#if i can’t sleep and i’m miserable. he has to be too.

[just-bee-lieve]

mikey

[devilishdelights]

“lucifer i’ve got a migraine” you say

“okay. come here” he says and drills a fucking hole right into your skull

you sigh in relief. “thank you.”

[okcoolthanks]

How to stop feeling like an awful person after accidentally crossing someone’s boundary even though you talked to them about it and apologized and know you won’t do it again and they understood it was an accident and it’s fine and you two are still on good terms

[luveline]

hi!!! i have a request for roommate!spencer where he's injured during a case and reader show up at the hospital because she's his emergency contact but the team is really confused wondering who's this stranger fussing over spencer. hope you like it, love you!

thank you for requesting honey!! love you<3 fem!reader

“Close your eyes,” you command, voice all blown up and grand, already smiling. “Close your eyes, Spencer.” 

“No.” He squints groggily. “What are you doing?” 

“Close your eyes.” 

“No, Y/N, what are you doing?” he asks. 

You shake your spray bottle at him. He sighs a long-suffering sigh and finally admits defeat, his tired eyes shuttering closed all too easily. You rest your knee on the side of his bed and hear the metal squeaking at your added weight, your hand gentle as you cover his forehead. “You have greasy hair,” you say sympathetically. “This is gonna feel much nicer.” 

You blast him with dry shampoo, his brown hair turning white with powder. You drop the can in his lap and set about rubbing the powder into his hair until the grease is soaked up, and his hair feels less miserably lank. 

“When are they gonna let you shower again?” you ask quietly. 

You’re still touching his hair. More for him than you, you hope he feels comforted, but mostly you just wanna affirm to yourself that he’s all in one bruised piece. Your heart still aches as much as it did when you got the phone call in the first place —Spencer Reid’s next of kin? 

You suppose that’s you. 

“I don’t know.” 

You take his hair back into his current parting. “Well, let’s hope it’s soon. How are you liking the sponge baths? Are they awful?” 

“Humiliating.” 

Just outside of Spencer’s hospital room, Hotch and JJ stand together with a bag of essentials. They’d drawn to a sudden stop when they realised Spencer had company. “Who is that?” she asks. 

Hotch, used to knowing everything, frowns very deeply. He doesn’t know who you are, but from the way you’re touching Spencer’s hair and face, he should. 

JJ sounds a little put out. “She doesn’t work here.” 

“No, I don’t think so,” Hotch says. His frown lightens as you laugh and scratch Spencer’s hair back behind his ears. 

“Is it unkind of me to think he didn’t have any friends?” JJ asks. 

Hotch knows Spencer has friends. He’s summoned Spencer from chess games and fan clubs, picking him up occasionally on the way to the office on cafe sidewalks as he waved goodbye to a glasses-wearing bibliophile, often in coats too big for them or with hair in need of a trim. Spencer attracts the unconventional because he, as anybody in this line of work tends to be, is inordinary. So JJ probably is being unkind, but Hotch knows what she means. 

You look completely regular. You settle on one thigh on his bed while the other keeps you up and put your hand on his chest, chatting breezy words they can’t hear through the glass.

Spencer curls into you slowly. 

“You’ll be home soon,” you say, rubbing his shoulder, “don’t worry.” 

Hotch’s eyebrows rise of their own accord. He and JJ excuse themselves for coffee before they’re spotted, and when they return, you’re gone. “Spence, who was that girl?” JJ asks. Hotch notes the slightest line of jealousy tugging under her curiosity. 

He sounds as though he could use some more pain medication, and a good night's sleep, but he’s proud as he says, “That’s my roommate. I told you about her.” 

“Ah, your roommate,” Hotch says. 

“What’s that mean?” Spencer asks. 

“Nothing, Spencer,” Hotch says, using the young man’s first name in a rare show of affection. “That’s just an irregular word for it. I haven’t heard it in a while.” 

JJ laughs. Spencer hides his face with both hands, a smudge of lip balm on his hand shining under the stark hospital fluorescents. “I’m too tired,” he complains. 

Hotch hadn’t seen you kiss him, but he can imagine how it might have happened, how you’d leaned in for a kiss on the cheek goodbye and Spencer overwhelmed himself thinking about it. Or maybe it’s just an innocuous smudge. Maybe it’s nothing at all. 

“We live together,” Spencer mumbles. “I couldn’t afford to live by myself at first, it’s D.C.” 

“And now?” Hotch asks. He knows Spencer is on good enough money to afford an apartment by himself these days, a big one. He has no dependents. 

“Didn’t seem fair… She’s nice. She’s, like, my best friend.” 

“Don’t let Morgan hear you say that,” JJ laughs. 

Hotch isn’t sure she gets it, but he does. “Well, you can ask her to come back. We have work to do.” 

Spencer pretends he’s hesitant to pick up the phone. Your reply is an immediate beep. Hotch knows a good friend when he sees one. 

[pathologicalreid]

diphenhydramine | s.r.

in which reader has a hard time getting to sleep at night, leading to Spencer's step by step instruction of which hormones help you fall asleep

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: unprotected p in v sex, fingering, spencer infodumps while fingering you, restlessness, ambien, sex as a sleep aid, effective but not recommended, physiology, female masturbation, insecurity, reader doesn't pee after sex which you really should do, no clean up, but fanfiction isn't real. softdom!spencer. not thoroughly proofread. word count: 1.99k a/n: i thought i had this scheduled so imagine my surprise when i went to check tumblr and it wasn't posted. ANYWAYS. this one goes out to all the girlies with chronic sleep issues (me) and the person who requested this. don't like, don't read.

Your pillow was warm. Surely that was what was hindering your ability to sleep. Lifting your head, you flip your pillow over, resting your head on the cool side and turning to your other side.

Facing Spencer, you pull your arm out from under the covers, wondering if you should only change one variable at a time to see what actually helps you get to sleep. Huffing, you shut your eyes again, the usually muted traffic outside of your apartment seeming extraneously loud for this time of night.

You couldn’t put a name to it, but there was something keeping you up at night. You’d always had sleep issues, but your restlessness from the last several weeks was unprecedented.

“Angel,” your boyfriend says from next to you, reaching his hand out and placing it on your waist, trying to drag you across the sheets and into his arms.

Willingly, you move to his side of the bed, leaving space between the two of you to keep your body cool—maybe you were just too warm to sleep. “Did I wake you?” You ask, peering up at him through your eyelashes. He looks so ethereal in the diffused moonlight that seeps in through the closed curtains, the cool light falling over the harsh edges of his face.

He hums in response, opening his eyes and casually slipping a hand under your sleep shirt, resting his palm on your bare waist, “No,” he murmurs, even though you know he’s lying through his teeth. “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t sleep,” you tell him miserably, sticking out your lower lip even though he likely can’t see your face—his eyes would need to adjust to the darkness.

He shifts under the covers, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over your ribcage, “Have you tried Ambien?”

Your primary care physician prescribed sleeping pills for you, but you didn’t have any interest in taking them. “So I can end up at the Lincoln Memorial with my underwear on my head? No, thanks.”

“I would be very impressed if you managed to sleepwalk all the way to the National Mall,” he muttered, his voice clearing as he became more alert.

You sigh in exhaustion, “I’m multifaceted.”

Spencer kisses your forehead, “Go to sleep, multifaceted.”

“I can’t,” you complain, watching him through your eyelashes, “I’m open to suggestions.”

Your boyfriend groans at your impertinence, “You could try taking the pills that your doctor prescribed to you.”

Rolling your eyes in the dark, you tuck some stray hairs behind your ear, “Nope. Any other ideas in that big brain of yours?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you get kind of snippy when you get tired?” Spencer asks rhetorically.

Frowning in defeat, you consider going out to the living room to watch something on the TV. At least that way you would be able to let Spencer get some sleep. “Are you telling me that there’s nothing you’ve read recently that has any kind of information on remedies for restlessness?”

Next to you, Spencer stiffens, and you wonder if he’s cold. You turned on the ceiling fan in an attempt to cool down, “There are always new articles on sleep remedies, but none you’d be interested in.”

Your eyes flicker to the alarm clock on his bedside table, just past three in the morning, “I’m open to anything.”

“Orgasms produce some of the same hormones that are conducive to falling asleep,” he whispers, his ministrations on your waist coming to a halt.

Sighing, you flop onto your back, “I already tried that.”

He’s silent for a moment, “Were you touching yourself while I was in bed next to you?” There was a new lilt in his voice, some sort of shift as the type of frustration he was feeling changed.

Considering your options, you cross your arms in front of your stomach, staring up at the spinning blades of the ceiling fan, “Yeah, but I didn’t— I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t make yourself come?” He finishes for you, the words that you couldn’t get out slipping easily past his lips.

It shouldn’t embarrass you, but you find your face warming under the cover of night anyways. “No,” your answer comes out as barely more than an exhale, “I couldn’t quite get there.”

With his hand now resting on your abdomen, your attention laser focusing on the way his pinky finger skimmed the elastic band of your panties, “Do you want me to try?”

Honestly, it wouldn’t be much of an attempt, like every other aspect of his life, pleasing you is something Spencer excels at. “I want you to go to sleep. I’m sorry for waking you,” you decline his offer.

He doesn’t move his hand, “Are you sure? I’m offering, if you’re accepting.”

“I-“ you falter, “I guess it doesn’t hurt to try, but only if you want to.” You were perfectly fine with going to the couch and wasting the night away in front of the TV screen. You’ve clocked a lot of time with the early morning newscast recently.

Spencer twists his wrist in response, looking at you in the cool light of the room, “I’m always interested in pleasing you.” He speaks to you quietly, retaining the reverent tones of the morning while slipping his hand deeper into your underwear. His index finger slipping easily through your folds, “Oh, you got close,” he whispers.

There’s no resistance as his finger breaches your entrance, already deeper than your fingers had gotten. Your mouth falls open, a small, choked gasp escaping your throat as your hand instinctively grabs at Spencer’s wrist, “Yeah.”

His motions are slow and precise, making sure you can feel every slight movement as he withdraws his finger before sliding it back into your pussy. Adding a second finger before his other hand pulls down at your underwear, haphazardly leaving them around your thighs before finding a rhythm. The peace of the night pauses only for the crude sounds from you, muffled by the blanket strewn over your bodies.

Gently, Spencer presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, maintaining the thrusts of his hand as he slowly encircles the sensitive nub, “Spence.” Your voice is a breathy laugh in recognition of just how quickly he can get you there.

There was something about having someone else touch you. When you do it yourself, you can hold yourself back or overthink it, but with Spencer’s hands on you—or in you, rather—there was nothing to hold back. “Sex can help you sleep for the simple reason that it’s physical activity, but it’s when you cum that your body releases hormones that can actually help you sleep,” his ministrations don’t suffer as a result of his physiology lesson. If anything, it all becomes more intense.

A sharp, high-pitched noise comes out of your mouth, the all too familiar knot in your lower belly coiling. And coiling. And coiling. “So, you can—” your voice cuts out as you gasp, “You can literally fuck me to sleep?”

Spencer hums a confirmation, “Sex reduces cortisol levels, and your body’s going to release oxytocin and prolactin,” he assures you, “and those will induce pleasant and relaxing feelings. All of which means I get to fuck you to sleep tonight.”

“’m close,” you breathe, closing your eyes as the pressure in your core nears unbearable levels. “Oh, Spence,” you say, your grip tightening on his wrist as his hands don’t let up on you.

His unoccupied hand reaches up to your face, gently sweeping hair off of your forehead in a way that makes you dizzy, his head falling to your shoulder before he kisses the worn fabric of your t-shirt, “You can cum, baby. It’s okay.”

He doesn’t want you to hold it in, so you don’t. Your head tips back into the pillows as the coil in your belly snaps, going off like a slingshot—sharp and quick.

Spencer’s fingers keep working you through your orgasm, slowing at the same pace that your orgasm does, the sheets sticking to your back as you slowly unarch, coming back to the surface as the pleasure of your orgasm drifts away almost as quickly as it came.

Every part of your body trembles as you fall away from your high, hooded eyelids staring over at your boyfriend as you catch your breath. Timidly, you reach down and push your underwear down your legs, kicking them off into the abyss of sheets to be discovered at a later date as you turn on your side.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, shifting under the covers as he pulls his cock out of his boxer briefs.

You hum, scooting yourself closer to him on the mattress, heat emanating from his body in a way that you now find welcoming, “You can’t even see me.”

Grabbing your thigh, Spencer slings your leg over his waist, opening your body to him, “Not right now,” he admits, “But I know you. I know the way you look right now, while I’m slipping myself into you.” His voice is low, but your attentions are focused on the feeling of his tip at your pussy, slowly pushing into you. He lets your body adjust, this isn’t an angle he usually takes you at, but you can feel every single ridge as he moves.

“I know the glossy look your eyes have right now,” he mutters, pushing your lower back closer to him, leaving his cock impossibly deep in you. “A combination of the orgasm that you just had and the sensations you’re feeling right now.”

You shudder at his words, tentatively rolling your hips against him, silently signaling to him that you’re ready for him to move. A soft cry escapes your lips as he withdraws his hips, pushing himself back into you while your cunt throbs around his length, “Spence.”

He grunts in response, finding a steady, gentle rhythm as your mind goes blank. You find yourself searching for that high again, “You feel so good, angel. So, so good.” His voice is low as he pulls your body closer to him still, “Fuck.”

“Spence,” your voice cracks at stimulation, overwhelming you as he breathes into the crook of your neck. You dig your nails into his back, trying to keep yourself from screaming as his hand slips between your conjoined bodies, swiping softly at your clit.

Spencer keeps moving, fucking into you as his movements grow messier and messier with each passing thrust. “You’re so pretty,” he repeats, seeing your features in the soft moonlight as your mouth gapes and your second orgasm quickly approaches.

Whimpering, you bite down on your lower lip, your leg that’s slung over him shaking uncontrollably as you chase your orgasm, “Oh my god,” you gasp helplessly.

“So good for me. Let it go, I’m close too,” he says, continuing his motions even as your pussy clenches around his length, the waves of your orgasm pulsating around him, sending him hurtling toward his own.

Stars dance in front of your eyes, and you let them fall shut. His movements come to a stop and you loose a sigh of relief at the realization that you’re exhausted. “Don’t go,” you mumble.

Spencer presses a soft kiss to your lips, holding you close to him with one arm while readjusting his underwear with the other. “I won’t,” he whispers, “You need to call your doctor about wanting new sleeping pills.”

You grunt in response, too close to sleep to form a coherent response.

“I’m not opposed to a more natural remedy, but I’m not always around at night, and I need to know you’re sleeping at night,” he tells you, his voice growing softer as sleep threatens to take him.

Humming, you nuzzle closer to him, letting your body melt into the mattress as you finally fall asleep. Staying cold was no longer a concern, staying close to Spencer was.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。GOODBYE KISS — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

contents. college! au, rich boy! gojo, established relationships, morning cuddles wif toru <3, morning tantrums with toru too lol, ft. our fav: momjo !!

satoru’s head is on your chest as he snores softly—normally, you adore the feeling of him so close to you, but right now, it’s five minutes until your wake-up-for-real-this-time-or-you’re-late alarm will go off. you’ve already hit snooze on the other six—how satoru’s slept through them all is a mystery to you.

you peer down at him, watching the way his lips are parted as soft breaths escape him in gentle sighs. his hair is messy over his forehead, and the sun makes his skin glow in that way only satoru could glow. you sigh, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, and as if he feels the affection in his sleep, he hums a little while still unconscious.

too bad you’ll have to break this peace in just a moment.

and this is going to work out poorly—you already know that. if you move from under satoru, he’ll wake up. if he wakes up, he’ll realize you’re trying to leave. if he realizes you’re trying to leave, he’ll have a meltdown. if he has a meltdown, he’ll surely win and convince you to stay. if you stay, you’ll miss class and fall behind on the notes. if you fall behind on the notes, you’ll procrastinate on catching up. if you procrastinate on catching up, you’ll know absolutely nothing by the time the next exam rolls around. if you know nothing by the time the next exam rolls around, you’ll have multiple mental breakdowns and lose yourself to stress the night before as you cram all in one sitting.

simply put, your entire grade resides on the fact that satoru is currently sleeping on your chest, and he definitely won’t let you leave.

you try anyway—and just as you suspect, you fail.

“huh? wha—where are you going?” he groans, rubbing his eyes as he blinks them open. “wait a sec—baby no,” he whines.

“shh, toru, you’re dreaming,” you kiss his forehead, “i’m not actually leaving.”

“i’m not stupid!”

“shhh, your dream is tricking you,” you insist, “i’m still right under you.”

“you can’t gaslight me! i’m not falling for your tricks,” he huffs, “how gullible do you think i am?”

very, you want to say—but that would be a bad idea.

“you’re not stupid at all, toru,” you say sweetly, “you’re the smartest man i’ve ever met.”

“this is definitely not a dream because you’re even meaner to me in my dreams,” he raises a brow, “dream you would never be this nice.”

“what do you mean i’m mean in your dreams?” you gasp. you’re not mean to satoru—you wouldn’t have to yell at him if he just behaved half the time.

“they’re more like nightmares,” he huffs, “last one, you made me sleep outside. that was rude.”

“how could you dream me being a jerk?” you ask, offended—and before he can answer, your wake-up-for-real-this-time-or-you’re-late alarm blares.

satoru glances down at your phone and stares for a moment—and then he flops back against his pillow as he whines miserably.

“don’t leave,” he begs, “please, just skip this one class for me? i get so cold in the mornings,” he pouts.

“then put a shirt on,” you sigh.

“i’ll be lonely!”

“not if i’m bullying you in your dreams, apparently.”

“baby, i can’t sleep without something to cuddle,” he tries again—that one almost makes you cave. you have to admit that cuddling isn’t something you enjoy passing on either, but class is important. more important than class is your sanity that you would like to keep intact instead of lose while cramming six chapters in one night.

“cuddle my pillow,” you sigh, “satoru, please. i’m already late.”

“just this once, okay? i won’t ask again,” he says innocently, his eyes wide and pleading as they peer up at you.

“you said that last time.”

“last time i crossed my fingers,” he winks, “so it didn’t count. so now you have to—”

“goodbye, satoru,” you mumble.

he slumps in defeat, grumbling under his breath before rolling over to turn his back to you petulantly. you sigh, rolling your eyes—though fondly, before you head to the bathroom, getting ready for the day.

by the time you’re out, satoru has fallen asleep again—you know it’s because he’s stayed up late again to play video games with suguru. because you don’t want to disturb him from his much needed sleep (and because you don’t want to risk waking up him and dealing with another tantrum), you decide to gently pull the blankets over his bare chest and skip the goodbye kiss.

it won’t be a big deal if he doesn’t get a kiss goodbye while he’s asleep, right? he won’t even be awake to notice.

evidently, you realize in the middle of class that you’re wrong. very wrong.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤToday, 8:32 AM

baby boy 💋:

you left without a goodbye kiss???????????

are you ignoring me????????????

baby

sweetheart

sunshine

angel

peaches

i know you’re reading this.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤToday, 8:41 AM

mrs. gojo ❤️:

please answer satoru. i really don’t want a headache today

this is very short and silly sorry. anyway rip momjo she deal with too much that boy is a handful

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

BNHA Boys: 1st Time Noncon

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

Boys -> Hawks + Dabi + Bakugo

Warnings at each part (but the title is quite explicit, right?) + NSFW Link (be careful + on twitter (you need a account to see)

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback + Gimme ideas

–

Hawks

-> Manipulation

Keigo is a cunning guy, always looking out for a way to get things done his way. He’s used to tricking people, using his tactics to reach his desired goals. But honestly? You have to be the biggest chump he’s ever met in his life. 

Did you actually believe when he deeply sighed and pretended to relent to your begging, just before meekly offering you to walk away from him?

Did your ingenuous self really trust him when Keigo swore on his hero honor - what honor really? - that he’d let you go home, safe and sound?

But the reality is that you fell for it, like a bee attracted to honey. It’s moments like those that Keigo acknowledges how naive and kind-hearted you are. Too cute and good for this twisted, cruel world. 

So that’s why a minor part of him is almost satisfied at the reluctance and doubt that shades your pretty face when he tells you the inflated price for your freedom.  

You clearly don’t want to sleep with him. Your attempts to bargain are immediately turned down and it takes less than five minutes for you to crumble down. 

Keigo almost feels bad at your distressed teary face. But hey, a win is a win.

You try to relax when he starts kissing and touching you. To be calm when he slowly starts making love to you.

But it feels so dead wrong and the overwhelming realization that Hawks was lying about letting you go finally hits you like a brick and you try to push him away, pointlessly make him get off from you. 

But no point in that cause Keigo isn’t gonna let you go anywhere. 

“Deal’s off, babe. I mean, I was willing to let you go and all, but since you ruined the whole mood…there was no need to fight me, ya know? I wasn’t forcing you into anything, was I? But since you broke your promise, I suppose I’m gonna have to keep you here with me.”

(VISUAL)

Dabi

-> Noncon

Dabi isn’t one to shy away from what he wants.

He takes what he wants, when he wants and how he wants and you don’t get any say in it. 

So, if for a moment you actually believed you could argue or convince the black-haired villain to leave you alone, then you’re not up for a great start with him. 

Dabi doesn’t care when you start crying, spirit battered over the small burns he gives you for trying to fight back. He doesn’t care for your wails of pain when he fucks you in the way he wants to. 

Dabi is sadistic like that, he actually enjoys the terror that floods your entire face when he explains in extensive detail all the scary lustful needs he wants to fulfill by using you. 

He’s definitely one to use tight ropes to bend you in uncomfortable positions when fucking you - just because they allow him better access and less struggle from you.

Doesn’t give a crap about your wellbeing or if you get to cum, those are unnecessary thoughts for him. 

As long as Dabi gets to end his night with a few orgasms, he’s good. 

“Oh sweetheart, there’s no point in begging. That’s not gonna change my mind. And can you even blame me? Just look at you, such a pretty body you have. You’re just too tempting to let go and trust me, I’m not planning to.”

(VISUAL)

Bakugo

-> Forced Oral - (male receiving)

Bakugo has mild-anger issues and everyone knows that so, if anything, it was entirely your fault for provoking the anger out of him. 

You saw an opportunity to try an escape and you took it, even though it was meant to fail miserably.

Bakugo ends up wrestling you back inside the house, tightly clutching your hair as he angrily shouts at how much of an ungrateful brat you are.

He’s so damn pissed that you almost got away that he can’t control himself. All the adrenaline and anger mixing up in his blood and all he wants is to teach you a proper lesson. Scare you into submission. Make sure that you’ll never act up again.

His hands are cruel as he roughs you up a bit, ignoring your scared shrieks. 

But the real punishment is the way he fucks your mouth.

His pace is so insanely fast, demanding and brutal, and he carries on without caring for the numerous times you gag and choke around his length, unable to pull away because of the vice grip he has on your scalp.

The way he facefucks you is humiliating and brutal, and the cherry on top of the cake is when Bakugo shoots his sticky cum all over your face before leaving you bruised up and with a hurting throat.

Afterwards, Bakugo might feel a bit bad because that’s definitely not how he planned your first time doing something intimate together, but on the bright side - you get much more obedient and calm towards him. 

“The hell you giving me that pathetic look for, huh. You fuckin’ deserved that and you know that. Had you not acted all lunatic and none of this would’ve happened.”

(VISUAL)

[crushmeeren]

♡ Master List Link

❥ Bakugou / Fem Reader / Todoroki

❥ Everyone involved in this is 18+/aged up.

Warnings; angst/comfort, cursing, vaginal sex, anal sex (double penetration), pussy eating, blow jobs, squirting

Note; This is my first time writing for this pairing and I’ve wanted to for so long.

It’s normal when you and Katsuki argue. It’s normal when Shouto and Katsuki argue. What isn’t normal, are the fights you and Shouto get into.

It only occurs once in a while, but when it does — you end the night miserably with a lump in your throat and an icy chill that shreds and rearranges your stomach.

Unfortunately, despite doing your damndest to avoid arguing with Shouto, this past week has had you itching to chew him out.

Shouto’s assured you and Katsuki at least three times this week that he was going to be home from work to eat dinner with you. Yet each time he’s shown up so late that Katsuki has put the leftovers in the fridge and you two went to sleep.

And this is not even remotely the first time you’ve dealt with this.

It’s not as if you don’t all understand that being a hero will never be a job where you have the privilege of scheduled hours. Shit happens, and it happens often. And Shouto’s not the only one who gets the short end of the stick.

This wouldn’t even get under your skin so badly if he at least could’ve let either of you know he wasn’t going to make it. He hasn’t even done that. He’s been letting his phone die and not bothering to charge it.

“Pick up the fucking phone, Shouto.” You know you have a bitchy attitude, but you’re speaking to his voicemail again.

You exhale a drawn out sigh through your nose and shift in place to unstick your thighs from the leather material of the bar stool you’re currently occupying.

Your kitchen smells amazing because of Katsuki’s cooking and you get even more pissed about all the effort the blonde is putting into this just for Shouto to disregard it.

You set your phone down too harshly, not realizing until you hear an ominous crack of glass that makes you wince. Gingerly you pick it back up and only notice a few hairline cracks, thank god.

“I’m not buying you another new fucking phone,” Katsuki pipes up, sounding much too amused from where he’s stirring something at the stove.

You glare at his back, scoffing in response.

“Well if a certain someone would answer their damn phone I wouldn’t be breaking this one!”

Katsuki is aware of how upset this situation has been making you. He’s been encouraging you not to worry about it because “Shouto has always been an air-headed idiot.” You chastise the blonde when he makes those remarks but you somewhat agree.

He’s so intelligent when it comes to hero work, but relationships have always been….. alien to him.

“So strawberry shortcake’s blowing us off again?” Katsuki asks with no small amount of annoyance.

Your gaze flickers to the blonde’s broad back, studying the way his muscles roll and flex along the edges of his black tank top as he stirs fried rice.

Your brows pull together, scowling as you drum your fingers on the counter top.

“I guess so,” you murmur, sounding and feeling defeated. The sting in your eyes that signals oncoming tears is no surprise. Shouto’s recent behavior has been weighing heavily on your heart. You sniffle as quietly as you can.

Does he even want to be with us anymore?? Does he love me?

You realize you may be overreacting but you can’t help it.

Katsuki has got to be a mind reader — or he most likely heard you sniffling. His palms start crackling as he notices you’re about to cry. He pauses, turning the stove off just to be cautious, and wipes the sweat from his hands on his sweatpants.

He pivots in place and strides over to you with a scowl on his face, taking in the steady stream of tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.

“Look at me, idiot,” he says affectionately, crossing his arms over his chest as he comes to a stop. You stubbornly refuse to turn your chair his direction.

He makes a frustrated noise and grips the back of your chair, physically swiveling you to face him. He steps in between your thighs and you tilt your head downwards, still refusing to meet his gaze. You obnoxiously sniffle. Katsuki scoffs, reaching a hand out to grip your chin.

His thumb and pointer fingers cradle your chin, gently guiding your head up. His sharp expression softens as scarlet eyes flit across your face, taking in how heartbroken you truly look.

A new wave of tears track down your cheeks, a small sob escaping and shaking your shoulders.

“I — I just don’t understand Kat. Why doesn’t Shouto want to come home?” You cry, voice cracking pitifully. You use the backs of his hands to wipe away the never ending tears.

Katsuki can’t stand seeing you this way. He wraps his arms around your head and shoves your face into his chest, smoothing a hand over your upper back in hopes of providing some sort of comfort.

Eagerly, you return his embrace. The warmth of his skin bleeding through the material of his tank top as it catches your sorrow.

“Baby,” he whispers lowly, soothingly. “Shouto‘s not doing this on purpose. I know you know that. His cocksucker of a father is working him to the bone.”

It does little to quell the ache in your chest even if he’s right.

You don’t respond, the build up of frustration and grief from the past couple weeks spilling out of you and onto Katsuki. He kisses the top of your head, resting his cheek there and allowing you to cry until you start to get lightheaded and empty.

Eventually your sobbing subsides and you release the death grip you had on your boyfriend’s shirt. He frees you as you lean backwards slightly, staring up at him with a pout. Your eyes are swollen and heavy, but you feel lighter.

Katsuki gives you a half smile, using his thumbs to tenderly wipe away the excess tears under your eyes.

“I’ll still kick his ass if you want,” Katsuki jokes halfheartedly. You laugh softly, the corners of your mouth tilting upwards involuntarily.

He grins fully at you, bending down to press your foreheads together. He places his big hands on your thighs and plants a chaste kiss on your lips.

You respond enthusiastically, sliding your hands up his chest and slipping them around his neck as your lips connect over and over.

He smiles into the kiss and tilts his head minutely, biting playfully on your bottom lip until you open up for him. The glide of his tongue against yours has arousal burning desperately in your lower belly.

You let out a breathy moan and Katsuki’s fingers tighten on your legs before he breaks the rapidly blazing kiss.

Your chest heaves as you catch your breath, catching a whiff of fried rice that reminds you Katsuki had been cooking. The blonde retreats to his full height.

“Kat,” you say reluctantly, grabbing his attention. “I’m not sure I can eat anything right now. I just want to go to bed.” You chew on your bottom lip, fiddling with your thumbs.

He frames your face with his hands, a smirk worming its way onto his mouth.

“Then let me take your ass to bed so you can be my pillow princess for the night,” he says confidently, winking when your eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

A pleasant flush travels through your entire body, cheeks feverish as you let out a startled laugh.

Once you nod in agreement Katsuki slips his hands under your thighs and hefts you up out of your seat. You laugh brightly, embracing his waist with your legs and holding onto his neck.

Within a few moments Katsuki’s got you both naked and he’s slipping under the sheets of your bed. Your legs part for him easily, tugging him up and over you until he fits like a puzzle.

When his cock pushes inside of you it’s everything you weren’t aware you needed that night. He rolls his hips sweet and slow until your spine’s bowing off the mattress and you’re crying out his name, being sure to leave scratches on his back.

Later on Katsuki ventures back to the kitchen to put away the food from earlier. He decides he’s going to wait for the dumbass and give him a piece of his mind when he returns home.

Katsuki waits…and waits until he’s sitting up straight and nodding off on the couch.

He uses his fists to rub his eyes and checks the time on his phone only to see that it’s past midnight. Katsuki’s temper flares and he swiftly has to remove his hands from the couch cushions for fear of blasting it to smithereens.

He leaves Shouto a colorful message on a sticky note and promptly goes back to the warmth of the bed and snuggles into your chest until he passes out.

It’s after 1:00 am when a chilly arm circles your waist and tugs you back into a toned chest. Your brain is sluggish in your barely there consciousness but you’re able to recognize that it’s Shouto’s presence behind you. Katsuki’s on your other side, leaving you in the middle.

It’s become somewhat of a habit between the three of you to welcome each other with a few kisses when someone arrives home late. So when you don’t flip over you’re sure Shouto’s confused.

Your chest hurts when you think about facing your boyfriend. Ignoring him is probably hurting him, yet you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.

When it’s clear that you won’t be speaking to him as you pull the blanket up over your shoulder, Shouto tightens his arm and tickles the nape of your neck with a soft exhale.

You don’t speak to Shouto for about two days. The man tries to talk to you, truly he does, but you keep him at arms length.

The first night you return home from patrol, battered and bruised with a headache from hell as you stumble in the front door.

You’d been messaging Katsuki throughout the day, the blonde hero keeping you up to date on Shouto.

He did fail to mention they must’ve had their own argument about the situation, if the recently acquired burn marks on the wall have anything to say about it.

When you make it to your bedroom, it seems they must’ve made up. They’re entangled and naked in the sheets so that solves that mystery. The soft light from the bathroom night illuminates them enough that you can see Shouto’s head pillowed on his chest.

Your stomach drops at the sight, the dull ache of betrayal surprising you as it tries to carve a hole in your chest.

At any other time, you’d love seeing them together. However you and Shouto are still caught up in this ridiculous fight that seems to be more one sided than anything.

With a quiet groan you move into the bathroom, stripping off your filthy clothing and stepping into the shower.

You stand under the scalding water and scrub off the layer of grime you picked up during your shift. As you run the wash cloth over your skin you imagine you’re chipping at the depressing emotions you’re riddled with as well, willing them to go down the drain.

Once you’ve managed to get clean and dressed in one of Katsuki’s oversized T-shirt’s, you find yourself standing unsettled at the edge of your bed. Staring as you contemplate what to do.

An uneasy sensation worms under your skin, lurking as you weigh the options of staying or not. Ultimately you decide to go sleep on the couch.

You make haste with quiet footsteps until Shouto murmurs something unintelligible in his sleep. Your pulse stutters as you still, waiting to see what he does.

He says nothing more and you release the breath you weren’t aware you were holding, sneaking out to the living room.

You settle in on the couch, curling up in a ball underneath multiple throw blankets. Your chest squeezes while you wrestle with your mind until you convince yourself you have to reconcile with Shouto tomorrow.

Shouto wakes the next morning sporting a gray cloud overhead when his alarm goes off. He’s staring intensely at Katsuki’s side profile, admiring how handsome he is. The breeze from the fan brushes over his back and his brows scrunch together in confusion at the absence of your body heat.

He rolls over, eyes widening as he begins to panic when he doesn’t see you there.

Shouto’s heart jumps to his throat as he tumbles out of bed, snagging the blanket around his ankle and jostling Katsuki awake as he goes.

“Oi, idiot! What the fuck are you doing?” Katsuki rasps at an ear splitting volume. He sits up ramrod straight and wears a furious scowl. His gaze narrows as it lands on Shouto who freezes under the heavy glare.

Shouto says your name, glancing at the door as he fidgets in place.

“Where is she? Why isn’t she in bed?” Shouto’s low voice asks, an anxious edge marring it.

Katsuki’s lip curls and his cheeks flush a rosy pink as he rises from the bed. It forces Shouto to take a step back in bewilderment as he’s met with the blonde’s rage.

“You idiot,” Katsuki snarls venomously, shoving a finger into his boyfriend’s chest. “She is here, but she’s sleeping on the couch. You’ve been fucking us off as if we mean nothing to you for the past two weeks and you wonder why she doesn’t want to be in the same bed as you?” Katsuki laughs meanly, pushing Shouto out of his pathway with a lone finger before moving to his dresser. “I thought you were smarter than that,” he sneers, chin raising defiantly.

“I didn’t —,”

Katsuki cuts Shouto off, the muscle in his jaw twitching as his fists curl.

“Don’t you even fucking dare say you didn’t mean to. I don’t give a shit. Fix it Shouto, or I’ll take you on in a fight you won’t win.”

He slams the door to their bathroom shut so hard the frame rattles.

Shouto sinks down onto the edge of the mattress as if Katsuki knocked his knees out from under him. He was too stunned to even get a word in edgewise.

Shouto… knew you were upset, but he wasn’t aware it was this bad.

He stands on wobbly legs, stomach rolling painfully as he robotically gets ready for his shift. He can’t recall the last time he felt so numb.

The second you hear Shouto leave is when you finally open your eyes. You had heard the pair fighting and pretended to be asleep, not wanting a blow out fight to erupt between the three of you.

You feel so guilty, hoping and praying Shouto doesn’t get distracted by this entire ordeal while he’s out on patrol.

This fight isn’t worth risking his life over.

You have to make up with him tonight, it’s gone on far too long.

Shouto’s one of your soulmates, and you’ve loved every second you’ve had the privilege of being a part of his life.

Your footsteps are quiet as you shuffle to your now deserted bed, flopping down and crawling under the covers to wait for Katsuki’s return.

It’s not too late into the evening when the front door finally opens. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for the conversation the three of you would be having tonight.

You’d been nervously biting your nails and lounging on the couch with your feet tucked under you while Katsuki was, to nobody’s surprise, cooking something once again.

You spring out of your seat as Shouto locks the front door, striding to stand a few feet in front of him with a sheepish smile.

His expressions brightens like the sun when he sees you and you don’t even try to stop the grin that tugs at your lips.

In the next moment he’s hugging you, burying his face into your neck as he lifts you off the floor by your waist. Relief unfurls warmly behind your rib cage as you return the affectionate embrace, securing your legs around his waist.

He smells clean as he always does, something similar to a note of cinnamon tickling your nose in the addictive cologne that he wears.

“I’m sorry,” Shouto whispers tenderly, shifting so his forehead rests against your temple when he speaks. He noses at your cheek when you nod, repeating the same phrase so he knows you are too.

“You fuckers just gonna stand here all night?” Katsuki complains with no real heat behind it. You didn’t even hear him approach. You laugh, unwinding yourself from Shouto as he places you back on your feet.

Katsuki’s standing with his hands on his hips, wearing a soft smile that makes him look five years younger.

You tease him and Shouto joins in until the blonde is blushing and cursing you both to hell.

After what feels like the longest conversation of your life, you find yourself on your knees and elbows between Katsuki’s spread thighs. Your ass is high in the air for Shouto who’s settled behind you.

Katsuki’s rock hard, propped up by a couple pillows. He strokes his cock leisurely, biting the tip of his tongue as he leers down at you. You wink up at him and he grins coyly.

Shouto grips your ass and spreads you open. The cool air on your pussy makes your breath hitch.

You moan lowly, nails sinking into Katsuki’s thighs and forehead coming to rest on the blonde’s belly when Shouto’s tongue flicks at your clit. Dragging it up through your lips and swirling it over your rim.

You push yourself up, bracing a hand on either side of Katsuki’s hips as Shouto teases your rim with a slick finger. The blonde smirks when your jaw drops.

“Look at you baby girl, all fucked out and Sho’s barely touched your pussy,” he coos meanly, fisting his cock a little faster.

You attempt to respond but Shouto’s a shit who chooses that exact moment to slide a finger in your ass all the way to his knuckle.

“Shouto,” you choke out. “Keep going, give me another finger,” you plead, rocking back towards him. Shouto obeys, pushing in a second finger with ease and you whine. Your head drops between your shoulders and it gives you the view of Katsuki’s cock twitching in his grip when you let out more noises.

Katsuki notices your stare.

“Yeah? Wanna suck on my cock baby?” Katsuki asks with a lilt to his voice as though he’s offering someone an irresistible treat, cradling your cheek with his free hand and rubbing under your eye with his thumb.

“I do,” you confirm with an eager nod. You bend down to do just that but Katsuki’s shakes his head with a tsk and halts you with a hand around your throat. You glance up at him confused. He ignores you and levels Shouto with a look.

“Whatcha think, Shouto? Should I let the princess suck me off till you stretch her out?”

Shouto keeps thrusting his fingers, scissoring them a bit as he hums in agreement.

“I think so, yes,” Shouto affirms, something playful in his tone.

Katsuki grins wolfishly at you, placing a hand on the back of your head and pushing until you open your mouth and swallow half the cock pointed up at you in one go. You moan at the feel of his thick shaft on your tongue, bobbing your head slowly and chasing Katsuki when his hips jerk upwards.

“Jesus Christ baby, you have a velvet mouth,” Katsuki praises, husky moans filling the air.

You let Katsuki distract you as Shouto slips a third finger inside your ass, placing his thumb on your clit and rubbing tight circles to balance out the pain and pleasure.

Only a couple minutes later and Katsuki is starting to fidget in place.

“Think you can deep throat me?” Katsuki pants, eyelids fluttering as he waits for your answer. You hum which is the best you can do to say yes, even if your jaw is aching.

The pressure on the back of your skull increases and you relax your throat as his tip pushes past the muscle. You panic only briefly when your airway is cutoff, but hearing the way Katsuki cries out with a high pitched moan as he fills out your throat is worth it. You squeeze your eyes shut as tears gather at your lash line.

“You’re so goddamn hot. Look at those pretty lips stretched so filthy around me. You love sucking cock don’t you?” Katsuki taunts, head tilting backwards with a breathy moan when you whine in response.

He keeps you choking on his dick with a firm hold for at least ten seconds. Until you’re starting to claw at his thighs, until you’re starting to resist, and then suddenly you’re being pulled off him. Your lungs burn, coughing and swallowing air as Shouto takes his fingers from you.

You’re spun around and sat on Katsuki’s lap faster than you can blink as the blonde sits up straighter, saliva covered cock sliding between your ass. Your eyes open wide as you meet Shouto’s yearning mismatched gaze and he gives you a half smile.

Katsuki bends his knees and plants his feet so you’re cradled in his lap, thrusting so his cock catches briefly on your rim before sliding upwards.

“I want you baby,” Shouto tells you sincerely, running his knuckles over your cheekbone. You grin adoringly at him in return, lids fluttering as Katsuki rolls his hips against you once more.

“Someone’s impatient,” you try to tease, but it comes out partially strangled. “I want you too Shouto.”

Katsuki snorts behind you, patting your ass to get you to rise up a bit. You do so automatically.

“Well fuck me then, right?” Katsuki teases as he grips his shaft and lines himself up with you. Shouto rolls his eyes playfully.

“Well she is about to sit on your cock,” Shouto deadpans. You try to cover a laugh by slapping a hand over your mouth.

“You’re a fucking comedian aren’t ya Sho?” Katsuki says with a strained voice as you start to sink down on him. You gasp loudly when he pushes past your tight, slick rim and he moans.

Shouto stays silent, keeping his eyes locked with yours while you take in the blonde’s cock until you’re sitting completely in his lap. It aches, a dull throb as you shift around to get comfortable. Desperate for the pain to go away you start to rise up and down on the cock splitting you open, bracing your weight on Katsuki’s knees.

Shouto squeezes the base of his shaft, twitching in his own grip because the sight of you riding Katsuki, tits bouncing inches from his face is making him want to cum. Now.

The blonde holds your hips, biceps flexing as he helps you move, impatiently working for the pleasure you know is near by. Soon enough, the pain starts to fade and a warm shiver takes it place at the base of your spine, slithering through your veins unabashedly.

You stare at Shouto with half lidded eyes, studying the way his skin flushes as he watches the two of you silently, fisting his cock teasingly. The other hero shuffles closer, leaning forward as you begin slowing to a crawling pace when he gets in your personal space. Katsuki, surprisingly, holds his tongue when you do.

Shouto kisses you then, slightly chapped lips meeting yours. You bring your arms up to play with the soft hair at the nape of his neck, scratching at his scalp and humming against his mouth.

When you can’t breathe any longer you break away, tongue poking out to run over your bottom lip. Shouto peers over your shoulder at Katsuki.

“Can I be inside her now?” He asks restlessly and you practically hear Katsuki’s eye roll.

“So fucking needy,” Katsuki mutters. “Lean back on my chest baby, I’m gonna cum if we stay like this anyways.”

You press one more kiss to Shouto’s mouth and recline until your back hits a solid, warm chest. Katsuki grips under your knees and pulls your thighs back towards you.

You steady yourself by hanging onto to the blonde’s forearms, biting your tongue when Shouto crawls forward. He settles on his knees, stroking his cock as he tilts his head and gawks at the place Katsuki disappears inside you. Gaze flickering over your pussy on display just for him.

“C’mon Shouto, what’re you waiting for?” You encourage him, the anticipation racing down your spine. You involuntarily clench around Katsuki and the blonde hisses when he speaks.

“God, Shouto hurry the fuck up.”

Shouto does hurry the fuck up.

He steadies his cock head against your pussy and begins a leisure press, sliding in in in until you’re completely filled.

They both allow you time to adjust, whispering praise and toe curling, filthy sweet nothings into your ears.

Katsuki is unable to move in his position underneath you both, so Shouto takes control. He helps the blonde support your thighs and essentially fucks you both with deliberate and brain melting thrusts until Katsuki cums first with a choked off cry of Shouto’s name.

Shouto tells him how pretty he is like that and the blonde buries his face in the back of your shoulder.

You’re quick to follow when Shouto curls his hips just right and then your pussy’s suffocating him. You’re scratching at his toned chest and arching your back, leaving angry red lines near his collarbone.

Shouto falls over the edge just knowing he pushed you both to your peak.

As you all soak in the hazy afterglow, you try to catch your breath, leaning your entire weight on Katsuki’s chest as Shouto gingerly pulls his cock out.

“Get the hell off me, my legs are falling asleep,” Katsuki complains playfully. You smack his thigh sharply in retaliation and he laughs.

“Fuck off, I’m going.” Delicately you sit up and rise off him, rolling to the side and flopping onto your stomach with a wariness about how sore you’ll be tomorrow.

You’re unsure what happens next, drifting off until you wake up later in the night clean and with an oversized shirt on again.

You recognize this one as Shouto’s.

Grinning to yourself you turn and check on both men to find them out like lights.

You settle back down between them right where you belong and sleep better than you have for weeks.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗪𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡? - part two max verstappen x reader (fluff) “. . . when he wants to be normal, he can count on you, stranger.”

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“Come on, you can’t say he has so much potential!” Max miserably tried to hold in his laughs as you continued your rant about how much better Max would look if he put a little more effort or thought in how he dressed. 

“I’m honestly starting to think he’s allergic to wearing anything . . . not Red Bull related. Like even in his streams! In his home!” 

Sitting in front of his laptop with a makeshift setup in the hotel room in Japan, Max found himself unwinding from the earlier media day when he gladly accepted to join you for a game of Fifa. It wasn’t until someone brought up Lewis’ outfit from this morning did you start your little ted talk. 

“La, please concentrate on the game, we’re losing!” he couldn’t stop laughing either so your team was toast either way. 

“No, because I bet he's wearing his Red Bull shirt right now wherever he is.”

The reason why Max was no longer able to hold it together was because he was indeed in a Red Bull shirt. He might actually take you up on being allergic to anything not associated with Red Bull.

“I’ll gladly design a few outfits for him, I swear!” 

“La-” Max put his face in his hands, shoulders shaking from laughter as his screen showed the opposing team scoring a goal. The dutch would usually feel frustrated if he were to be losing a Fifa game in any other situation, but not this one with you.

He's ready to lose and lose again, even give up his title as one of the world's top twenty Fifa players if he gets to spend time with you like this, laughing and joking; forgetting the world around, so it's just you and him.

Just two people . . . being people.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Since I have no one to show, you're stuck with me.” 

It’s kind of been a routine now, having a private call after a game or upon finding spare time. You two have gotten close. You even considered “amilian” to be a close friend, per say. A close friend who you regularly vent to about work or just randomly ask riddles or dad jokes to bother.

You enjoyed his company. He was a fun person to be around. He made you feel . . . yellow in a type of way too. You never felt left out or unheard. He always had time for you, it's like you were maybe gravitating to being more than close friends . . . it's not like you can do anything about it though.

Surely people make close friends online all the time. 

You stay up on your couch, scrolling through the settings of your laptop to show and rant despite having to get up in the morning. Max crossed his legs on his chair folding his arms and watching the screen as you messed around on your shared screen.

“La, it’s late.” He’s been trying to tell you for the past 10 minutes. It’s 6:30 in Japan, 7 hours ahead of the time in Paris, where you were. 

Not that he’s keeping track of the time where you were, it’s just that you shared the same time zone as Monaco, and he only had the GMT+2 clock displayed on his home screen because he needed to keep track of his cats . . .  not too make sure you got enough sleep or anything of that sort.

“It's only 11:30,” you shushed, pulling up pinterest. Max hung his head, trying to hold in his smile. “I could put together a whole outfit that would suit him right here and now,”

“La,” Max giggled watching you actually start to search and put things together. “I’ll make a deal with you, if you go to sleep, I'll try to get Max Verstappen in baggy jeans,” 

“WHAT?!” the blond flinched at the loud noise, looking around his hotel room to make sure no one heard anything -- despite him being alone. 

“You know I work in F1 right?” Max followed up, trying to hold in his smile at your silence. “La, you forgot?!” 

“I’m sorry!” you pleaded, holding your hands in a begging motion despite him not seeing anything.

Max put his hand on his chest and pretended to be offended when he was smiling really wide to the point his cheeks hurt. “My best friend doesn't know what I do for a living,” he gushed in fake hurt. 

Your mind blanked at the title. Best friend? 

“You do know what my job is, right, La?”

“. . .” You looked away embarrassed, you’ve known the guy for how long and don’t even know what his profession is. 

Max couldn’t stop his giggles. “Go to bed, La. I’ll get Max in baggy jeans for you.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey um, million?” 

“I thought I told you to go to bed?” Max chuckled, crouched in front of his suitcase, digging through it in hopes to find a pair of baggy jeans or a white shirt that he probably doesn't own. 

“I am in bed technically . . .” The blond looked over to his laptop on his desk, the call still going. “You work in F1,” Max felt his heart jump in anxiety for a second, there's no way you figured him out. 

“Yeah?”

 “Well um . . . my boss chose me to go see how things were going with McLaren at the Monaco gp,” 

The dutch perked up at your announcement. “Really? That's great!” 

“Y-Yeah, it is,” you stuttered, agreeing. you crossed your arms, looking at the email congratulating you on your phone screen. “I mean, I'm glad, this is an experience of a lifetime. I get to drag along a few interns with me as well.” Max frowned, your tone did not match with the news you were announcing.

“What's wrong?” He got up, sitting on the desk chair, looking at your profile picture, the concern was clear in voice, as if you could feel him sitting beside you on your bed and gently rubbing your back to comfort you. 

“Well, I don't have anyone to go with - the interns don't count . . . and I don't know anyone in Monaco or the attendees-- except you technically . . . I haven’t been on my own for that long before,” you sighed.

Max furrowed his eyebrows, trying to decipher what you were asking of him.

“Is it-” you cut yourself of with a sigh. “Can I hang out with you sometime? During the weekend?” Max stayed silent, feeling his heart pounding to the point he was scared the organ would explode out of his chest. 

“I mean,” Max cleared his throat to hide the crack in his voice that arose from the anxiety he was drowning in. “I’m not traveling with the team every weekend, so I'm not sure if I'm going to be in Monaco . . . I’ll have to ask my boss.” he replied quietly and slowly, trying to comfort you still. “There’s still a few weeks before Monaco, so . . . I don’t know for sure.” He whispered, scratching the back of his head.

He was digging himself a grave. Asking Horner if he’s going to be in Monaco when he is the driver and already lives in Monaco? It’s too late now to be honest about who he is, he dug this hole himself and now he’s stuck in it.

It’s not like he can be like ‘oh, yeah of course you can hang out with me. Oh, I’m Max Verstappen by the way, the guy who’s driving the best car and winning all the races, so I can get you VIP tickets and a hot lap too if you want.’

“I’ll try my best to be there,” the blond whispered. You could almost feel him brushing your hair comfortingly. “We can get ice cream or go sightseeing. I know this really good cafe you’ll like . . .” Max will just have to keep digging his hole.

proof reading credits to the lovely and amazing @classiclitfreak <3

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[jinkiezzsstuff]

Bully

alastor x gn!imp!reader

this is part one bc i think i wanna do a smutty part two teehee

Summary: You became friends with Charlie by chance and decide to join the hotel to help! However Alastor is a cruel bastard, and you can’t understand why; he’s just such a little bully. He bugged you while drinking one night and you decide, you’d just leave the hotel; charlie will understand, however Alastor won’t let you.

Warnings: Manipulation im pretty sure, insecurity, drinking, mean alastor (kinda), reader is an imp, alastor try’s to get reader drunk not for nefarious reasons, choking, reader gets held down teehee, swearing, i think that’s it? lmk!!

word count: 3K

You gripped your glass at the bar as the red hellion pranced around you happily like the obnoxious deer he was. “Hello little hellborn.” Alastor hummed, you ignored him continuing to stare into space at nothing. “I’m surprised you haven’t left yet, it’s quite the embarrassment to be born in such a place and be as weak as you are.” Sliding in the seat beside you, he magically made a drink appear in front of him. It was some sort of brown liquor, you weren’t sure what kind. Aside from his cruel tone, his body language was relaxed, arms rested against the warm brown oak coloured bar, occasionally you could catch his coat moving at the back, or his ears twitching softly.

You ignored his stupid prodding, it wasn’t anything new, he wasn’t a fan of you and had no problem letting you know. “So my little imp, how is this evening treating you?” Alastor egged on, leaning toward your slumped over figure. Husk was long gone, relieved of his bartending duties at such an hour, meaning you were left to fend off the giant buck yourself. “Good, how’re you little deer?” You snark back, taking a long gulp of your drink.

Alastor didn’t seem to mind, laughing boisterously with his head thrown back. “My my somebodies sour today. I don’t blame you, a pitiful thing like you? i’d be miserable too.” He let out that annoying goose like, ha ha, that he thought was so coy before taking a swig of his drink. You eyed the clock in the corner, and then sent a glare his way. “Do you ever sleep? Leave me be.” The deer brushed you off, not bothering to respond, he just continued to pick up his drink, take a few sips and put it back down.

You’d met many cruel bastards in hell, but Alastor was the cruellest of all. Which was a shocker to your friends back in the greed ring when you told them. You’d had your fair share of violent run ins with men, so when you professed this one man who’d never put his hands on you, was the worst, they couldn’t believe it, snarking that you were simply being sensitive.

But Alastor was observant and coy, he liked to play pretend happy go lucky but he was calculated in his cruelty. He rooted up your insecurities and then he used them against you, like in crowds of people, in stressful situations, just to embarrass you or make you look crazy; he knew how to pull the strings. The worst part is you could identify it, but couldn’t stop it. You knew what he was doing and he was still able to get to you, and you couldn’t lash out because you were just some Imp from greed who compared nothing to human overlords.

“I didn’t take you for a martyr dear.” Sucking in a breath you tried to remain calm, you knew it was only a matter of time before he spoke something stupid again. “Shush.” It was barely an attempt but at the very least you said something passive. “I think you have a little crush on me.” Eyes bulging you snapped your head towards him in disbelief. Sitting tall Alastor smirked smugly, eyeing you from the corner.

“That’s so fucking juvenile! I never have ever showed any amount of interest in you, and you won’t fucking leave me be Alastor!” You shriek, hands curled in front of you gripping at air as you face him. You could feel the blood rushing through your veins as you screamed at him, and your shoulders tensed with the rage coursing through you. Alastor shrugged a single shoulder, flicking his hand, your glass refilled making you attention get momentarily drawn to your cup.

“I am unsure if that’s true dear. You see, I've been observing certain behaviours for quite some time, and i do believe you have quite the soft spot for me. Who wouldn’t though.” Taking a few large gulps from your cup as you listen to him ramble, you finished with an obnoxious ‘ah’ his ears gently flicking. “Like what exactly? Tell me exactly what you ObSeRvEd, big red.” You mocked his voice tilting your head from side to side, briefly he squinted his eyes at you giving you the impression you’d managed to finally get under his skin a bit. Noted.

“You always avoid my gaze, sometimes, oh my, do you stare, let me see-” His nails one by one came down against the wood of the bar, tapping repeatedly. “Not convinced, I do all those things cause i hate you.” Your face was as flat as your tone, no emotion there whatsoever, but Alastor lazily looked over to you his head tilted ever so slightly.

“You cannot have hate without love my dear.” Had there been booze in your mouth you would’ve done a spit take, thankfully though there wasn’t, instead you slammed your fist against the bar cackling manically. “That’s such bullshit!” The exclamation was loud your voice lifted an octave as you laughed. The deer once again waved his hand refilling your glass and sipping at his own. “It’s true little imp. How can you hate something you never liked to begin with?”

Now that stunted you, your laughing ceased as did your insane thrashing around on the barstool. Your face scrunched as you thought through the words he said over and over. He was right, and that’s what was getting you, technically he was right. “Mm, maybe because it’s annoying.” You finally say with a tone that basically said ‘duh’.

“So you know you hate something before you like it, because it’s annoying?” Alastor repeated voice lifting with false intrigued. You nodded drunkenly gulping down more of your poison in a glass. “How did you feel before you established it’s annoying?” Your lip quirked up, you felt confused at that. You shook your head, head falling towards him, neck stretched slightly. “Nothing because he’s always annoying.”

“Who?” You slapped your hand against your face, either Alastor was playing dumb, or he was. It was obvious to you, that he was that ‘it’ you were talking about. Deciding to not even respond you return to your position. Your hand fiddled with the glass as your eyes danced loosely around the back of the bar as you sat in momentary silence. “You’re not even that hot.” You slurred, mentally noting that you were started to get a little drunk, and to slow down a bit.

Alastor chortled his radio sounding out a laugh track with him. “Please dear, I know plenty of sinners who think otherwise.” Rolling your eyes you put your lips to the glass remarking, “go bug them then,” before taking your drink. Alastor kissed his teeth at you, filling up his glass this time and taking a polite swig.

“I’m just trying to keep you company in your time of need.” You groaned in disbelief, watching as he sipped his alcohol watching you from the corner of his eye. “You should go, especially since you have sooo many people desiring your company.” You mock making exaggerated faces as you spoke, your behaviour wasn’t too out of the ordinary as you were a fairly theatrical demon yourself, but not with Alastor. He was only granted the most minimal aspects of your personality so he couldn’t use anything against you.

The demon quirked his brow, spinning the seat he faced you, one arm on the bar still gripping his liquor. “Oh but I do! So many women and men are just throwing themselves at my feet, so many fans of my broadcast. Oh and if i may, some are quite the sight. I might even say some had my eye,” Resting his head on his hand which had released his cup to rest his head, he stared at you through lidded eyes that told you he was teasing you. You again noticed he was trying to poke you, annoy you, but still couldn’t stop the way your teeth grit and your face crunched, hell even your stomach clenched making the warm alcohol crawl up your oesophagus.

Growling you tipped your glass, bottoms up right? You slapped you cup down empty, though it didn’t stay for long before it refilled itself. “Would you stop filling my fucking up?” You snap, following in suit with turning your body towards him. Your knees brushed against eachother as you spun your chair but you barely cared. “Darling, stop drinking it so fast and I won't fill it.” The way he remarked, throwing his free hand around lazily made you want to rip his face off. “I want to leave, that’s why i’m drinking.”

Checking his nails meticulously, the demon ignored you. Tonight wasn’t the night and you could feel the overwhelming emotions start to ripple up from where you pushed them down, like a tsunami. Thankfully no angry tears fell, and you managed to regain your composure by hiding behind your tilted cup, only getting yourself drunker than you already were, or needed to be. “Why do you care to bother me?” You urged jabbing your chest with your finger.

Surprisingly the radio demon was silent, more silent than ever, no ambient radio, no hum nor scoff, just erie silence. You watch his face stay still, eyes stuck forward, with an annoyed sigh you snapped your fingers in front of his face. His eyes darted down soaking in your drunken state, eyes filled with impatience. A different type of smile took over his face, the look he gave you might be even considered flirtatious, but with Alastor you never knew.

“You’re just so fun to annoy, I get such a kick from watching you suffer!” Scowling you face soured as the tsunami of emotions creeped up again. You stood from your seat, barstool screeching like nails on a chalkboard. You without another word marched away leaving the full cup on the bar. You got to your room thankfully without any bother from the red devil. In your hazy state, you haphazardly tossed various belongings you had on the bed. You were so tired of feeling pathetic and small, you wanted to go back to where you somewhat belong. You wished you were strong like Angel, he’s so much stronger for being able to put up with Val, you can’t even put up with Al without running off, and Alastor’s not as bad.

Tears began to fall in self pity as an avalanche of emotion and memories crashed down on you fueling your erratic packing. Walking into the ensuite bathroom you had, you closed the door and sat on the toilet seat, trying to calm your rapid breaths and calm your heart. Your face burnt and your chest felt tight, this was idiotic, you continually chanted to yourself. Taking a final deep breathe you washed your face in an attempt to sober and cover up the tear tracks. When you left the bathroom you gasped stepping back, fear momentarily flooded your system and quickly fizzled out.

There stood Alastor patiently waiting, hands tucked behind his back beside your bed. “What the hell are you doing?” Your tone was harsh as you barreled further into the room nearing him, finger pointed at him ready to prod at his chest. Before you could speak again, or land your finger on him, he speedily gripped your wrist, drawing your attention up. “Oh hush, dear, always so angry. I just came to check on you after you left so abruptly, and then i heard banging and this awful squeaky sound.” The look in his eyes told you that awful squeak must’ve been your sobs.

“Okay great you checked, i’m good, now leave.” Gently you wiggled your wrist from his hold, and moved it from him and then the door. Alastor hummed flatly, turning he slowly waltzed around your bed looking down at the things that were on it, including the suitcases. “No can do dearie, seems you’re trying to make an escape. That’s quite emotionally immature don’t you think?” You slouched over, grunting at him. You simply decided to work around him, he wasn’t going to talk you out of leaving. Unfortunately you were drunkenly set on leaving, and though Charlie would probably be very upset, you knew she had plenty of support here.

Static fizzled ominously from him as you continued to ignore his presence, ignoring his calls to you, or one off comments about your clothing choices, he even began to materialise right in front of where you were headed making you bump into him. Despite all that, you’d just move around him, and not listen to a word he said. You even began to hum as you folded your clothes. “Darling you are being-” You spun from your position hunched over the clothes, bumping past him you intended to go to the bathroom to grab your toiletries unfortunately that small gesture of rudeness was the snap for Alastor.

Antlers growing in size the demon gripped you from behind and tossed you on the free space of bed. You yelped as you were tossed, landing somewhat softly amongst the things on your bed. Gripping your ankle, you were yanked by him to the edge, his hand coming down to wrap itself around your neck. Leaning over you dials in his eyes he statically hissed at you. It was a sight you weren’t used to seeing, he didn’t even show genuine anger when Mimzy led the loan sharks to the hotels door. You didn’t necessarily feel fear staring up at the ballistic looking animal man, but you weren’t comfortable that’s for sure. You’d been in this position before and unless you die, you more than likely will be again.

Still intoxicated you just limply laid there waiting for him to either break your neck, choke you, or set you free. At this point you didn’t care which happened just that he’d hurry it up. “You aren’t leaving the hotel dear, so when i let you up, you’re going to unpack.” Your looked at him with disgust, his antlers coming back to their original size, his claws retracting soothing your aching neck slightly, and his eyes returning from their dial form. “If this is about Charlie, she won’t mind, i won’t even tell her you did it, now get off.” Your voice came out raspy from his tight grasp, but it wasn’t too painful.

“This isn’t about Charlie.” The words came out punctuated and harsh, like part of him didn’t even want to say it. “Then what is this all about, let me go.” You began to wiggle, raising your hips in an attempt to buck him off, but instead he dropped his hips on top of yours weighing you down. “I don’t know,” He grit angrily, his eyes returning to the wide eye dial. “I have no clue what my particular fascination is with you. The worst part is, you’re tight; why don’t I just leave you be?”

Groaning and lulling your head back, you think to yourself that he’s playing some awful trick. “Oh for fuck sakes Alastor cut the shit!” His neck cracked as his head tilted unhealthily to the side, his face inching closer to yours. He watched you closely, the uncertainty evident in your eyes; he doesn’t blame you for being so weary but he hates it. “Oh my, such crude language,” Tutting softly he brought his face directly in front of yours, lips inches away, eyes locked, there was no room for you to run, he had you pinned and cornered.

You couldn’t help but feel slightly aroused at the way he sat across your hips weighing you down, his hand resting against your neck compared to the original squeeze it had, and his other hand splayed right next to your head to keep himself balanced as he hovered over your face, it was an erotic position in your mind. Instinctively your hands went to his chest attempting to keep distance, but he pushed against it, disregarding any boundary that there was. “How could I change that snappy tone, make you stay, and believe me?” His tone was raised with a false sense of curiosity and cluelessness.

With a deep chuckle that could’ve been a demented giggle, Alastor crashed his lips against yours harshly. You squeaked at the contact of his warm lips against yours, and he quickly darted out a pitch forked tongue taking your breath away in one foul swoop. Despite your brain screeching at you to pull away, kick him, do something! You didn’t, you couldn’t, you were loving every second of him.

He smelt oddly like woodchips mixed with expensive cologne, his lips pressed against yours with hard intent but the way they danced against yours was gentle. His smile stayed put, though it was relaxed, his lips were cracked and rough against yours. His hair tickled your forehead, and around your neck his thumb gently caressed back and forth.

Under all the stimulation of just Alastors being, you completely gave in, melting into the mattress. You didn’t even know how tense you were until your muscles relaxed letting Alastor’s body sink further into you. You hummed softly against him trying to stay at the forefront of your mind instead of losing yourself in him, it was too risky at this point.

Alastor pulled away, your lips glistened with wayward saliva, though the kiss wasn’t too long nor too messy, it still was pretty intense. It seemed Alastor kissed you with frustration as motivation. Your eyes were lidded as you stared up at him as he looked down at you in admiration, the first time he’d ever looked at you softly, at least from what you could recall.

“What happened to being a weak imp?” You asked softly, voice wobbly. Chuckling lowly Alastor had what could be described as a fond smile on his face. “You still are,” Your mouth stretched into a flat line as did your eyebrows. “But, you’re a weak imp i feel called to protect. A weak Imp who can be strong if alongside me.” The demon sounded sly and calculated as he spoke but his face and actions contradict his words; they were soft. Alastor removed his hand from your neck gently cupping your cheek and caressing it as he spoke.

You truly couldn’t tell whether or not he was manipulating you or being honest, but the only way to find out, was to chance it.

[stylesloveclub]

sunshine (epilogue)

In which Harry's still grumpy, except for when he's with his sunshine girl.

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“How was it?” Maddie asks y/n, sitting in the driver’s seat of her beat up red Toyota Corolla. The engine is running as y/n climbs into the passengers side, carelessly throwing her backpack in the backseat and buckling herself up. 

“I don’t want to think about integrals ever again,” y/n responds. She’s just gotten out of her calc midterm, and she feels horrible and miserable and exhausted. Although she’d promised herself to go to sleep early last night so that she’d be alert and prepared for her exam… she actually hadn’t fallen asleep until 4 AM. She’d been twisting and turning in her bed, flipping her pillows and trying to lull herself to sleep all night, unsuccessfully. 

Thankfully the class wasn’t until noon, so she was still able to get at least five-ish hours of sleep. But she still woke up feeling like shit. Her heart had been pounding nervously all morning, and she hadn’t been able to get any food down except for three sips of some coffee she made for herself in the morning. She didn’t put any makeup on as she left for campus, only a pair of sweats and a burgundy sweatshirt… Harry’s burgundy sweatshirt. The one he’d given to her in the car when he’d driven her home. 

Now, she has a reason for wearing it! You see… it still smelled like him. And y/n somehow convinced herself that by wearing Harry’s sweatshirt (the sweatshirt that smelled like him!) she might be able to…  absorb some of his math skills? And do better on her midterm? 

She’s pulling at straws here. She still feels like she failed it. 

“Listen…” Maddie says, pulling out of the parking lot. “I need to go over to Blake’s, I left my makeup bag in his bathroom and then we’re gonna go out for lunch.”

“Okay,” y/n mumbles, not caring. She closes her eyes to try and soothe the pounding in her head. She’s gonna nap as soon as she gets into her bed. 

“Do you want me to drop you off at home first? Or… did you want to come and see Harry?” 

Y/n’s eyes flutter open. Harry. 

Maddie looks over at y/n knowingly. Y/n turns bashful. “Yeah, I’ll come and see Harry.”

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Harry looks like he’s just woken up when he opens his bedroom door for y/n.

His eyes are puffy and his curls are flat and messy. A smile immediately spreads on his face when he sees it’s y/n.

“Hey.” His voice is deep and raspy, and it’s probably the first word he’s said all day. 

“Hi,” she says, twisting her hands in the sleeves of her sweatshirt. No– his sweatshirt. 

Oh. Oops.

Harry smiles down at the burgundy sweatshirt that’s swallowed y/n’s body. 

“I– I wore it so that I could return it,” she stammers. A lie! Harry sees right through it, and finds his smirk growing even wider. 

“I like it on you,” he grins. She grows shy under his gaze, heart bubbling with that familiar feeling. The feeling of a crush. “How was the midterm?” he asks, closing the door behind himself and y/n.

He lays back down in his bed, the way he’d previously been before y/n came knocking on his door, and y/n sits down next to him. “I dunno,” she shrugs. Her eyes are downcast and dull, lacking the happy sparkle he usually searches for whenever he’s in her presence.

“I’m sure you did okay,” he says, resting a reassuring hand on her knee. “At least it’s over now!”

She nods. A certain weight had been lifted from her chest as she walked out of that lecture hall. No more studying integrals and derivatives for hours straight…

“There was this one problem,” y/n can’t help but say. “It was like… ln(x) to the power of two…”

“Do you want to write it out?” Harry asks. He knows that y/n probably won’t be able to let this midterm go until she gets all of her questions out of the way. 

With a pen and paper in hand, she messily writes the problem out, the paper tearing a little bit when she presses down too hard. “It was ln(x)^2… and i split it into ln(x)*ln(x). That’s allowed right?”

Harry nods, “Mhm. That’s what I would’ve done too. What next?”

“Um… I did a U-sub. I don’t know if that’s right though… I was running out of time and just did something so that I could get at least partial credit.” 

“A u-sub is right,” he grins.

“Really?” She blinks with wide eyes as he nods. “So… wait– tell me if I did the rest of it right.” She messily writes down what she remembers putting down on the test, then gives the paper to Harry. 

“S’good,” his dimple pops out as he smiles up at her, “It’s all right. And you didn’t forget the +C, good job!” 

“No way!” she exclaims, disbelievingly. Her hands land on Harry’s chest as she giggles triumphantly, “No freaking way I did it right! I thought I was just making math up! Oh my gosh!”

“Told you,” he laughs along with her, holding the hand that she rested on his chest. “Stop stressing out, sunshine. You studied, and now you’re done!”

There’s that name again, the one that makes her entire body tingle with happy chills. >sunshine. The sparkle in her eye is back, and Harry feels pride for being the reason she laughed. The entire world feels brighter now that she’s happy again. 

Y/n’s giggles die down slowly, and she looks down at Harry, eyes flickering between his. Her stare is intent as she chews on her lip, the remnants of her cheery smile still present in the apples of her cheeks.

Something thuds on the floor behind Harry. They both peer over the side of the bed to see what fell from his bedside table. It’s just a book… but when y/n looks closer…

“Wuthering Heights?” 

His cheeks turn pink. “Yeah…” he coughs dryly. “I um… I remember you reading it. Thought it might be nice if I picked it up, and that… we might be able to talk about it or something.” 

Her heart swells in her chest. “You’re reading Wuthering Heights?” 

“Well– trying to,” he chuckles at himself lamely. “I’m like 10 pages in.”

She wants to kiss him. She really really does. Like… he’s perfect and beautiful and kind and sweet and amazing. But… god would it be weird? After last time?

Harry pushes himself up on his elbows. He can feel the tension too. But when he inches closer to her, her eyes flicker with doubt and she looks away. 

“No,” he pleads, cupping her jaw. “Please… please don’t let it be different.” She meets his gaze again. 

“I like you,” he swallows thickly, “and I want… something with you. Whatever you want.” 

He inches upward, and this time she doesn’t pull away. Her heart races in her chest and she lets the magnetic force between them take over. 

“We’ll take it slow, at your pace…” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing back and forth on her cheek. Her eyes flutter shut. “No rush. Just trust me, please.”

She nods. She trusts him.

Their lips connect, a spark flying through y/n’s body the second she makes contact with him. It’s wonderful, better than last time, even, and she realizes the reason kissing Harry is so great is because it’s >Harry. Because she can feel how much he cares for her when he kisses her. He speaks poems with his lips when he kisses her and writes sonnets on her skin every time he touches her. He tastes like minty toothpaste, freshly washed, and his lips are so soft and sweet and gentle. 

He pulls away from her lips with a soft click, then stares up at her with hearts floating in his eyes. 

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Y/n is out of breath, huffing and puffing in front of Harry’s door and knocking like a madwoman. She ran here from her own apartment, too excited to wait and ask Maddie for a ride. She needed to see him >immediately. 

Harry opens the door with concerned eyes and furrowed eyebrows, a little bit scared. He still has his headphones on with his controller in his hands, staring down at y/n as though he just had a heart attack, “What? What is it?” 

A huge grin is plastered on her face. “Harry!” she beams. “I passed!”

“What?” he’s still confused. What did she pass? Why is she at his door?

“I got a 77% on the midterm!” she squeals, jumping up and down in her place. 

His eyes light up and a smile spreads across his face. “Yes!” he cheers. He pulls the headphones off of his ears and hangs them around his neck, just in time for when y/n wraps her arms around him. He’s taken aback, stumbling a few steps backwards from how hard she pummeled into him, but easily steadies himself and wraps his arms around her back. He hugs her so tight that her feet leave the ground, and she’s laughing in his ear sweetly.

“I can’t believe it!!!” she says, her hands on his shoulders as he puts her back down on the ground. Her eyes glimmer with the shine that he adores so much, and it makes him grin even harder. His dimple pops out, a rare sighting for anyone else except for y/n these days. 

He kisses her without a second thought.

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The scene is all too familiar. Harry, sitting at a party with his eyebrows furrowed grumpily. His friends are sitting around him, laughing and chattering, but Harry says nothing. He takes a bored sip from the jungle juice in his hand. Three girls have approached him tonight, batting their eyes up at him and biting their lips teasingly, but he’s brushed them off without so much of a glance. He’s not interested in the slightest.

He looks around himself, eyes searching for a certain someone, and he sighs to himself. She’s still not here. His pout grows more prominent, and he whips out his phone. He does not care for anyone at this party, and though his friends are fun and all… they’re having a weird conversation about Elon Musk that he doesn’t want to even listen to.

He huffs. He stares at the last text he received, 19 minutes ago.

sunshine: omw!! be there in 15 :)

She’s 4 minutes late, he pouts. It’s probably Maddie’s fault.

A firm poke is pressed to his forehead. “Hey grumpy.” His heart jumps as he recognizes the sweet sunshine angel voice speaking to him. 

“Sunshine,” he coos, the furrow his brow immediately melting into a soft smile. He holds a hand out for her, which she immediately takes. She has a soft smile on her face, her eyes kind and warm and gentle, the LED party lights haloing around her head and making her look like a fairy. “Missed you.”

He pulls her down into his lap, her butt comfortably sat on his thighs, and nuzzles his face into her neck, trying to get as close to her as possible. A content hum rumbles through his chest now that he’s surrounded by her scent, his pretty girlfriend in his lap, drowning out all the other people at the party. She giggles cutely when his curls tickle her chin, simultaneously trying to escape the kisses he’s pressing to her sensitive throat while also wrapping her arms around his shoulders. 

“Watcha drinking?” she asks. 

He offers her his drink, “dunno.” She grimaces as she takes a sip, and he imitates her grossed out face. “Yucky, isn’t it?”

She gets the drink as far away as possible from herself. “Gross.” 

He chuckles. She’s so beyond cute, her cheeks so soft and biteable as she scrunches her nose. One of his hands is on her back, holding her upright, while the other one rests on her thigh comfortably. His fingers on her back find the ends of her hair and start twisting them, playing with the soft strands and curling them around his fingers, while his fingers on her thigh trace up and down and up and down. Goosebumps rise along the path of his fingers, and it makes him smile. She’s so reactive to every single one of his touches… he wants to have his hands on her 24/7.

If she wasn’t so shy and sweet and innocent, he’d start kissing her pretty, glossed up lips right here and now, even with all of their friends sitting around them. He’s obsessed with her! Obsessed with kissing her all the time and teaching her all the secrets of intimacy. But he knows she’d probably get bashful and embarrassed with that much PDA (even getting her to sit in his lap took a bit of coaxing at the beginning), so he settles for pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You’re so cute,” he murmurs to her, resting his head on her shoulder. Is it too early for them to leave this party and to his room? He’d love to be snuggled up in bed with her… have her read to him a little bit while he plays with her hair… yeah that sounds nice.

“M’gonna go get a juice box from the fridge,” she whispers (his fridge is stocked with juice just for her). He whine when she pulls away, looking up at her with big pleading puppy dog eyes, begging her not to leave him when he’s just gotten her, but she pecks his cheek with a dismissive kiss. “Do you want one too?”

“No,” he pouts. “I’ll just have some of yours, if that’s okay?”

She squints her eyes at him, “you get two sips, and that’s it.” 

He shrugs with a teasing smile. “M’kay.” He resists the urge to pat her ass as she walks away (that’s for when they’re alone in his room).

He’s stuck in a lovey dovey lavender haze as he watches her get swept away by a group of her girlfriends, smiling to himself fondly as they all giggle and look towards Harry mischievously. He knows she’s probably getting grilled about how little miss sunshine finally got a boyfriend! 

A shove from Blake jostles him out of his daydream. “Who are you?” Blake snickers. All of his friends are staring at him too. Nobody has ever, ever seen grumpy Harry be so soft with anyone. Kissing her cheek and cuddling into her neck and whining like a love-struck puppy… it’s funny. 

Harry rolls his eyes and tells his friends to fuck off, trying to furrow his brows and look all serious again. But his heart flutters happily in his chest, and those pretty dimples dent his cheek. 

He can’t be very grumpy when his sunshine girl is skipping back to him, juice box in hand as she settles back down on his lap. 

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perfect ending for my fav story:( TELL ME WHAT BLURBS U WANNA SEE!!!! MANY MANY BLURBS TO COME BC I LOVE THIS STORY:(

sunshine masterlist

[skzstoryvault]

Relax! Take it easy <3 (Hyunjin, a bit spicy)

F! Reader x boyfriend Hyunjin

very short read

one-shot

Hyunjin is sick and exhausted and needs a bit of persuasion to allow himself some time to recover

Hyunjin is also super cute and very whipped for his girl

This story contains some lazy, sleepy sex

This is in no way meant as a commentary on the real persons depicted here. They all deserve the world.

Please be kind.

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If you enjoy this story and are reading along, I would love to hear your comments in the replies, reblogs or DMs - however you feel most comfortable.

Hyunjin has been having a bad luck streak lately. First, his voice began to fail him, then his joints and muscles started acting up. He’s had his wisdom teeth extracted and went to a fan event right after and now? Now he has a bad shoulder that hurts with every movement he makes. It comes and goes, the pain, and his doctors don’t know what the cause is or how to treat it just yet.

“Jinnie, you are exhausted, that’s why it feels like you are falling apart. You need to take it easy for a bit. Get a few days of back-to-back rest and good sleep so your body can have the chance to recover...” You tell him, watching him sit curled up miserably at the top of your bed and putting his favorite blanket of yours around his shoulders. “I can’t, Stay will mind.” 

“I’m a Stay too and I say I want you happy and recharged, and if I had a choice, I’d rather not see you for a while than see you crumble on stage or dance with tears of pain in your eyes.” “You just say that because you love me.” “Yes! As would anyone who knows you. Jinnie, please. Please rest.” “But Channie-hyung will be upset, and so will Scheduling.” “I’ll make the calls, okay?” “We don’t have anything for Friday and Saturday, maybe I can rest then?”

“I will still call, so they don’t see the free slots and book you anyway.” “Thank you.” Hyunjin says, looking wretched and small from his blanket cocoon. ���You know I love you? You care so much, and look after me so well.” “I love you too, Jinnie. A lot-lot, you know?” You give back, leaning in to smooth the hair from his forehead and kiss the clammy skin. On the phone, Chan is, of course, understanding and concerned. The people in Scheduling are a bit more neurotic about the news, but even they are aware that Hyunjin is no good to them in his current state. 

When you return to your boyfriend’s side, he is napping with his nose buried into the blanket you gave him. You approach to tuck him in more securely, and he sleepily reaches for you. 

“Don’t go, please.” His voice comes out as a creaky, pitiful whisper. 

You relent immediately and lie down next to him. He sleepily rearranges himself around you and spreads the blanket over both of you. Not a minute passes before he takes his nose out of the blanket and buries it in the skin at the side of your neck, moving it up and down and side to side, managing to tickle you. “Hey now, rest first. We can horse around later.” You gently chide, running a hand through his hair and scritching his scalp to help him relax. He huffs into your shoulder in protest, but behaves. It’s evening when you wake up, having fallen asleep next to Hyunjin as well. The first thing you become aware of is how hard he is under the thigh you have flung over him. The second is that he’s at least partially awake and covertly rubbing himself against your thigh, holding it in place with one of his hands. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh almost desperately, like he’s afraid you will turn to smoke and escape him if he loosens his hold the slightest bit.

He has so much on his plate, your baby. He is trying to please so many people and he neglects himself so much. So him wanting to get off even while still mostly asleep, and wanting to use you to help, softens you to the extreme.

“Baby? Are you with me? How are you feeling?” You ask, lifting your head so you can start peppering sloppy kisses to his lips and around, moving on to nibble on his jaw and neck. 

“Sleepy… and hard.” He says, pouting. “Wanna hit.” “So why don’t you? I’m right here. You can just… “ “Mhhh yes, yes. Thank you.” He whispers. “‘m lazy.” 

“Shhh, I know. Let me.” You make quick work of his and your underwear, lying back down half on top of him and nuzzling the warm skin of his neck before seeking his lips for a kiss. Your hair falls between you like a curtain, sheltering you from the rest of the world and you blindly, but with sure moves, take him inside you, hissing at the way his cock spreading you open feels. It never gets old - that first breach, the shock to your senses. This time it’s accompanied by a scarily intense spasm of your womb, and that’s undiluted arousal and anticipation on your part as you take all of him in. “Awh, fuck. So deep.” Hyunjin’s voice rings strained. “So… tight. It’s always like the first time with you.” 

Another spasm deep inside you, stronger this time, makes you scrunch your features  - it’s the same part of you that’s trying to kill you once a month, letting you know you’re aroused off your tits and giving you a spasm of pleasure so intense it nearly swings into pain, making your features contort from how intense it feels. This has nothing to do with how big Hyunjin is inside you or how harsh his thrusts are. It’s just a deeply human, almost petty satisfaction at feeling how good he’s making you feel and that he and not someone else is giving you this much pleasure. 

“What was that? Did… did I hurt you? Angle change?” He asks, immediately concerned for you although just seconds ago he was lost to his own enjoyment, eyes closed and head pushed back into the pillow. 

“No, no, keep going, it’s just… sometimes some other organs join in my feeling good.”

Hyunjin gasps and indulges your request. You push yourself up with your hands on his t-shirt covered chest, sighing at the change of angle adding yet another layer of sensation. But you don’t sit up straddling him all the way, needing the closeness to get the friction against your clit. “Oh fuck… hell, no!” Hyunjin panics, looking at you apologetically. “I’m- I’m g-g-go… aghhh, fuck-” His losing his composure to how good it feels to be inside you, fucking you, also throws you over the edge. You lean back down, wanting to kiss his moans and unhinged whines into yourself, feeling like a succubus thriving off the stolen pleasure of your willing victim. 

All through his high, he keeps his eyes on you, watching you in this absolutely rapt way, reaching up and touching your lips in awe, caressing your cheek, then tracing the gentle contours of your boobs through the fabric of your shirt. 

“How are you real? How are you mine?” He whispers, his voice still hoarse and betraying how gone he is. “And you let me come inside you… I feel like I’m desecrating a temple every time.” 

You smile, liking how awed his little ramblings get when his mind is completely switched off. 

“I’m not complaining. But if it makes you feel better, you can think you’re an ancient Greek. They used to bring erm... seeds as offerings for their goddess of the harvest.” “I want to give you something you can actually use!” Hyunjin says, smiling like the best inspiration ever just struck him. “Soon as I feel better and get up from here… I’ll make you a nice kimchi with no fish guts… and the fattest kimbap roll you’ve ever seen, with the yummiest filling. Maybe even some hotteok too, if I manage. Mhmmmmm. You will have the happiest belly in all of Seoul.” You laugh softly. He’s slipping into a restful sleep, and even now, all he’s thinking of is how he can please you more. “Oh you’re on, mister. Don’t think I won’t hold you to that… but for now, just focus on feeling better.” 

[adverbally]

Don’t Get Me Wrong

Written for the @steddiesmuttyseptember prompt “make-up sex” | wc: 1,258 | rated: M | cw: sexual content | tags: misunderstanding, handjobs, sexy biting, the conflict and making up is pretty one-sided because I don’t like when they fight for real | title from the song by The Pretenders

———

Steve’s day is a blur of anxiety and guilt. This is why he hates going to bed angry— it always takes too long to resolve and makes him a nervous wreck in the meantime. Luckily, second graders aren’t perceptive enough to notice the way Steve paces the room while they work on their art projects.

The previous day’s migraine still lingers, leaving Steve with a vaguely hungover feeling and requiring him to wear his glasses, much to the kids’ delight. He has to wonder how much of his fatigue is due to the postdrome and how much is from sleeping so poorly without Eddie beside him. Eddie not only slept in the guest room but left before Steve woke up this morning, both of which are bad signs. Either he was up all night obsessing over what Steve said and figured he might as well get an early start, or he was trying to avoid talking to Steve before they headed to work. Or both.

Whatever his motive, Eddie isn’t home when Steve gets back, or when he has dinner ready to serve, or when Steve gets tired of Letterman’s voice and goes to bed alone. The thought of another night without Eddie almost makes him sick, but maybe this is what he deserves for treating Eddie like he had. Steve buries his head under the covers and tries not to cry.

It’s late when Eddie slips under the sheets behind him, waking Steve from a light doze. Eddie has an arm draped over his waist and his nose pressed into the back of Steve’s neck, and it’s so normal that Steve thinks he could choke on it. He can’t get his throat to cooperate enough to say anything, but he lays his arm over Eddie’s and squeezes his wrist.

“Hey, sweetheart. Are you feeling better?” Eddie whispers, cautious about aggravating Steve’s noise sensitivity. It’s that concern, shared without bringing up Steve’s actions from yesterday, that breaks the dam.

Steve clutches at Eddie’s arm, the only thing tethering him to their bed. “I’m sorry, Eds, I’m so sorry.“

“Whoa, what’s wrong?” Eddie’s voice takes on a panicked edge at the first sign of Steve’s distress. “What are you sorry for, baby?”

“I yelled at you. I told you to shut up and leave me alone, and you did,” he recounts miserably.

Eddie props himself up on his elbow and encourages Steve to roll onto his back so they can see each other. “Steve, you had a migraine and I was making too much noise. It’s okay if you need some space when you don’t feel well, and I’m sure you would’ve been nicer about it if your brain hadn’t been trying to kill you, but I get it. I didn’t take it personally.”

“But… you didn’t come to bed.”

“We talked about it earlier this week,” Eddie reminds him gently, “I had a band who needed to coordinate studio time around their day jobs. It was an early start this morning, then I stayed late when they came back in the evening.”

It does sound somewhat familiar. “You planned to sleep in the guest room anyway,” he remembers, feeling a little foolish for overreacting. “‘Cause you didn’t want to wake me up.”

Eddie’s brow creases beneath his bangs. “Have you been feeling bad about this all day?”

Steve doesn’t want to sound pathetic, but he admits, “I tried to call you at lunch but you didn’t answer. I guess it felt like I should take the hint, you know?”

“I was stuck in a meeting with the marketing team. No passive-aggressive messages here, I promise. I didn’t even know there was anything to be passive-aggressive about.” Eddie sweeps a stray piece of hair away from Steve’s forehead and kisses the skin he uncovers at his temple.

Steve shuts his eyes and groans dramatically. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not,” Eddie insists, looking into his eyes so Steve can see how much he means it. “You’re just sensitive to other people’s feelings, even if they’re not necessarily feeling the feelings you think they’re feeling.” His mouth twitches as he realizes how ridiculous that sentence was.

Steve smiles along with him. “You know, I think I got what you meant there, but I’m not sure.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Next time you’re worried that you were an asshole, ask me. You know I have no problem fighting when there’s a fight to be had.”

“Okay.” Steve nods decisively. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” Eddie’s gaze drops to Steve’s lips. “Now can I kiss you? I’ve been home for, like, ten minutes and not touching you is making me crazy.”

Steve squeezes their interlocked fingers where they still lie draped over his belly. “You are touching me,” he points out, already tilting his head so Eddie will have a good angle as he slots their mouths together.

It’s like Eddie knows just what Steve needs right now, something slow and loving to prove that everything is okay between them. He kisses him with a lazy rhythm that makes Steve melt back into the pillows with a sigh. Every languid swipe of their tongues, every gentle touch of a hand on his jaw or the back of his neck or the curve of his hip, wipes more of the self-consciousness from Steve’s mind until there’s nothing but Eddie— his faded cologne, his tangle of hair, his cigarette-and-cinnamon-gum taste.

“Can I—?” Steve half-gasps into Eddie’s mouth, slipping his fingers under the waistband of his boxers.

“Shit, yeah, lemme just…” He grunts as he lifts himself enough for Steve to shimmy the underwear off his hips. “And you,” he breathes, already pulling Steve’s pajama pants halfway down his thighs.

They move in unison, each grabbing the other’s half-hard cock with a dry palm. It’s uncomfortable but the touch is incidental to the closeness it facilitates. Forehead to forehead, breathing the same air between filthy kisses, mindlessly rolling their hips into each stroke, they cling to each other like they’re afraid to let go.

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie groans when Steve nips at his jaw. He tilts his head back in invitation. “Harder.”

Obediently, Steve ducks to bite the join of Eddie’s neck and shoulder, digging into the muscle there with abandon. He uses the flesh between his teeth to muffle his own moans when Eddie twists his wrist just right and starts to move a little faster.

“Yeah, gonna make sure everyone knows I’m yours?” Eddie laughs breathlessly, torn between rutting into Steve’s fist or arching into the dull ache in his throat. “Leave bruises so I can still feel you tomorrow?”

“Every day,” Steve murmurs into his skin, soothing the bite mark with his tongue.

Then Eddie’s free hand is pulling Steve upward by his hair and swallowing his whine while Steve comes helplessly, and Eddie is following him over the edge and adding to the mess across Steve’s stomach, and they really need to shower but Steve has Eddie draped halfway on top of him, kissing him lazily, and he probably couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

They’re just beginning to doze when Steve says, “Don’t sleep in the guest room again?” It’s more a question than a request. “I don’t care how early you have to get up, it sucks going to bed without you.”

“Okay, baby,” Eddie agrees sleepily. He turns his head where it’s pillowed on Steve’s chest and kisses his nipple.

“Love you.”

Eddie doesn’t respond, already starting to snore a little, but Steve feels him loving him back anyway.

[luveline]

roan and eddie fic , eddie has a dream that he never met reader & he just feels so miserable cuz he cannot imagine life without her

🤍🤍🤍

“Daddy, wake up.” 

Eddie groans. “Five more minutes.” 

“No, wake up, we’ve got school!”

“I don’t go to school, little miss,” he protests, forcing his eyes open as he sits up.

His bedroom feels empty. After a few moments, he realised it isn’t his bedroom, or it is, but it’s the wrong one. “What?” he mumbles. 

“Daddy,” Roan says again, climbing onto his high bed with a grunt. Her hair is wild, a dark cloud around her head. “We are so late.” 

“Where’s Y/N?” 

She frowns. “What?” 

“Where’s mom, baby? Did she already leave?” 

“Did you hit your head?” she asks, giggling, a nervousness threading through it. 

“What?” he asks. But he’s looking around, and he’s thinking about it, and you’re not here. “Who am I talking about?” 

“I don’t know,” Roan says, shrugging. She crawls across the blankets and plonks herself down in his lap. Eddie kisses her hair, and she’s perfect, but he can’t help feeling like something is very wrong. 

“This is a weird dream,” Roan says. 

Eddie wakes up hard. Disorientated by the sudden change in position, the lack of baby in his lap, he flinches and yanks on his own hair trying to sit. He can remember the dream for a few seconds, the knowing you weren’t there and the posters on his bedroom wall, but then looks around at the walls of his current bedroom and starts to forget. Dreams are so fleeting. The details slough off and leave behind a single feeling of loneliness. 

“You okay?” 

He rubs his eyes, fingertips pressed deep into soft material. “Think I just had a bad dream.” 

“What happened?” 

You’re croaking. He must’ve woken you shifting the mattress. The alarm clock blinks an upsetting 4:23AM, casting a weak red light onto your arm. Eddie grabs you without thinking about it beforehand, his fingers too tight on your elbow. 

Your jaw goes soft as you lean down to kiss his hand. “Eddie?” 

He feels like crying. Startled by his own emotion, he takes his hand back and climbs out of bed. 

“Eddie, sweetheart,” you say. You sound upset, but Eddie can’t deal with crying in front of you again, it hasn’t even been two weeks since he cried over Roan getting her Student of the Week award. She looked so small on the stage. 

Eddie attempts to flush the strange feeling away with two handfuls of cold water at the bathroom sink. He can hear you getting out of bed, your socked feet on the hallway floor, the creaky door as you slide into the bathroom. You wrap your arms around him from behind without saying anything, too in love to bother asking, your face pressed hard to his naked shoulder. “What’s going on?” you ask, “You’re being weird, baby.” 

He tries to hug you backwards. “Sorry.” 

“I think I’m gonna fall over, it’s so early.” 

“Sorry,” he says again, turning and dragging you into his arms. 

“Your hands are still wet, you freak.” 

“Sorry.” He kisses your forehead, feels your arms and your back and remembers that you’re real. 

“Stop saying sorry, since when do I care? You could go swimming in Lover’s Lake during peak hook up season and I’d still want a hug.” 

“That’s disgusting,” he mumbles. 

“Exactly, that’s how much I'm in love with you, Munson.” 

“You know when you’re a Munson, you’ll have to think of something else to call me,” he says. 

It’s the kind of quiet only night time holds, and it’s still so dark. The only light is the orange sunshine night light glowing in the hall to make sure Roan’s not too scared to use the bathroom at night, and it doesn’t do much, but Eddie can see your skin, your hair, the hill of your shoulder and the slope down to your elbow. 

“You can start calling me Munson,” you say. 

“Yeah? Taste of your own medicine?” 

“When did you take your shirt off?” 

“You were sleeping. You’re too warm to cuddle lately, but I still wanted to cuddle,” he mumbles. 

“Cuddle…” 

He yanks you up into his arms. Eddie’s not macho or anything but he can lift you into a hug for a good three seconds, just long enough to kiss you and tuck his nose into the space below your ear. “Stop making fun of me,” he says. 

“I’m not… Well, I am, but it’s not ‘cos I don’t love you. Can we go back to bed now?” 

“You want me to carry you?” he asks, and he means it, he’s gonna treat you like the princess you deserve to feel like from now on. 

“No… last time we tried that we woke Ro and she was grumpy all day,” you say, taking his hand. “Come on, honey, I’m gonna give you a massage. You can’t have bad dreams after that.” 

“What kind of massage?” 

“Deep tissue shoulder massage. And I can throw in a couple of kisses, but only if you tell me about the dream.” 

“I’ll tell you anything you want,” he says. 

You beam at him, sleep in the corners of your eyes but no less beautiful for it. 

[runninriot]

Damn You, Capitalism!

inspired by and written for @sidekick-hero , hope that helps getting through the day 🖤 because work sucks (i know!) - but eddie sucks harder 😏

1.231 words | cw: contains smut, nsfw, mdni

also on ao3

Steve has been drowning in work lately, it's a nightmare.

Eddie tries his best to support him, to make things as little stressful for him at home as it can possibly be.

He keeps the guitar unplugged when he's working on new music, to keep the noise at a minimum.

Always makes sure there's some meal ready for Steve to grab and microwave when and if he remembers to eat.

He reminds himself to do the dishes as soon as he's done with them because he knows how much Steve hates when the sink is full of dirty plates and forks and mugs.

Eddie even finally figured out how to use their new washing machine - he's not stupid, just lazy, and- why does that damn thing need so many buttons?

So, yeah. He's trying, really, because it breaks his heart every night when Steve comes home from work, looking one moment away from collapsing. Always tired, always moody, just- miserable.

Eddie wishes he could do more. Wishes he could take some of Steve's stress away, help him relax. Ease his mind just for a while.

And- look, he knows what would probably, most definitely help, that's not the thing. The problem is, Steve can barely even stay up long enough to kiss Eddie goodnight as soon as they're in bed. So any attempts of trying to have some one-on-one quality time with his husband aren't really up for debate right now.

Right?

Right.

He'll just have to wait for this massive project to be over and done with.

---

As Eddie crawls into bed shortly after Steve, he finds him quietly snoring, already fast asleep with his face mushed uncomfortably against his pillow.

Even in his sleep, he looks exhausted and it makes Eddie mad how much that job is demanding of Steve.

He pictures himself in front of the corporate building that holds his husband's soul captive, angrily stomping up and down the pavement while waving a sign that reads Damn You, Capitalism! and the thought makes him laugh.

He realises too late that he's been making an awful lot of noise, instantly shuts himself up with a hand over his mouth when Steve stirs awake and looks at him through bleary eyes.

   "Is everything okay?"

Steve sounds knackered (he learned that word from his British co-worker) and Eddie hates himself for ripping him out of his well-deserved sleep.

   "I'm sorry, baby. Everything's good. I didn't mean to wake you up. Just go back to sleep, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

Eddie leans down to kiss his forehead before he turns off the light and lays down next to him, trying to be as still as he can to let Steve drift off peacefully again.

But the damage is already done. Even without looking he can sense that Steve has trouble falling back asleep and it’s confirmed by the heavy sigh Steve lets out.

   "Can you-" His voice flitters quietly through the room, "Can you suck my dick?”

    Oookay, what?

Eddie can’t help but snort at those words.

Steve must be dreaming. Maybe he did fall back asleep after all.

   “I’m being serious, Eds!” Steve sounds almost offended.

He then rolls to the side and even in the dark, Eddie can see his big eyes staring straight at him.

So, not sleeping, then.

   “Babe, are you sure? I’m just asking because- well, we haven’t done anything for weeks and I miss it. God, do I miss it. But you’ve been completely out of it not even 5 minutes ago and-“

What the hell is he even going on about?

His perfect, beautiful husband wants him to suck him off. Why the fuck is he still babbling instead of using his mouth to do exactly that?

   “I just think it’d help me sleep?”

Steve uses that honeysweet voice of his, the one he knows Eddie can never say no to, the one he always uses to get what he wants. And- like, what is Eddie if not a very devoted, very helpful, very loving husband that would quite literally do anything for his man?

---

Steve’s boxers are gone as quickly as the blanket before Eddie makes himself comfortable between his husband’s spread legs.

It’s almost embarrassing how much he’s already drooling just thinking about the perfect weight of Steve’s glorious cock on his tongue but- excuse him for not keeping his excitement in check when he’s literally been suffering from Steve-withdrawal for weeks now!

Still, he tries to take his time, not wanting it to be over too quickly. He can hear in Steve’s pleading moans that he won’t last long, can taste Steve’s desperation in each drop of precum that hits his tongue as he licks the tip.

It’s heaven.

It’s so good Eddie wants to cry.

    Fuck, he missed this. Missed the familiar stretch of his lips when he takes Steve in, the familiar sound of Steve’s husky voice, the scent of freshly showered skin, the feeling of sinking deeper and deeper on his lover’s cock as he swallows him down like he’s starving for it.

His hips can’t seem to keep still, wiggling and rubbing against the sheets where his own cock is searching for friction. But his focus is on Steve, he can take care of himself later. This is just for the beautiful man that is the light of his life – he deserves it. Deserves to be worshipped like the divine creature he is.

   “Ed- Eddie, oh God! Oh fuck!”

Steve’s words spur him on. He finds the perfect rhythm, uses one hand to pump Steve’s cock while his tongue curls around the tip. His other hand strokes the sensitive skin on his inner thigh, dragging his nails up and down, knowing too well that it drives Steve just a little insane.

   “Babe, I’m- I- fuck! Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. I’m so close!”

Eddie wouldn’t dream of it.

Not when it makes him so happy to hear and taste and feel his husband slowly falling to pieces. When, with every staggering breath, Steve crawls a little closer to the edge.

Until finally, Eddie is rewarded with a mouthful of Steve’s love; a sweet gift, despite the bitter taste, he swallows with pride, not wasting a single drop of it, taking it all in.

Beneath him, Steve’s trembling through his orgasm, legs shaking and breath uneven. He stops Eddie with a hand in his hair, tugging just lightly to make him look up.

   “Com’ere, baby. Wanna kiss you.”

A little reluctantly, Eddie leaves the perfect place between Steve’s thighs and crawls on top of him to comply.

They kiss slow and soft, no hurry, just their lips finding each other in the dark with gentle pressure.

   “Love you so much, baby,” Eddie whispers against Steve’s lips as he feels his movements slow down.

And as he kisses his way from Steve’s mouth to his cheek, to the tip of his nose, his closed lids and his forehead, Steve’s breathing eases into a steady, calm rhythm.

He’s asleep again, hopefully dreaming of beautiful things as he sinks deeper into Eddie’s embrace, lets his husband's warmth envelope him where they’re lying side by side.

Steve deserves it.

Because tomorrow, he has to fight his way through the constricting clutches of capitalism again.

Man, capitalism really sucks.

But, Eddie laughs to himself, he can suck harder.

[bg-brainrot]

Failed Every Insight Check and Fell all the Harder (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Companion piece to: Failed a Dex Save and Fell for You

Summary: After a few months of traveling together, Astarion has begun to experience some new feelings around you. After one fateful day in Moonrise Towers, he finally figures out what those feelings are.

Tags: Astarion POV, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Awkward Fluff, tw: mentions of astarion's past and all that comes with it, tw: mentions of araj scene, Feelings Realization, Jealousy

A/N: here comes the awkward, fluffy Astarion figuring out his feelings Valentine’s special. He’s a hot mess, of course. (happy Early Valentine’s because I will be busy on Valentine’s) And thanks to everyone who voted for this one!

Word count: ~4.8k

Ever since your group entered the Shadowlands, something has been bothering Astarion. He hadn't noticed at first– or rather, had tried his best to ignore it. But, as time goes on, he’s finding it more and more difficult to brush aside.

It had started out small. An odd pain in the pit of his stomach.

What was that? he'd thought, holding a hand to his abdomen in concern. Perhaps he was just hungry, but it certainly didn’t feel like the ever-present hunger in his belly. No, that was a dull, continuous ache. This? This felt like something was weighing him down. Maybe I’m ill. I shouldn’t mention it to anyone, lest Lae’zel slit my throat in my sleep.

Besides, the pain didn’t happen often. He noticed it a distinct few times.

Once, when you first entered the Shadowlands. He’d just watched you bend down, hands plucking at something off the side of the cursed lands’ road. He thought momentarily that he ought to stop you, that none of you knew what could be lurking in its magical darkness. But that tinge of worry was promptly replaced by that same gods awful pit in his stomach. 

Because there you were, presenting your party’s cleric with your spoils. You were gifting Shadowheart a night orchid– had remembered that she mentioned loving them. You bore the woman’s wretched joke with a smile. Disgusting, Astarion thought. No wonder my stomach feels uncomfortable, what a pathetic little exchange.

Like everything that had bothered him in the last couple of months since finding himself free of Cazador, he decided to forget the feeling. Life is his to take full advantage now, why let something like that affect him?

Or so he thought until the next time the feeling made its return.

You had just arrived at the Last Light Inn as a group, found shelter through the Harpers’ well-established safe haven. Astarion was quite happy to be rid of the shadows, content to cozy up in an inn. He figured, if he played his cards right, you may even let him partake in your blood or ask for a bit of fun.

Then your party found Dammon. Equipped with Infernal Iron and one blazing hot barbarian, Dammon made magic happen in a matter of moments. 

Astarion was glad. As much as the group was a bit much at times, he understood Karlach’s struggle with her body all too well. She deserved this small victory in reclaiming her body. 

His feelings of genuine sympathy were short-lived though because a moment later you were wrapping your arms around the tiefling’s body. It was a test, of course, to see if Dammon’s fusing had worked. But there it was again, the feeling in his stomach. This time it felt twice as heavy, a lead ball in his guts. Maybe I should let someone know, he thought. This can’t be good.

But the sensation was soon forgotten as your group settled into the Last Light Inn. Old allies were in some miserable new states– requiring even more help, gods– and new acquaintances were made. It was all rather dull for Astarion.

The one time Astarion perked up was when you went head-to-head with the head Harper. He chuckled under his breath when you outsmarted the old crone, Jaheira. That’s right, Harper. Don’t mess with my protector.

Your first night at the inn was capped off with a bit of revelry: a game of Truth or Dare. 

Astarion could sense your reluctance to play. You’d been acting odd all day, stiff and awkward around him. He saw this as the perfect opportunity to tease you to the high celestial plane– in fact, he already knew what he wanted to ask you. “You are going to regret this so much," he'd said to you from across the table.

Then the game began, and the deep, uncomfortable feeling never left his core.

Each and every companion received your attention throughout the game, in one way or another. Even that damned smith, Dammon, was given a dare from you. And Astarion just sat there, not even earning a glance, his mood growing more and more sour.

When, at last, he was able to taunt you with his question, you were far too in your cups to give a proper response. He sat on your lap, placed there from one of Shadowheart’s dares, staring into your surprised, open eyes, wishing that he'd thought of an easier question for an inebriated version of you.

The group had shooed you both out of the game upon seeing your state, though Astarion didn't mind. He'd much rather leave the lot of them and tease you by himself.

Once you were alone, you answered his question. That he, Astarion, was your favorite and for all manner of incredulous, unbelievable reasons. He’d expected you to say him. He’d asked to hear your praise, confirm your attachment in the name of his plan to seduce you. All the same he was left uncomfortable, juggling the sudden and unabashed flattery. Being praised for his looks was one thing but for being… himself?

The feeling in his stomach grew. Suddenly his lungs felt it, his undead heart felt it. What in the sweet hells is the matter with me? he thought, as he helped lay your drunken, passed out form to bed later that night. He hadn’t felt a sensation like this before– he hated it. 

Then you reached out to him in your sleep, and he froze. Something about the touch quietened the pain under his ribs, and so he extended his fingers, gently touching your brow as you fell asleep. See? I’m fine, he assured himself. I truly am just ravenous.

__

He continued this way for several days in the Shadowcursed lands.

One moment, he was perfectly fine, hacking and slashing at a Shambling Mound with abandon. The next, he would look over at you, see you laughing at something Karlach said, and it felt like an iron ingot had made its way into his insides.

Damned tiefling woman. I’m far funnier than her, you know, he thinks, resheathing his knives with a little too much gusto. The sound of your laughter rang in his head for the rest of the evening, as if he were being driven to insanity by it.

The next day, you had fought a horde of Meazels. At first, Astarion thought the fight was delightful fun– the tiefling woman and the cleric kept getting teleported against their will and after his recent annoyance with both of them, he found it quite amusing. That is, until you found yourself garrotted, teleported as far away from him as possible.

He was on you in mere moments, ripping the creature off of you with his blades. It was almost as if he’d reacted instinctively and, as someone whose instincts typically led him away from danger, he found the sensation quite off-putting. Nevertheless, he'd freed you, asking, “Are you alright, darling?”

Astarion couldn’t remember what you’d even said because once he saw the marks the creatures left on you, the pit in his stomach dropped. Where there had been a heavy pressure before, there was now a sharp feeling. His eyes carefully trailed over your injuries, trying his best to focus on you and not the phantom pain building inside him.

You had been fine, nothing that a quick heal from Shadowheart couldn’t fix, but that feeling stayed in his stomach the rest of the day. It’s simply the Shadowlands, he'd thought. They not only play tricks on the mind, clearly they’re playing tricks on my body.

It was a few days later, as you helped the Harper’s deal with their lantern problem that the sensation shifted again.

Astarion watched, eyes glued to your form, as you dispatched the hideous drider, your twin blades piercing the creature in its most vulnerable spots. He’d seen you kill many monsters before, hundreds likely at this point. But something about the way your body moved in the Moonlantern’s glow, the way your face lit up as the creature’s body crumpled to the floor, caused the vampire to stop and watch.

This time, he’d felt the heavy sensation move up, somewhere just below his throat. He tried against all odds to gulp it away, but nothing seemed to work. We need to finish our business here and get out as soon as possible, he thought now, convinced it was the shadows warping his senses…

But as your travel continues, the feelings never go away. 

It’s a different pressure, it builds, it ebbs, it flows between his heart, his stomach, his torso– and each time he brushes it off. Stewing in these uncomfortable feelings, Astarion spends the week in a hazy mire, not unlike the shadows that surround you all.

Then your group finally infiltrates Moonrise.

__

Moonrise Towers, the seat of the Absolute and a once grand fortress. 

Now, Astarion can’t help but think it seems rather underutilized. Your group is walking along the empty parapets outside, which are woefully missing any sense of grandeur or ornamentation. “Darling,” he says, leaning into you slightly. “Don’t you think we ought to just kill everyone now and take the place for ourselves. Might be quite fun.”

You bark out a laugh, which he feels proud to have produced, and reply, “Maybe later. This is an infiltration mission only. Besides, once we defeat the Absolute, I’m sure there will be a vacancy.”

Astarion laughs back at you. Gods, he enjoys this. The way that he can say something that others would balk at and you will miraculously not only appreciate it, but also play along with it. Having fun with them is so easy, he thinks. And look, I’m still wearing all of my clothes! What a novel idea.

The thought is cut short when your group walks through an outside doorway into a room that can only be described as grotesque. Whoever works here clearly has some knowledge of arcana, if the ingredients and alchemical tools are anything to go by, but it smells utterly foul to Astarion.

It’s when you spot the drow woman hunched over a table in the corner that he realizes where the stench is coming from. Hells below, that woman reeks of something truly awful, he thinks, recoiling. He’d grown used to following behind you closely, but as you step forward to speak to the woman, he finds himself taking a step back instead.

The woman introduces herself as Araj Oblodra, a trader of blood– a rather poor trader, by the smell of it. She takes note of Astarion, who shuffles back instinctively, before you and her go about some kind of business with your blood. Astarion contemplates speaking up, shooing you away from her, but decides to stay back, as far away as he can remain without arousing suspicion. They can handle themselves.

Then, after the woman looks back toward him one too many times, he hears you snap, “And why are you so interested in my pale friend?” 

“Ah, yes. Perhaps there’s one more thing we could discuss,” she begins, her voice a dangerous drawl. “He’s a vampire, no? Or one of their spawn at least.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Astarion says, all-too-ready to fill his role. “We’re all friends under the Absolute. I won’t bite.”

“Oh, I’d prefer if you did,” she’s quick to respond. Her eagerness picks at Astarion’s nerves, and he raises an eyebrow at her. Araj doesn’t deign to give him another moment’s look though, as she turns back to you. “I assume he belongs to you?”

“Excuse me?” Your voice sounds offended– on his behalf, Astarion wonders? “He’s his own person.” Your words cause the feeling in Astarion’s stomach to flip, and, as much as he wants to come to his own defense, he finds himself quite content to hear you do it for him.

“I’m sure he really believes that. How utterly adorable,” she says with a snide chuckle. 

Adorable? he thinks, but he’s unable to interject before the woman continues to barrel forward.

The blood trader turns back to Astarion, face wrinkled with distaste as her tone changes to something a bit more confrontational, “Do you have a name, spawn?”

Her sudden shift in attitude, the proud tilt to her head, it all throws the vampire off balance as he goes to answer, “Astarion, b-but hold on!” Astarion holds up a hand to try to slow this woman’s tirade, all to no avail.

“Good. Now, Astarion, I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl,” Araj begins, laying out the scene for her request.

Too bad that the scene sounds quite ridiculous to Astarion. Surely he heard her incorrectly? “I’m sorry, you want to be bitten?”

The woman goes on a new insane diatribe– something about dancing with death– but Astarion can hardly be bothered. All he needs to know is that she’s offering some measly potion for being bitten and, gods, does he not want to bite this woman’s disgusting neck. Or wrist. Or really any part of her. “I will have to decline,” he says, with a gracious little bow. Your group is still infiltrating the towers, it wouldn’t do to tell Araj exactly how horrid she smells.

It’s entirely more grace than she deserved, that much is clear because she presses him again. Again, he refuses. “I gave you my answer.”

The drow scoffs, turning back to you once more, “Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?”

You, for your part, look confused. There’s a line of concern in your forehead as you look between the woman and Astarion, wondering what it is that you’re missing. “I’m surprised, Astarion. I thought you’d enjoy an opportunity like this.”

What?! he thinks, a sudden, sharp spike of anger shooting through him. He tempers his immediate rage and speaks to Araj with that same, false pleasantry she doesn’t deserve, “I’m sorry, but could you excuse us a moment?”

Astarion, not waiting for her response, pulls you aside, away from the drow’s nosy eyes and ears. Once you’re alone, he turns to you, his voice a hiss, “Are you actually asking me to do this? Trading me for some-some-some potion?”

“What’s the matter? Why would she be different from any other enemy?” you ask, leaning toward him.

Your voice is full of genuine worry, and some of his anger abates as he meets your eyes. Of course, they don’t know what they’re asking. How could they know? “Because there’s something wrong with her blood. I can smell it from here. Ugh, it’s rank.”

Now your brows furrow, and a sharp edge enters your eyes as you ask your next question, “What do you mean? What’s wrong with her blood?”

“I can’t say. It just smells… wrong. Unnatural.” His words sound pathetic to his own ears. 

Of course that’s not an excuse, Astarion laments. What am I even thinking? The potion is clearly useful. They are going to make me do this, and I may as well prepare myself. I’ve put up with worse after all.

So, he stands straight once more, ready to put on the performance of a lifetime. His tone takes on a resigned tone as he continues, “Drinking it wouldn’t kill me, but it would not be pleasant.”

You both hear a sigh from behind you. “I don’t have all day, True Soul,” Araj calls, impatiently.

Your eyes remain focused entirely on him, ignoring the woman’s irritated sigh, her entitled words. “Astarion,” you begin, and he takes a breath in preparation for your other foot to drop. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to do. And if she refuses to take no for an answer again, we’ll simply have to start our assault on the towers a bit early.”

The breath leaves him.

"Alright. Uh, thank you,” he says, feeling the tension drop from his shoulders. He’d been prepared to acquiesce, to do exactly what you’d asked of him. But this? This is something he hadn’t been prepared for. 

In a daze, Astarion makes his way back to Araj, putting on as polite of a facade as he’s still capable of making, “It's still a ‘no’, I’m afraid.”

“How very disappointing,” the blood trader says, shooting you both a disgusted look. She turns away in a huff, leaving your group alone to recover from the exchange. And leaving Astarion floundering in another new sensation.

Because once more, the feeling in the pit of his stomach has reared its ugly head– only this time it shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He's not sure what it is, but it's stunned him into slipping off his carefully crafted mask. He turns to you once more, voice soft around its usual edges, "Thank you. I… appreciated that.”

"You have no need to thank me. It was always your choice, Astarion."

Huh.

The feeling sinks into him, settling deeper and deeper as you continue through Moonrise.

__

That night, you go to bed in your own bedroll, leaving Astarion to his meditations with a smile and a wave. It has been a long day for all of you, and it's clear from the way you take a glance back that you're worried about him.

Gods, he's worried about him.

After dealing with that vile drow woman, you'd all continued about the tower, ingratiating yourselves with even the most repugnant of creatures to appear faithful to the Absolute. But Astarion paid attention to almost none of it.

He'd stabbed when you told him it was time to stab, he'd joined your side when you called him to you, but his mind had been wholly preoccupied.

They didn't make me do it, he'd thought, as he unlocked some chest.

Well, isn't this exactly what I wanted? he'd thought, following you down some stairs.

Clearly they just fell for my charms, my masterful seduction, he'd thought, flanking a prison guard for you.

So why do I feel like this? he'd thought, staring at your back as you led the way before him.

Now, he lays here in his tent, staring at the fold of its ceiling in a rapt fascination he doesn't feel. The feeling in his stomach has stayed all day, tethering him to his thoughts with its continuous pressure.

When did I get to the point where I would follow them anywhere? Is their lack of self-preservation contagious? he asks himself, eyes narrowing in frustration. I shouldn't have gone into that horrendous tower in the first place. Then I wouldn't feel like this.

But he had.

And you'd not forced him to do so.

You'd not forced him to do anything.

They're a fool, an utter fool. I could have bitten that drow, as easy as breathing, he thinks, rolling his eyes at the thought. Close your eyes and push through, that's what I always say.

But did you want to? something in the back of his mind asks. 

Of course not, but when has what I wanted ever mattered– 

It may not have mattered under Cazador's grip, but it has always mattered to you. You're nothing like that evil man. You'd always been there for him, had managed to find trust in your heart for him, and had been genuinely kind to him.

The now-familiar feeling in his stomach seems to spread to the rest of his body, a warmth that doesn't quite feel warm. It bleeds all the way to his face and his lips curl up into an involuntary smile at the thought of you.

You– you, who had only ever been meant to play a bit role in the tragedy that is Astarion’s life. You, who had transcended your part, leaving Astarion contemplating every aspect of you in the stark solitude of his tent. 

Your beauty when you're covered in blood after a battle, the mischievous glint in your eye when you're teaching a child a sleight of hand trick– even when anger pulls your brows together and you're yelling at him for saying something particularly naughty. Each and every one makes his smile grow wider.

You, his chosen protector, are so much more than just that.

They are incredible. The thought comes to him unprompted, truly as easy as breathing.

His eyes widen in alarm, staring blankly at the tent above him.

The feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t an illness. Nor was it hunger. No. It was guilt. It was jealousy. It was…

Oh fuck, Astarion curses to himself. Am I in love?

Now that he has a word to the sensation, that the feeling is in his grasp, he knows he's right. He doesn't have a lot of experience with love, if any– he'd never had the luxury under Cazador's cruel gaze and he can't recall much from before that– but he knows he's right.

And hells does he wish he could crush the feeling in his hands right here and now.

Gods, you complete and utter imbecile, he thinks, hitting his head against the floor. You have things to do, goals to accomplish. They were only supposed to be a means to those goals, not a – a–

Astarion’s mind blanks as he thinks of you again, your charm, your wit, your damnable caring.

Not a companion. Not a friend. Not a lover. When did those late night trysts turn from an obligation, a part of his simple, perfect plan, into something more?

Even now, as he thinks of those nights, he brings a hand to his lips, recalling a night where you had simply stayed in his bedroll. You had kept all of your clothes on, as had he, and simply held each other as you fell asleep. Their kiss that night was delectable, he recalls, tracing the line of his lips, as if he could still feel the ghost of yours on them.

Fuck, he thinks again, dropping his hand in frustration. How could I have been so blind? How did I not nip this in the bud before it got to this disgusting pining?

But he hasn’t nipped it in the bud. The feeling has grown, unfettered, quick as a druidic plant growth, all unbeknownst to him. It has been nurtured by your attention. It has been watered by your kindness. It has become unruly in the safety of your arms.

Now what? he thinks to himself bitterly, wiping a hand across his face with a sigh. What use are these feelings when everything they were built upon is a lie? You are, after all, still playing the role he set out for you.

He considers overlooking the feelings, just as he has inadvertently done in his ignorance. It wouldn’t be of any use to tell you, of course. You could hardly feel the same way about him as he does you, and he’d rather not add another nuisance in the fight against the Absolute.

Besides, if he told you, he would have to fess up, explain his entire plan to you. What would even be left of the two of you after that?

But, he thinks to himself. Let’s say I did tell them. What could they possibly say…

“I was pretending all along too.” – gods, that would break him. That much is all too apparent from the way his undead heart aches at the thought, with a pain he couldn’t possibly feel.

“I like you, but not like that.” – maybe this was worse. Actually, it was definitely worse. He may never recover. His ego would certainly never recover.

“I have someone else that I love.” – honestly, reasonable. What did he have to offer you after all? A bloodthirsty master and the occasional snarky comment? He wouldn’t be surprised to find you in Karlach’s tent at this very moment…

“I hate you.” – he might be able to take this the best. You should hate him. He’d done nothing but lie and manipulate his way into your bedroll. Hate, well, that he understood.

“I love you, but…” – every single 'but' cut like a different, jagged blade. But we’re in danger every day? An excuse, surely. But you come with too much baggage? True, but not something he would be able to resolve. But I don’t want to be with a monster? Again, reasonable, but out of his control.

Astarion runs through scenario after scenario, each one playing with his own emotions in a new and horrendous way. In the end, he all but slaps himself out of it.

No, I cannot tell them. I absolutely must take this to my second grave, he determines, shaking the thoughts away with a few hard blinks.

But the feeling in his chest is more persistent than ever. As if giving it a name and meaning has given it a new, annoying life. He laments to himself aloud, "I may never feel like myself again.”

If this is what love does to a person, he wants no part of it.

__

The vampire didn't have a restful night's reverie, that much is apparent. His mood is foul, his body tense, and his eyes are trying their damnedest to avoid yours. 

No way, he thinks as you all set off for the day. I spun myself into a frenzy last night. Clearly. I feel absolutely nothing–

Then you turn back to him, concern lining your eyes as you address him. What had you just said? He had found himself somehow lost in your eyes, your lips, the turn of your nose… 

Shit, he thinks to himself. No, get back in control. You have only just reclaimed yourself, you can't lose yourself to something as cruel as love.

But, try as he might, his eyes can’t avoid you. 

All morning, he continues to sneak glances your way. Despite his roguish nature, he finds hiding his stares to be impossible. After all, you are the group’s leader. You are at the front, you are at his side, gods, you are everywhere. This feels like some kind of divine punishment…

You catch him looking, of course. And each time, he curses himself, gods, you idiot. You may as well broadcast your feelings to the world. And hells, how long have you felt this way?

Astarion tries futilely to act normal. This is just another day with the group in the Shadowlands. He’s not thinking about holding your hand in his. He’s not thinking about the way you look when you sleep. And, above all else, he is not thinking of your lips or the way that they move when you say his name.

Despite his inner turmoil, the world moves on. You lead the group through the Mason’s Guild, and you all manage to clear the place out easily enough.

The vampire thinks he’s finally reaching some sort of peace. Yes, this routine work he can do. No problem at all.

Then, you say something kind to Karlach, that infernally charming woman, who continues to support you at your side. Who, for all intents and purposes, should be the person who warms your bedroll at night, now that you can touch her. Not him, the man who can only make your bedroll colder. Who, even now, is avoiding your every glance.

Oh hells, he thinks, face dropping. The realization that he’s right is too much for him to bear.

Astarion stalks off, annoyed at himself and his thoughts, needing a moment to recollect himself. I can do this, he thinks. I can do this. I can–

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath once he knows he’s alone. “You’re supposed to get over this, you stupid fool. Shit. Gods dammit.”

He hears your familiar footfalls approaching and freezes, his shoulders tense with anticipation.

You find him in a pool of shadows away from the others, and he can’t help but feel like a beast that’s been cornered. He’s certain his face reflects that, reflects every bit of emotion he’s feeling as plain as could be, but your patience with him has apparently worn thin for the day. Your voice is less kind than usual when you say, “Do you need to talk?”

Seeing the anger in your face, the way that your hands are placed on your hips in annoyance, he knows he can’t keep his feelings to himself. He’ll only continue to push you away, into the strong, red arms of another.

No, he thinks, in a panic. I should– I need to–

He needs to do something about his feelings, unwanted or not. Really, he needs to tell you, regardless of what your response may be. If not, he may regret it for the rest of his undying life.

Now that he is in control of his own choices, he supposes that means all of them, for better or worse. That means even the most difficult ones. This is one of those difficult ones, isn’t it?

So Astarion swallows his pride, his anxieties, his insecurities, and settles his fate.

“Later,” he says, barely getting the words out. He blinks, and tries again, pleading with you with his eyes, “Please, just come by my tent later.”

Later, I will tell them. Everything.