#Sorry this is long and idk if it's and answer your looking for

[glitter-stained]

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about [insert fic]? Answer it now!

Oh wow love the opportunity to yap!

In general I'd love to get questions about the fight scenes in The Protector, it was my first time writing fight scenes if you don't count Birds of a Feather (which is debatable) and definitely my first time writing long, intense fights between superheroes. In particular, I'd love to talk about the power scaling in the final fight scene, aka the problem of "how do I get Jason Todd to hold his own while being hunted by half the justice league long enough to get him where I want him in the final confrontation without being deeply insulting to all those OP characters?"

It was such a fun and interesting challenge, and Idk how others feel about it, especially fans of the characters jason goes against, but I personally feel relatively satisfied, and I've thought a lot about what goes into such a process.

I think the most important idea is that some characters are stronger than others, but that's only a small part of what goes into winning a fight. People will say stuff like "'who wins between Goku and Superman' is a silly question because the answer is whoever the writer wants to win" and I think that's true but also if the writer just makes his blorbo kick ass just because then it's not a very good story; but there are ways to make it plausible. For example, I don't know anything about Goku, but I do know that if he finds a big crate full of kryptonite in the middle of battle, that's gonna influence the outcome of the fight.

So those are kinda the guidelines I made for myself for writing those fights:

#1: Know your limits

Jason isn't actually fighting half the justice league. From the current active roster in that timeline, Batman asked those who were available to help him with the red hood/robins problem, and amongst those who a) were available and b) wanted to help, a few went to help rescue the robins and a few went to Gotham, and amidst those in Gotham, a few who were looking for Jason found him. I selected who Jason would find based on what felt most interesting to write while still staying plausible.

There's of course a level of humility to be had. If your character is going up against Sailor Moon, I'm sorry friend, no amount of good writing is going to save you. Similarly, upon realising he's facing Diana, Jason comments "his plan for facing Wonder Woman had always been to run."

#2: What version of the character is it?

Could Jason beat Ollie in a fight? That is debatable, especially considering their canon fight, where Ollie has the physical upper hand while Jason gets what he was going for (stalling+ an escape) with an underhanded trick. But in this compressed timeline, Jason just got back from his lost days training tour, while Ollie hasn't had his training buff from the Away Game yet (not explicitly stated in the text because how would I even go about it, but can be inferred by Ollie's lack of a katana. So this is not the same version of them than the one that fought in canon.

#3: Why are they fighting?

Motivation is crucial in a fight, as with everything. From Ollie's perspective, he's fighting a villain who doesn't give a shit about him as a favour to Batman and he knows other more powerful leaguers like Manhunter have his back nearby. He's taking it seriously, but the stakes are pretty low for him. Meanwhile from Jason's perspective, he believes Ollie is a rapist and child abuser, and this is his one shot at giving Mia a chance to escape him : it's extremely important, highly urgent and deeply personal to him. They're no way near on the same scale of how much this fight matters to them. If Ollie had felt as intensely about Red Hood as Dick had, that fight would have been much, much harder to win, if even possible.

#4: Context matters so much

They're all in Jason's home-turf, the city he grew up in and spent years vigilanting in. Crucially, Green Arrow is fighting in a blizzard (famously not great weather for shooting arrows). The context is in Jason's favour. Similarly, I didn't want him to just have to randomly have access to kryptonite; it's a product of context, of having beaten Green Arrow and found, by luck, a kryptonite arrow in his quiver.

#5: Everything has a price

Obviously, being a comic book character, Jason has much more resistance than the average person; realistically, his arm should have been paralyzed about two fights ago, but this is the world of "i contracted muscles to shift my spleen to the side so the dagger did not hit it", so we're gonna have to accept everybody being a little OP. But that being said, that level of hardcore fighting has consequences, and I really liked the idea of having it compound. First, Dick dislocates Jason's shoulder; "easy enough" to fix by resetting it in universe, but then he immediately gets stabbed in that shoulder by a LOA assassin, and then I believe Ollie's tazer arrow shot gets his shoulder dislocated again (as well as Jason getting tazed again), and eventually it's shooting the kryptonite arrow at Superman from Ollie's bow that deals his shoulder the final blow. And so those fights have consequences, huge ones, both immediate -almost falling to his death and then his ankle snapping because he can't move his arm to fire the grapple- and long term, with Jason becoming physically disabled and having to do PT to regain some mobility in his shoulder. I'm not saying every fight with a strong character has to deal that amount of damage, but I do feel like it's important that the characters don't just get to shrug off these intense fights (and I, quite frankly, will take every opportunity to have more physically disabled superhero rep). The consequences of Jason's fight with Martian Manhunter are different, of course, but imo they matter at least as much in the context of the decisions Jason makes during the fight, how he's disassociating and razor-focusing on his goal and feeling his control slipping, etc.; obviously, the whole chapter Jason is in a crisis, but the impact of triggering a PTSD flashback on purpose so Manhunter hurts himself with the impetus of his own power is huge - like you don't just purposefully trigger yourself in the middle of battle without consequences. That was also one Jason was very lucky with cause that could have backfired terribly (pun intended). I have to say, I haven't read MM the way I have GA or Nightwing, and I do worry that the fire thing is something that hasn't been canon since the 50s like the yellow thing for GLs that the fans understandably take offense with in fanon; but the thing is, I personally find it really cool, I love absolutely OP characters who have one specific weakness, and I love that this weakness is psychosomatic even more, and I think as far as weaknesses come, fire is both common enough and naturally scary enough to work really well.

#6: Some opponents are worst/best matches

Speaking of that MMM/RH fight reading through the wiki, when I had that idea of Jason triggering a flashback I thought it would be so cool for Jason to have this moment of "here's this character who overpowers you so much, you could never take them out in a fair fight, but thanks to extremely specific context and circumstances and because he is actively trying his darnedest to look inside your head, you have this unique opportunity to stun him long enough for him to lose your trail". I firmly believe an inherent issue with power-scaling and "X-character is the most OP character in universe they could beat anyone etc., X could beat Y who could beat Z therefore X could be Z" mentality is that it completely ignores how specific abilities match others. For example, in a team-up, I personally believe that Starfire and a Kryptonian should be stronger than the (already OP) sum of their powers, because I personally think Starfire should be able to increase the strength of a kryptonian with her own powers (though i don't think i have any evidence of her doing so, but I believe she should!!!) Similarly, in a fight versus a Captain Planet type villain whose whole power is just "stopping sunlight before it can hit people", despite that villain not being near as OP as them, Starfire or Superman could have a much harder time. And that's great, otherwise imo there's no interest in writing combat if it's just a question of who's stronger. The best moves in combat, be it between allies or against enemies, are those that could not have occurred in a different configuration. In conclusion, sorry MM fans if using the psychosomatic fire weakness thing was insulting, I did it because I thought it was really cool and also an opportunity for a unique type of move- a gamble that, again, acknowledges and exploits MM's strength and comes at a great price.

#7: Acknowledge the opponent's strength

I think the worst thing a character can be in that context, unless they're characterized as such in canon, is condescending about his opponents' skills. Thankfully, while he can act cocky and is patronising about other things (mostly everybody else's philosophy of vigilantism) Red Hood Jason is consistently appreciative of his opponent's strength, even when he's actively winning, even when he's all provocative he'll slide in a compliment or two. Aside from being a cool trait to have in an antagonistic character, it's also very useful in fic -imo, the narrative just has to have Jason acknowledging his opponent's strength, and that's what I tried to do. It doesn't have to be all as open and explicit as it is in canon, imo Protector!Jason at that point isn't in the right mentality for that, but he immediately remarks the arrow coming at him from an "impossible" angle, that Ollie is holding his own great woth a literal bow despite theoretically being at a disadvantage from close quarters, calls Manhunter "the most powerful telepath in the world" and notes that no amount of mental training in the world will shield him from Manhunter's power for long, says "you can't act before Superman does so you have to act before he decides what to do", etc. I just think that that acknowledgement of the opponent's strength makes a great difference between coming across as "in that context, due to all those reasons and because the plot requires it, my blorbo is winning this fight" and "my blorbo is winning this fight because he is stronger than yours and your blorbo is lame and weak". Which, yeah, I wouldn't like that very much either.

So that's that! Obviously, The Protector is nowhere near perfect, and since it's been a while I can't help but cringe at some of the writing (which i suppose is the curse of growing and getting better at anything ever). I voluntarily sacrificed a lot of Tim's interesting flaws and complex relationship to jaybin's memory because it didn't fit right in the story I wanted to tell (though pulling the reverse uno card on enemies to caretaker felt very fun) and while I still stand by that decision for the sake of the fic as a story, it of course does harm the fic in its derivative quality. I also most definitely got lazy with Jason's attack on the tower and a couple of decisions here and there (sorry, Young Justice). How did Jason drug the other YJ members Glitter? Where did he get the kryptonite supply for Conner Glitter? Why are so many people so ready to help the bats at once Glitter? How do you know so much about how to make a bomb Glitter? Why did Superman wait until Jason had thrown Bruce off the building to intervene in the fight Glitter? Don't think about it too hard!!! Don't examine it!!! I will not be answering anymore questions without my lawyer!!!

But yeah, all joke aside, and while The Protector isn't by any means a perfect derivative work in that regard, it did teach me a lot about combat- above all else how much I loved writing it, and how much I enjoy the challenges and creativity of it. It's almost as good as fighting myself, and I end up with far less bruises and bloody noses. I might even open quick mini commissions specific to fight scenes this summer depending on how the job search is going, that'd be fun. In any case, tysm for the ask and the opportunity to gush about fight scenes, it was super fun!

Here's some pondering about Mia Dearden beating up Batman for the road 💖💖

[cosmicrot]

I am disabled so I guess I fall into not employable, but I mostly live off the kindness of strangers and my ma constantly fighting with my dad to not kick me out cause I'm trying to get on SSI so I can pay rent.

But normally I also sometimes work for my parents or do odd jobs for strangers online.. both extremely taxiing, but mostly related to things like doing paperwork or writing.. I'd be akin to an office worker in most aspects but when working for my parents small store I also would be forced to clean and sometimes interact with customers.

I guess the closest sector for me would be gig worker? Cause I also would get paid a bit to drive family members around [like.. usually 5 dollars ontop of gas being paid for.. which sucked cause sometimes I'd be wasting multiple hours for 5 dollars] or I've like cut people's hair before and try to sell stuff that isnt typical visual art like keychains[not acrylic like hand braided with beads and charms and the like] and basically just do whatever I can when my body allows [but my rib is fractured rn so I have no income at all..]

Visual artists (2D or 3D) who do not live primarily off income made from making art (employed or self-employed), what do you do for a living? Which sector are you in?

If you are not employed, do you instead get by living on benefits/with family/a partner?

Only share what you're comfortable with. Be as specific or vague as you like.

If you are not a visual artist (or don't feel as if you do art often enough/seriously enough to consider yourself one) this question is not relevant to you. This question also isn't relevant to you if you are too young to be employed, or retired.

Sorry for posting this on my art blog, I feel like this is where it'll have the biggest and most relevant reach.

[spoopdeedoop]

Hey! Ive been drawing for awhile yet i still dont like my style. Do you have any tips? About anything. Atnatomy, Hair, Dymanic Poses, Faces. Litterly anything please i beg of you😭

AHHHHHHHHHH AAAAAAHHHH

[eggsistential-basket]

thinking about the person i could have been if i tried a little harder to find my own way

[louisliamforever]

Funny you said that Cheryl could be the reason why Louis and Liam fell out because there was a blind about how Harry and Liam fell out over her cuz he saw right through lol maybe Louis saw it as well 👀

https://blindgossip.com/floppy-yogi-and-lumpy/

Ngl...I believe it 🙈

Louis seems like a great judge of character. Liam unfortunately lacked a lot of discernment...I wouldn't be surprised if both Harry and Louis talked to Liam about her separately.

If this is true and Harry warned Liam...damn. It just saddens me.

[rammstein4ever]

I love my bf to death but sometimes he makes me want to pull my hair out. He just started a new job but it turns out it sucks and he applied for a different job and immediately got a job offer. I called him because I was excited for him and like, I wanted to talk to my fucking bf bc he's one of my best friends but after 5 minutes he says he needs to go bc he was watching something. Like wow excuse me from getting in the way of you watching something that's too damn important to talk on the phone with your gf for more than 5 fucking minutes

[cinnabread]

Did you ever get an answer on if being a monster fucker makes you a furry??

YES, YES I DID

And YES! According to my furry friend who's been a full blown fursuit wearing, convention going, bad dragon connoisseur of a furry for almost longer than I've been alive says yep, wanting to fuck the werewolf or the alien tentacle monster or the tall buff shadow monster that's my sleep paralysis demon makes me a furry, even if I don't anthropomorphize myself or have a fursona

Learned something new about myself 😂😂

[lvl1l1]

HEYYY can i please request LADS men when you sleep on the couch after a heated argument

LaDS men when you sleep on the couch after an argument

pairings: LaDS men x Reader(separate)

content: hurt/comfort, arguments

a/n: these are so long idk what possessed me

Xavier

You tried to just keep it a casual conversation, bringing up how you still felt like he was keeping things from you at times, like he still didn’t trust you with everything after you two have been together for so long but with how he kept his answers short and clipped, his expression as cool as always, trying to change the topic, things started to get more heated.

You didn’t like how he was brushing you off again.

“See this is exactly what I’m talking about, Xavier.”

His lack of response was really getting to you.

He stays expressionless, you keep saying things trying to get a reaction out of him but he doesn’t falter.

On the inside, he feels regret and seeing you angry at him upsets him, too.

“Fine. Whatever, be that way.”

He doesn’t feel relieved when you walk out of the bedroom, but he just doesn’t know what to say to make you feel better.

He follows after you, going into the bedroom, he freezes when he sees you grab the sheets and your pillow.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sleeping on the couch, Xavier.”

You try to slip past him but he doesn’t let you,

“No, you’re not.”

You stare up at him and seeing the usual affection replaced with anger hurts him.

“Please, don’t.”

“I’m mad, Xavier. I don’t want to sleep with you tonight.”

The tremble in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed,

“I can’t sleep without you next to me. And I know you feel the same way.”

You try leaving again but he just won’t let you,

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to see you right now.”

You notice the hurt in his eyes and you feel kinda bad but you can’t back down now, right?

He nods but still doesn’t step aside,

“I’ll sleep on the couch then. You take the bed.”

Your shoulders slump, seeing as he resembles a sad bunny.

“Fine.”

You say and turn around, trying not to let this feeling get to you. You put your things back on the bed and hear him leave the room.

Confusion overtakes your features, why didn’t he take his stuff? You wait a minute and walk out after him, after some hesitation.

As you quietly go back into living room, you see him lying on the couch, no blanket, no pillow, eyes closed.

“Xavier, go get your things. You’ll catch a cold.”

He doesn’t open his eyes as he speaks again,

“It’s what I deserve. I upset you.”

Your mouth falls open at that, the ridiculousness of his behaviour almost makes you break out into a laugh. Almost.

“Xavier, even if I’m mad at you, I don’t want you to be cold and uncomfortable the whole night.”

He cracks one eye open, looking at you.

“But I want to be cold and uncomfortable for making you mad.”

You sigh, trying to fight the smile that’s making its way onto your face,

“You’re unbelievable.”

He’s looking at you with both eyes now, noticing the tension dissipate. Xavier props himself up,

“I’m sorry.”

You know he got you once you walk over and sit down on the couch next to him,

“I know.”

Reaching out with your hands to brush through his hair,

“And you know that I’ll forgive you once I wake up.”

He leans into your touch, testing the waters by lying his head in your lap.

“Thank you. But please don’t make sleep without you. I won’t intrude on your space, I just need to know that you’re still here.”

Scratching his scalp a defeated groan leaves your mouth,

“Go into the bedroom. I’ll be right there.”

His lips curl upwards, he begrudgingly lifts his head off your lap. He lingers, not getting up from the couch yet. You can guess why and knowing he needs the comfort just as much as you do, after everything that was said, you lean over and press a soft kiss to his forehead. A relieved hum forms in the back of his throat.

He then gets up, not trying to push his luck.

Xavier knows your feelings are valid and he would never want you to feel like they aren’t.

He doesn’t always handle things the right way but nothings more important to him than making it up to you. He’ll fix this, he’ll show you how much he truly trusts you.

Rafayel

You didn’t mean to leave him waiting, again.

Wondering where you are, if you’re okay and why you weren’t answering your phone.

This morning, you texted him, letting him know about today’s mission.

An emergency, there wasn’t much time and you had to get going now. You promised to come see him and call once you were back.

Rafayel kept himself busy all day, he noticed how you didn’t read his text, telling you to stay safe.

You also didn’t read any of his follow up texts and as the hours passed and there was still no answer from you, he started to feel anxious.

It was getting late, the sun setting soon.

He tried to call you and when it went straight to voicemail, he couldn’t help the concern clawing at him.

You should be done by now. You said you’d call him, once you were back. So, what was wrong?

-

It was dark out now, you had finally wrapped everything up.

Your phone had died in the middle of the mission, as soon as you had gotten back to the HQ you left it to charge.

You knew Rafayel was probably worried but you had texted him this morning, it shouldn’t be too bad. Or so you hoped.

Bidding your farewells to your coworkers, you left the association’s building, finally turning your phone back on.

The wall of missed calls and messages from Rafayel didn’t help your conflicted heart.

You tried to call him back, he wasn’t picking up.

You tried once, twice, it just kept ringing and ringing.

As you finally arrived at his art studio, you noticed the gate was closed.

Confused, you unlocked it and walked to the door.

You were thinking of how to apologise him, you didn’t mean to leave him hanging all day but it’s not like you did it on purpose.

Walking into his home, you saw him painting in the living room, back turned to the door.

“Hey, I’m back.”

You said quietly, placing your keys on the table, waiting for a reaction from your boyfriend.

You expected him to pout, whine, be upset but you were surprised, when… nothing came.

No reaction, he didn’t even turn around.

You approached him slowly, not knowing what to do.

“I’m sorry, Rafayel. My phone died and the mission turned out to be more difficult than expected. I left as soon as I got to the association.”

Usually, he’d be talking to Reddie now, acknowledging your presence in some way or another, making sure you know he was upset.

But still, nothing.

He just kept painting.

No hum, no change in his movements, no looking over.

You sighed, you knew you messed up but the least he could do was talk to you about it.

“Look, I know I should’ve been more careful, made sure my phone was charged or given you more details. I didn’t know, though. So, can we please just-“

“Just what?”

The first time he spoke since you’ve arrived and he still wasn’t looking at you.

“What do you expect me to do now? Throw myself into your arms, crying?”

You were taken aback by his tone,

“No, I didn’t mean-“

He cut in again, voice steady, words sharp,

“This isn’t the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Am I supposed to lose my mind everytime you pull something like this? It’s not like you keep your word, anyway.”

The accusation hung heavy in the air and you were trying to deal with this as sensibly as possible but he was making this increasingly more difficult.

“Rafayel, you know how my job is. I’d never ignore you on purpose. I kept you waiting and I’m sorry, I really am. But sometimes, there just isn’t anything I can do.”

A scoff escaped him and you could feel a headache forming. You were expecting him to follow up, come up with a retort, tell you how disappointed he was but he just went silent again.

You felt tired, your eyelids heavy and you simply didn’t have the emotional maturity to deal with this appropriately right now.

You went to get changed, as you were leaving the room, you heard him mumble something under his breath,

“As expected.”

You halted, standing still for a moment before turning back around,

“What was that? If you have something to say, speak up.”

You crossed your arms and he finally looked up at you, gaze completely void of emotion.

“Not like you care, anyway.”

Your eye twitched at that,

“I understand if you’re upset but if you’re not willing to talk to me like an adult, I can’t help you. If you want to act like a child, be my guest.”

An ironic laugh left him at that and his eyes went back to his painting,

“Im the one acting like a child?”

“I don’t have the energy to deal with this right now, Rafayel. I have to do my job, grow up.”

You spun around on your heel to actually leave the room this time, when you heard rustling behind you, he was getting up.

He grumbled under his breath again,

“Didn’t know being a hunter meant you have to ghost your boyfriend.”

You clenched your teeth at his condescending comment but decided to not dignify him with a response.

You quickly walked into your shared bedroom, changing into your PJs.

Finally catching a glimpse of yourself for the first time today, you looked rough.

Thinking about how Rafayel still treated you so harshly, after seeing the state you were in.

Impulsively, you grabbed your pillow and your blanket and stormed into the living room.

He wasn’t there anymore, probably having gone to the bathroom to get ready for bed as well.

You settled down on the couch, you knew you were acting petty but you just didn’t want to put up with his attitude tonight.

You laid on your side, back turned to the room, when you heard the bathroom door open.

Rafayel’s steps were loud, you could feel his eyes on you as he came to a stop. The urge to turn heavy but you refused to budge.

He inhaled sharply, you could hear him mumble something under his breath again but couldn’t make out what he was saying, even if you could’ve, you were done arguing.

When you still didn’t hear him move, you turned around, seeing him standing in the middle of the room.

He looked hurt, making eye contact with you but not saying anything else.

He turned around, walking into the bedroom.

You heard the door click shut and a feeling of hurt settled into your chest.

You laid awake for a while, tossing and turning, regret seeping in, you didn’t want to fight with him like this.

Soon, sleep found you.

Eyes falling shut, mind still stuck on the interaction with your boyfriend.

-

Your eyes fluttered open, taking in the darkness.

You wanted to rub your eyes, when you felt your left hand being engulfed by something warm and heavy.

As you looked over, you immediately noticed the mop of purple hair being on eye level with you.

The scene in front of you made a lump form in your throat;

Rafayel was sitting on the floor, one hand holding onto yours, face resting again the couch.

His long legs were crossed and his posture was atrocious, you knew he’d wake up sore like this.

Him setting his pride aside, seeking you out in your sleep, made your heart race, even after how he was acting earlier.

You knew he was trying to hurt you both in an attempt to put his walls back up, he was scared for you.

There was nothing he feared more than losing you, you disappearing again. He didn’t want to wake up one day, finding out you were gone.

And you admittedly weren’t always making it easy for him.

Your other hand reached out and ruffled his hair,

“You idiot…”

You got up to the best of your ability, with him still gripping your wrist, sitting down next to him.

You managed to wrap him up in the blanket as well as you could, pressing your head into his shoulder.

You two would make amends once he woke up.

You couldn’t help but press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Zayne

You’ve been buried in work lately, barely having time for yourself. No time to cook meals, so you’ve been relying on take out. Coming home so late from work makes you feel like you’re not making the most of your day, so in turn you stay up late, watching shows, playing games, trying to keep up with your boyfriend’s schedule.

Zayne has been trying to be lenient, he doesn’t want to tell you what to do and what not to do but he could see how your unhealthy habits have been getting worse and how it’s wearing down your condition.

Once he brings it up, he’s objective, neutral, speaking as your doctor, not your boyfriend.

When you try to reason with him and explain how those little acts may be unhealthy but they’re the only comfort you have in the midst of so much work.

You promise him, these habits aren’t here to stay and once you have enough breathing room again, you’ll go back to doing all those things he puts so much emphasis on.

He’s unimpressed, urging you to rethink. You know it comes from a place of concern, he’s telling you these things out of love but it simply feels so belittling.

You’ve been so overwhelmed and he’s seen firsthand how badly you need some understanding more than you need health advice.

Seeing how he doesn’t back down, you start to feel irritated. He refuses to see things from your perspective and you refuse to back down now.

The argument spirals as you call him out on not being much better,

“Overworked? Bold coming from you.”

His voice is steady and his words are harsh as he doesn’t pay much attention to your feelings,

“Yet I still make sure to get my nutrients. I also don’t spend my free time rotting away in front of a screen. You barely go outside during your time off.”

Zayne notices the hurt on your face a little too late,

“You’re my boyfriend before you’re my physician, Zayne. Act like it.”

His brows furrow at that, not responding.

He leaves the room before this could escalate any further, telling you to calm down first, which naturally sets you off even more.

You weren’t done with this conversation but realising he won’t continue you this, you decide to back off.

You’re mad at him and you’re going to show him.

While he’s in the bathroom, you grab your things from the bedroom and bring them over to the couch.

After he’s done getting ready for bed, he walks out and sees you sprawled out on the couch, cuddled up with your pillow, clinging onto it, the way you usually would to him.

He lets out a sigh, he can’t see your face, but that sound aggravated you even more.

Zayne sits down next to you, you don’t look at him.

“Do we have to do this?”

You don’t answer, he stills for a moment before getting back up.

Your lips tremble, seeing how quickly he gave up but to your surprise he comes back with his own blanket and pillow in hand.

“It’s going to get cramped. But I don’t mind, if you insist on sleeping here.”

“Zayne, I wanna sleep alone.”

He shakes his head, putting his things down next to yours.

“We might’ve disagreed but I don’t want the day to end like this. If you don’t want to talk to me right now, that’s fine. But don’t push me away, please.”

You stay silent at first, not knowing what to say.

Your heart feels a little warmer,

“Almost forgot you can be thoughtful, after all.”

He chuckles at your snarky comment, showing he’s not irritated.

You push your pillow lower, making your eyes visible to him.

Your eyebrows are still furrowed but he can tell your gaze softened.

You turned away and scooted over, making some space for him.

He took the hint and laid down next to you.

You’re lying in the dark, breathing slowly, starting to miss your boyfriend even tho he’s right next to you.

It’s not like you enjoyed fighting with him, especially with how apathetic he could be when he thought he was right.

You knew he didn’t say any of those things with malice, he was worried and that was his way of expressing it.

Unable to sleep due to the emotional and slight physical distance to your boyfriend, the thoughts running through your mind and the tiny couch you were sharing with your freakishly tall partner, you opened your eyes again.

“Zayne?”

You whispered, being quiet in case he had already fallen asleep.

He hummed in response and you shimmied back a bit, wanting to feel him,

“I don’t want to fight anymore…”

He shuffled, wrapping one arm around your waist loosely, not wanting to overstep,

“I’m glad. Me neither.”

His voice was low, not disturbing the quiet.

“Do you think we could go back to the bedroom?”

You heard him exhale a laugh,

“If you’d like to.”

You nodded, still not turning around.

Before you could say anything else, Zayne spoke up again,

“I’m sorry. I overstepped earlier. I have no right to tell you what to do. However, I only want the best for you, even though I might not be the best at expressing that at times.”

You turned around, looking up at him in the dark, and he was still able to make out your features,

“I’m sorry, too. I wasn’t willing to hear you out at all.”

“The same goes for me. I wasn’t offering solutions, I was just lecturing you.”

Leaning your head against his chest, you snuggled closer,

“Honestly, you had some valid points. I should spend more time with you whenever I finally have some free time.”

Zayne cradled your head,

“Don’t feel forced to. I just think I could make you food whenever you home, you don’t have to get junk food. In hindsight, there’s nothing wrong with indulging once in a while.”

You nodded,

“Yeah, sounds like a good plan.”

The two of you basked in each other’s presence like this for a little while longer, before Zayne dragged you back to bed.

His main priority is looking after you, his love for you is unrivalled but he’s still new to all of this, he’s trying.

Caleb

You and Caleb rarely fought.

Ever since you were younger, Caleb was always willing to bend to your whims.

He’d always back down and let you have your way.

Whether it’d be about who got to go first in a game, who got to sit in the passenger seat of the car or who had to clean up after playtime.

The older you two got, the more serious your fights became at times but Caleb would still back down, wait for you to let your anger out at him.

Obviously, whenever he could, he’d try to mediate.

He never wanted to fight with you, it was the worst.

There was this irrational fear in his mind, that whenever you were mad at him, you’d leave, hating him, never wanting to see him again.

He knew it was stupid, unrealistic but he much preferred your loud anger, yelling at him, staring him in the face, not turning away and ignoring him.

It was the same reason he’s never truly been angry at you.

Yeah, he’s been irritated because of careless things you’ve done but that comes from a place of concern.

He loves you too much, feels too much for you to ever show his anger, however that doesn’t mean the mask doesn’t slip sometimes.

Still, he wouldn’t keep arguments going.

He’d serve as an outlet for your anger, he’d let you get everything off your chest and whenever he wanted to bring something up that bothered him, he’d do it in a way you wouldn’t notice his true feelings.

So, whenever it did come to an argument, you knew it was serious to him. But you simply weren’t used to having him not agree with you, especially because you knew you were in the right about this.

Well, so you’d say, if you could recall what “this” was.

You don’t even remember what the fight was about, you two have just been spiralling from one thing to the other for a while now. The tension was starting to become unbearable.

Especially because Caleb was doing what he’s always done, taking whatever you throw at him and just accepting it.

He’s willing to be the bad guy in your eyes, as long as it meant keeping you safe.

And you were starting to grow sick of it.

Caleb would never raise his voice at you, he’d never intentionally do anything that could hurt you, whether it be emotionally or physically.

A stark contrast to how you’ve been shouting at him for the past 20 minutes.

Everything was so different now, it was like you were both speaking a different language. Not like when you two were kids, not when it felt like it was you and him against the world.

You didn’t want him to just stand there and take it while standing his ground, insisting he knew better than you.

It was starting to drive you crazy, so the next thing you knew, was you angrily stomping out of the room.

Caleb stood in the living room, unmoving.

Replaying the argument in his mind, trying to think of where he went wrong.

As he was standing there, starting to wallow in self pity, you returned.

He was thinking of how to solve the situation, when he noticed the blanket and pillow you were holding.

You waltzed straight past him, plopping down on the couch, fluffing up your pillow in silence.

“Pipsqueak, c’mon.”

Not looking at him, still preparing your newly decided sleeping spot, you answer,

“We’ll talk in the morning. I don’t wanna be near you right now.”

His eyes widened slightly, moving towards you but keeping his distance, as to not set you off more.

“I understand that but I don’t want you to go to sleep upset.”

At that, you paused for a moment, fingers hovering over the pillow you were still adjusting, before you collected yourself and went to busy your hands again,

“It’s a little late for that.”

You heard a thud near you and you quickly looked up, worried.

You saw Caleb on his knees in front you, head hanging low,

“I’m sorry. You’re rightfully upset but please, let me fix this.”

You sighed, lying down.

“Caleb, go to sleep. We’re not doing this right now.”

Once he looked up at you, you felt your resolve waver. Just why did he have to resemble a kicked puppy so much?

You turned around, not letting your wet dog of a boyfriend get to you.

“Okay, I love you. Sleep well.”

He said but he got up really slowly, hoping you’d change your mind after all.

He went into your shared bedroom, leaving the door open behind him.

Caleb tried to sleep, he really did but he’s been laying awake for the past two hours.

It felt wrong to sleep without you in his arms. The right side of the bed shouldn’t be cold; you shouldn’t be away from him, especially after such a long time apart.

He didn’t want you to be mad at him, he didn’t even want to fight with you but you were just so stubborn.

Why couldn’t you just see he was trying to protect you?

He stopped his train of thought, knowing it was just putting him in a worse mood.

Surely, you were asleep by now, right?

And you’ll have cooled off by the time you woke up.

So, you definitely wouldn’t blame him if he joined you on the couch, would you? He just missed you so much, he couldn’t sleep without you.

He quietly walked into the living room, not wanting to wake you up.

When he saw you there, lying all by yourself, he felt something in his chest tighten.

It made him feel like he was a little boy again, like you were right here but so far out of his reach.

So, fragile and vulnerable, like if he touched you, you’d break, disappear.

He was pulled out of his thoughts, when you mumbled quietly in your sleep,

“…caleb, don’t..”

He couldn’t make out what else you were saying, but you were thinking like him, even in your sleep.

He never wanted you to go to sleep upset.

He slid in under the covers with you, wrapping his arms around you.

He couldn’t stand being away from you too long, he needed to make sure you were real, that you were with him.

And with that thought, he finally managed to drift off to sleep.

Sylus

This was the angriest you had ever been at Sylus.

He prided himself on being a man of his word, keeping all his promises, especially the ones he made to you.

So, when he showed up again after 4 days, you were making sure he knew how mad you were.

He had promised you, he wouldn’t repeat what happened with Tulla Island.

He wouldn’t disappear without saying anything, he wouldn’t leave you wondering whether he was dead or alive, but that’s exactly what he did.

He send you a cryptic message the morning of, not answering when you tried to figure out what he meant.

Mephisto was still around, but he was no help either.

So, when you decided to pull up to the base 2 days in, having Luke and Kieran explain to you, that your boyfriend had to leave on urgent business that they couldn’t elaborate on, you felt many things at once.

You’d been seething until he showed back up, acting like nothing happened.

“You promised, Sylus.”

He was sitting, while you were pacing around the bedroom, anger evident in your voice.

“This time was different. I didn’t leave without a trace. You ended up asking the twins, no?”

You stopped in your tracks, looking at him in outrage,

“And they were no help at all! I didn’t know where you were, I didn’t know what you were up to, actually, I still don’t know!”

He was trying to be understand and pragmatically approach the situation but you weren’t putting up with this.

“Sylus, you’re not listening to me at all. How many more times are you planning on pulling something like this?“

He raised a brow at you, having a hard time hiding his amusement, you thought he was mocking you, when in reality he felt relieved to know you cared about him so much,

“This isn’t much different from you leaving for your missions. You don’t tell me where you’re going, either.”

You crossed your arms,

“You can’t be serious. You can utilise your stupid resources and figure out where I am, you find a way everytime. It’s either Mephie showing up or you! How is that fair?”

He propped his chin up on his palm, looking at you with hooded eyes,

“Those resources are open to you, too, sweetie. What’s mine is yours. Besides, don’t you know the saying? Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Maybe you weren’t trying hard enough.”

You couldn’t deal with his sarcasm, not when you’d been worried for the past four days, wondering if he was alright, whether this was his way of disappearing out of your life after all, still feeling the anxiety you had the last time this happened.

The smugness on his face was just pissing you off more.

“Can’t you be considerate of my feelings for once? Is it fun to you to see me suffer like this? Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you.”

You knew you didn’t mean any of the things you just said, he knew you didn’t mean any of it, he was always bending over backwards to accommodate you.

His love for you was unconditional and whenever he kept you in the dark, it was for your own sake.

But his usual teasing was just setting you off.

You were getting more animated by the second, the realisation of how you had been feeling for the past few these really settling itself in your mind.

Sylus was just silently watching, not saying anything but seems like that was also not quite the right choice, as his silence irritated you as well.

At some point, Sylus started answering. His patience started to run thin, while it would never run out when it came to you, he didn’t appreciate the tone you were using with him.

He stood up in the middle of your sentence, walking towards the door,

“What, so you’re just going to walk away now?!”

“Yes. Before either of us say something we’ll both regret.”

And with that, he was out of the door.

You watched, dumbfounded.

Your firsts clenched, you felt like he wasn’t taking you seriously.

He was definitely underestimating your level of pettiness.

-

Sylus had left your apartment, thinking of how to make it up to you.

He understood why you felt the way that you did and he never meant to leave you worried but sometimes ignorance was bliss.

Admittedly, his business ended up taking longer than expected.

He originally wanted to be back sooner, before you even knew it but things played out more complicated.

Still, you should know he was essentially undefeated.

There was nothing, that could stop him from coming back home to you.

So, coming back to just to see you hurt like this, because of him, made his heart break.

He also didn’t dislike your angry side, he liked seeing you give into your emotions, showing what you truly thought.

What he didn’t like, was seeing you talk yourself into a spiral without letting him get a word in.

He thought it would be for the best to leave you to cool off, while he tried to get back into your good graces.

Now, what he didn’t expect upon his return into your bedroom, was the emptiness on your side of the bed.

He walked into the living room with quick steps.

And there you were, in all your glory, hogging the entire couch, duvet, comforter, multiple pillows, plushies included.

You were on your phone, paying him no mind.

“What’s the big idea, kitten?”

You just hummed, turning to lay on your stomach, kicking your feet up in the air, tapping away on your phone,

“I’m mad at you, so I’m sleeping here tonight. Good night.”

The laugh he let out vexed you even more, and of course, he noticed that.

“That’s funny, sweetie. Come now, get up.”

When you didn’t move, the corners of his mouth curled up in an entertained smirk.

He walked over to you and stopped right next to the couch, towering over you.

“Don’t make me say it again, kitten.”

You didn’t miss the amused lilt in his voice.

You barely spared him a glance,

“Sylus, I don’t want to sleep in the same place as you tonight. You managed for the past four days, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it today as well.”

He let out a huff,

“My, that’s too bad.”

You thought that meant, he’d leave you be, so imagine the surprised noise you let out, as he picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder.

“Sylus, you jerk! I’m not joking around with you!”

Sylus tightened his grip on you, as you started thrashing around,

“I know.”

Your escape attempts were futile, he carried you back into the bedroom and dropped you onto your bed,

“You can be mad at me, scream at me but you don’t get to avoid me. That won’t make things right.”

You jutted out your lower lip, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden,

“You don’t get to lecture me right now.”

You rolled over onto his side of the bed and hid under his covers.

The bed dipped, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him but not taking the blanket off your head,

“You’re right. But I don’t want the love of my life to feel even more alone than they already have for the past four days.”

You slowly lifted the blanket off your face, not looking up at him,

“Allow me to mend things between us.”

You scoffed,

“There’s nothing broken…”

“Then, let me show you just how much I adore you.”

Damn that smooth talker.

[street-smarts00]

in omnia paratus

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: Spencer's been on the fence with his feelings for you. Due to his past traumas he’s decided to keep his feelings hidden. Until you’re caught in a dangerous situation at work

WC: 3.5 k

A/N: I am SO SORRY this took so long. I’ve been sitting on this for two months because I was being a perfectionist and had writer's block. Thank you so much to the person who requested this idea and I hope ya’ll like it! beta read by @whats-yesterday00

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Protective!spencer, Friends to lovers, age gap (25 and idk 33 or 34), during season 9 (sadly no post prison Reid, I refuse to watch the show after Derek & Hotch leave), Maeve is implied 

Warnings!: mentions of murder, stalking, gunshot wounds, hostage situation and incorrect info about hostage situation cause Idk I'm not in the FBI

Everyone knew Spencer Reid had a soft spot for you. Well, everyone except for you. 

Since the moment you met you’ve been on his mind. 

“Do you know how old she is?” 

“No, how old is she?” 

“25!” Penelope squeaked before being shushed by Rossi. 

“Wow, she’s gotta be the youngest person to ever be in the BAU. Well, second to genius over here,” JJ commented while pointing to Reid. 

“That’s if she gets the job,” Morgan added. 

They were all crowded around the desks in front of Hotch’s office. The blinds were cracked and they could just barely make out the woman seated across from their boss for an interview. 

Due to the increase in caseload after Alex joined, Hotch made the request to add an additional member of the team. After interviewing a few people that didn’t pan out, he heard quite a bit about you from your supervisor saying how well you’ve done with the FBI and you’d be an exceptional fit for the team.

Then of course Penelope looked up everyone who was interviewing with Hotch. You being her most recent victim. 

“How long has she been with the FBI?” Alex questioned. 

“Three years,” Penelope answered 

“What? Did she join right after college?” 

“Not right away. She graduated early and got experience with law enforcement first.” 

Spencer sat at his desk quietly while everyone was peering into Hotch’s office. Not to say he wasn’t nosy as well. You were already behind the blinds when he arrived for work. 

“Oh they’re shaking hands! That has to be a good sign,” Penelope cheered. 

Morgan turned to the window, “It’s definitely not a bad one.” 

Her eyes widened before loudly whispering, “Oh no they’re leaving. Disperse.” 

She scurried off in her heels towards Derek’s desk while he followed behind with a grin. JJ, and Rossi averted their eyes from Hotch’s office and found Alex’s desk far more interesting. 

All while Spencer’s attention was brought to the woman led down the stairs by his boss. It felt like his heart stopped beating when he saw how beautiful you were. He was brought back to earth as Hotch introduced you to the rest of the team. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he gestured to the man sitting at his desk. 

You offered him a small wave and a kind smile, “Nice to meet you.” 

It became quite obvious you two would get along very well. From very early on conversation flowed incredibly well between the two of you. There were very few people that he felt were easy to talk to because of his niche interests and the way he would ramble spitting facts left and right. 

But he never had to worry about saying the wrong thing or talking too much with you. You often were a content listener or you would even match his passion on certain subjects. Most were topics Spencer already knew about. 

When you first met Spencer you didn’t know the Dr in his name meant he held 3 PhD’s or that he was quite literally a genius. 

So you were often telling stories or facts you found interesting that he already knew. In fact, almost every “fun fact” you brought up, he knew about already.  

But he never interrupted you. He always was listening intently to what you had to say. Like he was hearing about it for the first time. 

At some point you learned of his eidetic memory and how vast his knowledge was. It was during a case where you found out and mentioned it to him. 

“Reid, remember when we were at the harbor and I mentioned that thing about sharks?” You hesitated, “did you know that already?”

“Yes,” he guiltily admitted. 

You partially deflated suddenly feeling that the whole tangent you went on was pointless. “Why did you let me go on and on if you already knew?” 

His eyes softened, “because I wanted to hear you talk about it.” 

That was when his feelings started to peek through. As the months went on it only grew and grew. And you were none the wiser.

To the average person, it might not seem like much. Perhaps you were just good friends. But to a team of profilers (and best friends) it was painfully obvious. 

It was almost painful the way he looked at you with a longing in his eyes. Or when his gaze immediately turned to you to catch your reaction or smile. 

It was obvious by the way he found any excuse to bring you up in conversation. Or how in conversation with you he would mirror your mannerisms and lean closer to you. 

As well as the things he remembered about you or the little things he did for you. Like the countless coffee cups he bought for you from his favorite coffee shop before work. And when he saw you struggling to find something or open something he was always right there to help. 

Spencer Reid had feelings for you. Feelings so deep that he couldn’t pull the roots out even if he tried. 

He didn’t know what to do with his feelings exactly. He hadn’t felt this strongly for someone since … well for a while. He was terrified of history repeating itself. 

He couldn't lose you. He’d seen first hand what this job did to him, what it did to Hotch. Their loved ones ripped away from them too soon.

So for now at least, he kept his feelings to himself. 

Well, until your last case. 

The BAU was called in on a case that just turned serial. They found the unsub to be a man named Mark, who started killing because his girlfriend cheated on him. The first two victims reminded him of the man she cheated with. When that didn’t satisfy him, he hunted down and killed the other man. 

Now the team and SWAT was stationed outside a bus that Mark was holding hostage. He stalked his ex-girlfriend and tracked down the new city bus she took. 

The officers couldn’t get a clear shot of him because of where he was standing and he kept using the passengers as shields. Rossi was currently on the phone with him trying to make negotiation terms and get some of the people off the bus. Mark however was incredibly stubborn and didn’t want to let his leverage go. 

So Rossi asked about the children on the bus and if Mark would be willing to let them off. They were met with silence on the other end of the phone, contrary to his previous behavior where he loved to hear himself talk. 

After a short pause the phone spoke. “I’ll only send out the kids if you send in an agent.” 

Rossi shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “Are there any other circumstances you’re willing to send out the children for?” he asked. 

“Nope,” he said with a pop at the end of the word. 

A look of concern was quickly exchanged between Rossi and Hotch. While their faces didn’t reveal much, their eyes spoke volumes. 

“How about this,” the unsub continued. “I’ll send out their moms too.” 

Rossi’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at the eagerness to comply from the criminal. “You’ll send out the children and their mothers if we send in one of our agents?” 

“I promise.” 

Rossi returned his eyes to Hotch who stood rigid and tall with his arms folded. He was met with an approving nod before returning to the call. 

“Alright, we can agree to those terms.” 

“Oh and agent Rossi?” Mark perked. 

“Yes?”

“Send in a girl.”

There was a tension that quietly branched out between the agents listening to the phone call. 

“Why do you want a woman?” Rossi asked, clearly changing the dialogue used.

“I’m losing too many ladies sending out these moms. I want one back,” he replied with a cockiness to his voice. 

Ross confirmed they could send in a female agent. Almost immediately after the unsub hung up, you volunteered to be the agent going on the bus.  

“I’ll do it.”

Spencer’s head shot in your direction. “No you're not.” His voice was laced with concern and a hint of demand.  

“Reid-”

“He specifically asked for a woman. We don’t know what he’s planning, he’s devolving.”

“And I’m willing to take that risk to make sure those kids are safe,” You defended yourself. 

You turned to your boss waiting for his thoughts. Hotch knew you’d been exposed to enough high tension scenarios to know what you were doing. But just like any member of his team, he silently hesitated, worrying for your safety. 

He took a breath before meeting your eyes again. “Send her in.” 

Right before you were led to the bus, Hotch took off the holster on his ankle and handed it to you. “Some extra protection in case something happens.” You couldn’t hear the concern in his voice, but you saw it clear as day in his eyes. 

You made your way to the bus and saw through the window Mark holding a gun to the driver and telling him to open the door. You stepped on and the doors closed quickly behind you. The unsub took a long look at you, panning up and down. 

“Well how about that. Aren’t you a beauty? He said with a cheeky grin. 

You tried your hardest not to look disgusted with him. Instead you kept your composure and spoke with courage and a confident demeanor. 

“You this flirty with all your hostages?” you asked plainly.

As he gazed down at your legs his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He bent down and with the gun in his hand, pushed away the bottom of your pants leg. When he saw the gun in the holster, he tsked. 

“You always carry this much dead weight on you?” 

He stood back up and put his hand out, “hand it over, I told them no weapons.” 

You reluctantly took off Hotch’s holster and placed it in the unsubs hand. Your one line of defense was gone. 

The longer you were on the bus, the more anxious Spencer got. He knew you were an exceptional profiler, and you had enough experience and skill to handle yourself in situations like this. 

But that couldn’t stop the ache in his stomach or the fact that his heart rate could power a car by now. 

He stood closer to the bus now to get a clearer view of the windows. They managed to successfully get the children and moms off and to safety, but you weren’t safe. Spencer figured you were trying to negotiate with the unsub, but that was going nowhere. This was confirmed when Rossi tried calling him again but every call was ignored. 

This unsub was stubborn as hell. He knows he trapped himself, but didn’t want to back down. At least he didn’t want to go quietly. 

Spencer was talking with the rest of the team trying to devise a plan when the gunshots were fired. The team immediately ran back to the cacophony on the bus. 

More shots were fired, he didn’t know where from. He didn’t care. 

He just needed to get to you. 

When he got a decent view through one of the windows that hadn’t shattered he saw you. Your hand over arm in pain but still standing in front of the civilians to protect them. The unsub stalking over to you, gun in hand and smacking you over the head with it. You slammed against the chairs and fell to the floor. 

Spencer's face paled. He swore he was going to throw up. 

Through the fog of his mind Spencer saw Morgan escorting Mark off the bus, his hands now behind his back in cuffs. 

He rushed past them, clambering through the door and up the stairs to get to you, calling your name. 

“Reid?” he heard your small tired voice through the crowd. 

He followed it to you, laying on the ground struggling to open your eyes and clutching your left arm. 

He crouched down to your level with a gentle hand on your uninjured arm. 

“Hey, I’m here. I’m right here,” he comforted. 

“My head hurts,” you mumbled.

His eyes softened, “I know. I think you might have a concussion, you need to go to the hospital.” 

You slowly started to fade out of consciousness. Spencer’s heart dropped and his hand moved from your arm to your face. 

“No no no no stay with me okay?” he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he consoled.

Your eyes stopped struggling to stay open and finally made their close. His other hand rushed to your pulse point as he called for a medic.

Time seemed to stand still while Spencer sat next to your hospital bed waiting for you to wake up. He couldn’t leave your side. He didn’t want to. 

You were okay. You were laying in the bed in front of him. But of course in his mind he ran through all the possible scenarios of how things could’ve gone worse, how things could’ve gone better. What would’ve happened if you didn’t have your gun taken away, or if the unsub got angry that you tried to bring a gun in. What if he didn’t lose his cool and start firing. What if you never went inside in the first place. 

And with all of those possible scenarios, the same thought plagued him. 

He was wrong. 

Before he was too scarred from past traumas to reveal just how much you meant to him. Not wanting to repeat the past and lose yet another person he loved cared for. 

But now, after seeing you in danger right in front of him, now he was terrified at the thought of you never knowing. He was now more scared you would never know how much he loved the way your nose crinkled when you smiled. How he thought the sound of your voice could cure any ailment he had. How he admired your strength and desire to protect others. How you could light up anyone's mood by just being you. How he could listen to you for hours, even if you were lecturing him on things he’d known like the back of his hand.

To him it was a whole new experience hearing it from you. 

Spencer was pulled from his thoughts as you stirred awake. He saw your eyes adjust to the bright fluorescent lights ahead. He quickly got up to dim the lights for you. 

When he returned to his seat you smiled at him, “hi.” 

“Hi,” he smiled back.  

“How are you feeling?” 

You sighed. “Like shit,” you complained with a hint of humor. 

“The doctor said you have a minor head injury, bruised ribs, and the shot to your arm thankfully didn’t break any bones.” 

“Fun,” you said sarcastically. 

A moment of silence passes between you two. He doesn’t exactly know what to say. How do you casually tell your friend and coworker you have a crush on them? 

There is no casual way. 

“You called me sweetheart,” you broke the silence. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, “What?” 

You fidget with the blanket, “earlier, when I passed out on the bus. You called me sweetheart.”

He searches his mind for the memories of the day. When he finds the memory he realizes in the heat of the moment the term of endearment slipped out. 

He wasn’t aware you heard it. 

“I did,” he confirmed as his ears flushed.

“Why?” you asked curiously. 

He didn’t know how to tell you that he’s wanted to call you that for weeks now. So instead he settled with-

“It just … felt right.” 

“Oh,” you replied quietly.

Spencer tensed up at your response. 

“If I crossed the line-“ 

“No. Of course not,” you interrupted with a comforting voice. 

The corners of your mouth lifted and cheeks dusted pink. “I thought it was sweet. You don’t normally say stuff like that.”  

His heart warmed at your confession and a smile spread on his face. 

“You thought me calling you sweetheart was sweet?” he lightly teased.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. “You know what I mean.” 

Your laughter was cut short by a sharp pain in your abdomen. You bit down on your lip and gripped the side of the bed in pain. 

The reality that you were injured on the job was rushing back to him. 

He licked his lips, his nervous unconscious habit. 

“I was really worried about you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he interjected. 

“The entire time you were on that bus I was sick to my stomach. Terrified that something bad was gonna happen and it did,” he started to ramble. 

You leaned closer to him. ”But I’m okay Reid.”

“You still got hurt. He shot you for christ sake!” his voice raising in pitch and volume. 

“Reid-”

“He lashed out at you! You could’ve died!” 

“Spencer,” you said firmly, pulling his attention towards you. 

He never heard you say his name before. No matter how many times he said you could call him Spencer, you still called him Reid. Hearing his name fall from your lips was like the consistency of honey.

You placed your hands on his face caressing his cheek. His golden eyes meet yours. 

“I’m alright. I’m still here,” you consoled. 

“But if-“

“Spencer.”

“Please,” he pleaded. “It’s important.” 

You nodded your head, signaling for him to continue. He gently grabbed your wrists and brought your hands in his. He took a deep breath before he decided to spill the thing that had been eating away at his heart. 

“I have feelings for you. I have for a long time. Almost as long as you’ve been at the BAU,” he started. 

With your hands in his he started tracing his thumb over your knuckles. 

“If we don’t have work I count down the days until I can see you again. When I do see you I desperately want to see you smile, see you happy. And if I’m the one that causes that smile, it makes my whole day. That’s why I never interrupted when you talked about something I already knew. The way your face lit up when you talked with such passion was the highlight of my day.” 

“For months I was scared of my feelings and I kept them to myself. I was too scared to admit how much I liked you because I-” his hold on your hands tightened.

“I know what it feels like to lose someone. This job takes so much from us; I never wanted it to take you.” 

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

“Today I realized it would be more painful if I went the rest of my life not telling you, than having even a fraction of a moment with you.”

A moment of silence danced between you two. Your head reeling from his confession, heart beating so hard you could feel it in your bones. Your palms sweaty from holding onto Spencers, but still neither of you let go. 

The silence was deafening, plaguing him. 

“Please … say something,” he begged. 

Your lash line was collecting tears that you simultaneously tried blinking away. Your eyes found his tie less intimidating than his gaze.

“I never thought you would like me back,” you said with a soft tone. 

Spencer's cheeks turned red as his heart started melting. “I do.” 

You brought your eyes back to his. That precious smile on his face was infectious. 

“Listen,” you squeezed his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. So you have as much time with me as you want.” 

Spencer's eyes softened at your words. He raised your hands and placed a loving kiss on your knuckles. 

The two of you were too lost in eachother to notice the footsteps towards the room. 

“Hey, I found some Jello for her if she-” Alex abruptly stopped once she noticed what she walked into. 

You both awkwardly pulled your hands away from each other; you fiddling with the hospital blanket, him rubbing his palms on his slacks. 

“So, feeling better?” she asked hesitantly. 

“Much,” you answered, still a bit flustered. 

“Good, good to hear,” She tried not to sound too smug, but the small smile on her face said otherwise. 

She raised and shook the jello container in her hand. 

“I’m gonna leave this here,” she placed it on the table. “I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“Thanks Blake,” you thanked as she left. 

Once she was gone you quietly giggled and mumbled “oh my god,” under your breath. 

“You know, she kept teasing me asking when I was going to ask you out. And don’t even get me started on Morgan,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

Your jaw dropped and eyes furrowed. “Did everyone else know but me?” 

He pressed his lips in a thin line, “pretty much.” 

“I must be a shitty profiler,” you half joked.

“Absolutely not,” he said in the most comforting voice. He brushed the hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear. 

“You’re an amazing profiler.” 

You smiled that smile he loved so much. The one where you couldn’t hide your joy and your nose crinkled. 

“So, how do you think you’ll spend all those moments with me?” you inquired with a bit of a teasing tone. 

“Doing anything sweetheart,” he answered seriously. He looked at you with awe written all over your face. “I'm ready for anything with you.” 

“in omnia paratus” - ready for anything

Tag asks: @adrienneleclerc @ladybirdbeetle7

[astonmartinii]

royally screwed | jack doohan social media au

pairing: jack doohan x fem royal!reader

head up king, your tiara is falling

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

f1

liked by jackdoohan, danielricciardo and 1,204,899 others

tagged: pierregasly & francocolapinto

f1: that’s something both franco and the alpine mechanics won’t want to see back… the argentine takes both himself and his teammate out of the race!

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user1: i’m so sorry all the karma got directed to you franco i was aiming for flávio i swear

user2: idk what kind of voodoo protection that old man has but even my etsy witch can’t defeat it

user3: what if we ALL paid etsy witches?

user4: not gonna lie guys there’s an easier way to deal with this… it’s called a dark alley and a charging car

user5: oh?!

user6: honestly? valid reaction at this point

alpinef1team: we’ll get them next time!

user7: but who is getting YOU?

user8: sorry social media admin but i’m sad so i fear you’re going to have to hear about it

user9: how DARE you make jack do all of those stupid ass tiktoks and let me get attached :(

user10: making him do all of this social media stuff and didn’t keep him around long enough to finish his soft launch

user11: do NOT remind me

user12: it was so carefully planned and everything

user13: really? that’s what you’re angry about?

user12: let me live? i’m in mourning and thinking about his actual career will make me crash out heavier than the alpines today

user14: okay you have a point

user15: rip alpine you would’ve love jack doohan … oh wait!

user15: @alpinef1team CHOKE

this comment was liked by oscarpiastri, daniel ricciardo, jackdoohan and yourusername

user15: oh WOW my comment collected some big likes

user15: oscar? yeah makes sense. daniel? cool aussie bromance. jack? obviously. y/n windsor? WHY THE FUCK IS THE PRINCESS OF ENGLAND IN MY LIKES?

user16: she has an account?

user17: it’s all her charity stuff mostly but she has been caught like sports stuff before lol

user18: y/n idk what kind of powers come with being a princess but i know you’re next in line so PLEASE GET JACK HIS SEAT BACK

user19: actually any seat will do we’re not fussy

user20: alpine… look at what you’ve made us

yourusername and jackdoohan

liked by oscarpiastri, kimiantonelli and 13,983,029 others

yourusername and jackdoohan: surprise! jack and i have finally decided to make our relationship public as we continue to prepare to settle down.

we first met many years ago when i was on duty at the british grand prix and met a very charming boy who was racing in formula 3 at the time, and i have been smitten ever since.

i have supported jack in his racing and wanted to make that support public in these particularly tough times.

while i’m sure this is a big shock for you all, we ask that you continue to respect our privacy.

view all comments

user21: i’m sorry

user21: WHAT THE FUCK

user21: i can’t tell if this is helping my alpine induced misery or not

isackhadjar: HUH?

jackdoohan: you knew i was in a relationship ?

isackhadjar: i’m sorry but how was i meant to deduce that “my girlfriend y/n” actually means the princess of england

jackdoohan: do i not seem princely to you?

isackhadjar: do not try and set me up

isackhadjar: unless there’s some eligible royals who can get down with a freaky lil guy like me

yourusername: probably not best to frame it that way?

isackhadjar: yes, your grace! (am i doing it right i’ve only ever watched game of thrones)

yourusername: you can just call me y/n, isack

isackhadjar: OMG COOL

user22: so i thought this would excite me more but now im just thinking we could’ve gotten these type of reactions on film and in the paddock

user23: how do we know they’re not being filmed

user24: i’m in their walls

oscarpiastri: what?

jackdoohan: can i have the aussie seat after you win the championship pretty please ?

oscarpiastri: i am not answering that until you tell me how the fuck you ended up in the british royal family?

jackdoohan: can you not read anymore? y/n explained it pretty well in the caption…

oscarpiastri: i’m gonna need some more detail

yourusername: you’re more than welcome to come for some tea at ours oscar

oscarpiastri: AT THE PALACE?

oscarpiastri: i mean - yeah that sounds good to me!

kimiantonelli: ME TOO IM COMING TOO

olliebearman: i can’t believe you’ve not invited the only british rookie jack :(

jackdoohan: idk if you guys missed it but im not a rookie any more, im not even a driver

yourusername: enough of that, you can all come for tea and we’ll do some visits to the london hospitals while we’re at it

gabrielbortoleto: yay count me in!!!

isackhadjar: today just keeps getting better and better

user25: dropping this news to distract from the fact that he got dropped for the far superior driver

user26: i wouldn’t be surprised if his woman drops him for franco as well

yourusername: first of all, i am no one’s “woman” get that right and second of all, jack is the kindest, funniest and most gentle man in the world and you’d have to move heaven and earth to take him away from me

jackdoohan: i love you <3

user27: oop - she told yall

kimiantonelli

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 1,023,488 others

tagged: olliebearman, jackdoohan & yourusername

kimiantonelli: yo this royal stuff is kinda crazy …

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user28: fomo has never fomo-ed this bad before

user29: the fact that she knew this would get a load of publicity so she used it for good >>

user30: and this is why she’s my fave royal !!!

yourusername: i hope you had a wonderful time kimi! thank you so much for joining us.

kimiantonelli: are you kidding? that was insane !!!!

kimiantonelli: and also it was very fun to meet all of the children

kimiantonelli: but can we please take the aston martin for a spin again ???

jackdoohan: kimi ???

kimiantonelli: like y/n didn’t tell us that you take her for drives in it all the time …

jackdoohan: y/n ???

yourusername: what? you’re an amazing driver and i love watching you do what you love!

user31: i wish alpine weren’t such FUCKHEADS i want this dynamic at silverstone so bad

user32: if they didn’t fumble this bad we could’ve gotten a monaco situ where she could’ve presented the trophies every year

user33: you could’ve shot me and it would’ve hurt less

maxverstappen1: hmm

charles_leclerc: hmmm

alexalbon: hmmmm

georgerussell63: hmmmmm

landonorris: hmmmmmm

carlossainz55: hmmmmmmm

lewishamilton: hmmmmmmmm

kimiantonelli: you guys good? sorry you weren’t cool enough to be invited

maxverstappen1: i’m literally an officer in the order of orange-nassau???

lewishamilton: IM A SIR?

lewishamilton: I WAS LITERALLY KNIGHTED BY Y/N?

yourusername: sorry gentlemen, you should’ve spoken up sooner. however, jack and i are hosting a charity ball between canada and the red bull ring?

alexalbon: IM SO THERE

alexalbon: i’m so there, security are telling me the ball is weeks away but im so there

charles_leclerc: YIPEE

georgerussell63: omg my first royal event… gasp!

user34: obsessed with how the grid get so excited about all of this

user35: max … asking to go to an event ???

user36: and to think we could’ve had it every weekend :(

yourusername

liked by jackdoohan, isackhadjar and 12,309, 788 others

tagged: jackdoohan

yourusername: it was such an honour to host this dinner to raise funds for the youth art network! so many children in our country are being pushed out of artistic fields because of the lack of funding, hopefully with these funds and the continued support from jack and i, we can help keep britain creative!

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user37: they’re actually so precious to me

user38: this is such a great initiative i’m so glad they do things like this with their money and time!

user39: i’ve honestly never seen jack happier

user40: good for him!!! making the best out of a bad situation - this probably also means he won’t be going back to f1, at least not with alpine

francocolapinto: jack might not be in this garage anymore, but i'd still love a visit from you

user41: ummmmmmmm… what?

user42: this is really not cool

pierregasly: let’s delete this while you can

francocolapinto: shooters shoot, isn’t that what you said?

pierregasly: yeah to a girl at the bar maybe, not a royal who is very clearly in a relationship

francocolapinto: i took his seat, i can take his girl too

yourusername: excuse me?

francocolapinto: you’re saying you can’t give me one chance to convince you of my worth?

yourusername: at this point you have one chance to convince me why i shouldn’t find the one legal loophole that means jack can kick your ass

francocolapinto: woah?

yourusername: there’s no charming your way out of this one, franco. jack has done nothing to you and yet you allow your fans to send him countless death threats and flirt with his fiancée openly. find some respect for yourself franco, you won’t be this young forever.

user43: HOLY SMOKES

user44: i can’t even get caught up on the way she snapped here because of the FIANCÉE mention

user45: no this bro must’ve been testing her patience because never in my life have i seen her snap at someone like that

user46: so valid from her though

user47: honestly i’d throw hands for less

jackdoohan: always an honour to just be at your side and help you achieve the wonderful things you do

yourusername: even when i accidentally reveal our engagement while having an argument on the internet

jackdoohan: especially then

yourusername: i love you!

yourusername: and i know doohan was a pretty cool name for merch before, but i feel like windsor could look pretty good on a car or a cap

jackdoohan: if it means i have a little piece of you wherever i go, sign me up

user48: aside from confirmation that he’s going to take her name - ON A CAR? doohan return confirmed ?

user49: they need to stop playing with my feelings so many times on one post

user50: so this might be a royal fuck up from franco right?

f1

liked by jackdoohan, yourusername and 2,309,472 others

f1: BREAKING: flávio briatore has been forced to resign from his position as team principal at alpine! princess y/n windsor and jack doohan attended the friday of the british grand prix where briatore was served by windsor’s legal team, who had found that the contracts given out by briatore were not legally binding. briatore left the paddock on the friday evening long before windsor and doohan, who were seen with a number of team personnel from across the paddock. Colapinto will complete this race weekend but his future with the team is now up in the air.

view all comments

user51: one moment of peace and quiet in f1, that's all i ask

user52: i can't even go to sleep without waking up to five breaking news graphics

user53: honestly? if they were all like this i wouldn't mind it...

user54: jack and y/n being in the likes is so funny to me

user55: babe they're not just in the likes, they were there in person to deliver the news

user56: i knew flavio should've been worried when the relationship was revealed... those royals WILL have the best lawyers

user57: i mean i only just found out that flavio is/was jack's manager?

user58: HE WAS JACK'S MANAGER?

user59: i know their lawyer was just as bamboozled as us

pierregasly: CAN I PLEASE GET A DRINK? PLEASE?

user60: bro it's only friday ...

pierregasly: I HAVE NO TP? I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT'S HAPPENING WITH MY TEAM?

jackdoohan: our bad!

pierregasly: no yall did what you had to do but i was hoping i could maybe get a bottle of something top shelf for my troubles

kikacgomes: and maybe a horse ride at the palace ???

charles_leclerc: can leo meet the corgis???

lewishamilton: u.k. met gala when?

jackdoohan: oh so i get engaged to a princess and suddenly you all want to be my friend?

pierregasly: WOAH ignore all of them, we're the victims here!

yourusername: at this point, if we can turn it into a charity event, we can do whatever you want

maxverstappen1: this is a dangerous precedent

maxverstappen1: and i'm willing to find the limits

user61: i'm having visions of the f1 grid at a royal wedding...

user62: does max know he can't wear skinny jeans to a royal wedding?

maxverstappen1: please refer to my last comment

user63: does he know that the secret service can shoot him on sight if he does wear them?

maxverstappen1: HUH?

jackdoohan: that's true... they told me themselves!

yourusername: jack...

jackdoohan: i am protecting the dress code of our future wedding!

kimiantonelli: i guess you could say he's royally screwed

kimiantonelli: ????

kimiantonelli: i thought it was funny :(

kimiantonelli: no worries guys y/n told me irl she thought it was funny

kimiantonelli: WAIT

kimiantonelli: I SAID NOTHING

jackdoohan

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 4,920,482 others

tagged: yourusername

jackdoohan: jack WINdsor at your duty! i've been given a second chance at my dream, but i wouldn't be here without my family and my amazing fiancee. i promise i'll make you proud.

view all comments

user64: i WILL not cry about this

user65: i tried not to but BABY JACK

user66: i think people forget how young he still is :(

yourusername: i'll forever be proud of you, my love. no matter what

yourusername: however, i think the palace would look extra dashing with some trophies ...

jackdoohan: for you? anything

yourusername: oh my charming boy, i'm not sure i want to share you with f1 again so soon

jackdoohan: but you will come with me won't you?

yourusername: to be without you is a thorn in my side

user67: FUCK ME THEY'RE SO CUTE

user68: i love them so much

user69: i don't think yall are ready for the level of paddock fashion we're going to get with a literal princess...

user70: wait - what happens when as inherits the throne?

user71: i think jack would have to retire

user72: WHAT?

user73: that's just how the royal life is

jackdoohan: and i'll do it

yourusername: i appreciate the concern everyone, but my mother is in good health and has many, many years left as queen

user74: jack doohan/windsor first kilf (king i would like to fuck)

user74: i've been blocked by y/n ????

user74: AND JACK?

oscarpiastri: you got MARRIED WITHOUT US ???

jackdoohan: once again, can you not read a caption?

oscarpiastri: oh lol.

oscarpiastri: i just saw windsor and started yelling at my phone

user75: obsessed with how jack having a f1 seat is actually great for the british government

user76: diplomatic relations are on the UP because government officials come to races to meet and talk with y/n

user77: and the fact that they both still find time to do charity work in each country they go to.. they’re so precious to me

yourusername: i never thought i'd be planning a royal wedding around the formula one calendar, but there's a first for everything

jackdoohan: but a summer wedding is so cute?

yourusername: i know, my love

yourusername: but flower picking via face time has been a struggle

jackdoohan: i know whatever you choose will be perfect

jackdoohan: just like you

yourusername: i love you, sweet talker

jackdoohan: i love you too sweetheart

fin.

note: as you can tell I AM NOT HAPPY. i like franco but justice for my queen jack. updates for you all, other side of the moon chap 7 is about 80% done so that's exciting !!!! hope you are all good despite the many many horrors lol xx

[gf2bellamy]

HI!! LOVE YOUR WRITINGS YOURE INSANE!!! could i please request angst/fluff for spencer reid (later seasons) where spencer kinda gets mad at reader and she leaves his place thinking he’s super upset at her and something happens idk she gets in a fender bender or gets sick for a few days and has to go to the hospital but doesn’t answer when he calls bc she thinks he’s so upset he wouldn’t want to know and at some point he finds her in the hospital after he’s been going crazy because he couldn’t get a hold of her i’m so sorry this literally makes no sense i fear this came to me in a dream😣

accident — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship , reader gets into a small accident, mention of a forehead injury / blood and a headache ( reader is fine though ), reader ends up in the hospital , argument between spencer and reader a/n: hai hai !! hope you like this <3

The silence in Spencer’s apartment was suffocating.

“I said I’m sorry,” you mumbled again, your voice barely above a whisper, fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of your sweater. The words felt hollow, even to you, but you didn’t know what else to say. Spencer let out a slow breath, his long fingers raking through his already disheveled hair

It had been such a small thing, really. A misplaced book. His book.One he had lent you weeks ago, one you had cherished, only to accidentally tuck it away in the wrong stack of papers. When you’d finally found it, relief had flooded you, until you handed it back, and instead of the soft smile you expected, his lips had pressed into a thin line, his words sharper than you’d ever heard them.

“You could have been more careful.”

The words stung. You hadn’t meant to be careless. You loved his books, loved the way his eyes lit up when he talked about them, loved the way he’d underlined passages just for you to find. But today, his patience was thin, his tone clipped, and now you stood there, feeling smaller than you had in a long time.

Spencer turned away, his back to you as he carefully slotted the book back into its place on the shelf. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t say another word.

Swallowing hard, you grabbed your bag from the couch, your jacket slipping silently over your shoulders. “I’m going home,” you murmured, unsure if he even heard you.

But the sound of the door closing behind you? That, he definitely heard. The sound made him freeze.For a long moment, Spencer stood there, staring blankly at the spines of his books, his breath uneven. Then, with a heavy sigh, he sank onto the couch, dragging a hand down his face.

What was wrong with him?

It wasn’t about the book. Not really. It had been a long day, no, a long week, of dead ends and sleepless nights on the case, of too much coffee and too little patience. And instead of dealing with it like an adult, he’d taken it out on you. The one person who had done nothing but be kind to him. Guilt settled deep in his stomach, cold and nauseating.

Outside, the engine of your car rumbled to life. You were leaving. Because of him. Because he couldn’t keep his frustration in check.Spencer’s throat tightened.He should call you. Should run after you. Should fix this.But his pride, or maybe his shame, kept him rooted in place.

Meanwhile, you gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, the streetlights blurring as you blinked back the burn in your eyes. You didn’t want to leave. You hated leaving things like this. But you hated upsetting him even more, and right now, space seemed like the only option. You just hoped he knew you hadn’t meant to let him down.

An hour later, you were in the hospital.

It wasn’t anything serious, just a fender bender, a stupid accident born from exhaustion and bad luck. The woman behind you had been just as distracted, just as worn thin by the day, except she hadn’t braked in time. The impact had been sudden, your seatbelt locking as your forehead struck the steering wheel. You’d assured the other driver you were fine, even as warm blood trickled down your temple.

And now here you were, lying on a stiff hospital bed, the antiseptic sting of the air making your nose wrinkle. The lights overhead were too bright, drilling into your already pounding head, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

What a night.

Your phone buzzed against the bedside table. You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Spencer. Of course it was Spencer.

You stared at the screen, his name flashing insistently, the call vibrating through the hospital room. Part of you wanted to answer, to hear his voice, even if it was still edged with frustration. But the other part, the stubborn, bruised part of you, hesitated.

He’d had a hard enough night already. You weren’t going to add to that.So you didn’t decline. Didn’t accept. Just let it ring.The call eventually went to voicemail.You exhaled slowly, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead, gently, careful of the fresh bandages, and tried to ignore the hollow pang in your chest.

Time dragged. The hospital was busy tonight, understaffed, overworked, and what should have been a quick check-up turned into an endless wait. You stared at the ceiling, counting the speckled tiles, listening to the distant beeping of machines and the muffled voices of nurses rushing by. Your phone sat silent beside you. You wondered if Spencer had given up. If he thought you were ignoring him on purpose.

"Which one?" A voice cut through the noise of the ER.

His voice.

A nurse murmured something in response, and before you could even sit up properly, the curtain around your bed was yanked aside with too much force, the rings screeching against the metal rod.

Spencer stood there, breathing hard, his hair even more disheveled than before, like he’d been running his hands through it the entire way here. His eyes locked onto yours, then dropped to the bandage on your forehead, the dried blood at your hairline that the nurses hadn’t quite wiped away.

His expression did something complicated, guilt, fear, anger (at himself, always at himself), before settling into something painfully soft.

You swallowed. "Fender bender," you mumbled lamely, as if that explained everything.

His throat worked as he swallowed. "You should've called me immediately," he whispered, taking another step closer. The lights caught the dark circles under his eyes, the way his cardigan was buttoned wrong , one side higher than the other. He must have thrown it on in a hurry.

You shrugged, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at the bandage. "You had a bad day. I didn't want to make it worse."

Spencer made a wounded noise in the back of his throat, his hands finally lifting to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing feather-light beneath your eyes. "That doesn't matter. You matter. You're bleeding in a hospital and I—" His voice cracked. "How could you think I wouldn't want to know?"

A beat of silence. Then, because you had to know: "How did you even find me?"

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Garcia."

Of course.

"When you didn't answer... I may have panicked. Slightly." His fingers traced the edge of your bandage with heartbreaking gentleness. "She tracked your phone. I owe her approximately twelve favors now."

You huffed a laugh, then immediately regretted it when your head throbbed. Spencer's expression darkened with concern.

"Hey," you said softly, catching one of his restless hands. "I'm okay. Really."

He didn't look convinced. "You're in a hospital bed."

"And you're here," you countered, squeezing his fingers. "That helps."

Spencer exhaled shakily. "Never do that again," he murmured. "Walk out, not call me, take the blame for my bad mood... Any of it."

You closed your eyes, breathing him in , the scent of old books and that terrible cheap coffee he loved. "Only if you promise to talk to me next time instead of biting my head off over a book."

A pause. Then, quiet you almost missed it: "Deal."

The discharge papers took forever.

You sat on the edge of the hospital bed, swinging your legs slightly while Spencer hovered, reading every line of the doctor’s instructions twice before reluctantly letting you sign them. His fingers kept twitching toward you, adjusting the collar of your jacket, brushing imaginary lint from your sleeve, as if he needed constant proof you were really there, really okay.

The nurse handed you a packet of aftercare instructions with a knowing smile. “Someone’s eager to get you home,” she murmured, nodding toward Spencer, who was already holding your bag and car keys like a man prepared to carry you out of here himself. You smiled.

The ride home was quiet. Spencer drove with one hand on the wheel, the other clasped firmly around yours, his thumb tracing absent circles against your skin every time you hit a red light. You watched the way his jaw clenched whenever you shifted in your seat, how his eyes flickered to you every few seconds like he needed visual confirmation you were still there.

"You're staring," he murmured, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"Am not," you lied, even as your fingers tightened around his.

The apartment was dark when you arrived, the book still sitting innocently on the shelf where he'd placed it earlier. Spencer hovered as you toed off your shoes, his hands fluttering near your elbows.

"Sit," he ordered gently, nudging you toward the couch. "I'll make tea."

You wanted to argue, you weren't an invalid, just a little banged up, but the way his voice cracked on the last word had you sinking obediently into the cushions.

Through the kitchen doorway, you watched him move frantically: boiling water, selecting chamomile (your favorite), digging through drawers for the honey bear he kept just for you. His hands shook when he poured. When he returned, he didn't hand you the mug right away. Instead, he knelt before you, his knees hitting the carpet.

"I was an idiot today," he said, pressing the warm ceramic into your hands. His eyes were liquid in the low light. "Not just about the book. About everything."

You cradled the tea between your palms, letting the heat seep into your skin. "You were stressed."

"That's not an excuse." His fingers brushed the bandage again, so light it barely registered. "I hate that I made you feel like you had to leave. Like you couldn't—" His voice broke. "Like you couldn't come to me when you were hurt."

You set the tea aside.

Spencer didn't resist when you tugged him up onto the couch, didn't protest when you maneuvered him until his back was against the armrest and you were curled into his chest, your ear pressed over his heartbeat. His arms came around you immediately, one hand cradling the back of your head, careful of your injury.

"Next time," you murmured into his sweater, "I'll call."

He exhaled, long and shuddering, his lips pressing to your hairline.

"Next time," he negotiated softly, "I'll do better."

And when you woke the next morning, his arms still wrapped around you, the book was open on his nightstand, a new passage underlined, just for you.

[himasgod]

idk if its okay

but can I request for the tapis rouge boyos (vil, azul, jamil, ace) with a reader who gets hit on by a well known celebrity who has a reputation for being a playboy.

thank youuu

ACE, JAMIL, AZUL AND VIL X READER

Where a famous playboy actor wants to flirt with you in Tapis Rouge

How would guys react if, at the Vil's Red Carpet Cadets event, a famous actor with dark intentions approached you to hit on you?

I put Zane as the default name, if there is a Zane reading this, don't be offended😭 You don't need to have played the event to read the one-shot, I hope you enjoy it <3

Maquillaville was packed with rich, famous people who—according to Ace—were annoyingly full of themselves. He wasn't really used to this kind of fancy event, but he played it off well with his cocky grin and bold style. In his own way, he looked great.

You were chatting with a few guests when someone Ace couldn't ignore walked in.

Model, actor, and even film director. He had that fake-perfect smile and a dating history that probably broke some kind of record. Tall, tanned, and smooth-talking, he zoned in on you like a predator the second he saw you.

"Sorry to interrupt," "Zane" said with a charming smirk, "but your smile is brighter than the lights in this place. How about I buy you a drink… or better yet, take you out to dinner tomorrow?"

Ace stopped chewing his fancy canapé. He turned his head slowly, like he'd just heard the funniest joke ever.

"A drink? Seriously? Bro, do you think you're in some rom-com?"

Zane blinked at him, confused. “And you are…?”

Ace slid in next to you, his hand on your hip, flashing his most smug smile, though his eyes were sharp.

"The boyfriend. The only one who can make them smile like that without copy-pasting lines from Google."

Zane chuckled. "Well, lucky you, man. No harm in a compliment—"

“Sure, sure,” Ace said, crossing his arms.

"But there's a difference between a compliment and drooling all over my partner. If you want attention that bad, try flirting with a mirror. Bet it'll respond better."

Zane rolled his eyes and walked off in annoyance.

Once he was out of sight, you turned to Ace, one eyebrow raised.

“Jealous?”

“Jealous?!” Ace spun toward you, visibly offended.

"That wasn't jealousy! That was common sense! The guy was talking like you were a character in some cheesy pickup scene! And you laughed at one of his jokes! Like—seriously!?"

You laughed.

“Oh, Ace…”

He clicked his tongue, but his grin gave him away. He leaned in, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Look, I don't care if you're the center of attention. Honestly, I love it. Let the whole world stare… just so they know exactly who you're with—"

His voice dropped to a murmur against your ear.

“—and who they’ll never be.”

Then he pulled back, smirking wider.

“And if that C-list actor tries flirting again, I swear I'm going to stuff his ego in a box and send it back with a bow.”

Jamil was at your side, impeccable. Although he tried to appear calm, he kept scanning every corner of the room… especially whoever looked at you for too long.

And then he saw it.

Internationally acclaimed actor and singer, known as much for his musical hits as for his romantic history. He was the kind of person who turned every interview into an opportunity to flirt and every gala into a hunt.

He approached you with that well-rehearsed smile of his, champagne glass in hand, his eyes shining with that invasive interest.

"I didn't know stars walked this red carpet," he said, scanning you from head to toe. "Do you have a date for after the event?"

Before you could answer, you felt Jamil's firm presence at your side. His smile was barely perceptible, and his dark eyes, fixed on him.

"I don't think you heard correctly," he said calmly. "They're with me."

Zane laughed sarcastically, never taking his eyes off you.

"Oh, I thought you were a stylish bodyguard. I didn't know you were the… boyfriend?"

Jamil took a step forward, placing himself completely between you and him, like a protective shadow.

"I'll tell you this only once. I don't know what kind of games you usually play with your 'conquests,' but if you want to keep your reputation from falling further, I suggest you back off now."

He raised an eyebrow, still defiant.

"And if I don't?"

Jamil smiled with disturbing slowness.

"Then I'll make you understand. And believe me, I know exactly how to do it without ruining your image… although I wouldn't mind that in the least."

There was a moment of tension. He, perhaps for the first time in a long time, felt insecure around someone. And he left.

You looked at Jamil, somewhat impressed.

"Are you always so calm when you're jealous?"

"Jealous?" Jamil sighed, taking your hand.

"I'm not jealous. I'm irritated. Because that guy dared to look at you like a trophy."

He turned to you, his expression softer.

"And you're not a trophy. You're someone I chose, and who chose me. I don't need to shout it… but I won't let anyone dare touch what I respect."

Every flashbulb seemed to follow you as you walked beside Vil, so perfect it outshone even the biggest stars. The whole world felt like a runway, and you, at his side, were part of the spectacle.

You were used to receiving stares, but this time you felt a particularly insistent one.

"Do you know him?"

Vil whispered near your ear, without taking his eyes off a certain famous actor who was approaching.

It was an international star known for his leading man roles… and for his many love scandals. Vil pursed his lips with the elegance of someone who knew perfectly well who this man was and how little he liked him.

"Only by sight…" you replied, a little uncomfortable as you noticed the actor coming straight toward you.

"Then don't stare at him so much." Vil murmured with a charming smile, but his eyes were sharp.

The actor arrived and, as if he had no idea who Vil was (which was impossible), offered you his hand.

"I didn't expect to see someone so charming tonight. Have we met? Because if not, I'd love to change that."

Vil took a subtle step, standing half in front of you. His face, still sporting a polite smile, was tense like a perfectly placed mask.

"Funny, I thought charm wasn't enough when it came to respect," he said, in that tone of his as polished as liquid poison.

"My partner doesn't usually fall for such cheap tricks, Mr. Zane."

The actor laughed, as if he didn't take the hint.

"A couple? What a shame… Although that's never been an obstacle in romantic movies," he joked, winking at you.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Vil was quicker. He took your hand and entwined it with his, raising his chin

"This isn't a movie. And if you think you can turn my relationship into just another chapter in your "red carpet romances," you're sorely mistaken."

The actor seemed amused by the reaction, but seeing Vil's sharp gaze with pride, jealousy, and elegance, he simply raised his hands.

"Well, well. I didn't know you were so committed, Schoenheit. Lucky for you. And for you too."

He winked at you with a mischievous smile before walking away.

The air seemed to have cooled a couple of degrees.

Vil turned to you, still frowning slightly.

"I warn you, that man is like cheap perfume: strong at first, but in the end, only an unpleasant aftertaste."

"Are you jealous?" You asked with a soft smile.

Vil stared at you, then sighed, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in your attire.

"No. I'm forewarned. Because I value you. And I won't let someone like him touch you with even the hint of an intention."

He leaned in elegantly, his lips brushing the line of your jaw, just enough for you to feel it only for yourself.

"You're too precious to be trifled with. And if anyone tries… they'll have to face me."

The hair, his thin glasses, and that brown suit with subtle pinstripes gave him an air of sophistication that contrasted with his inner nerves whenever someone approached you.

You'd been walking through with him, just chatting, when a tall man with an easy smile and a foreign accent approached you.

"Are you the person everyone is whispering is stealing the event tonight? My name is Zane Duclair but you can call me Zane. Although I'd prefer it if you called me later."

He winked at you.

Azul blinked. He smiled, but his fingers trembled slightly as he gripped your hand.

"Zane Duclair… the actor with three public breakups and five harassment lawsuits… charming track record," he murmured.

Zane gave a carefree laugh, as if everything was slipping away.

"Oh, all in the past. Tonight I'm only interested in this beautiful person," he said, taking your hand without permission. "Would you do me the pleasure of dinner after the gala?"

Before you could respond, Azul placed a hand on your shoulder. His smile was still there, but his eyes were pure ice.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your attempt at 'conquest,' Zane, but my companion already has plans with me tonight. And they're non-negotiable."

Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"And who are you? Their manager?"

Azul let out a short, almost mocking laugh.

"No, I'm a bit more complicated than that. I'm the person who knows their every taste, every gesture, every look. And also the person who can't stand it when someone with a questionable reputation tries to fish in waters that don't belong to him."

Zane looked offended, but Azul stepped forward, still keeping his voice polite.

"And if you insist, I can present you with a complete list of legal clauses regarding harassment and non-consensual advances. I'm sure your lawyers will be able to read between the lines."

Zane left, visibly irritated, and Azul took your arm to lead you away, taking a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," you said. "I didn't expect someone like him to approach me like that."

Azul shook his head.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault there are men who confuse charisma with entitlement. But if he approaches you again… I won't need contracts."

He glanced at you, lowering his voice.

"You are valuable. I will not allow anyone to see you as something they can buy or conquer. Because you are already… firmly committed to me."

[satellites444]

idk why but like i feel like it would be so fun to edge caleb.

like...

there are few sounds in the room; caleb’s heavy breathing, his whiny whimpers, and your hand, slick with lube, going up and down on his throbbing cock.

“mmm…m’gonna-” he grits out, almost reluctantly, the sweat that was forming on his forehead dripping down his jaw. “gonna cum-”

you pull your hand away, watching his cock throb. he lets out a moan, deep in his throat, one of desperation. you’ve honestly lost count of how long you’ve been at this. how long you’ve worked him just to the edge with your hand, your mouth, before taking it all away.

“can feel you throbbing for me,” you say matter-of-factly, taking him in your hand again, slowly working from the base of his shaft to the sensitive, leaking tip, taking the time to swirl around and gather more of the precum gathering there. you ask him a question but you already know the answer, “you wanna cum, don’t you?”

“yes! please, i can’t take it,” he says, his chest heaving, he’s looking at you with glassy eyes. he’s gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles have gone white, his thighs are trembling. he looks absolutely wrecked.

“no, i think you can,” you say, leaning down to swirl your tongue around his tip just the way he likes it. his hips buck off the bed in a desperate attempt to chase the pleasure of your mouth. you replace your mouth with your hand once again, stroking him lazily, your wrist twisting slowly as you do. “you’re gonna be a good boy and take whatever i give you, right?”

he nods, always so eager to please, but you can tell he’s almost at his limits. you’re picking up on the signs that he’s reaching the point of no return. his lower stomach is clenched, his breathing has started to shift from heavy breathing to all out panting. you pick up your speed, the sound of his slick cock is absolutely filthy and you know that if he reached his fingers into your panties he’d feel how soaked you are because of all of this.

“please, please, i’m hng, i’m- fuck!” you don’t pull your hand away again because he’s too far gone, he’s too hard and he’s too worked up and even without you, he would have come undone. you work him through it, the white ribbons hitting his stomach, the bedding, dripping down into your knuckles and making a complete mess before you finally let go of him.

“how pathetic, caleb. look at the mess you just made.” you say, watching his slowly softening cock twitch with the aftershocks of his orgasm. you’d never tell him, because it would ruin your whole dom persona, but damn did you want to take him in your mouth and clean him up.

“thank you,” he whispers, breathing heavy still, trying to catch his breath, “thank you for letting me cum. can- i can make it up to you, i can be a good boy for you, i promise, i’m sorry.”

he doesn’t have to make anything up to you, because you love watching him come undone like that, love watching his come. you don’t tell him that, though, instead you let your head tilt, a mischievous glint in your eye when you ask him, “how?”

[gyuswhore]

Sit Down

anniversary event [closed]

kim mingyu x reader

prompt(s): getting aroused by the other's jealousy/obsession with them, "Could he/she/they do it like this?”, “you're sexy when you're angry”

word count: 5.1k

warnings: smut (MINORS DNI), fluff, potter!mingyu, they're married, reader discovers jealousy, oral (m.rec), penetration (unprotected!!!), kissing, breast play, clit stimulation, they're nasty as hell idk what to tell you

synopsis: It isn't your fault that you feel this way, especially as you watch her hands trace over your husband's own.

It isn't your fault that you can barely go on with your day with that cursed image replaying in your mind like a broken record.

And it certainly isn't your fault that you find yourself completely naked on your husband's lap while his clay-clad hands cannot touch you.

[a/n]: @highvern at the scene of the crime as always, we all have to thank her for her service as she betas for me and encourages my tomfoolery. enjoy this and let me know your thoughts in the rbs, comments or send me an ask!!!!!

masterlist

The grip you have on the file is proving to be detrimental to the cheap plastic covering. Not that you could blame yourself as you watch your husband through the window of his pottery studio, leaning over to help a student with her discombobulated salad bowl. 

It was a beautiful morning, the beach across from the boardwalk sparingly occupied with delighted tanners and swimmers, the low buzz of waves reaching the shore sending a calming draft across the area. Envious as you were of Mingyu and his impeccable real estate choices, especially right now as your heel clad feet ache to take a dip in the waters, you couldn’t help but feel all the more irked that this was the background the image inside the studio was sitting against. 

Through the large glass windows, Mingyu is pressing his foot over top of his very pretty student’s on the pedal to force the pottery wheel to spin, hands over her own as he guides her fingers to put pressure on the wet clay. A spiteful part of you pushes a thought in your mind, that your husband was attempting to fix a lost cause, especially when his student seemed quite insistent in her soft smiles and keeping her gaze on the fingers that cover her own, rather than actually fixing the abomination on the pottery wheel. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there by the time he’s done, straightening his back to turn his attention to the other students that make their attempts at their half done projects. Mingyu catches your figure through the window and immediately breaks into a big smile, clay covered hand coming to wave at you. 

Taking it as your cue to walk into the studio, you return neither his gorgeous smile or his occupied wave as you strut through the glass doors. Your husband meets you on the other side of the open space, hands now washed clean as he leans over to place a kiss on your cheek. 

“Hey, you,” he says in greeting, hands drying on a towel. 

All you can think about is if that salad bowl girl can see you, and you thank goodness you wore your nice top today. 

“Here.” You merely push the slightly crumpled file of documents to his chest, jaw set and lips tight. 

“Oh, thanks,” he comments as he grabs the papers pushed towards him, smile dropping a little at your abrupt attitude. “Is everything alright?” 

“Hm? ‘Course,” you answer, adjust the strap of your bag. “I have to get back to work. Be careful about your paperwork next time, I can’t keep making trips across town for this.”

You bite your tongue as soon as you say it, the words tumbling out before you can help it. Can’t keep making trips across town for this? Last time you checked, you were looking for passive excuses to make the trip to your husband’s studio just to see him during the day. 

“Oh.” His brows are furrowed, the frown apparent on his face. “I–I didn’t think you’d be too busy today, you said you’d be done early so—I—nevermind. I’m sorry I pulled you out of work for this, I’ll be careful next time.”

There’s a pang in your heart as you hear him apologise, immediately mad at yourself for going on and ruining his mood. What were you annoyed at? That he was doing his job? 

Your gaze lands behind him where most of his students are occupied with their projects, but just one whose eyes dart between you and Mingyu. 

Taking a step back, you’re about to walk out before you feel him grab your wrist. “D’you wanna have dinner at the new restaurant down the pier after work? We can watch the sunset too, haven’t done that in a while.”

You want to scream yes. Of course you want to watch a beach sunset with your husband. Of course you want to eat at the restaurant you’ve been waiting eagerly for with your husband. And you aren’t entirely sure if this reaction is simply because you’ve been stressed lately, but the sticky feeling is pushing you to make your claim in some way, somehow. 

Biting back another strangely snarky reply, you make an attempt to fix your stoic face and walk back to Mingyu. Leaning up, you kiss the corner of his mouth in what you hope is slightly reassuring. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Kicking off your heels is the first thing you do once you make it back to your desk, taking no time to punch the power on button on your computer. You pull a file from the stack next to you, one that sits at the bottom, with a harder than necessary yank. Bad idea, because as you scramble to stop the pile from tipping over entirely, you can only think of other ways your day could get worse. 

Before the worst of it can hit the floor, you find a second set of hands catching the strewing papers. 

“Thanks, Han,” you say as you attempt to reorganise the documents, taking the extra ones off his hands. 

“Have the laws of physics forsaken you? Or do you just like reorganising paperwork?” Hansol asks, sipping on something from the stupid horse mug Mingyu had made for him in light of his promotion. 

Huffing, you only haphazardly stuff the files to the corner to be done with it, opening the file you need as your computer finally boots up. “Don’t you have manager stuff to do?” 

“Being a manager means I can put off doing manager stuff,” he states. “Besides, I’m taking care of my peers, can you imagine the catastrophe that could’ve been if I didn’t swoop in to save you?”

“Papers on the floor? How catastrophic indeed,” you monotone as you click away at trying to find a particular excel sheet. 

“How was Mingyu?”

Stiffening, you want to curse Hansol at reminding you of the very thing you did not want to think of right now. 

“He was fine.”

“You were back earlier than usual, thought you would’ve had lunch with him.”

That was your plan, but clearly the universe had other ways for you to go about your day. Like thinking about an overly flirty student and her all too oblivious teacher. 

“He…he had a workshop today,” you simply comment. 

“Okay, Elsa, who shoved an ice cube up your ass?” You can hear the sneer in his voice, the judgmental stare. 

Groaning loudly, you can only slam your forehead onto your desk in an all too dramatic fashion. “Can you drop it? Please?”

“Ah,” he drags. “Trouble in paradise. Understood. I will be at my desk if you want to complain about your husband like Margaret from Finance.”

Margaret from Finance. The woman who’s entire catalogue of marital issues would be solved if she and her husband simply spoke to each other once in a while. Perhaps even held hands on occasion. 

You wince as you envision yourself becoming as stuck up and miserable as that, Hansol’s harmless comparison sending you into yet another spiral. It wasn’t that serious, this was all because your brain was stressed, horny and in love. The fact that your husband looked like how he did wasn’t really helping either. 

With a little more aggression than you usually would’ve done with, you attempt to skim through the files as quickly as humanly possible, flicking through the useless filler pages to get to the ones that actually required your attention. 

You send a passive aggressive email to Hansol entailing his job to keep things precise. 

Shoving forkfuls of salad into your mouth, your mouse clicks louder than anyone else in the area, having gone back to change your cursor speed about thrice since you turned your computer on. 

Your phone dings. Closing your eyes, you count to ten before turning to look at the illuminated screen beside you. 

[Gyu <3]: did u have lunch?

[Gyu <3]: i wanted us to get sum together but u zoomed off : (((

[Gyu <3]: im done with my classes for the day. The students were asking ab you earlier when u came in heh

[Gyu <3]: cant wait to see u tonight i looooooveee u <333

God, he makes it hard to stay mad at him. 

Snapping your head back to your monitor, you close your eyes once again as you question the war in your head and chest. Why were you mad at him? There was nothing to be mad about. Did you expect him to go about his day covered in plastic wrap and a neon ‘OFF LIMITS’ sign all day? The ring on his finger was supposed to do the job just fine. 

You sigh as you force yourself to text him back something that wasn’t entirely passive aggressive. Typing and erasing, and typing again and erasing again. A smiley face to seal it into something you were not feeling, and send. 

It’s late in the afternoon by the time you’re done, the sun less blaring as it pours through the office windows. You flick the last file shut, power off your computer and spring up to your feet, immediately gathering your things. Phone, ID, keys, and the last plastic file in your hands, you stalk towards Hansol’s desk and slam the papers next to his computer. 

He nearly chokes on his pocky stick as you spit out your final notes in rapid fire, not caring if you were indecipherable in the slightest. Hansol’s eyebrows remain in the air by the time you’re done, spinning on your heels and walking straight towards the elevators. 

“See you, Monday!” you finally hear him call out and you don’t turn to return his goodbye. Something that might have given you a strike but you could threaten him to take it off all the same. 

Besides, you had somewhere to be, and the idea churning in your brain didn’t seem like it wanted to wait. 

The sun is setting by the time you get to the beach boardwalk, climbing the steps to the line of establishments that overlook the significantly more occupied shore. Everything is perfect. Warm just the right amount, the sunlight forcing everything in its path into an incandescent glow. 

What you would’ve given for a nice lie on one of the beach chairs to release an entire day’s worth of tense muscles. But alas, you trudge straight down the boardwalk and walk the way to Mingyu’s studio. When you’re nearly there, you see the glass door of the studio open from a distance, immediately recognising the part timer leaving for the day. 

You cross paths as he walks towards you in the opposite direction, lighting up as he recognises you through your work attire. 

“Oh, hi!” Chan chirps, arm raised in a half wave. 

“Hi! Clocking out?” you ask as you stop to greet him. 

“Uh—yeah, Mingyu let me go early.” He’s grinning. 

“Good to hear. You enjoy the rest of your night, alright?” 

“Yeah–uh, you too!” he stutters once again as he continues to smile wide. You think nothing of it and continue your short walk to where the studio doors were. 

Coming round, you find the large glass door and walls have been blocked out with the blinds, the blaring CLOSED sign right at the entrance. 

You stand there in front of the door like a fool, taking a deep breath, eyes closed as you gain your bearings. Grabbing the shiny handle, you push the unlocked glass open. 

The bell at the top jingles, signalling a customer, and you watch your husband sitting at one of the turntables, clearly occupied. The studio is completely empty except for him, the whirr of the spinning table coming to a halt as he turns to tell whoever came in that they were closed for the day. 

It’s revolting. He’s wearing his usual black tee, stained with months of splattered clay, his hair tousled like he’d run his hands through it before he started his project. The sun seeps in through the neglected edges of the top of the glass walls, past the blinds that cover most of them, casting him in an unbelievable light. It’s revolting, he’s done nothing and it’s making your head reel; revolting. 

“We’re—oh, you’re early!” There it is, that stupid smile he can’t help but flash at every last person he sees, directed straight at you laced with nothing but love. 

Reaching behind you, you push the metal lock on the door to click it shut, locking the both of you inside, and the rest of the beach and boardwalk out. Right after, you begin to kick off your heels. 

“I already made the reservations for an hour from now, let me change and wash up so we can go to the beach till—”

“Sit down.”

He was halfway out of his seat as he was talking, ready to leave his half done work on the turntable to leave with you. Your words come out firm, a strange tone like you were giving him a command. 

It works, and the shock has him immediately falling back into his chair. The force pushes the chair away from the turn tables, now half facing you.  

Dropping your bag, you shuck your long coat off and leave it on the floor. Eyeing his hands, they’re covered in wet clay, suspended away from his body so as to not ruin his clothes more than they already are, speckled with dried clay and paint. 

He recovers quickly, confused as he watches you fiddle with the buttons on your bottoms, rising out of his chair once again. 

“What are you—” 

“I said,'' you grunt as you finally push your bottoms down so they hit the floor. “Sit down.” 

The shift in his face makes it obvious it has clicked in his head, staring at you as you walk towards him in just your blouse as the situation escalates faster than he can keep up with. 

“Right now? Can you at least let me—”

Through his blabbering you’ve reached him and swung a leg over his lap, seating yourself on his clothed thighs as he moves his hands away, making sure not to get clay all over your blouse. 

His hands may be occupied in a different sense, but you choose to busy yours in other ways. Taking his face in your hands, you lock your mouths in an open mouthed kiss, rendering him speechless. 

Taking no time to think, nor to let him think, you push your hips down to meet his own in a deep grind, panty clad pussy making contact with the rough of his jeans right over his bulge. The feeling is so sudden, spiking throughout your system as you hear him take a sharp inhale still pressed into your mouth.

That was you. That was you getting that reaction out of him, no matter how small it was. The thought has you gripping the back of his head, fingers making home in the short strands of his hair as you let go from the kiss. 

Wasting no time, you push his head back and stick your tongue out, licking a stripe from the base of his throat right up to his jaw. He shivers beneath you, and it only muddles your mind even more. 

You can feel his bulge beneath you growing larger and larger by the second, pressing into your inner thigh as his breathing grows exponentially heavier in your ear. Locking eyes with him, you trail your other hand down to graze over the front of his shirt, pressing into the bumps and ridges that lie beneath.

Reaching his buckle, you hook your finger underneath the gap and pull at the metal. As you let go, it snaps back into place with a resounding cling! Keeping the eye contact, you drift even lower, your fingers find the growing tent in his jeans as you cup the bulge. Moving your hands in the way you know he likes it, you curb your speed to drag out the feeling for him. 

“Fuck,” you hear him curse lowly. 

It’s becoming impossible for him to keep his composure, especially to keep his hands away from your body that sits on him. He gets close, fingers brushing the white of your blouse in a moment of confusion, instant brown on the surface as his wet, clay hands ruin your shirt. 

“If you really can’t keep your hands to yourself,” you say, halting your movements on his crotch. “I guess this’ll have to go too.”

Not bothering to undo all the buttons, you tug the first couple ones unfastened and pull your blouse over your head, throwing it somewhere behind his head. Quickly, you reach behind and unclasp your bra, flinging it away in the same general area. You’re now almost entirely naked while he remains clothed head to toe. 

Your nipples harden as they meet the air in the studio, Mingyu’s eyes set on your mounds as he takes them in. 

Before he has the opportunity to do anything, you slip off of your seat in his lap, knees slamming the floors in your haste as you kneel before him. Hands flying, you tug at the buckle of his belt, undoing it despite your hurried motions. 

“You’ve been off today, are you sure everything’s alright?” Mingyu asks from, still wide eyed as he watches helplessly as you yank his jeans enough to reveal the final layer of his underwear. It doesn’t take you long to take his entire length out of there too, needing him in front of you.

“Do not ask me about my feelings when I’m trying to fuck you.”

“What on earth–shit!”

You’ve taken his now fully hard length into your hand, licking a strip from the base of his cock up to the bulbous head. The tip of your tongue teases the head ever so lightly, and Mingyu watches as his head and your tongue match in their reds. He watches the way your tongue dips into the pooling white of his precum, pushing into his slit as the tip of your tongue wiggles slightly. 

The fact that he cannot touch only heightens the effects of your teasing, clayed hands balling into fists just to feel something on his fingertips. 

Soon, your lips have wrapped around the head of cock as you let it rub against the beginnings of the inside of your soft mouth. Letting go, you take him in again, this time running your tongue over his slit, feeling his hips twitch beneath you as you continue to take him in and out, only to take him back in again. 

In one motion, you sink your mouth lower onto his dick, feeling the head of his cock run against the roof of your mouth. Mingyu hisses audibly amidst his very loud and heavy breathing. 

When you feel him hit the beginnings of your throat, you pull back, bringing your hand to curve around the base to cover what you couldn’t fit, pumping him up and down as you continue to pull his member in and out of your mouth. 

He’s moaning loud, the echoes resonating off the walls as you hear your name slip from his mouth over, and over, and over again. It only encourages you as you move down deeper, his cock touching the back of your throat in more familiarity than before. 

Everything is wet; the spit and precum turning into a shiny gleam on his cock and on the lower half of your face, the heat between your legs that makes you feel oh so empty. Clenching around nothing, you resist the urge to bring a hand down to relieve yourself. 

“Are you ovulating or something, why are you suddenly…suddenly, fucking hell I don’t know.” 

Releasing him from your mouth with a loud pop, you rear your head to look up at him, the lower half of your face covered in a wet glisten. Your hand continues to pump him as you watch his face remain contorted in pleasure.

In a daze, you don’t realise what you’re saying as you blab. “Could she do it like this?”

“What?”

“Could she do it like this?” you repeat like a mantra, needing to hear his answer. “Could she make you feel like this?”

“What are you talking about?” It’s taking Mingyu every bit of his soul to form coherent words. 

In one swift motion, you’ve hoisted yourself back on your feet, nails digging into his thighs through his pants. 

Hovering over his lap, you take his shaft once again, but this time you push your panties aside with your hand and bring it close to your heat, brushing the head of his cock over your wet folds, using him to feel the pleasure that builds. 

“God, you’re so wet,” he blabs as he throws his head back at the feeling. “I wanna touch you, fuck I need to get this clay off, I need to touch you.”

He’s brought his mouth to latch onto your nipple, evoking a loud gasp from you as feel him circle your nub with his tongue before sucking. Letting go, he sticks his tongue out as his only weapon, flicking it repeatedly as you continue to rub his wet cock over your equally wet cunt. 

Lining him up with your entrance, you sink onto his head as you let out a loud moan, feeling the tip stretch you out in the familiar way you’ve been craving all day. It’s like your brain is buffering as you recover from the bout of pleasure, barely registering that he’s continued to assault your other nipple now. 

Your free hand comes to toy with your relieved tit, twisting your spit covered nipple between your fingers as his dick pushes further and further inside you. 

Fully sheathed, you pull your husband’s face away from your breast as you bring his lips to your own, kissing him deep as you clench around his hard cock.

“Don’t. Do that,” he hisses against your lips, hands suddenly closing in your waist, so close before he realises he can’t. “‘M gonna fucking come, I’m so serious.”

The news is enlightening, especially as it encourages you to lift your hips ever so slightly, and curl back back down in an initial thrust. Again, and again, and again till you’re moving your hips at a swift pace, striking down on his length as you both moan into each other's mouths.

The feeling is electrifying, and the borderline pornographic noises your husband is making is only making it all the more easier to gush around his member, to move your hips faster as you feel the knot in your abdomen tighten and loosen. 

“You feel amazing, so fucking good,” he grunts as he mouths the column of your throat. “My baby, my darling, my wife.”

And when the burn in your thighs becomes more than just a mental battle, your hips slowing despite the mind boggling feeling and the choked sobs that come out of you, you feel Mingyu’s hips lift from the chair he’d been trapped in, pushing into you instead. 

His still dirty hands have taken hold of the top of the back legs of the chair, helping himself push off his seat to thrust into you rapidly. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” he says. “Rub your clit for me.”

Who are you to deny him, one hand on one of his broad shoulders while the other flies down to the mess that’s becoming of your cunt. Rubbing two fingers over your clit, you throw your head back in a loud moan as you feel yourself beginning to close in.

Mingyu is watching the apex of your thighs; the way your fingers work against your swollen clit, the way his dick disappears inside you, a ring of sinful white foaming at the base of his cock. He twitches inside you, a clear indication that he was also close. 

Your breasts are a sight to behold, and the scene before him is enough to make him bust entirely. Bouncing tits that he cannot touch, perfectly red, puffed pussy he cannot touch, the beautiful curves and dips of your waist and thigh, barely illuminated by the setting sun, that he cannot touch. He curses the wretched idea to make a last minute thing on the turntable before you arrived, curses the fact that he should be able to feel all of you. 

He might lose his mind, and he does when your walls clamp down on him like a trap, your moans so loud he’s sure he’ll be hearing them in his ears for weeks. 

“G–Gyu, I’m cumming,” you whimper through the pure brain fog. 

Mingyu fucks you through your orgasm, finally letting himself release his own load into you when he simply can’t take it anymore, dick spasming as he shoots white hot cum into your hole. The added slick makes it easier to slip in and out faster as his orgasm holds out far longer than it usually does, both of your hips twitching like you’d been zapped as you come down from your highs. 

It’s become near impossible to hold up your own weight, slumping against his large frame as you unclench every pinched muscle and joint. Forehead on his shoulder, you take pleasure in the afterglow, breathing in his scent with your nose pressed into the sliver of skin that reveals past his shirt. Sweat, the earthy odour of clay, and the calm familiarity of him.

“I don’t know what I did to have you acting like this,” he breathes into your ear. “But whatever it is, I need to do it more often.”

Sluggishly, you lift your head to look at him. His head is leaned back on the chair, face glowing as you stare into the eyes you fell in love with so long ago. 

“You haven’t done anything,” you sigh. “It was…stupid.”

“That’s the worst thing you could say to me right now.”

You whine, rolling your neck. “What do you want me to tell you?”

He stares. “Who do I need to thank for creating this monster?”

It was a joke, clearly, but you couldn’t help but feel the little pool of pride swell within you anyway. 

“Salad bowl girl.”

“And I’m supposed to know what that means? Do you want a salad bowl? I can make you one.”

“No. The girl in your class this morning with that god awful salad bowl,” you huff. “It looked offensive, she was too busy burning holes into you.”

“Oh no,” he whispers, eyes wide, mouth turning it the beginnings of a hysterical laugh. “My pretty little wife is jealous.”

“If you’re gonna rub it in, I'm getting off.” You try to remove yourself from his lap, slipping his now soft member out of you. 

You’re stopped when you feel the two points of his elbows locking you at the waist, pushing you down. He’s grinning like a fool. “You’re sexy when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry—”

“Your hello was my dick in your mouth.”

“So you didn’t like it?”

“I’d fire myself in the kiln before I ever say that.” He locks his elbows harder, pulling you closer. “Besides, I think this means I’ve won.”

“Won what?”

“Like you’ve never noticed Chan looking at you like…like he’s got some puppy dog crush on you. I’ve won the battle of composure.” 

You guffaw, “What are you—stop it, he does not!”

He merely leans forward and kisses you, “I don’t blame him. My wife is the most gorgeous thing anyone could ever see.” 

Grabbing him by the elbows, you break free of his hold and get off of his lap, attempting to gather the clothes you’ve scattered across the studio. 

“Can you at least help me put my dick back inside my pants, these are my cleaner jeans!”

Snapping the elastic of your bra back on, pantied adjusted, you walk back to him. He’s looking at you with those stupid stars in his eyes and it makes it hard to focus on readjusting his jeans for him. 

Leaning down, you take in your hands his still wet cock, smothered in your spit and arousal, complete with his own release. You can’t help it when you dip further to take his head into your mouth, the groan coming from above you near automatic. 

“Oh, you’re evil.”

You grin as you wrap your mouth in a harsher suck, feeling him harden slowly, still quicker than you’d thought. Giving him a few more generous sucks, you run your tongue over his slit before moving back. 

He’s breathing heavily, leaning close as you pull his waistband up. “You know, they say you should lay down afterwards if you want to be successful. I think we might have to go again later on a real bed to do the trick.”

“You can stay horny, I’m getting dressed for some real food.” 

“I think we kinda need to be horny to do what we’re trying to do,” he lowtones, moving his face back and forth to meet your drifting eyes. 

You sigh once again, “Why can’t just getting off birth control be enough?”

“Are you not having fun?”

“I’m literally buttoning your pants for you, it was fun until now.”

Mingyu raises his hands in both surrender and pointed regard, the clay now dried and cracking over his hands and forearms. “I digress.”

 It annoys you that he’s right, so you lean in to give him a kiss as a distraction. It works. 

“It’s alright,” he smiles into your kiss. “This is the one thing I won’t mind breaking my back for.”

The giggle escapes you before you can help it, and you feel him kiss at your cheeks, placing one last one on the tip of your nose.

“Now, if my lovely wife will let me wash my hands…?”

“Go,” you chuckle.

“We should name our baby Salad Bowl in this honour.” He’s way at the handwash station by now, water running as he scrubs off all the dried up clay.

“So sad our baby will have to grow up without a father.”

 “I love you,” he yells. 

“I’ll be sure to tell our child.” 

“You’re insufferable,” he says, suddenly behind you as you pull on your blouse. Wet hands grasp your waist and you squeal at the feeling. 

“Mingyu!” 

“I love you,” he drags, spinning you around to face him. 

“I thought I was insufferable.”

Your husband groans, simply pulling you into him with his own two hands to kiss you. 

“I think we’re late for our reservation.”

“You’d better hurry then.” You eye his clay speckled shirt.

“Don’t miss me.” He turns around to find his cleaner shirt, all while you drift over to see the incomplete project still on his table.

A mug still clay-brown and half done, but one that looks suspiciously similar to your favourite one you broke last week. 

[cuntyji]

sorry for the angst i posted before idk what was wrong with me (i was grieving)

it had been way too long since gojo left. you knew he was busy with work, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. so when you heard the sound of your front door opening, you practically sprinted across the room.

“toru!” you called out, eyes lighting up as you saw that stupid white hair and those stupidly pretty eyes behind his even stupider sunglasses.

but just as you reached out, you smacked into something. something very solid. you recoiled, blinking in surprise.

oh. infinity. you should’ve known.

“uh-uh,” gojo wagged a finger, smirking. “password first.” you sighed dramatically, crossing your arms. “seriously?”

“do i look like i’m joking?”

“you always look like you’re joking.”

“that’s because i’m a funny guy.”

“you’re something, alright.”

“aw, babe, you’re sooo in love with me,” he cooed, placing a hand over his heart.

you rolled your eyes, but the way your lips twitched betrayed your amusement. still, you weren’t about to let him win that easily. so, instead of giving in, you decided to be difficult.

“fine. password is… gojo sucks.”

his smirk widened. “mm, wrong answer.”

you tried again. “password is… my boyfriend is a menace and i should’ve found someone else by now.”

“cold. so cold,” he said, feigning a dramatic shiver.

“password is…” you trailed off, tapping a finger to your chin, “gojo's a loser.” gojo gasped, pressing a hand to his chest like you’d physically wounded him. “okay, now you’re just being mean.”

“oh, now i’m being mean?”

he gave you a pointed look. “say the real password and i’ll think about forgiving you.”

you huffed but finally relented, stepping closer to his barrier with a playful smile. “i love you, toru.”

in an instant, infinity dropped. before you could blink, he had you wrapped up in the tightest hug ever, lifting you off the ground as he spun you around. “satoru!” you laughed, gripping onto his shoulders. “i missed you,” he groaned into your neck, refusing to let go. “so, so much.”

“you were gone for two weeks.”

“might as well have been forever.”

you rolled your eyes, but your heart melted at the way he clung to you, like he was never going to let go. you ruffled his hair, chuckling when he leaned into your touch. “next time, just let me hug you,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“hmm.” he grinned against your skin. “nah. making you say ‘i love you’ first is way more fun.”

[zstartrixxx]

𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝑨 𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹. (𝒀𝑶𝑼'𝑽𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑬𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑼𝑻𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑹)

²⁰⁰⁰ˢꜝʳᵉᵐᵐᶦᶜᵏ ˣ ᶠᵉᵐꜝʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: 𝐘𝐄𝐒 | 𝐍𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: On a night of apparent peace, you answer the door of the rented house to a stranger who swears up and down that he also leased the very same property... It's not what you're imagining. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: TO CELEBRATE OUR 200 BILLION FOLLOWERS IN STYLE (kskskskskksks now seriously: tkysm for the 200 followers, it's been a little over a month since i created this blog with face, heart and courage to post my fanfics without any grand expectations, so everything that's happening is fucked up :)

i’m humbly offering this fic that i affectionately call a 'FUN-FANFICTION'—funnier, silly and way more chaotic than my usual smut-heavy or over-the-top dramatic plots. think of it as your post-chill pill after a long day!!! to everyone reading this: thank you for your time, your love, and for being here. i adore you as much as i adore jackie's chars. <3 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +18 ADULT CONTENT. vampirism & gore (bite and blood), smut: oral (m!receive) and unproteced penetration, a lil' bite of monsterfucker; weirdo!remmick (he's a really freaky here idk :) lmk if i forget smt ;) 𝐖𝐂: 3.5k for whoever is going to read it, a great read! <3 likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖬𝖨𝖢𝖪 𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖸𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 | 𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳

"i wanna to watch the way, you creep across the night sky. you slowly enter, because you know my room; and then you crawl your knees off and then you shake my tomb..." (you've seen the butcher, deftones).

"A monster cannot be loved...

I always believed this with the same fervor as my faith in the saints and gods that surrounded me since childhood, when my parents took me on morning walks to the cemetery to honor those who came before me - from whom all wisdom originated. My great-grandmother's imposing marble mausoleum, with a winged guardian angel crushing a serpent's head, was my favorite place to be. That was a long time ago. My life changed when—"

A noise snapped you out of your trance.

You were surprised—you weren't expecting anyone at that house. You looked at your laptop clock: it was past nine in the evening. You raised your eyes to the window in front of you, facing the neighbor's house, the glass speckled with raindrops. The noise continued—someone was frantically twisting the doorknob, almost desperately, then stopping for a few seconds, making you think you were finally alone again—only for the noises to return, now more intense: fists pounding against the door, a deep voice in the background shouting "Hey!", completely breaking your concentration. You rolled your eyes, slamming your laptop shut, walking the short distance between the kitchen and living room, grabbing your fluffy white robe thrown over the back of the couch, to peer suspiciously through the peephole, trying to see who could be there at this hour on an ordinary Wednesday night in the middle of the rain.

A shadow passed by, obstructing your view. With no light on the porch, the faint glow from the quiet street only revealed outlines and shadows. With your palms flat against the door, you were startled by another violent shake, the deep, affected voice invading through the door crack:

"Hey! Open up! Let me in... Shit!"

You frowned, one hand on the metal doorknob and the other on the key, wondering if it was wise to open it for whoever was outside. You couldn't take another loud knock, long and insistent, turning the key in the lock with a click, twisting the knob, opening the door to find a drenched man just inches away from you. Holding onto the security chain that limited your field of vision, the man's face lit up with relief, arms crossed, raindrops falling from his brown almost black hair as he peered into the house with those dark blue eyes:

"Miss, sorry for the hour, but there must have been a mistake..."

"What mistake?" you asked, genuinely curious, looking him up and down: casual clothes, a black hoodie with the hood down, navy blue jeans, scuffed sneakers, and beside him a military-green camping backpack with what looked like a string instrument case leaning against it. You stared at him again, even more intrigued by the strange visitor, who was rubbing his hands together:

"Look, I don't want to sound weird or anything, miss, but this must be a mix-up! I rented this place for a few days to stay for a couple weeks, but when I got here, I couldn't find the key anywhere and, well... Now seeing you here, I think we've got a problem."

"Are you sure it's this house?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. He widened his eyes, nodding - pulling a worn leather wallet from his pants pocket, fishing out a crumpled piece of paper from between a wad of crumpled bills, extending his slightly trembling hand to you, likely from the cold. Behind him, the rain intensified, splashing onto the poor guy and onto you; the stranger pulled up his hood, casting his striking features into noisy darkness. You shrugged, taking the paper between your fingers, stepping back to smooth it out and read its contents under the indoor light, aloud:

"Blah-blah-blah... Temporary tenant Remmick... Blah-blah-blah, Zero-Six Street... Hmm, authorized stay from today until... Granted permission to occupy hereby..." You looked up at him, startled. The stranger—or rather, Remmick—raised his eyebrows at you:

"Believe me now?"

"Okay, fine... But what do we do?"

"Look, I don't want to be pessimistic, but this town is one of those weird ones where taxis only run at certain times and specific places, and the cabbie who dropped me off said I either walk back or find somewhere to stay... And with this rain, it'd be pretty shitty to leave me out here."

"Are you really sure you want to come in?"; Your voice came out dark, a glint passing through your eyes. An enigmatic little smile appeared at the corner of the man's lips as he lowered his hood again, putting on a pleading expression with puppy-dog eyes:

"Just one night, miss. Just so I don't catch a cold. One night—" He raised an index finger, flashing a convincing little smile: "—one night, and I promise I'll be a ghost to you. You won't even notice I'm here."

Your eyes shifted from him to the unrelenting rain behind him.

You glanced over your shoulder, where that empty house seemed to invite you to take in this poor guy, who wasn't to blame for his bad luck. In the end, you'd both come out ahead, right?

Convinced, you nodded affirmatively, unlatching the chain with a click. Before Remmick could enter, you stopped him once more, a hand extended, fingertips lightly brushing his chest, your eyes piercing into his, which gleamed with a hot-blue intensity as they locked onto you:

"Are you absolutely sure you want to come in?"

"Absolutely, miss. Don't ask me twice..." He shrugged as he stepped past you, carrying his things inside. Before closing the door, you took one last look at that street of houses with only a few lights on, a desolate place almost lost in that small town.

The night would be long.

Remmick didn't shut up for a single second. But it didn't bother you at all—quite the opposite. You were genuinely interested in what he had to say, the stories about failed gigs—while refilling another mug of cheap wine you'd found in the fridge—he told you about the time the band's car broke down in the middle of the highway:

"...I swear to God! There I was with the guys when boom!, the tire blew. We got out, in the middle of absolute nowhere, on one of those dirt roads connecting Nevada to California, you know? And the worst part..." He started laughing at the memory, the two of you sitting on the three-seater couch in the living room, the tube TV tuned to MTV, where nu-metal videos played. Remmick had showered, radiating warmth that smelled like chamomile and mint shampoo. He wore a simple black t-shirt that revealed a tattoo on his right inner bicep, gray sweatpants, barefoot—completely at ease, as if you were old friends reuniting after time apart. 

He sipped his wine. You laughed:

"And the worst part was what?" Sitting beside him, you'd taken advantage of his shower time to change into your pajamas: an oversized band t-shirt, black cotton shorts, the robe still covering the more exposed areas. Even so, every now and then you caught a pair of ocean-blue eyes glancing at you, trying to catch a glimpse of skin through the robe's opening or your slightest movement. Remmick wiped a trickle of wine from his chin:

"The worst part was that we stopped right in front of one of those roadside motels. But not just any motel—one of those for couples, you know? And there must've been an orgy or something going on, because it was fucking awkward..."

You burst out laughing, trying to picture the scene.

Remmick joined in, his laugh open and booming, full-bodied. He was slightly drunk and an open book: in less than two music videos and two mugs of wine, he'd already told you why he was here, about trying to go on the road with his little band, but his day job got in the way—so he had to choose between the band or work. And there he was, about to play a series of shows that, according to him, would "change his whole career." He was excited, hopeful, his eyes gleaming as streaks of blood-yellow light reflected in his irises, his teeth glowing under the TV's anise-colored light during pauses, his black hair still shiny with dampness. He was too human to seem like a weirdo... Even if some of his stories sounded far-fetched.

Remmick finished shaking his shoulders, his laughter fading as he turned back to the TV, where the opening chords of Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away) began, Chino Moreno's face flashing on screen as the guitar riff exploded. Remmick started nodding his head slightly, humming along to the first lines. You smiled, half-admiring his spontaneity.

"Is this the kind of music you guys play?" you asked, drawing his attention back to you. Remmick grinned proudly, his eyes never losing their sparkle. He downed the rest of his wine in one gulp, setting the mug on the wooden coffee table cluttered with magazines and knickknacks:

"If I weren't so obvious and were more mysterious, it'd be cooler, huh...?"

"What do you mean?" You narrowed your eyes, mimicking his gesture, setting your own mug aside. Remmick glanced at it, commenting offhand:

"You haven't even touched your wine properly—scared of me?" He laughed, half-sarcastic, leaning back into the couch, his gaze heavy-lidded as you turned more toward him, knees pressed together, pointed in his direction. Your eyes traced the lines of his body—not muscular but defined, a subtle bulge between his legs making your throat go dry... Desire.

Remmick was fucking hot, and you were lucky this misfortune had happened with him.

His eyes were penetrating, and in that sepia light between pale yellow and steely blue, they were beautiful. His face was handsome, well-defined and masculine, his hair looked so soft—not to mention that prominent nose, large and slightly upturned, those full, kissable lips, and hands that, if they knew how to play an instrument, your mind concluded, would know how to touch anyone like no one else. And that desire burned through you—you were starved... for touch.

The man was still focused on the frenetic music, the singer's voice gently penetrating your ears. You answered him, your eyes never leaving his:

"It's not fear, it's just... thirst for something else."

"What... something?" he asked, his breath hitching slightly, watching you with curiosity. You pressed your lips together in a smile, stretching as you turned back to the TV, avoiding his gaze:

"A little something I'm not sure I should mention..." You played coy, wanting to provoke him. Remmick slowly adjusted himself on the couch, caught between curiosity and challenge, his lazy grin widening as he stared at you in that half-light from the kitchen lamp mixing with the TV's glow, replying in a teasing tone:

"You're a bold one, you know...? Don't even know me, don't know if I'm a potential serial killer." You laughed, disbelieving. Biting your lip, you shook your head:

"No, Remmick, I'm not afraid of you at all."

"Well, you should be!" he exclaimed, jumping up to stretch, yawning as he checked the digital clock in the kitchen: "Jesus, it's past midnight. Better hit the sack..." He shot you a look full of expectation: "...you too, 'I'm-Not-Afraid-Of-You-Remmick'!" He laughed mockingly, but with an air of suggestion: "Maybe I'll leave my door open... just in case I need something."

"Fine, Mr... 'You-Should-Be-Afraid-Of-Me'—" You made a face, matching his look, your smile widening further: "—maybe I'll come running under your covers, hide from the Boogeyman."

"Or from me..." He shrugged, already heading for the stairs leading to the bedrooms. You snorted a laugh, watching the next music video start. You threw a dangerous glance at the man already climbing the stairs, step by step, his eyes gleaming as his smile seemed to drip for you.

Calling you.

You looked away, keeping your eyes on the TV, pulsing and vibrating with the possibilities of this surprisingly eventful night. He flirted in a weird little way that got to you more than it should have.

Remmick did wait for you, awake in that narrow guest bed, between the closed window's sound of dripping rain and the noise of his own thoughts, hands resting on his chest as he lay in the dark room, thinking of you. Only a sliver of harsh yellow light came from the hallway through the slightly ajar door. Then he heard your footsteps, heavy, coming up the stairs—you'd taken about an hour to finally come up, whatever you'd been doing downstairs in complete silence—or maybe his thoughts were just too loud for him to notice.

Slowly, you stopped at his door, opening it with a soft creak that made him smirk, a small smile appearing on his lips as the warm light entered with you, leaving you both in that half-light where anything could be hidden. But he could still see your face, soft and relaxed, the way you wet your lips and shed your robe, revealing yourself completely naked to him. Remmick shuddered, his mouth watering with desire, already sitting up in bed as you slowly crawled toward him, across the sheets, the mattress springs squeaking, his heavy breathing louder than the rain outside. Then your voice came out, feline:

"You really waited for me, hmm? Really left your invitation open for me to come into your room..." You stopped in front of him, sitting on his knee, your hands beginning to trail up his shins to his knees. Remmick closed his eyes, lethargic, the wine's effect mixing with the arousal growing inside him. You laughed, climbing higher until you were face-to-face with him:

"Remmick, Remmick... What a pleasure to have you as my guest tonight!" you teased, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, his hands touching your skin, sending a shiver through him at the temperature contrast—maybe because you were naked in the cool air while he was in that furnace of a room—parting his lips and closing his eyes, asking for a kiss. But you didn't give him what he wanted. Instead, you licked him, laughing at the face he made, dragging yourself down his torso until you were between his legs:

"Will you let me suck you, Remmy?" The nickname came out casual, intimate, playful. The man didn't hesitate, nodding immediately. With a quick move, you were off the bed, pulling him toward you, kneeling, your sharp nails scratching at the waistband of his sweatpants, stripping him of both pants and white underwear, already wet with pre-cum, taking his soft, warm cock in your hands.

Never breaking eye contact, he eagerly pulled off his shirt in one motion, revealing a cross tattoo on the right side of his waist—a detail that made you even wetter—and you started low, sucking his balls with delight, watching him melt and moan, his hands gripping the mattress tightly as you licked from the base to the red, wet tip, begging for attention, thick and relatively large, stopping right at the head to ask:

"Is this how you like it, Remmy?" Then you took just the glans into your mouth, hearing him gasp heavily, your tongue swirling around it in circles. Remmick almost laughed from pleasure, nodding, one hand already buried in your hair guiding your movements, almost fucking your mouth with thrusts, which you opened and let him enjoy—because his pleasure was yours.

Laughing after he thrust deep, making you gag slightly, pulling back completely soaked and drooling over his cock, he said breathlessly:

"Fuck, woman, like this I'm gonna come too soon... What a magical little mouth!" He caressed your face with one hand as you stood up, pushing him back onto the bed:

"That's because you haven't seen anything yet, Remmy. Haven't seen anything."

He laughed, flirtatious, his hands already claiming your thighs as you, unhurried, positioned yourself over him, never breaking eye contact—Remmick was being very well served, groaning roughly:

"So fucking wet for me, holy shit," his face twisting in pleasure, eyebrows knitting together, lips parting in a broken smile, prominent canines showing. You laughed, grinding aggressively on top of him, grabbing his hands and pinning him down. He groaned beneath you: "So tight, shit, if you keep riding my cock like this I'm gonna come—"

"Then come, Remmy—" Desire was blinding you, your dominant hand going to his throat, watching his Adam's apple rise and fall, his eyes closed, breathing fast, a trail of saliva escaping the corner of his lips.

"Fuck..." Roughly, he thrust up into your pussy. You bent over him, loosening your grip slightly, licking his neck, whispering suggestively:

"Can I suck you here, Remmy?"

"Shit, yes, do whatever you want to me... Just let me come..." he begged, his hands now free from your grip holding your waist, his mouth latching onto the exposed side of your neck, yours doing the same where the arteries pulsed. Remmick felt all his lust spill into harsh thrusts into your pussy, long spurts, while his teeth bit into you.

And yours did the same.

You moaned, strangled by pain and pleasure, blood welling from the bite, flooding your mouth; Remmick let out a guttural cry, eyes closed, feeling that burning frenzy of orgasm, his mouth slack, tasting something... metallic, rancid-sweet, then back to the pungent tang of copper. When he opened his eyes, you were above him, your hands pinning his shoulders to the mattress, your mouth full of blood. Horror crossed his face as the burning intensified, throbbing.

It felt like blades plunging into his skin, deep, lacerating, metallic. Blood, the nauseating smell of it, sticky, and panic filling him as he thrashed beneath you—still inside you—as you laughed, mouth dripping with his blood, staining him further.

"What the fuck!? What kind of monster are you!?" he managed to choke out, trying to break free from your grip, which was stronger than his. When he looked at you again, in that yellow-blue light, the plastic warmth from the hallway mixing with the night's darkness, the rain outside growing heavier, seeming to drown out his screams:

"Well, I did ask you twice if you wanted to come in—" you whispered, putting on an innocent face, bending over his chewed jugular, which gushed bright red blood onto the white sheets and his pale skin, licking up that delicious liquor, spiced with his fear and pleasure: "—and twice you said you did. And you let me suck you, Remmy... Suck you! Oh, poor little thing..." You straightened up again as his eyes lost focus, dull at the edges, lips darkening, his convulsions becoming more random and spaced out.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

Remmick was dying as beautifully as he came, that much was certain. His flavor was rich and exquisite on your palate, sharpened by the fear that had shocked him, diluted in intense orgasm. Simply divine.

Monster.

Could a monster be worthy of love?

"Can a monster be loved?" The question was almost rhetorical.

The unhappy little laugh came from deep in your throat, hoarse and almost dry. In the background, a song played on the convertible's radio, wind whipping across your cold faces, sunglasses on despite the night, sharp smiles, your claw-like nails tapping the car door as Remmick drove, humming along to the lyrics:

"Pleased to meet you... Hope you guess my name, oh, yeah! But what's puzzling you... Is the nature of my game, oh, yeah!" He glanced at you over his sunglasses, his blue eyes glinting in that scarlet light just for you. He wore a leather jacket, corpse-pale hands on the wheel, a sly smile, while you admired the creature you'd created that night full of surprises. Remmick began to speak, his voice calm, his expression contemplative:

"Once, I was seduced by a monster, who punished me severely with the pain of death... But after taking what she craved—my blood and my pleasure—she offered me the greatest gift anyone could accept in this miserable life. Even if the hatred for death poorly announced catches up with us, darling, yes, I believe we can love... In our own way. We're punished by our desires, but whatever... In the end, it was worth giving you what you wanted."

"Blood?" you guessed, throwing a look past him, across that huge bridge full of cars, your suitcases and his guitar case in the backseat. Remmick gave a sly, self-satisfied smile, carefully adjusting his leather jacket sleeves, his hair blowing in the wind, exuding sex and bloody fury on this night that, for the two of you, was only beginning:

"No."

He stated, giving you a look, finally removing his sunglasses, revealing himself to you once more, fangs inviting:

"Eternity with a companion."

In the background, the radio's volume gradually rose...

"Tell me, baby, what's my name? Tell me, honey, can you guess my name?"

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: as you've probably noticed, i got drunk on references to the ultimate classics—interview with the vampire—which is why this fic plays fast and loose with the movie's canon. that said: I LOVED writing this because there's something delicious about imagining a human, fragile remmick who—poor bastard—gets wrecked by his own desires.