, all that shit," he pressed his stomach against the marble, forcing up a little UUrp and wrinkling his nose, "my body fucking hates me."

"Your body is exhausted," Jonah corrected him, planting a hand on Leo's forehead and pushing back his bangs, "and didn't stand a chance against the mighty European germs I brought home."

"UUhm..." Leo groaned, his stomach gurgling in the silent bathroom, "so you're to blame for this," he lifted up his head to glare at Jon in the mirror and Jonah frowned, feeling a stab of guilt.

"I'm sorry-"

"I'm joking," Leo cut him off sharply, "I'll take a stomach bug to have you home, any day," he straightened up, "I'll need that bowl though."

Five minutes later they were in bed, Jonah had planted the promised bowl on the bedside table and Leo was draped over him like he wanted to melt their bodies together. His cheek was pressed to Jonah's chest and he kept muffling little sick burps against the man's shirt, but didn't pull back.

"How was Europe?" Leo asked after a minute of silence, while Jonah started petting his hair, fully hoping Leo's body would be able to just deal with the nausea on its own.

"Old," Jonah smiled, "same as its been for the past thousand of years."

"Oh c'mon, you want me to believe you weren't having a blast in Paris?" Leo groaned, "I know you love me, but give me a break-"

"No," Jon snorted, "it's not that, though I would have preferred to have you there. It's just I have been to most the places we visited, the fun part was spending time with Angie, not the tourism."

"She's too pissed you guys had to cut it short?" Leo sighed, sounding defeated and Jonah paused the hair petting in order to look at his face.

"She's worried and pissed she's in the dark, but not over cutting it short. Angie really likes you, baby, she was completely understanding," he ran his fingers over Leo's forehead, warm but not enough he should be worrying, "besides, we're gonna see her much more often."

"Uh?" Leo pulled back, in order to sit up, and Jonah frowned.

"Leo?"

"Give me the bowl," he squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a little burp under his breath, "we're gonna see her more often...?"

"She's going to Massachusetts's College of Art," Jonah planted the bowl in his hands and moved a hand to support Leo's forehead in case he lurched forward, "so she's gonna be only 3 hours away from us, by car."

"Uhmm..." Leo's throat bobbed nervously and he let out another wet belch, "that's great-"

Jonah couldn't help but chuckle at the cognitive dissonance of their situation and Leo's words. He turned his head slightly not to look, but continued holding Leo's head, cringing as he heard another burp, this one turning frothy at the end and some liquid splashed in the bowl.

He could hear Leo panting, hyperventilating, and the noise of his throat working to try and swallow back a gag- He retched, loudly, and a lot more liquid fell in the bowl.

Jonah's own stomach turned and his mouth filled up with saliva, reflexive nausea washing over him. Thankfully his stomach was painfully empty, since he had ditched dinner in order to cuddle with Leo.

His boyfriend had stopped gagging, but hadn't moved from his hunched position, so Jonah gulped down and turned to look at him. In their half lit bedroom, illuminated solely by the bathroom light spilling out, Jonah couldn't make out the liquid inside the bowl, but could definitely see that Leo was milky white. His mouth was slightly open, jaw heavy with nausea, and he was clearly fighting another bout.

"Leo, just let it up, baby," Jonah sighed and Leo shook his head, back curling as he suppressed a heave. Jon frowned, knowing it was a losing battle and moved his arms around, so he could wrap his right one around Leo's waist and press his hand against the man's tummy. The minute his palm pressed against the top of Leo's belly, he let out a gurgling burp and more liquid fell in the bowl.

Jonah gagged, turning his face and pressing his mouth to his own shoulder trying not to hear or smell anything. The nearly three weeks away had been enough time for his tolerance to lower back again.

Leo groaned loudly when Jonah pressed on his belly once more, causing another pathetic wave of vomit to fall, his hand clumsily coming to grab Jonah's wrist and stop him, "eu-Urgh- enough," Leo groaned, interrupting himself with a gag, "hurts."

"Sorry," Jon eased his hold, kissing Leo's shoulder, "do you feel better?"

"No," the blonde breathed out slowly, trying to calm his body, "I- Stop touching me, just-" he shuffled in the bed, overwhelmed and Jonah pulled back, biting the inside of his cheek not to say anything. He wanted nothing more than to be all over Leo, but it wouldn't help at the moment.

He watched as Leo moved to rest against the headboard, still clutching the bowl, and closed his eyes, looking at the ceiling as his cheeks puffed out with slow breaths.

Jonah started peeling on his lip, ready to jump in case it looked Leo needed help. Instead the blonde only stayed quite like a wax statue for good five minutes, before leaning carefully over the bowl and gulping down, until a big burp came up.

Leo looked so spooked by it, that Jonah couldn't help but chuckle, "you good?"

"Oof, yeah," Leo cringed, "that was gross, sorry. I'm gonna go clean this out..."

"You think you can handle some tea?" Jonah got up as well and Leo made a squeamish face, but nodded.

"Peppermint."

"Alright," Jon stood up and leaned in without thinking, kissing the top of his head, and hesitated only once he was already half hugging the man, "sorry-"

"No, it's fine," Leo, who was still sitting down, buried his face against Jon's stomach, "you're so comfy."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," then Leo pulled back with a small smirk, "but not as comfy as Luke, though."

"Oh god, fuck off, Wagner," Jonah glared at him, shoving Leo's head and jumping out of his hold to go make him tea. As he was stomping out the room though, he could hear Leo giggling as he went to the bathroom to clean up, and Jonah had to fight a smile of his own.

[favouriteconstellation]

sinful I

18+ readers only please lovelies!! (this is for a reason please listen<3)

little synopsis: the reader is tonys daughter (he had her young, canon doesnt exist) theres tension between you and stephen, an obvious age gap keeping you from eachother (26, 40). theyre 'trapped' in an elevator together and the tension crumbles.

pronouns: female pronouns are used

relationship: fem reader x stephen strange not established relationship

note: i do not know what possessed me to write this shit, i will not apologise. i love you <333

warnings: defined age gap, stephen being possessive, controlling smut, dd/lg kind offf, petnames

you could always tell when stephen strange was in a room you were in without even looking. he was the type of man who had one of those commanding prescenses, maybe it was his ego you thought to yourself. either way, for weeks you had continuously been trying to block him out of the forefront of your mind. but no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't shake his presence. it was like he was a part of your subconscious, a part of you that you never wanted to acknowledge.

you knew that you had to find a way to cope with his presence or it was going to drive you crazy. you had to find a way to remove him from your thoughts. you had to find a way to make him go away. you could swear he knew how infatuated you were with him, how you’d drift off in meetings with thoughts of him racing through your mind. you wanted to wipe that god awful smirk off his face, and the way he looked at you like a starving wolf. that look terrified you, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your stomach flip. fucking Christ.

he was 40 years old. the thick grey streaks that run through his tousled hair becoming prominent. he carried himself with authority, his body language conveying strength and confidence. his eyes were sharp and focused, his expression serious and determined. you shook him out of your thoughts, standing in the empty elevator, holding a binder you were supposed to speak about at an avengers meeting. something important about presenting to the government. it was an important event, not the type of meeting you’d show up to in your training gear. your eyes met his shiny leather dress shoes. shit.

“stark.” he confidently spoke in his baritone voice nodding at you, his scarred hand extending to hold the elevator open before he stepped in silently, standing tantilizingly close to you. closer than any other coworker would.

“oh. good morning, stephen.” you spoke back softly, anxiously tapping your foot. it wasn’t the meeting you were anticipating. you were met with silence as he pushed the button to go to the floor of the meeting you were both attending. the elevator slowly went up. 

“you seem nervous, stark.” he looked straight ahead, not making eye contact with you. 

“just not a public speaker, that's all.” you managed to squeak out. you could tell he was smirking, that sick bastard knew what he was doing. you couldnt. you were only 26, and here you stood head over heels for some magical doctor who’s ego towers over him. suddenly the sound of clanging pipes could be heard followed by a deafening screeching. the elevator came to a halt, but the doors stayed closed. stephen scoffed and hit the ‘open door’ button. nothing. he chuckled under his breath. 

“we can miss this meeting. oh please no.” you started pressing the button as you panicked.

“oh come on darling, it’s not as if this is the worst situation in the world, is it?” he stood facing you. darling. get fucked. 

“i don’t know what game you’re playing, strange. now could you just portal us out of here?” you checked your watch. “we’re 7 minutes late.”

“i don’t have my sling ring on me, not exactly something you bring to an all-important government meeting, now is it?” you sighed, that sarcastic attitude would be the death of you. 

“why don’t we just sit tight, mm? nobody is going to come save you, they’re all busily writing notes on something some superfical united nations member has to say.” he stared into your eyes, clearly unbothered. you nodded, what else could you do? you were stuck. slowly backing against the metal back panel of the elevator, you slowly slid down in defeat, sitting on the cold metal with your legs stretched out. he did the same. 

“wouldn’t want to dirty that suit.” you mumbled, annoyed that you were here, stuck with the last person you’d want to be in a confined space with. 

“wouldn’t want to dirty that pretty little dress. oh. that’s right, daddy will just buy you a new one, won't he?” te bit back. being tony’s daughter had its perks, but many people mistook you for a spoiled brat. 

“what, you tight on money or something, strange? need me to spot you? buy you lunch?” you scoffed. he laughed, loosening his tie and sighing from relief. you crossed your legs in response, he's almost your fathers age, why are you pressing your thighs together? jesus - you thought to yourself. 

she looked over at him, his collar was turned up on one side after he loosened his tie. you leaned over the cold metal floors and reached him. 

“oh here. let me fix this for you.” you whispered, stumbling as you ended up straddling him as you fixed his collar, his hot breath fanning your face as you were inches away from eachother. 

“hi darling..” he whispered seductively. you were burning red, your mouth slightly parted as you sat there flushed and frozen. 

“dont get all shy on me now, hm?” he laughed, his scarred fingers reaching to trace the side of your jaw. 

“stephen.. we can’t. it would be wrong. this is sinful” you whispered against his lips. 

“then why does it feel so right? i see the way you look at me. the way your breath hitches in your throat when i walk in front of you. the way you stumble over your words when you speak to me. tell me this is wrong one more time, and I’ll leave. we'll stop.” he stated, looking at your lips and then gazing back into your eyes. you kept your eyes on him and your heart raced. you knew that what you were doing was wrong, but you couldn't help it.

you wanted to stay. he was hypnotizing, it was cruel. you launched closer into his embrace, kissing him passionately as if he was the last man you’d ever kiss. he groaned softly into your mouth in shock but quickly moved one hand up the side of your hips and the other was holding the side of your cheek. you felt a warmth spread through your body as his lips moved against yours, and you felt yourself getting lost in the moment. you pulled away reluctantly, your heart still pounding as your eyes met his. 

he lingered there for a moment, and then his lips curved into a knowing smile as he slowly pulled away. he was aware of your attraction and you were both enjoying it. he rested both of his hands on your lower back, holding your hips as you were sitting in the same position. he slowly moved you forward, rocking you, the friction was you were grinding on him creating warmth and longing to be touched. you were inexperienced, shy. no man had ever made you feel like this and you couldnt help but softly moan into his ear and he moved you. he did all the work, picking up the pace and praising you. 

“that feels good, huh baby? oh fuck. keep making those pretty noises for me. anyone ever made you feel like this?” he groaned, watching you sinfully as you rocked your lips back and forth against his lap. you closed you eyes in embarrassment. the answer was no. you shook your head gently, rocking against him, mewling.

"atta girl" he groaned in your ear.

“oh stephen..shit.” you moaned, louder than before. he grabbed your waist, stopping you. 

“keep moving, and i won't be able to stop. at least let me be a gentlemen” he scooped you up and slid his sling ring out of his coat pocket. 

“you dirty liar!” you scoffed in his arms as he opened a portal.

“oh come on sweetheart, you know i always have it on me.” he chuckled, walking through the portal. you were in his bedroom. the dark oak panelled walls of the sanctum were glossy and rich. the 4 post bed was the star of the room, overshadowing everything else. he laid you down on the bed. part of you expected him to be sweet and gentle with you, caring almost. tt was almost as if he could read your mind. 

“i’m bad for you baby. i want to be selfish with you, i’ve wanted this for so long.” he said as he threw his suit jacket to the floor and the clinging of his unbuckling belt made you whine.

"be a good girl for me, yeah baby?" you were about to lie on your stomach so he could unzip your dress, but without hesitation he knelt straddling you. He placed his scarred hands on the neckline of your dress and ripped it down the middle as if it was paper.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 32: Adrift

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.6k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ [Meant For Mature Audience]

Astarion’s tremulous body finally falls still as he slips into the semblance of his trance. His breathing begins to slow, though it remains uneven. Your fingers brush the edge of the bed absently while you linger there for minutes longer than necessary. The squall of voices is quieter, but they still persist, chanting an aria of fear and unrest amongst the residual confusion.

The faint creak of the door closing behind you feels deafening in the perturbing silence. You wish to be alone to allow your thoughts to settle, but the clink and clank of metal gears remind you that hope has no place in your existence anymore.

Karlach sits in a chair by an unlit hearth with her head bowed. She doesn’t turn to look at you, and you consider retreating, melting back into the dark like a coward. She will demand answers, which she deserves, but you’re unsure you have satisfactory ones to offer.

Her voice stampedes over the quiet before you can make your mind up. “You gonna stand there all night, or are you gonna face me like the Illyria I know?”

Your fingers curl into the hem of the oversized shirt she gave you to change into and nervously tug before you coerce your body to appear calm. You take the chair next to her and wait for the inevitable barrage.

The voices that haunt Astarion’s mind have found their way into yours, no longer distant echoes but fully present and suffocating. Every time you blink, the world blurs, but the cacophony never stops. They chant in a language that does not sound familiar, but somehow, you can comprehend some of the fragments of words.

It is beautiful, angelic even, a lullaby of corruption. Dissonant harmonies bleed into your mind like toxins that infect everything they touch. It insinuates itself into the corners of your thoughts until you cannot tell what’s yours and what isn’t.

You catch some of the whispers—let him fall, let them all fall, and then fall with them.

Whether foolish or noble, you push yourself into the kinship and draw the voices away from Astarion. The effort leaves you trembling, every part of you stretched thin, but you grit your teeth and hold the line. 

Astarion needs rest, and if the price of his rest is your unrest, so be it.

“Alright, soldier,” Karlach shatters what little focus you had left. “I think it’s high time you tell me what in the fuck is going on here.”

“Astarion is sick,” you begin, trying to find the right words. “The Rite had consequences we weren’t apprised of.”

Her brows furrow, and her tail lashes. “What kind of consequences?”

Your lips press into a firm line while you ponder exactly how much to tell her. “Mephistopheles,” you say, the name tasting like poison on your tongue. “He tainted the Rite, and when it was completed, his madness bled into Astarion.”

Karlach leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Mephistopheles was always a paranoid lunatic. Heard enough stories about him in the Hells to know he didn’t trust his shadow half the time. Why would he infect Astarion? What’s the point?”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “Freedom.”

“He used the Rite to dump all the rot he couldn’t stand into Astarion.” Karlach murmurs, the realization dawning on her like a hammer striking steel.

You nod, your throat tight. “The Rite made Astarion the vessel for everything Mephistopheles wanted to leave behind. All the instability, the anger, everything that was too much for even him to hold.”

“Bloody Hells,” Karlach breathes with fury braided into her intonation.

“Astarion’s soul is fractured. One side of him is trying to hold on to who he was and who he is. The other side…” You trail off, your throat constricting.

“The other side is what Mephistopheles left behind,” Karlach finishes grimly.

You nod. “It’s spreading. If we can’t stop it—if Astarion can’t hold on—then…”

Karlach’s gaze hardens, her fiery eyes locking onto yours. “Then what?”

“Then the Astarion we know will be gone.” Karlach leans back in her chair, exhaling slowly. “So what happened today…” “Wasn’t Astarion’s fault,” you cut in, sharper than you intended. An unusual rage prickles over your skin, like millions of needle points. You grind your teeth together so hard you’re positive you’ll crack them in an effort not to shout at Karlach.

If she had just left well enough alone, if she and Wyll had listened to you, if she could have taken a fucking hint…

You shake your head to redirect the stream of rage. You remind yourself that she was just trying to help, but it does little to quell the roiling inferno.

She doesn’t understand. None of them do. They wouldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Karlach leans forward, brows furrowed with a mixture of worry and confusion. “Hey, I’m just trying to—”

“What? Help?” you snap, the word laced with venom before you can stop yourself.

You immediately regret it but cannot find it in yourself to apologize, not with how your blood feels like it’s boiling beneath your skin. Her expression softens despite your outburst, which only makes the fire in your chest burn hotter.

The voices press in, their whispers like a deafening roar in your mind. They think you’re weak. Pathetic. They do not trust you.

You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms as you try to quiet them, but the rage refuses to subside. Every attempt to reason with yourself falls apart as the voices twist and churn.

Karlach doesn’t back down. “Look, all I’m saying is—”

“I know what you’re saying,” you interrupt, standing so abruptly that your chair screeches against the floor.

Your voice rises before you can stop it, cracking under the weight of your frustration. “I do not need your concern or pity or whatever this is! What happened today is none of your business.”

“It’s not pity,” Karlach says firmly, standing now, too, her broad shoulders squaring as she looks you in the eye. She’s calm, even steady, which only makes your rage feel all the more erratic and untamed. “It’s care.”

Care. The word feels like ash in your mouth. You want to scream, lash out, and tell her that care doesn’t fix anything.

But instead, your chest tightens painfully, and your teeth grind together again as the voices take on a mocking edge. She is lying. She does not care. None of them do. They will turn on you the moment you show weakness.

You shake your head, trying to drown them out, but they only grow louder, more insistent. The heat beneath your skin threatens to boil over, and your voice comes out low and trembling with restrained fury. “Just… drop it, Karlach. Please. It’s been a long day.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, and her voice is gentler when she does. “What are you going to do?”

“Astarion and I need to go to Cania,” you say, keeping your voice steady as if the words don’t carry the weight of an impossible task.

“Cania? The frozen layer of the Hells? Why in the bloody abyss would you go there?”

You hesitate, running your fingers through your hair as you search for a way to say this without giving too much away. “There’s… something there that might help Astarion,” you say finally.

Karlach’s fiery eyebrows rise. “You’re being awfully vague for something that sounds insane.”

You shrug, trying to appear casual. “It’s complicated.”

Karlach’s voice rises slightly, and she shakes her head. “Do you know what you’re walking into? Cania isn’t just snowstorms and ice—it’s crawling with devils who would sooner rip your head off than let you breathe there.”

“I know,” you reply softly. “There is no other way, and I don’t think he has much more time.”

You don’t think either of you do.

The door presses into your back, and you rake your nails over the skin of your arm as if you could claw this peculiar anger out. It’s not your anger, but it also is, intensified like someone is looking at it under a magnifying glass. The voices speak in truths and half-truths, making them hard to ignore, but when your eyes land on Astarion, the seething hisses subside.

You watch him with guarded tenderness, stopping a few steps away. The memory of earlier is still fresh—how his eyes had burned with panic, how he’d flinched away from you like you were the thing he needed to protect himself from.

The confusion, his fear, and the way he looked at you as though you were a stranger. The sting of it is sharp, and your jaw tightens. It wasn’t his fault, but it doesn’t make it easier to stomach.

You hover near the edge of the bed, and the urge to crawl into it with him flares briefly in your mind. Typically, you would do so without hesitation, but not now. He needs space more than he needs you crowding him, and maybe, though you hate to admit it, you need the distance, too.

For now.

Folding your legs under yourself, you curl up in the chair at his side. The room is still, save for the faint sound of Astarion’s breathing and steady heartbeat. You focus on it, letting its rhythm lull you into a degree of calm.

Your eyes flutter shut, but rest does not come easily. The silence of the room only amplifies the thoughts and voices. You shift slightly in the chair, curling up as tight as possible as if it might hold your crumbling pieces together.

Astarion does not stir even as the chair creaks. He looks peaceful, his face free of the torment that inhabits him, and you cling to that like a lifeline. You tell yourself it’s enough, that he is here, resting, and that he’ll wake and things will be better, but it’s a transparent lie.

You close your eyes and let your mind drift. It isn’t sleep, but it’s a half-trance, where your thoughts blur and bend, bleeding into each other until they’re shapeless. You focus on the sound of his breathing again, on the faint pull of the bond, and let yourself be carried by it.

You aren’t sure how long you stay in that liminal state between rest and wakefulness, but your eyes flutter open when you hear the soft sound of hesitant footsteps. When things come into focus, Astarion stands near the bedroom window, his shirt discarded on the floor, trousers hanging loosely at his hips.

Beads of sweat glide down his body, tracing the contours of his muscles like droplets of liquid glass catching the light filtering through the curtains. Your mind shifts into the link, and you realize the disorientation has not abated.

His thoughts start and stop, his memories incoherent and unsettlingly incongruent, like the timeline of his life had been torn apart, and he’s trying to reassemble it, but he can’t find where the pieces fit together.

You open your mouth, unsure of what exactly to say, but you need to say something. His presence is off in a way you can’t fully describe, so you say his name softly, careful not to startle him.

“Astarion?”

He whirls with wide eyes, locking onto yours with an edge of surprise and panic, as if he’s just now realized that he isn’t alone. He stands there, frozen, as though he’s trying to place you in his reality, but you’re not something he’s quite sure belongs.

You swallow thickly and try again. “Astarion?”

His lips part, but words don’t seem to come easily. His eyes dart between you, the window, and the surrounding space with such chaotic jerks that you have a hard time tracking what he’s looking at from one moment to the next.

“I… I did not mean to wake you,” he mutters, hoarse and apologetic, like he’s trying to smooth over a misunderstanding that isn’t there.

Pushing yourself upright, you do your best to keep your movements predictable and controlled, but the way he watches you sets your nerves on edge.

“Illyria,” he says, eyes surveying you but still distant.

Your name sounds like a question more than a statement, and it strikes you like ice forming over the nerves of your spine. Does he not remember me? The thought flashes through your mind, and with it, dread.

“Yes,” you nod, keeping your voice steady despite the wrenching fear settling in your gut.

“My…” he trails off, splaying his fingers in front of him and looking at the ring like he needs confirmation before he concludes the rest of his sentence. “Wife, yes?”

You try to keep your panic hidden, burying it deep where he cannot see, but it churns. Astarion should know you. But the man standing before you seems lost, piecing fragments of memories together as though he’s trying to form a picture of his life, but the edges won’t align.

How much of him is still here? How much of the Astarion you loved has survived, buried beneath the weight of his own mind?

“Yes, I’m your wife,” you confirm while rising from the chair.

His body seems to relax slightly at your confirmation, though there’s still a fog in his eyes, a distant confusion that makes him seem far away.

You clear your throat, trying to steady yourself. “What do you remember?”

Astarion stares at you for a long moment, his gaze searching, like he’s trying to find something within the recesses of his mind. Finally, he speaks, though his words are slow. “I remember you, but... you look different. Thin. Sickly.”

His eyes are wide with concern, though there’s a hesitation there, like he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to care. The words sickly hang in the air between you two, like an accusation you can’t escape.

You can’t quite make heads or tails of this. Yesterday, his confusion had been evident—his panic a raw, trembling thing that had threatened to consume him. But at least then, it felt like he still knew you, still saw you in some way. Today, his panic has been mitigated, but what lingers is something different—an unsettling calmness.

Does he even see me? Does he even remember us?

You take a step forward, hesitating before you speak again. “You remember me, don’t you?”

His shoulders stiffen, just slightly, and then he turns to look at you. “I remember... fragments,” he says, his voice low as if testing the words before letting them escape. “But it’s all... hazy. I remember... us, somehow, but the details slip through my fingers whenever I try to grasp them.”

The pain in his voice is subtle, but it cuts through you anyway. There’s no anger, no bitterness. Just... loss. A loss you cannot fully understand, and yet it echoes in your chest.

“I do not know what’s real,” he adds quietly, his eyes locking with yours for just a moment before he turns away again. “But you’re real. That’s something.”

You don’t know what to say. Part of you wants to reach out and touch him, but another part of you is frozen, unsure of where to begin when nothing feels the same.

Astarion’s gaze is fixed on the window, his eyes scanning the view outside with a distant, disinterested look. “Definitely not in Baldur’s Gate, are we?”

“No, we’re in the Hells. Abriymoch, to be precise.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, but you hear him slick his damp hair back with a quick swipe of his hand. The motion is instinctive like it’s something he’s done a thousand times, though there’s something so vulnerable about the way he does it now as if he’s still trying to find some semblance of control in a place that offers none.

“I suppose that explains the heat,” he comments dryly, his voice dripping with frustration.

“Control your body temperature.”

Astarion freezes, his hand stilling midair as he looks at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Can I do that?” he asks, the question genuine but laced with an edge of disbelief.

His tone cracks slightly, revealing just how much he doesn’t know, how much he’s lost. Your heart sinks a little more, your chest tightening at the realization.

You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. “You can.”

But the silence that follows only serves to remind you how far he’s fallen from that version of himself. Astarion looks at you like he’s waiting for a deeper explanation, his mind still trying to piece together what’s real and possible.

“Why am I here? Why are we here?” He asks with an edge of helplessness.

You want to ease that confusion, but instead, you find yourself paralyzed by it. This isn’t the Astarion you know—the one who had answers to everything, the one who was always so certain.

This Astarion is... adrift.

He steps closer to you, his eyes searching your face as if looking for some answer he can’t quite find.

"Why can't I remember?" he asks hesitantly as though he’s afraid of the answer. "What happened to me? The memories are all... broken. I should know this. I should know you, but it's like... like I’m seeing you for the first time. Or am I? Is it real? Hells, am I real?”

His words trail off, and you can see how much it’s tearing at him, the uncertainty, the ache in his chest that mirrors the one in yours. He knows something is wrong, but he can’t quite figure out what it is, who he is—who you are.

You need to gauge the extent of his memory loss—his safety, and your own, depend on it.

“Astarion,” you venture, gentle but probing, “you do remember that you’re a vampire, right?”

He freezes momentarily, his brow furrowing before his lips curl into a smirk. “Am I?” he gasps, pressing a hand to his chest with mock horror. “A vampire, you say? How utterly shocking! What gave me away—the fangs, the complexion, or my irresistible charm?”

The exaggerated theatrics coax a quiet laugh from you, a sound that feels foreign amidst the tension. It’s a slight relief—a glimpse of your husband peeking through the cracks of his confusion. For a moment, the man you love is right there, clever and insufferable in equal measure.

But the smile fades as quickly as it came, and his expression sobers. “Yes,” he mumbles, looking down at his hands as though seeing them for the first time. “I know what I am. That much is... hard to forget. Some things never change, it seems.”

You nod slowly, watching him carefully. “Do you remember how it happened? How you... got here?”

He hesitates, his brow creasing as he struggles to reach into the tangled mess of his mind. “I remember Cazador. The chains. The slavery. The... cruelty.” He shudders, his hand absently brushing over the faint scars on his neck that remain etched into his skin. “I remember killing him.”

He pauses, glancing at you. “You were there. Weren’t you?” His gaze searches yours, uncertain but hopeful. “I think you were. You helped me... I couldn’t have done it without you.”

You nod again, though your chest tightens. “I was there. We killed him together.”

His lips part slightly, relief wavering across his features. “Good. Good. That feels... right. You were with me. You’ve always been with me.” His expression clouds, and he rubs his temples, frustration creeping into his tone. “After that, though... it’s all so hazy. I remember the Rite, the ascension, but it’s like I’m trying to grasp shadows. I remember power—so much power—and then...” His hand falls to his side, and he shakes his head. “Nothing. Everything after is... fragments.”

Your heart sinks further. The gaps in his memory are significant, yet he’s pieced together enough to know that something is very, very wrong.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, gripping his hair. “Why is everything so tangled? Why can’t I remember?”

You reach out instinctively but stop yourself short, unsure if touching him would ground him or overwhelm him further. “It’s alright. Whatever’s happened, whatever’s missing—we’ll piece it back together.”

He glances at you, his crimson eyes softening as they meet yours. “You sound so sure,” he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose I’ll have to trust you, won’t I? You seem to know me better than I know myself.”

“You can trust me,” you conclude with conviction, though the weight of his words makes your throat tighten.

He tilts his head, studying you for a moment before letting out a quiet laugh. “Well, it’s not as though I have many other options, do I? If you’re lying to me, darling, you’re doing a very convincing job of it.”

He shakes his head, his amusement fading as he glances back at the window. “Still, it’s troubling. If I can remember killing Cazador, if I can remember the ascension... why does everything else feel so... scattered? What happened to me, Illyria?”

He says your name so tentatively that, for some reason, it makes your static heart clench. You can’t bear to tell him. Could he handle the truth in his state? What do you say to someone who is clinging to scraps?

“We will figure it out,” you repeat.

Scarlet eyes swish from side to side as if he’s reading an invisible book before him. The kinship in your head flares as he plucks its chords.

His brows furrow, and he tilts his head when he looks at you. “I can feel you in my head. It feels so… intimate. I do not understand it. Why are you in there?”

The question makes your knees shake with the urge to sink to the floor and weep, but you force the feeling aside. “We share a… mental connection that was formed when you turned me. It lets us feel each other's thoughts and emotions, among other things.”

He nods slowly as if the explanation makes sense but doesn’t quite settle. “What if I do not want this… connection, as you say?” He asks with a slight cant to his head; eyes cast upwards as if he’s mulling it over. “Could it be severed? Can I sever it? If I did, would you… go away?”

You falter, physically taking a step back like the words themselves pushed you. The last thing you want is for him to break that connection, to lose the fragile thread that continues to be together, no matter how precarious.

“If it’s too much, I can close it,” you offer, swallowing hard. “I can shut it off for a while.”

The raw panic in his reaction is immediate. He jerks forward without thinking in a burst of desperation, his hands outstretched. A sharp trill of adrenaline circulates through you, and your body locks into a defensive stance. It’s not precisely fear you feel but a shadow of mistrust rooted into your mind as a reminder that his affection usually turns to cruelty.

Astarion stops short, freezing in place. His fingers tremble in the air as he second-guesses himself. His face falls when he notices your reaction, hands still hovering helplessly.

“Apologies,” he stammers. “I did not want to frighten you. That was not my intention.”

With a deep breath, you force your muscles to relax. “I know,” you sigh but do not venture to provide any further explanation.

You reach your hand out to him, palm up, in the same way he did to you all that time ago. He glances at it curiously but seems to recognize the gesture as his hand finds yours with the same uncertain smile you remember from that night. He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s so close you can feel his breath ghosting over your face.

His voice is a whisper when he finally asks, “May I?”

There’s no need for an explanation of his intentions, and you nod. The moment his arms wrap around you, the chasm that's grown between you seems to crack open and close all at once. You hadn’t realized how much you missed this—needed this. His embrace is firm but carefully hesitant, as though he’s still testing the waters, but there is genuine affection in the way he holds you.

Burying your face in his shoulder, you melt into him and swallow the balled sob that builds in your throat. The tension you’ve been carrying for what feels like an eternity begins to ease, bit by bit.

“Please,” he murmurs against your hair, voice thickly suffused with emotion. “Do not close the bond. I… I could not bear it. It is the only thing keeping me grounded.” He pulls you closer, his fingers flexing into you firmly but not painfully, as if he’s afraid you might slip away like the rest of his memories do when he tries to clutch them. “I believe it might be the only thing keeping me present.”

“I won’t,” you promise. “I’m here, and I’ve always been here.”

Astarion exhales in a shaky burst of relief and rests his chin against your head. “Thank you.”

You don’t respond, afraid your voice might crack if you try. Instead, you hold him as he holds you, letting your bond hum with reassurance and love. For now, it’s enough to simply be in his arms, to feel that even in the haze of broken memories, some part of him still knows how to love you.

Astarion steps out of the room and into the main area with Illyria close by his side. The moment they cross the threshold, he can feel eyes on him before he sees them. His eyes flick upward, catching Karlach’s fiery glare and Wyll’s stern, furrowed expression. Karlach angles her body so that it’s between him and the chair Wyll is sitting on, like a sentry on duty. They fall silent, their conversation clearly interrupted by his presence.

He remembers them. Karlach, with her broad shoulders and the faint orange glow that radiates over her skin, who used to laugh too loudly and slap him on the back with far too much enthusiasm. Wyll, poised as always, a man of principle and loyalty.

They do not look at him with familiarity now. There is no laughter in Karlach’s eyes nor quiet camaraderie in Wyll’s posture. Their gazes drip with hatred so intense it’s a tangible scent in the air. He does not understand why, and it twists in his chest sourly.

What could he have done to earn such loathing? He cannot recall, and that absence of knowledge gnaws at him. He shifts on his feet awkwardly, one hand brushing against the seam of his trousers in a nervous fidget.

He forces a small, tentative smile and clears his throat. “It is such a pleasure to see you both again. Though, judging by the looks on your faces, I might as well have crawled out of the Nine Hells itself. Truly, what a warm welcome.”

Karlach’s expression hardens while her tail flicks behind her in barely restrained agitation. Wyll folds his arms across his chest with a scoff, his jaw tightening. The tension in the room grows thicker, and Astarion’s smile falters.

“Well,” he tries again, his voice wavering slightly. “Perhaps not a warm welcome, then. Tepid, at best? Lukewarm? Oh, do not all speak at once—I might be overwhelmed by the sheer enthusiasm.”

Karlach’s voice finally breaks through, low and simmering with anger. “You’ve got some nerve.”

Astarion blinks, taken aback by the venom in her tone. “I beg your pardon?” he replies, his attempt at charm faltering under her glare.

Wyll shakes his head, eyes darting to Illyria. “He doesn’t remember?”

Astarion frowns, his gaze darting between them. “Remember what, exactly? Is there some grand offence I have committed that has left you both so utterly... displeased with me?”

Karlach steps forward, her movements deliberate and controlled. “Offence?” she echoes, her voice dripping with incredulity. “You don’t even know—”

“Stop,” Illyria cuts in, her tone firm as she steps in front of him like a shield. “This isn’t helping.”

The incessant song in his head grows a little louder, warring with his ability to think and comprehend the situation at hand. The link with Illyria also hums, though at least he finds it oddly comforting, even when it’s trembling under her annoyance. Is it annoyance with him? Annoyance with them? He cannot tell.

He looks down at her with mounting confusion. “Illyria, what—?”

“Later,” she says sharply, her eyes flicking back to Karlach and Wyll. “Now isn’t the time for this.”

The tension remains, but Karlach steps back, her fists clenched at her sides. Wyll lets out a slow breath, though his gaze doesn’t soften. Astarion swallows hard, his smile now fully gone.

Whatever this is—whatever he has done—it is worse than he imagined.

Astarion watches Illyria as she swings a bag over her shoulder and approaches Karlach with an air of casual familiarity.

“Could you lend me some coin?” Illyria asks as though this is a perfectly normal request to make of someone glaring daggers at them moments earlier.

Astarion’s brows pinch. Borrow coin? From Karlach? He is almost certain they do not need to borrow coin from anyone. He is wealthy, is he not? Gold enough to burn, treasures beyond counting, that sort of thing. Why would they need to stoop to such a thing?

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it just as quickly. No, better not. The thought of asking why is too humiliating. He bites his tongue and decides to let it pass, pretending the whole exchange isn’t happening.

Karlach hesitates for a moment as though reluctant to fulfill Illyria’s request. Finally, she sighs and tosses a coin pouch to Illyria. “Fine.”

Wyll’s muffled groan pulls his attention away from that horror show. Wyll shifts weakly in his chair, rubbing his forehead with his eyes closed. Karlach gives him a concerned look and gently rubs his back.

“You alright?” She murmurs, retrieving a glass of water from a small table and offering it to him.

“Fine,” Wyll reassures with a small smile as he takes the glass, his fingers brushing Karlach’s in what appears to Astarion to be too intimate a touch for them. “This damnable headache won’t let up. Illyria, how did you stand it?”

A sharp spike of shame transits into his mind from Illyria, and her fluid movement becomes stiff. She glances at Wyll, though it appears forced. “It will pass,” she remarks.

Astarion’s eyes drift from the exchange to Wyll’s neck, catching the sight of two red puncture marks. A jolt of ice radiates through Astarion’s skipping heart, and he swallows hard, unable to look away from the evidence of a bite.

Did I do that?

His stomach churns as the thought takes root. Is this why they are so furious with him? Did he lose control, forget himself, and feed on Wyll? No. Surely not. He learned to manage his hunger centuries ago when he was a young spawn. Cazador saw to that—years of rotting in the kennels until he learned the discipline required to be around the living.

He wouldn’t have done something so reckless, would he? There is a sudden urge to defend himself, explain, even though no one has accused him of anything, but he bites it back. Even if he wanted to explain, he doesn’t know what he would say because he cannot remember doing it or why.

Illyria speaks again before he can settle on what exactly to do about this, tucking the borrowed coin away. “We’ll return later, and thank you. I’ll pay you back.”

“The absolute least of my worries right now is coin,” Karlach grunts in response while she stares at him with contempt, perhaps disappointment, maybe both.

The strident symphony that is always strumming in the background of his thoughts spikes again, but something siphons it away as quickly as it rises. Illyria winces almost imperceptibly, but he notices how her withered muscles flex.

She beckons him with a nod, and the tension eases as he follows her out of that suffocating room. They descend a set of stairs and into an inn crowded with infernal beings, a kaleidoscope of grotesque and elegant forms. Demons lounge at polished tables, devils haggle over contracts, and imps dart about carrying trays of drinks.

Illyria weaves through the crowd, appearing unbothered as if this infernal realm is merely another market in Baldur’s Gate. She approaches the bar, where the innkeeper—a hulking, grotesque thing with leathery skin—leans lazily against the counter.

“Excuse me,” Illyria begins, her voice steady and polite.

The creature does not so much as glance at her, earning only a scoff and a dismissive wave of his clawed hand.

She repeats herself louder, and the innkeeper finally deigns to speak. His guttural tongue grinds against Astarion’s ears like stones dragged across metal. Whatever he says is sharp and sneering, followed by a cruel laugh that ripples through the beings nearby.

Astarion’s lips press into a thin line. The audacity of this wretch to scoff at her so brazenly ignites a sudden strike of anger.

He steps forward before he even realizes he has done so. “That,” he begins coldly, “is no way to speak to a lady.”

The innkeeper snorts, his glowing yellow eyes narrowing as he towers over Astarion. “And who are you, pale thing?” he growls, his Common thick with his infernal accent. “Another mortal begging for scraps?”

Astarion’s smile is slow and dangerous as he tilts his head and lets his fangs flash in the dim light. “Hardly,” he replies, his tone light, almost playful. “But I do wonder if you speak to all your patrons with such disregard or if you have saved this particular brand of rudeness just for us.”

The creature straightens, head tilting slightly as though reconsidering. Illyria places a hand on his arm, a subtle pressure meant to calm him, but he does not budge. His red eyes remain fixed on the innkeeper, glinting with cold fury.

“Now,” Astarion continues, his voice soft but laced with warning. “My wife asked you a question. Perhaps you would like to try answering it this time.”

The innkeeper bristles, but something in Astarion’s gaze—or perhaps the underlying threat in his tone—makes him falter. He mutters something under his breath before finally responding, this time with strained civility.

Astarion’s smirk widens. “That is much better,” he says smoothly, stepping back to let Illyria resume her questioning. He glances down at her, his annoyance tempered by satisfaction. “Do let me know if he steps out of line again, my dear,” he murmurs, just loud enough for the innkeeper to hear. “I would be happy to deal with him properly.”

Whatever questions Illyria asks are lost on him as he glances around the bar, trying to elucidate hints of just how in the Hells he got here. He remembers being in Baldur’s Gate and remembers bits and pieces of their wedding, but everything else disintegrates before he can glimpse it. Even the timeline of events is a tangled web that sticks to his fingers like spider silk whenever he tries to unknot it.

Illyria taps his hand, and he follows her out into the oppressive atmosphere. The air is an acrid blend of sulphur and scorched stone, loud with raspy caterwauling, and far, far too hot. She glances up at him with an expression he cannot quite decipher.

She is quiet when she speaks, her intonation measured and smooth, calculating her words before they even leave her lips. “Did the voices in your head make you do that?”

He halts midstep and turns to look at her fully. What an odd question. The prattle in his mind—the endless, maddening whispers he has tried and failed to block out since waking—stands in the forefront of his awareness. They are an ever-present, disjointed hum that creeps along the edges of his sanity, but they had no bearing on what happened.

“I—no,” he confirms, shaking his head. “The voices did not make me do anything. I simply... did not like the way he was speaking to you.”

His gaze flicks to her, waiting for some kind of reaction, but she only nods with a wash of relief that confounds him further.

“That was kind of you,” she says gently, too gently. It’s equal parts warm and unsettling. “But you must watch your temper carefully.”

The words are spoken delicately, as though she is treading on fragile ground. Her tone makes him feel fragile, too, and he despises it. She knows something, and she is keeping the information clutched close and guarded.

His jaw tightens, the warmth evaporating as unease takes its place. “Is that what happened to Wyll?” he blurts out. He searches her face for answers, for some clue that might fill the gaps in his fractured memory. “Did I lose my temper and... bite him?”

The thought makes him recoil, and he grips his arms tightly as if to hold himself together. That does not seem like him, not the him he knows—or thinks he knows.

“That does not sound like me,” he presses, the words firmer this time. “I would not have—” He stops, unsure if he should finish the thought.

Illyria reaches up and tenderly swipes aside pieces of hair that stick to his sweat-veiled forehead. Her fingers are cool, and they linger idly, brushing back and forth as if she might be able to smooth away the swirling chaos. It stirs an ache he cannot place, though he finds the gesture impossibly soothing.

The coolness of her palm cups his cheek, drawing his scattered thoughts into sharp focus. He blinks, eyes locking onto the cracked crimson of hers. Exhaustion is etched across her face; dark bags extend under her eyes with gaunt, hollow cheeks.

How in the Hells did she get like this? How could he let her get like this? Did he? Why?

She shakes her head slowly, firmly. “No,” she sighs as her hand drops back to her side. “You did not bite Wyll.”

The reassurance brings a brief, fleeting sense of relief, but it wanes as quickly as it came. Illyria turns and strides towards wherever their destination is.

“If not me, then who bit Wyll?”

She stops but keeps her back toward him, and her shoulders stiffen slightly. Illyria does not turn to face him, refusing to meet his eyes. Her head dips, the strands of her hair falling forward as though she could use them as a curtain to hide behind.

“I did,” she whispers, almost too quiet for even his sharp hearing to catch.

Astarion’s mind reels with a thousand questions clashing for dominance, but none are coherent. She stands with her head bowed in shame, and he opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out at first.

“Why?” He finally manages to force his voice into compliance, but his confusion leaks into the word.

Her hands curl into fists at her sides. “Because he let me.”

The answer doesn’t help. It only raises more questions, doubts, and pieces of a puzzle that do not seem to fit together.

“No, no,” he mumbles, mostly to himself. “That does not seem right. You feed on me, yes? I cannot recall everything, but I recall that much.”

Her shoulders tense, and her head snaps up to meet his gaze, her eyes glittering with a storm of emotions he cannot parse. Anger? Shame? Defiance? Perhaps all of them at once. The idea of someone else’s blood on her lips—someone else’s pulse beneath her fangs—ignites a strange and unfamiliar sting.

Jealousy? Hurt? He does not want to examine it too closely.

Her shoulders rise and fall in a shallow breath, and her expression is inscrutable. “You were gone,” she says simply, as though that explains everything and nothing at once.

Gone.

The word settles like a stone, and for the first time, he feels the enormity of it—the gaps in his memory, the pieces of his life that seem to have slipped through his fingers.

He was gone, but where? For how long?

And what did he do?

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes: - Poor Pookie 😔