#Not even my comfort game can heal me

[narbevoguel]

[aeroknot]

whenever my dad would check in on my dungeons & dragons campaign he would listen with a smile and then unironically say “i think it needs more dragons”

well, dad: we met and made friends with a dragon last session, and he owes us a favor now, so we’ll probably see him again. i miss you. i hope it makes you happy.

[rosicheeks]

Omg hii!! 💜

I need to thank you glows been so much fun! I’ve basically been playing since you sent the recommendation, and now I’m gonna be home sick for a few days (finally got Covid…oops)

If you haven’t played it yet you should try cozy grove! It’s my other fav game rn but it’s more paced so you sometimes have to wait for the next day!

Anyways, thanks again, and lemme know if you end up trying cozy grove 🥰🥰🥰 hope you have a fantastic week!!

[irndad]

a/n: continuation to this, but you don't necessarily have to read it first! all you need to know is reader got shot protecting maeve, and both survived. spencer has been in love with her the entire time.

“Have you called Maeve?” 

She asks it on a beautiful, rainy day, about five weeks after the event in question. She’s a little too nonchalant about the whole thing, has been from the start- Spencer’s been correcting for that. He’s been treating her like something fragile, a beautiful glass figure that was almost shattered. This is something he knows irritates her, but how can he not?

He tries not to think of it, but the memory of her in a hospital bed, bandages over her abdomen, the wooziness of giving her blood. He can’t help his caution, now. People assume, quite often that Spencer was unaware of the fact he’s in love with his best friend. Like it was something he didn’t know, didn’t have to live with. 

Spencer can be oblivious about a lot of things, but being in love with the person he’s shared a desk with for 4 years is not among them. 

“No,” he replies, looking up at her as she sits down, handing him the cup of tea she made him. They’re at his apartment. She’s been cleared for desk work, but Spencer had been nervous about the whole thing. They’ve fallen into a rhythm of her going to his apartment after work, and for how determined he is to tell her how he feels, he’s not really able to pluck up the courage.

“Spence,” she sighs, “You have to call her.”

“I did! When it happened, I called her. We talked. We just don’t talk anymore.”

She furrows her brow in an adorable way, and Spencer’s heart threatens to fall out of his chest. He’s been playing a game of she loves me, she loves me not in his mind for the. Past few weeks. 

Took a bullet to see me happy. She loves me. 

She stirs her ceramic spoon, the clink of it against the mug fills the silence. She bites her lip, clearly disappointed with his response. 

Wants me to call my not but kind-of ex. She loves me not.

She’s wearing this blue floral dress, and he is trying not to stare at where the fabric has ridden up, kissing the skin above her knee. She’s got lipstick on, and he tries not to read into how she’s sitting so close to him. Except he is kind of reading into it. 

Before she got hurt, he had tried to shove this feeling down- tried to ignore the swoop of his stomach when she walked by, or when she gave him a compliment, or when she let him do a card trick for her. He tried to shove down how much he fucking hated it the one time she had a date pick her up at the office. 

She’s just easy to be in love with. She writes little smiley faces on post-it notes and leaves them on his desk, and when the whole Emily thing had gone down, she’d spent weeks taking care of him through her own grief. 

She’s sitting on his couch. Five weeks ago, she was half-dead in a hospital bed, and now she is on his couch, in a beautiful dress after returning from the job they both share. 

He does not want to call Maeve. 

The comfortable silence turns tense as the episode of Doctor Who plays in the background, and he’s still a little gunshy- she’s breathing, she’s okay. He feels creepy, but he lets his eyes close for a moment so he can hear the sound of her breath, to know it’s still there.

“Spencer,” she says, after she pauses the show, and he turns fully to face her, “I am okay.” She grabs his hand, and he takes a couple of seconds to process the touch as she places it over her own wrist. ‘I am fine. They fixed me up. You are allowed to stop worrying.”

Her tone is even, but intentional. She’s giving him permission, as if his presence is some guilt-driven notion that’s stopping him from getting what he really wants. It’s true, though, that he doesn’t always believe she’s okay. Notices how she’ll wince when she bends a certain way, and the scar by her eyebrow is healing well, but he still searches for it in her face.

He savors the feeling of the soft skin of her wrist under his touch, running his fingers over the junction of her hand and wrist with delicate affection. How she hasn’t figured out he’s in love with her is anyone’s guess. 

He wonders what it would feel like to kiss her there.

“I know I can call her,” he manages to say back, meeting her warm gaze in a maybe too honestly in love glance, “I’m where I want to be.”

“Before I got hurt, you picked out an outfit, you asked for advice on dating, Spencer. You did that. I just-“ she sighs, moving her hand from his grasp and pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, “The piece of you that wanted that is obviously still there. You don’t have to spend a Friday night with me in your apartment because you feel guilty that I got shot.”

“You’re not here because I’m guilty-“

“Then why-“

“You’re in my apartment right now because I am in love with you, and if you’re out of my sight for more than twelve hours than it’s like I forget that you’re still alive. That you didn’t get yourself killed before I ever got the chance to actually tell you.”

He’s not yelling. Well, he’s kind of yelling. Talking loudly, anyway. Her eyes widened and he’s hyperaware of how close she already was, is. She smells like lilies and her, and it’s all so present. She could have died. She might have never heard it. 

She’s heard it now, he supposes. All the weeks of agonizing, notebooks he’s managed to fill in the last few weeks trying to figure out a way to say it to her that could charm her into loving him back- all gone. He’s told her, now. 

All the cards are in her hands.

Her doe eyes almost sparkle at him, her head tipped to the side in a fond, loving gesture, and he wants to kiss her, wants to feel her faded-lipstick pout against his mouth. He wants his I love you to turn into I can have this. 

“Spence,” her voice is a trembling, insecure thing. One half of his mind wants to rage at him- there’s no way she’s going to tell him she loves him back, that someone like her could ever want someone like him. But the other half, one that seems dangerously like hope- she took a bullet for him. She didn’t even think twice. “You’re in love with me?”

It’s like it’s not even him who replies. Some bitter thing takes over his voice and speaks for him. 

“How could I not be? It’s you.”

It’s then he notices, that oh, she’s tearing up. 

A beat passes, and Spencer sucks in a deep breath before rambling an absurd amount. 

“You don’t have to- We can still be friends, obviously, you know that. But we can, I just- I needed to tell you because when you were in that hospital bed and you’d never heard me say it, I just couldn’t live with you never knowing. But now you do, and you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay-“

He doesn’t get to keep talking, because she grabs him by the collar of his shirt and kisses him. She’s warm and beautiful and her hair brushes up against his cheek and there’s something in him that takes over when he moves to  cradle her head between his hands, both desperate to keep her in his grasp and savor the moments he gets to hold her. She tastes like cherry chapstick and something completely undefinable. 

When she pulls away after a moment that feels entirely too short, heavy lidded eyes meeting his in affection, and Spencer thinks he’d like to do that for the rest of his life. 

“I love you too,” she says back, and he commits it to memory, the sound of her so-sweet voice wrapping around the words he’s fantasized about hearing since the first time she smiled at his joke about philosophy. “I’ve loved you a really, really long time, Spence. I just thought I lost my chance, you know with- with everything. I never really thought I had one.”

He can’t even speak, really. He doesn’t think he can wrap his head around the fact that she felt like he wouldn’t like her back. 

It doesn’t feel like a concern, now, when he leans in to kiss her again. She smiles into him, and Spencer memorizes the feel of her waist encircled in his arms, when he realizes that this is the heart he is able to hold without limits. 

She loves me too, he thinks. She is safe, she is okay, and she loves me back. 

On the following Monday, when Morgan sees the two of them with linked hands before Hotch gets to the office, he doesn’t say anything. 

He does hand Emily 20 dollars, though. 

[yawn-emoji]

[leilanihours]

# HAND UNDER MY SWEATSHIRT, BABY, KISS IT BETTER // YOU DREW STARS AROUND MY SCARS

pairing: paige bueckers x soccer player!reader

word count: 631

warnings: descriptions of blood, cuts, that kinda thing

summary: paige takes care of you after you get hurt during practice.

⭑ from lani: this was originally written for...someone else...but i changed it bc well...anyways! 🎀 not proofread either cus im not home oops

"I GOT HER, coach," your girlfriend says as she puts a protective arm around your waist. you lean on paige with your arm resting on her shoulders, steps staggered as you try not to apply pressure to your right leg.

a burning pain shot up through your body with every heavy step you took, the gaping cuts overwhelming your body with discomfort.

you had just played in a nasty scrimmage during practice, taking a particularly rough fall on the field in the process. one of your teammates assigned to guard you in the drill had been a little too rough, resulting in the blades of grass digging into your skin and cuts to scatter across your knee.

"let me know if i'm hurting you, alright?" paige says with a hushed voice.

she was currently disinfecting one of your many cuts with delicate hands, cautious not to press too hard on certain areas.

you were grateful for paige’s presence at your practices. even if she was just sitting in the stands watching or making small talk with your coaches, her simply showing up in her little free time meant the world to you.

"ima kill that girl," she whispers to break the silence.

"please don't."

"she ain't even say sorry, though. that's crazy to me."

"it's part of the game, p, it's okay," you laugh, "she's still my teammate."

"nah, i know, but she just walked away like nothing happened. like, she still coulda apologized,” she finishes, covering the cut skin with bandages.

"my guard dog," you joke, stroking her cheek as she rises from her position to face you directly.

her hands rest on your thighs as you sit on top of one of the bathroom counters in the girls' locker room.

her fingers lovingly stroke the skin under your now untucked shirt, as if they had the power to heal you in an instant. and in that moment, you believed that they did. the way they slowly traced tiny stars on your waist distracts you from the burning sensation cursing your skin.

on top of that, the way she's looking at you with undertones of frustration and concern makes you feel utterly safe and protected. that's just how paige was. she would truly go to war for you, and she never had any problem showing it.

"how you feelin', ma?"

"better. it didn't hurt that much to begin with, though."

"damn, we've been together how long and you still think you can lie to me?" she smirks, tilting her head.

"i swear i'm not lying," you giggle as she begins to slowly kiss the nape of your neck.

both of your voices are hushed and delicate, as if any raised sounds would disrupt the peace that had become a shield against your shared world.

you close your eyes in relaxation, the whole scene providing you with a complete sense of comfort despite the circumstances that brought you here. as long as you were with paige, you would feel at home - because she was your home.

"let's get you some rest, yeah?" she whispers, placing a final kiss to your jaw.

you nod as she helps you down from your place next to the sink. you slowly make your way over to the your locker to get your belongings, laughing and shaking your head when your girlfriend rushes forward before you can even attempt to haul your own bags.

and somehow, despite paige looking like a hotel bell boy with the amount of stuff she's carrying, she still manages to rest a hand on your waist supportively.

it was clear to you, and pretty much anyone with eyeballs, that paige would quite literally do anything for you - no questions asked. and, of course, you would undoubtedly do the same for her.

[romanarose]

Scars

Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller x pale!fem!reader (see immersivity warnings)

Join my taglist : Masterlist

Summary: You and Joel are taking things slow, really slow. You find that he's easy to open up to about your depression, but you find it's hard to tell him the full extent.

Warnings: Talk of depression and self harm, self harm scars, descriptions of said scars (healed, not bleeding or recent) piv sex, oral f!recieving. Comfort sex. first time between couple, not loss of virginity.

Immersivity: Reader is fem, no specified age. This is a fic i started last year when i was doing very, very poorly and relapsing. I wanted to write something for myself. I usually really try to make things as inclusive as I can but the descriptions of scars are detailed and they are detailed to my skin, which is pale. I'm sorry, but I wanted to write this for myself. I support people writing fics specific to themselves, their skin tone, their hair type, their wieght etc, as long as it's labled right. @fandxmslxt69 said i could do it and said if anyone has a problem, come to her <3

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

"And the scars remind us that the past is real" Scars, Papa Roach

Joel hadn’t minded when you said you wanted to take things slow. He didn’t mind one bit. Being a dad of a preteen , albeit an easy one, didn’t leave him with much opportunity to move fast. He was busy. In fact, he hadn’t really intended to date at all, at least until Sarah was in college if that… but you had sparkled your way into his life accidentally, and he was trying his best to balance it all. You were understanding, patient, you didn't get mad if he had to rearrange plans or cancel because something with Sarah or work came up, and he thought things were going well. You were beautiful, fun, and the few times you’d briefly met Sarah, she seemed to like you. That was a necessity. Joel absolutely refuses to date someone that made Sarah unhappy, but Sarah had made a few references to him and dating before he met you anyway, so she seemed okay with it. It wasn’t like he had a relationship with her mom, as much as Joel had tried to foster something… her mom hadn’t been interested.

Tommy was a lifesaver. When he noticed Joel had been struggling, Tommy sat him down and asked to help him. Tommy asked Joel. 

“You deserve a life.” Tommy had insisted.

“Sarah is my life.”

“Joel, you deserve m-”

“Don’t say I deserve more, Tommy. Sarah is enough. I don’t need more.”

Tommy sighed. “I know, brother, but can I at least help you out a bit? Give you a little free time to see that pretty girl of yours?”

Tommy had only met you once, but he liked you too. Joel acquiesced, letting Tommy take care of taking her to soccer practices (but he would NOT miss a game). This did end up being a big help and Joel had more and more time to see you… and when Tommy took Sarah out for a movie or she had plans with friends, he found more and more time alone in the evening with you.

Joel didn’t want to take his hands off your body the first time you and him made out on his couch, but when his hand went to feel up your breasts, you noticeably tensed. Fearing he overstepped, Joel quickly pulled back and apologized. Both of you nervous messes, it took a moment before you and Joel got full sentences out.

“Shit, I’m sorry-”

“No no it’s okay!”

“I just thought-”

“And I want too-!”

“No, I didn’t mean for anything tonight-”

“Oh, uh, right-”

“Not that I don’t want to!”

“Me too!”

Eventually, Joel clarified he was just enjoying feeling you, he didn’t want you to feel pressured into anything ‘like that’, and you explained he can touch you like that, you just wanted to wait a little bit… You sat back, nervous, but figured now was as good a time as any. 

“Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about, if we could…” You shuffle on the couch.

Joel looks nervous, but open. He wants to know you, good and bad, and if something was bothering you, he wanted to know. “Of course, I’m all ears.”

You take a deep breath. “Do you know what depression is?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I have an aunt with it but we don’t really talk about it much… Sometimes Sarah’s school sends her home with pamphlets… so I know a little, I guess.” That’s not what he was expecting.

“Well… I have it.”

“Oh.” He says again, dumbly. “I'm sorry. Or… am I not supposed to say that?”

You can’t help laughing a little. He was sweet, and he was trying. “It’s okay, Joel, and thank you. Well, about 6 months ago I started therapy and started taking an antidepressant, and things have been a lot better but… I need you to understand, things can get really dark for me sometimes and… it can be a lot for other people to deal with. I promise, it’s nothing dangerous to others!” You quickly add when you see his confused face. “It’s just, sometimes I’m not myself… and, if that’s not something you can handle, I want you to know that’s okay.”

Joel sat there for a moment, looking at you. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what depression was… but in the South, it wasn’t like they talked about that sort of thing much. Still, he liked you… he liked you a lot, actually, and he wanted to be there to support you. He couldn’t just run away from difficult times, not when he had a preteen. It would mean he wasn’t fit to be there for Sarah…

“I wanna be there for you.” Joel assured you, to your growing smile. “I may not know how to, but I wanna try my best.”

You smile more, and scoot up next to him, in turn Joel lays an arm around you. “Thank you, Joel”

Still, you were nervous… because Joel hasn’t seen you without sleeves… nonetheless without clothes. 

*

In the end, it was almost 4 months before you had sex. Physically, you’d taken things slow, but emotionally you hadn’t at all. You were in love, and you’d both told each other as much. Tommy had given Joel shit for committing to a girlfriend without having sex, but Joel had told Tommy he could talk after he got an actual girlfriend, not hookups. Still, Tommy wanted to provide a good opportunity for Joel to fuck you the way Joel would want to. Sappy and romantic. So, when Sarah’s favorite band Halican Drops was coming to Housten, Tommy offered to pay for them to go and for a hotel. 

Joel had tried to protest, saying it was too expensive, saying he wasn’t sure he wanted Sarah that far away, and that he should just come, but Tommy smacked him on the head.

“Dumbass, I’m giving you a night with your girlfriend!”

When Tommy promised not to have a single drop of alcohol, text every hour, not let her stand by any men, call when they leave the venue and get to the hotel ETC, Joel allowed it to happen. Sarah was ECSTATIC, being the first concert she’d ever been to, and although a teeny bopper band wasn’t exactly on Tommy’s dream list, he was excited to be a cool uncle. Also, Joel needed to get laid. He was getting cranky at work.

The night itself was a lot of fun. Joel took you to a nice restaurant, and after you came back to his place and changed into more comfortable clothes, you’d spent the night watching American Idol. Joel was very critical.

As the night progressed, your nerves grew as you knew where the natural progression of the night would take you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to fuck Joel; you really, really wanted to. And you weren’t nervous about him. You knew Joel would stop if you said stop. What you were nervous about was your body. Joel looked good, but he had a bit of a stomach himself so you didn’t think he’d be worried about your shape or small imperfections… Joel was a gentle soul, kind, loving. Yeah, that wasn’t the worry. The worry had been on your skin.

In the middle of winter, you’d managed to not show much skin around him, with jackets and long sleeves and pants… but it was inevitable. Joel had been a wonderful support to you these 4 months, holding your hand, listening to you when you cried. Slowly you opened up to him about the circumstances that meant you needed extra help, and he was everything you could ask for. 

But how would he react to this?

Joel had you laid out on the bed, both of you still dressed and his pajama covered pants grinding into your warm cunt. Joel sure liked to take his time. 

“We don’t gotta do noth’n, you know that right?” Joel muttered into your neck, drunk on you but still being respectful like the gentle man he was.

“I know”

He pulled back. “Then why’dya seem so nervous?”

You look up at him, wide eyed and nervous, but you needed this… you needed to tell him the truth. “Joel…”

He got off you, standing up at the edge of the bed. The massive, rock hard erection in his pants couldn’t have been comfortable, but his willingness to stop anyway meant a lot. It was a low bar but it was there.

“We can stop, I’m sorry-”

You sit up on your elbows. “It’s not you, it’s just um… I should tell you something before we start…”

“Okay.” He was few on words, but he looked receptive.

You weren’t sure how to do this, how to open up that conversation… so you decided just to show him. Lights still on, you begin to take off your shirt.

Joel tried to stop you. “Hey, hey, no, let’s talk.”

You smile at him. “We will, Joel, just… let me show you…” After the shirt was off, you slid off your pants and laid on the bed, spread out and close to naked in a bra and underwear.

“Jesus, darl’n…” Joel mumbled, taking in the sight before him. 

Scars littered your body.

It wasn’t a few, it was a lot, and the coverage was significant. Joel’s eyes roamed your body, cock softening quickly despite your near-nakedness and took in the expanse of the scaring. Your thighs were the most noticeable, pink slaves across your skin from the hips to mid-thigh. His hand reached out instinctively, but pulled back. You noticed.

Your voice was soft, reassuring. You knew he was confused and curious. “You can touch me, it’s okay.”

He does. Joel’s fingers a feather light across your skin, feeling the way the scars dipped and raised depending on severity. There there cuts, but also burn mark; small circles from cigarettes twisting up the patterns more. It was all over, reaching back to the curve of your ass. His eyes followed the trail up and the cuts became less in intensity and number, but never stopping over your hip bone and to your stomach. These were lighter; less that split open the skin but the silver lines were still raised over the belly fat as his fingers touched you. Your bra-line showed more burns, and he stopped short of the cloth. 

You take his hands and guide Joel to reach behind you to unclasp the bra, allowing him to pull it up and reveal your breasts. His eyes water as he sees the scars never stopped, marring your breasts, although not nearly the horrific amount on your thighs.

“I don’t understand…” He mumbles, sadness and distress clear in his eyes. “You did this to yourself?” Joel takes your hand in his, examining the scars making a ring around your wrist. He kissed the inside, eyes threatening to pool over.

You nod. “Yeah…”

His voice cracks. “But… why?”

“Sometimes…” You start, overcome with emotions at the clear pain on his face. He loved you so much, the thought of you in this much pain hurt him as well. “It was all I could do to cope.”

He didn’t seem like he understood, but he wasn’t judging you. He didn’t look at you like a freak like so many others did. He just knew he didn’t want you to feel this way again. 

“I havn’t done it in a while.” You give him a smile. “You make things easier. I mean, I’m still… yeah… but you do make things much better.” He did. Having someone who held you, listened to you, helped pick up the pieces… it wasn’t going to cure you, but it was amazing how much support helped with the addition of meds and therapy. 

Joel relaxed at that, a relieved and gentle smile on his face. “I’m glad, darl’n…” He held you hand to his face, chapped lips nuzzling against your damaged skin. “”M here to take care of you now, okay? I wanna help.”

“You do.” You assure him, pulling his face down to you again and taking his mouth in yours. “You mean so much to me Joel, you make me so happy…” His body covers yours once more, his warm encasing you as he protectively holds you.

“You’re safe with me.” Joel mutters against your mouth, fingers digging into your soft flesh.

You pull him closer to you, grinding yourself up against him, enticing him again. “Still want you tonight, please? I can’t wait any longer.” It’s had been a long 4 months and fuck, fuck you wanted him, badly. 

“Always gonna take care of you, princesa.” Joel grinds his jeans-clothed cock against the soft fabric of your underwear, making you shutter. “Gonna take care of my pretty girl, always.”

And god, did he.

Joel’s mouth was sloppy, wet, hot between your legs. His tongue fucked into your hole, prodding you open and his hips bucking against the bed. Insatiable. Arms locked around your legs, his nose nudged against your clit as it seemed he was trying push himself as strongly against your body as he could, to devour you, to bring you and him the most absolute pleasure he could.

You tug at his hair, soft waves in between your fingers as you draw him closer to you. Warmth pooling in your stomach, you felt that pressure grow with every moan, every vibration, every sluuuuuuuuuurp! of your juices, christ he was incredible. You felt elevated, devoted too and adorned in affection the way you had always wanted to be. He was everything in this moment. Joel’s tongue slid up in a swift swipe, mouth and that pouty lower lip latching onto your clit with his fingers pumped into you.

“JOEL! J-ohhhhhh” Your cry for his name melted into moans as you came on his mouth and fingers, crushing his head between thighs as your legs bent. The power of your orgasm caused you to tense and then melt into the bed. You give a low hum as he kisses your inner thighs. As you come to reality again, you register Joel’s sweet kisses all over your legs. He’s kissing the trail of your scars. Joel kisses over the scars on your right thigh and up the crease at your inner hip.

“What are you doing?” You mutter, never for a moment fully let go of his hair.

“Appreciating every inch of you.”

Joel kissed his way up your torso, over the scars under your tits and over the mounds. Latching onto your nipple, he swirled his tongue around the sensitive skin. You can feel him smile against your skin when your back arches off the bed.

“Fuck, Joel, your fucking mouth…” You whimper, and when his mouth lets go his hands never do. Softly, he touches you in all the scarred, squishy parts of you you were trained for so long to hate. 

He kissed you tenderly, gentle hands a contrast to his hungry mouth. That tongue, that goddamn tongue…

When he slides in, your eyes can’t help but roll back; your chest rises up against his broad expanse. He filled you so perfectly, fucking deep inside you and filling you up. You never felt so full. Your heart, your life, your stretched out cunt… every part of you was full and euphoric.

“My sweet, perfect girl…” Joel grunts as he pumps into you, hand braced against the headboard and towering over you. You gazed up at him, the yellow lighting of the ceiling fan created a halo around him. Joel looked positively angelic. 

Fitting, as he was your angel.

You were aware how he was perceived in his culésac. Joel was highly respected; kind, hard working if a bit disorganized. A good southern man who raised his brother and daughter well, helped the elderly neighbors, bailed his brother out of pinches and would use his truck to help anyone move. Yeah, people liked Joel. But they wouldn’t call him gentle, like how you feel his hands over your stomach. They wouldn’t call him soft like you felt his stomach against yours. They wouldn’t call him angelic, but that was all you could say as you came on his cock.

They certainly would not call him warm, but that was all you felt as you pulled out and sprayed ropes of cum on your stomach. 

You dozed off to sleep as he spread his cum around your scarred skin.

You vaguely register him cleaning you up, tired and content, and wait for him to join you again. His body felt perfect against your, fitting so well against your body like two puzzle pieces so close together. You had mumbled a request to be dressed, just in case Sarah and Tommy came home early, so you were both cuddled up in sweats under a thick blanket.

Everything with Joel felt safe and warm.

"Scars remind us where we've been. They don't have to dictate where we're going" -David Rossi, Criminal Minds.

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

So, there we are. I'm very frustrated by the new bought of scars that are quite noticable that I have to wait to fade again but I refuse to be ashamed the way I used to. My scars are just scars from my trauma and illness. It's a moral failing of the people who have and continue to harm me, not mine.

Thank you all for reading, this was quite a venerable piece for me but I see a light at te end of the tunnel, and things will be getting better, I know it <3

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @k-ra @ahookedheroespureheart @mikaelak @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @harriedandharassed @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @milly-louise @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @mrs-oharaxx @pedge-page @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring @yorksgirl

[bucketsofmonsters]

Without Expectation

You know how everyone is talking about how Astarion has a difficult relationship with hero characters bc he felt abandoned by them when he was suffering? What if, during his 200 years of imprisonment, he’d met one? Very much inspired by this post

cw: pre-game astarion, Cazador, prostitution and non-consensual sex alluded to but never shown, healing from trauma, Astarion being sexualized, Astarion sexualizing himself, objectification, blood drinking, he’s kind of sexually aggressive in this but it's just because he’s scared and he doesn’t know anything else, reader is from a group of monster hunters that I made up who have been harassing Cazador, they are separate from any in-game monster hunters who are less Astarion friendly

Astarion x gn reader

Word count: 6k

He was charming. Pretty words, perfect hair, a dashing smile, and hollow eyes. 

The second Cazador had said the word, he was all over you. 

You couldn’t turn down the offer. Not for the promise of pleasure, that was the last thing on your mind looking at him. 

But if you got him alone you could talk to him, outside of the watchful eye of his master. 

He had you pinned to the wall of your bedroom before you could even say a word. You had to shove him back and he stumbled, a frightened, hurt look crossing his face before the practiced charm slipped easily back. 

“Oh, you like to play rough, do you? That’s fine with me, I don’t mind being pushed around a little.”

“Stop,” you pleaded with him. “Please, can I just speak for a second?”

“Say whatever you’d like, darling.”

“Listen… Astarion, wasn’t it?”

He smirked at you. “It is, but you can call me whatever you'd like.”

“Astarion, you don’t have to do this.”

“Of course I don’t. I want to. Don’t you want me?” He moved to get into your space again but you stepped back and he didn’t follow. 

You did your best to push past his flirtation. “How often does he make you do things like this?”

“Like this? Not often. My lovers don’t typically live to see the morning. Although I suppose it doesn’t make much difference to me,” he said with a laugh, one that felt practiced and put on. 

“Oh.” You couldn’t imagine it, being forced to not only be with so many people but to send them off to their deaths night after night. 

Your eyes drifted down as your thoughts spiraled and he grabbed your chin, pulling your face up so your eyes met once more, directing all your attention back to him. “Is that what’s bothering you, darling? I promise Cazador has given me very clear instructions on how well you should be treated.”

“No, that’s not the problem.” You dropped your head into your hands as you tried to figure out what to do. “God, this is such a nightmare. Listen, I can sleep on the couch, you should take the bed,” you said, gesturing vaguely at the loveseat tucked in the corner of the room.

“Come now, that’s not necessary my dear,” he practically purred at you. 

You felt a little more nauseous with every pass he made at you. “You really don’t have to do that, I swear. Not in here at least. It would probably be prudent to pretend in front of Cazador but that’s an issue for tomorrow.”

“Even if you don’t want sex,” he said with a little roll of his eyes. “The couch is not necessary. I promise I won’t bite.”

It was a bad idea. You knew that much. But the bed looked so soft and comfortable and the couch wasn’t even long enough to fit all of you if you tried to lie down. 

You sat on the bed tentatively and sunk into the mattress. It was by far the most comfortable bed you’d ever been in and you ran your hand along the silky sheets. “Alright, but we’ll just be sleeping,” you said with a pointed look in his direction. 

In a heartbeat, you were pushed back onto the mattress and he was looking over you, his hands on either side of your head as he grinned down at you. “Are you certain, my dear? I could make you feel so good.”

“I’m sure you could,” you said with a smile, cupping his face in your hands. His eyes lit up at the contact and it was clear that he thought he’d done it, that he'd won you over. “But that won’t be necessary.”

You leaned up and pressed a kiss into his forehead before gently pushing him off of you back towards his side of the bed. 

He seemed wounded and frightened by the gesture, a far cry from the practiced seduction you’ve seen from him so far. “You don’t want me.”

“I assure you that is not the problem,” you said, careful to keep your voice gentle. 

He did not seem convinced, a tragic vulnerability starting to seep through his facade.

As he stared at you, a worried look plastered across his face, you grabbed some of the many pillows from the top of the bed, placing a few between the two of you. 

He scoffed at the sight. “I don’t know what those are meant to stop. Not exactly impenetrable security against a rabid vampire.”

“They’re not for you. I have a tendency to get… grabby, in my sleep.”

He huffed, folding his arms as he finally conceded ground and laid down next to you. “Good. Maybe you’ll be more interesting than when you are awake.”

You doubted he’d find you snuggling a pillow particularly interesting but you let him interpret your words however he pleased. 

“Perhaps. Now if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to sleep now.”

“It’s not all the same to me, thank you very much.”

“Alright,” you said with a yawn. “Goodnight.”

You woke up with your arms wrapped around a pillow from your little wall, holding it close to your chest as you eased your eyes open to see Astarion unabashedly staring at you. 

He spoke as soon as he caught wind you were awake. “You weren’t kidding about being grabby, you’re practically smothering the poor thing.”

Your face warmed slightly at his words, embarrassment fluttering in your chest. “It’s an old habit. What about you, couldn’t sleep?”

“Elves don’t sleep.”

You suddenly felt incredibly foolish. “Oh. Right. So you’ve just been sitting there all night then?”

“I tranced for a while. It was certainly a more boring night than I expected.”

You yawned as you sat up, setting the pillow you’d been holding behind you. “Terribly sorry to disappoint. Hopefully, there will be many more boring nights in your future.”

He pulled back, cocking his head to the side. “What?”

You realized you hadn’t told him of your little scheme yet. “I was thinking. This whole meeting with Cazador was more of a formality than anything. He’s killed too many of our people, we need to make this deal, at least until we can figure out how to sort him out for good. But he doesn’t know that and maybe, if you’re amiable to it, I could throw in a final term to the deal. Where he has to give me… well, you. Not that you should be his to give, but I figure if I can save someone from this place and I didn’t, what kind of a monster would I be?”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you want from me?”

You shrugged. “I’d say nothing if I thought you’d believe me. If you need to rationalize it, let’s just say it’s an ego boost. Now I get to feel like a good person and you get to leave this place. As long as I don’t mess it up too badly.”

Mistrust was written across his face and it seemed like the first completely honest emotion you’d been able to pull from him. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s fine, we can fix that after I get you out of here.” You sighed. “Wish me luck. I’m an awful liar.”

He trailed after you as you left, seemingly incapable of letting you out of his sight. 

Maybe he was. Maybe he’d been ordered to do so. You had no way to tell. It made your heart hurt, the sight of him here, the idea of Cazador’s other spawn that you couldn’t save. At least not yet. 

He followed you like a loyal pup all the way to Cazador, who was lounging in a chair without a care in the world. 

He chuckled at the sight of Astarion behind you. “And how was my spawn? To your satisfaction?”

You swallowed down that bile that rose in you as you said, “He was a delight. I was wondering, in the name of our agreement, is there any way I could keep him? It’s just that I’ve grown quite fond of him so very quickly.”

Cazador laughed, a putrid, callous thing. “I’m sure. He can be quite… convincing. And this would make you amenable to my terms?”

You nodded. “All the monster hunters in Baldur's Gate will focus their attention in… other places. You and yours will be entirely safe from our wrath.”

“And if we’d like to push you in the direction of another creature?”

You gave him a tactful nod. “We could be convinced.”

“Good.” He laughed once more. “Typical monster hunter. You pretend to hate us and yet you want to keep a vampire pet.”

Astarion leaned into your side and you felt a little queasy at the performance as you snaked your arm around him. “Like I said, he was very convincing.”

He sighed. “You drive a hard bargain. As you wish, you shall have your terms. Just tell me if he doesn’t behave. I can get him sorted right out for you.”

It took everything you had not to lunge at him thinking about everything he’d put this poor man through. “Of course, but I’m sure I’ll be able to manage just fine on my own.”

You got out of there as fast as you could. Even if you hadn’t had Astarion with you, you didn’t want to spend any longer than absolutely necessary with the monster. 

You pulled him through the streets back to the house you were staying in, racing against the sun. You barely had enough time to get him there and pull him inside, but you had a feeling he’d prefer this mad dash over staying another day with his master.

Regardless, the whole time your eyes were darting around, looking for places you could hide him should you need to. 

You wondered what you’d even do if it had come to that. Just sit with him for the rest of the day, you supposed, unless he wanted to try a risky maneuver with a thick blanket. 

You tried to pull him inside but it was like an invisible wall had stopped him in his tracks. You gave him a questioning look and he grumbled, “You have to invite me.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, come in!”

As soon as the words left your mouth, he rushed in beside you and you set yourself to making sure all of the widows were fully shut, pulling the curtains tight. 

He watched you dart about, tugging at the thick fabric. His gaze was judgemental but at least the emotion seemed genuine. 

As soon as you were mostly certain he wouldn’t burn to death, you turned to him. “We won’t be leaving for a while so you can make yourself at home. If you need anything just let me know, okay?”

You didn’t see him for the whole day. You were busy and he made himself scarce. You couldn’t blame him. You imagined he’d long since made it a habit to avoid being seen by anyone. Anyone except his forced prey, you supposed. But still, he hid away from them, in his own way. 

“Astarion, can you come look at this?” you called out as the sun finally dipped fully below the horizon, hoping he was close enough that he could hear you. And hoping he would come even if he did. 

It took a few minutes but eventually he came sauntering down the stairs. 

“Yes, my dear?”

You grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the window, gesturing out at the carriage that was illuminated by torches alone, shrouded in the thick darkness of the night. “Do you think it’ll be alright? The last thing I want is for you to get hurt.”

He stared out at the carriage you’d spent hours painstakingly attempting to make impenetrable to light. You’d painted the windows black, hung blankets over top of them, shoved old linens in the cracks in the doors. 

He cautiously headed outside, staring at the carriage with furrowed brows. “Did you do this?”

“Yeah, I tested it during the day. It seemed pretty solid but obviously you couldn’t check then. I could bring a torch around the outside if you wanted to check for yourself.”

He looked at you like you were mad. “We could have just traveled at night.”

You shrugged. “It’s a two-day journey and I didn’t want to depend on inns and shelter along the road to protect you during the day. This seemed safer.”

He opened the door, sitting inside and looking around at the painstakingly covered windows and cracks, and you couldn’t tell if he seemed uncomfortable because he was worried about the sun or because of the sheer amount of effort you’d clearly put into it. 

“Do you want anything for the ride?” you asked, pushing forward. “Some books or something? I could go get them for you.” 

“Your company is all I could ask for.”

“Okay, but for real though. Never mind, I’ll just get you some books.” You doubted you’d be able to pull an honest answer from him for a very long time, if at all. 

After a frenzied book run, the two of you were ready to head off, locking yourselves inside the carriage until the sun set once more. 

The bumps of the carriage jostled the two of you as you rode. The flickering orange light of two lanterns, one for each of you, barely illuminated the darkened space and you couldn’t help but feel a little claustrophobic. 

He was sitting, staring at you, book untouched on his lap. 

You’d brought as many options as you could think of, romance novels, epics, history, a horticultural book that had pulled a snort and an incredulous look from him when he’d seen it. 

He didn’t seem much in the mood for reading and under his unblinking gaze, neither were you. Instead, you stared at the painted-over window, wishing there was anything else you had to look at in the dim light. 

“Admiring your paint job?” he asked with a chuckle as you continued to refuse to meet his unblinking gaze. 

“Something like that.” You decided to take the broken silence as an opportunity. Anything was better than being silently stared at and you weren’t sure you’d get a better chance to ask him. “Can I ask you something that’s potentially insensitive?”

He smirked at you with that practiced allure. “Ask away.”

“Were you one of his favorites? Cazador's, I mean.”

He scoffed. “In a way. He loved torturing me more than anyone else.”

You leaned forward. “So it might be easier to convince him to part with the others?”

His eyes narrowed at you and you watched as he tried once again to figure out what your angle was. “You’ve got a real bleeding heart, don’t you?”

“We’ve been unable to hurt him for so long, failed at it for years and years. Every day you were there was because we weren’t good enough at what we did. I can’t help it, I feel a little responsible for you. For all of you.”

“Oh please,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Like I’m not one of the monsters you hunt.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Why would you be? Who have you hurt?”

He laughed a cold, cruel laugh. “Darling, you have no idea how many people I’ve hurt.”

“You haven’t though. Cazador hurt people through you, sure. But you didn’t hurt anyone, not really. You’re a victim just as much as they were. At least we managed to save some of them.”

He squirmed in his seat. “I think they might disagree.”

You shrugged, something delicate in his eyes telling you not to push. “Maybe.”

The rest of the ride was completed in silence, not only fueled by your discomfort but now also Astarion’s irritation with you. 

Your driver gave a knock on the door as the sun disappeared, just as you’d instructed him to, and you opened it to find a quaint little inn surrounded by woods in front of you. 

He left to take care of the horses and you led Astarion inside, securing two rooms for the three of you. In a perfect world you would’ve gotten Astarion his own room, but his vampirism wasn’t exactly subtle and you couldn’t help but worry that some overzealous patron of this establishment might take it upon themself to rid the inn of the supposed monster. 

You led him up to the room you’d be sharing and as you entered, he stood in the doorway and took in the sight. 

You were quick to give him a quiet, “Come in,” but he brushed you off.

“That’s for houses, not individual rooms. I just…there’s two beds.”

You nodded. “Yup. For two people.”

He eyed you suspiciously, as if the two beds might be part of some devious scheme. After a few moments, he seemed to decide it was just a normal room and took the bed nearest the door. 

He seemed paler than he’d been the night before and a horrible thought struck you. “Oh my god, you need to eat! I haven’t been feeding you.”

He chuckled. “Good luck with that, there aren’t many disposable animals out here. At least, not ones you could catch. Unless you want to let me at the horses, but that would leave us in quite the predicament.”

“I mean, you could drink from me. Not everything, obviously, but I could spare some.”

You held out your hand to him, presenting your wrist and looking at him expectantly.

“I’m not allowed to drink human blood,” he spat back at you, the bile of hundreds of years of resentment lacing his words. “Cazador doesn’t allow it.”

“You’re not his anymore. He gave control over to me and I say you can do whatever you’d like and that you don’t take orders from anyone anymore. The offer stands.” You went to withdraw your hand until his hunger bested his hesitation but he grabbed your wrist, stopping you from pulling away. 

“Well,” he said with a sly smile. “As long as you’re offering, I would be a fool to turn you down.”

It was so strange how quickly it happened, how easily he could slip right back into that faux confidence. 

He leaned towards you and you backed away at the hungry look in his eyes, one you were more than familiar with. 

“If you really want to I’m sure there’s ways we could make this a more rewarding experience for you,” he said and in a heartbeat he maneuvered himself over you, his hands interlaced with yours and holding you to the mattress. 

You pulled yourself back in an instant, leaning against the headboard as you presented your wrist to him once more. 

You didn’t fault him for it. After years of surviving with it, of course he would keep trying to draw you in with his sexuality. The instinct couldn’t be snuffed out overnight.

You’d bat away his attempts as many times you needed to, try and make him understand. You weren’t sure if it would ever work, not fully, but you’d keep trying. 

“It’s easier this way,” you said in explanation, giving him something to latch onto that didn’t feel like rejection. 

He rolled his eyes. “Easier, I’m sure. Typical, I got a master who’s allergic to fun.”

“I’m not your master. You can do as you please, could leave now if you wanted.”

“And go where?” he snapped. “You can pretend if you must but I know what I am. I know where I stand. I am a lot of things, but I am no fool.”

“I know.”

He studied you for a moment, eyes daring across your face before he pulled your wrist towards him, digging his teeth into your flesh. 

The sharp pain lasted for a heartbeat before it faded away to a dull ache. He lapped at the open wound, his put-on demeanor disappearing as he got lost in it. 

He cradled your hand like it was a lifeline. In a way, you supposed it was. 

You could feel yourself getting lightheaded as he fed but you refused to stop him. You would not command it of him, would rather die than force him into it. You let out a quiet whine, your form slumping back into the bed. 

He drew away immediately and your blood began pouring onto the white sheets of the bed. 

A moment of panic reflected in his red eyes before he grabbed the corner of the sheets, wrapping them around your wound. 

“There,” he said, his voice quieter than his normal bravado. “Should keep you from bleeding out.”

Your eyes were locked on his collarbone, a dark bruise becoming visible as your blood fled through his previously starved body. The longer you looked, the more of them you could see, peeking out from under his clothes. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” you said in hushed tones, hands moving to reach for him before stopping in their tracks, unsure if your touch would be wanted. 

He was otherwise preoccupied, his eyes alight with something entirely new. He looked stronger, livelier. There was a warmth to his cheeks you’d never seen before. 

You resisted the urge to touch him, to see if he’d become warmer as your blood had begun to run through him, bringing a new light to his eyes. 

“You should get some rest,” he said, looking down at you lying exhausted and drained on the bed. “You certainly need it.”

You barely had time to laugh at his comment before you’d drifted off. 

The ride back was as quiet as it had been the day before, if a little less uncomfortable. Astarion still stared for much of it but he at least pretended to read his book. The healthy flush to his cheeks seemed to come with a bit of newfound comfort and ease around you that made you puff up with pride, even if you still felt a little woozy from the night before. 

“Here we are!” you said as a knock sounded on the door, opening it and leading him inside your home. It was an old manor of your family's, not particularly big, right on the edge of nowhere, and perhaps falling apart just a little but more than suitable for your purposes. “It’s a little bit of a mess but I kind of like it that way. Come on, I’ll show you your room.”

You decided to put him in a room that was just a few doors down from your own, pointing out just where he could go to find you if he needed anything. 

You laid down to sleep once you got him situated, more exhausted than you typically were at this time of night. Despite how tired you were, presumably from the blood loss, you had to fight the urge to go and check on Astarion just one more time. 

You hadn’t known him for long but you’d already developed an intensely protective instinct towards the man. 

You did your best to put him out of your mind when a knock sounded at the door. 

“Come in,” you called out. You made no attempt to suppress your smile when he peeked in the doorway. 

“I think I’ve grown accustomed to your company,” he said sheepishly, and for once it didn’t seem like he was trying to seduce you. He seemed worn down, looking just as tired as you felt, a defeated air present on his face. 

You were too tired for subtlety, opening your arm to him and muttering a sleepy, “Just come here.”

He seemed grateful to not have to explain himself. To not have to ask. 

He sat on the bed, looking down at you where you lay. 

“No pillow this time?” he asked in that snide voice he used so often. 

“I can if you want. Just thought you might appreciate the closeness.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Fine, I’ll be your little pillow to hug. Fair warning though, I run cold.”

You tried and failed to suppress a yawn as he got into bed beside you and you wrapped your arms softly around him. “I don’t mind. G’night.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

Just like that, it became a bit of unspoken habit between the two of you. You felt it might honestly kill him to comment on it, to ask you for affection. But with no words, no pleasantries, there he was every night, beside you. 

One night, about a week into his residence in your home, he seemed more restless than normal, fiddling endlessly with your hand, incapable of sitting still. You turned to him with a pointed look. “Come on, out with it, it’s not good to go to bed with things left unsaid.”

He scoffed. “Why not?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, what if I die in my sleep or something.”

“If you die in your sleep, I think I might have bigger problems than things I didn’t say to you. Namely, some monster hunters who might take issue with the vampire you died next to.”

You shook your head. “No, I already told them about you, they wouldn’t hurt you.”

That seemed to take him by surprise, pulling back a bit at your words. “You did?”

“Of course I did. Now come on, out with it, what’s going on it that head of yours?”

He sighed dramatically and flopped back on his pillow. “It’s really nothing.”

“Not if it's bothering you. I want to help.”

“Did you mean it?” he blurted out, like the words had to be forced out of him quickly or they wouldn’t come out at all. “When you said you wanted to save the rest of them too?”

“Of course I did. And I will. At least if I have anything to say about it,” you said quietly, your stomach turning at the thought of the other spawn you’d left behind.

He turned from you as if you’d slapped him. “Right. I’m going to sleep in my own room. I should’ve been in there anyway, this was silly. Goodnight, darling.”

You chased after him in a heartbeat, catching up at him before he’d even managed to open his door. “Wait, what did I do? Astarion?”

He was an unstoppable force, storming into his own room. 

“I don’t understand what I did,” you pleaded with him, desperate to fix it. You raked through your conversation, trying to dissect every word spoken, every facial expression. You found nothing. Shouldn’t he be happy you wanted to help them? It didn’t make sense to you. 

He sat on his bed, one he’d never slept in, arms crossed and brows furrowed. When he spoke, there was a faux casualty to it, like he was trying to pretend none of it mattered to him. “I’m just making room for the next stray you let into your bed.”

You sat next to him, careful to keep your distance as you moved your head down to try and catch his eye. “You know I’m not replacing you, right?”

He huffed in response, turning away from you again. 

You made sure to keep your tone gentle and soft. “You know I wouldn’t let just any vampire spawn sleep next to me, right? It’s because I care about you, it’s not just because you’re there. No one is replacing you and I promise there is enough of me to help people while also still being there for you. I will save as many of them as I can until I can rid this world of Cazador but you’re not just Cazador’s victim, you’re my friend.”

He turned to you suddenly. “Stop saying that. Stop saying you’re going to hunt down Cazador. If he catches wind of any of this you’re dead. At least, if you’re lucky you’ll be dead. And then where will I be?”

“Hey, I’ve been doing this a long time. I know what I’m doing, we all know what we’re doing. He’s not going to get me.”

“That’s why you made that deal, is it? Did all the other hunters he slaughtered know what they were doing too? You aren’t a threat to him, you are a nuisance. You need to stop,” he snarled. 

You couldn’t stop. You both knew that, could see it as clear as day. 

Instead, you just said a quiet, “Come on, come to bed,” and walked out of the room. 

He trailed behind you, the unendable argument weighing heavy on the both of you, no more words spoken as he slipped under the sheets. You gave his hand a squeeze, trying your best to reassure him despite knowing it would never work. Not as long as he was still out there. 

And then, as he leaned into your space, head brushing against your arm, something he’d been getting slowly more comfortable doing, something occurred to you that should have many days ago, back when he’d first arrived here. It was strange that he was here, now. Not just because of his uncomfortability with any sort of nonsexual closeness, but because of when it was. 

Not only did elves not sleep the same way nor as long as humans did, but vampires slept during the day typically, to enjoy the night as best they could. 

“I’m going to start sleeping during the day,” you said decisively. “That way we can keep doing this,” you said as you gestured around vaguely, “and you can go out, can do things with your waking hours. I’m sorry it didn’t occur to me sooner.”

His eyes widened. “You’d really let me leave?”

His surprise felt like a shard of ice through your chest. “Of course I would. You can do whatever you want. I’ll even do my best to help if you’ll ask me for it.” Another horrible thought struck you. “Wait, you didn’t think you could leave and you’ve been with me most nights. What have you been eating?”

“Whatever I could find. I make for wonderful pest control.”

Your heart sank. You should’ve considered this sooner, never put him through any of this. 

“Here, drink from me,” you said, sticking out your hand. “I can get some bigger animals for you, keep them here so you don’t have to hunt for them if you’d prefer, but for now I will have to do.”

He hesitated, although his gaze was less suspicious than the last time you’d done this. Instead, he looked nervous. “You’ve… you’ve already done so much for me. I shouldn’t.”

“Astarion, you’re starving,” you said quietly, trying to reason with him. 

“I’d rather not push it. Eventually, even your charity will run out.”

You shook your head. “It will not. It’s fine if you don’t believe me, I know it’ll take time, but I will keep being here for you until it sinks in. Promise.”

He laughed quietly, seeming more for himself than for you, something that had been happening more and more lately. “You underestimate my distrust, I think I could outlast you.”

You smiled back. “Challenge accepted. But until then, you need to eat.”

You held out your wrist for him, the marks from the last time just beginning to fade. He took it, gingerly, bringing it slowly to his mouth and watching your face for any apprehension. 

You showed none, instead giving him a soft smile. “Go on. I don’t bite.”

That got a real laugh out of him. “That’s not funny.”

He pressed a soft kiss into your skin before sinking his fangs in, that sharp pain coming with a flutter of warmth inside your chest. 

He was slower this time, more intentional as he drank. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he wasn’t as hungry or if it was because it felt less like his meal might be ripped away from him unceremoniously. 

He didn’t get as lost in it this time, eyes flicking up to meet yours, checking in on you. 

You didn’t even get the chance to try and tell him you were feeling woozy before he drew back, pulling a handkerchief you hadn’t even noticed off the side table to wrap around your wrist. 

“Wouldn’t want to get our sheets all bloody,” he said as he knotted it tight around your wound. 

Your hands moved slowly as soon as he released them, reaching up towards his face and giving him plenty of time to back away. 

For a moment, when he first saw you reaching for him, he pulled back and you were ready to retreat and shower him in endless apologies when, as suddenly as he’d moved away, he leaned into your touch. 

Gentle hands cradled his face, ones he’d flinched away from but a moment before. He leaned into them openly now, unabashedly, making a home between your palms. 

He was warmer like this, with your blood rushing through him. 

You pulled him closer as his head tucked right under yours, your fingers carding gently through his hair. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, barely loud enough to reach his ears, and you had no idea if he believed you. 

You doubted it, doubted that you’d been able to break through all those years of his living hell so quickly. His walls had been carefully constructed for a reason, and you understood why he was so hesitant to break them down. You couldn’t blame him, would never blame him. 

It didn’t really matter. You’d keep trying either way.

[hyperfixiation-station]

🥺 hi. I get so anxious asking for requests. So I’m sorry if it’s weird. But could I please please Pleaseee get a ghost x fem reader. Hurt to comfort. They were on a mission and she’s there for medic help. Not even to fight. But she got taken by the bad guys. And she gets tortured for information that she doesn’t have. And they play mind games with her. Making her think that they will never come rescue her. They really fully break her body and break her mind by the end of it. But before she thinks she’s about to finally die, Ghost and the others come and save her. And it’s about how the only person she feels safe with after all that is ghost and just him helping her heal and get back to the woman she was before all this. I want it to hurt my soul. 😭 but then there’s hope at the end of it bc they have each other.

My Heart Will Go On

Don't be, I love when people ask me things, and I looooved this request so much!!! I too like to torturehave fun with my OC's :)

TW: Blood, torture, manipulation

Pairing: GhostxReader

Part 2

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It wasn’t supposed to happen at all, actually. It was just another mission, another day on the job. You went out with the boys as usual, their assigned medic as theyghost refused to work with anybody else. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was your soft demeanor, your gentle touch, the way you never judged himthem for anything hethey did. But whatever it was, they liked you, and so with them you went.

You hung back at the evac point, also as usual. Sitting in the truck, first aid kit on your lap, a comm in your ear as you listened to your boys and made sure they were all okay. It was a tense fight, gunshots and pained grunting filling your headset. You were on edge, rocking back and forth as you listened for your que to come in. In fact, you were so focused on the comms that you didn’t even notice the danger you were in until it was too late.

Your first cue something was wrong was when the comms went silent. The sounds of battle filled your ears for hours before getting cut off abruptly. Your hand shot to the comm link, fiddling with it as you frantically tried to reconnect, worried something was wrong.

“Ghost, do you copy?”

“Ghost?”

“Price?”

“Gaz?”

“Can you hear me??” Your voice got more and more panicked as you got no response. You yanked the headset off and shrugged your vest on, kit in hand as you slid out of the truck.

Your second clue something was wrong was when you looked up to see the barrel of a gun pointed directly at your face. You didn't even have time to ask ‘what’ before everything went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello, princesa.” You blink hard as the blindfold is removed from your eyes. The light is blinding, the splitting headache you got from being pistol whipped only intensifying under the harsh lights.

“Who are you?” You manage after a moment, eyes slowly focusing on the man in front of you. He is large, easily over six foot, and built like an absolute unit. His face is covered by a black balaclava, though his scarred, tattooed forearms are on display.

“Don’t play stupid with me.” His voice is deep and smooth, and if you weren’t in the situation you are in you would have asked him to keep talking.

“‘M not! I don't-"

“Don’t lie to me Princesa. I don’t like liars.” A shiver runs down your spine as his tone darkens.

“But I’m-”

“Ah ah lovie, I am one asking questions here.”

“I wasn’t ask-”

“SHUT UP!” You flinch back at the drastic change in tone, the sound sending bolts of pain through your skull.

“Oh sorry Princesa, did that hurt?” Seriously, you are going to get whiplash from his bi-polar personality, “Forgot you have concussion. Let's get you Advil for that and then we see if you talk, yeah?"

You watch with blurry vision as he leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound sends waves of agony through your pounding head, and by the time you can focus again he's back.

All it takes is one well placed blow to the head, an attempt to get you to pay attention, and you're out like a light.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t know anything I swear! Please! I don't know anything!” The sobs tear raggedly out of your throat, already raw from screaming. Your voice is scratchy and broken, but still you can't stop begging.

“I don’t know anything” You sob. Those words, I don’t know, had become your motto over the past few daysweeks(?)

“Oh Princesa. I know.” He croons, running a finger down your bruised face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time was meaningless. Has it been 2 days since you were captured? Two weeks? Months? You don’t know. Your meals come at staggered times, and your captors never come at a routine time. The lights turn on and off at staggered times, nothing in a set pattern, a system created to mess with your mind.

Not that you know that. This wasn’t the kind of life you lived. You were a medic for heaven's sake. Your hands had been built to mend, to fix, to heal. Not to clutch at broken bones, to scratch against cement, to be chained and broken. You arewere a gentle creature, not designed for this world of torture and terror.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"They no come for you." You moan as the words pound through your skull, nearly unintelligible.

"Wh'...y'say?" You mumble, voice scratchy and broken.

"You're friends, Princesa. They are no coming for you." He sighs and moves next you, prodding your side with his steel-toed boot, "You are replaceable, your skills are easily replicated, they no spend time and resources to find a simple medic."

"They…'ll c'me." You wheeze, refusing to belive that Price, that Gaz, that Soap, that Ghost, would just...leave you.

He laughs in response, digging his toe into your side until your gasping in pain.

"We shall see, Princesa. We shall see."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren’t built for this. Weren’t built to recognize the manipulation, the mind games. Weren’t built to survive the two-face man who was reshaping your brain. The man who was your greatest source of pain, but also your only friend. The man that flayed your flesh open, but soothed and bandaged you when it was all over. This man, who was slowly becoming the only thing you could trust in your unstable world. He may bring you unbearable pain, but he brought you comfort too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"That looks bad, Princesa." The man lightly touches the bones sticking out of your forearm. You whine in pain, clutching it to your chest. He chuckles, wiping your blood off on the cell floor.

"Let's get that fixed up, yeah?" His voice is soft, and gentle, and the nicest thing you've heard in a loooong time. His touch is the same, gentle caresses of bruised and broken skin, revolting and appealing at the same time.

Oh, it's utter agony as he sets and stitches your arm with no pain killers. You scream, back arching, lungs heaving, body seizing.

But after? Oh it's heaven. He holds you, cradling you against his warm body, making sure you don't go into shock, telling you you're a good girl, and that you've made him proud. You hate yourself for it, but you can't help but preen at the praise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He brings you a calendar. One month. It’s been one month since you got taken.

“It’s been over a month.” He says, a deep voice tinged with pity, “and no sign of your…friends. I’d give up being rescued if I were you, because they clearly have.” You can barely hear him as you stare at the paper in his hands, 31 days marked off with big, bright X’s. 31 days that you have been trapped here. 31 days that your squad…hadn’t come for you. Is he right? Are they really not coming? Did Ghost really give up on you? Are you-

“Ay Princesa, I even did what you asked. I sent your squad pictures and videos that even the greenest tech member could pull some coordinates from, but nothing. It’s like I said. Your ‘friends’ don’t care for you. They are not coming for you. I am your only friend in this place. Tell me, who bandages your wounds, who feeds you, who makes sure your living space is comfortable?”

“Y-you do.” You whisper uncertainty, “But…you also hurt me, don’t you?”

“Oh Princesa, I wouldn’t hurt ya if y’ would just listen. It not torture if you're disobedient. It's just…punishment.” His voice is sickeningly sweet, “And you just back-talked me. Do you remember what happens when you try to give me sass?”

"I get…punished." You mumble, cheeks flushing with shame.

"Obviously, you fucking idiot. I mean how."

"I…you…I have to do affirmations."

"Look at that, y'r gettin' it!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Say it again." He snarls. You sit in front of a mirror, face bruised, bleeding, and swollen.

"I 'm r'pl'c'able, my friends…'re n-no'...c'min'...I 'm no' l'v'ble…I 'm r'pl'c'…able." You whisper for the hundredth time.

"Again."

"I 'm r'pl'c'able, my friends 're no'...c'min'...I 'm no' l'vable, I 'm r'pl'c'…able."

"Again!"

"I 'm r'pl'c'able, my friends 're no'...c'min'...I 'm no' l'vable, I 'm r'pl'c'…able."

He makes you keep going, repeating those 4 sentences until you literally can't make sound anymore, a fact he tests by seeing how much it takes to get you to scream. You pass out before he gets anywhere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ghost?"

"Simon?"

"Please."

"Why are you not coming for me?"

just FYI if the timing seems disjointed and the speech is wierd, that is intentiweird,

anyways I hope you liked it!!!!

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hi! I absolutely love your headcannons!! Would it be possible for me to request sick Astarion? Or Astarion with a sick Tav? :)

Hi! Thank you for your request! I think I can do both!

Masterlist

Headcanons

Caring for their sick partner

Astarion takes care of you

He isn't a nurturing type.

He doesn't really care about himself let alone someone else!

Besides, it's not like he used to hang out with mortals a lot.

During your post-game adventures, you end in the far north in the middle of winter.

Astarion doesn't feel cold, but he notices you feel uncomfortable near him - his body is cold, and he steals the heat you need so much.

It causes tension between you two - one of the first challenges for you as a couple.

During a fight, you fall through the ice and almost die in the dark cold waters.

Astarion saves you but the damage is done.

You are severely sick.

Astarion freaks out.

You are dying in his arms.

He has to save you. He won't lose you.

Astarion manages to dress you in dry and warm clothes. He leaves you by the fire for a bit to hunt - you need food, and Astarion needs blood to warm you.

Then, when you stabilize, he carries you to the closest village and gives you all the money you've earned in your travels for a room in the inn.

He spoon-feeds you and wraps you in the warmest blankets.

Sometimes you pout, refusing to take one more bitter medicine, but he can't take this nonsense - you are going to get better. Period.

When you wake up, still in fever, Astarion is always near. Either wrapping you with his blood-warm body or with his ear on your chest as if he was afraid your heart was going to stop at any given moment.

As the spring comes, you finally get better. Astarion gives you a bath, and you realize how itchy and sweaty your body is.

Then he lashes at you, of course.

You were reckless, you were risking yourself. How could you?

But you know he speaks out of fear, and you comfort him, promising to never put yourself in danger without a need.

You take care of Astarion

If you weren't a nurturing type, you wouldn't end up with Astarion.

The man needs help and care, something he never had.

You comfort him after the nightmares and kiss away his tears.

He doesn't need to be cared for physically - once the tadpole is removed, he regenerates, and it's impossible to wound him.

But he is a mental wreck who can have a meltdown over a trigger word or a cruel flashback after an innocent action.

But he is far from invincible.

He is being reckless and ends up surrounded by monster hunters.

They chain him in silver and leave him helpless on the ground to see the sun.

You manage to come to the rescue - and murder all three of them.

But as you fight, the sun rises, and it burns Astarion.

It's almost too late for him when you set him free and drag him to the shadows.

The regeneration is slowed down - the burns are as bad as if he survived a fire.

You give him blood. All you can do without killing yourself.

The assault causes one of the worst setbacks in his healing process.

Astarion is almost catatonic - curling in the darkest corner of the room in the fetal position.

You can only guess what prison his tortured mind is locked in.

You talk to him. Hug him. Takes care of his hair. Caress his back.

Days become weeks, weeks become months - and one evening Astarion is finally back.

He wraps his hand around you and nuzzles your collarbone.

By the end of the night, Astarion is his true self again, ready for everything freedom has to offer.

"I was there, in the tomb," he confesses. "I was locked there, in the dark, and all my life looked like a feverish dream."

"I am here, love," you say. "I will always be here for you."

You pretend you don't see his tears as you say it.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @queenofthespacesquids @ednaaa-04 @dajeong

[amandacanwrite]

Halsin Headcanons For When He's In Love With You/Tav (Ungendered)

I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED TOO SOON

Generously Requested by @cryingoverpixelsetc I can't tell you how much it means to me when people actually WANT to hear about my bg3 brainrot because this game has been my escape lately and also, just a nice little break from the freelance work I have to cram to get done.

(PS if you like these, I am also a writer of my own original stories and I have some WIP's you may like.)

Quick CW|| Some graphic depictions of violence, particularly puncture wounds and viscera, intentions of heavy violence also referenced. In Battle

He trusts you, perhaps more than anyone else, to handle yourself. He doesn't hover, but he always has an eye on you as you tear into the fray.

He always seems so gentle to you that you sometimes worry about your own brutality in a fight. Especially when it leaves you covered in blood.

Because of this, you tend to keep your distance after a fight, too frightened to look into his pretty hazel eyes and see any measure of hesitance or disgust with you. Not that you've gotten used to it, you cant bear the thought of him not calling you 'my heart.'

This is only a fear for you until you got pinned down with a particularly nasty bhaalan cultist. Astarion had already been taken down in the surprise attack, then you were toppled by one of the many in the ambush.

The scream you let out as they sadistically drove their daggers through the palms of your hands was shocking even to you. You felt like a moth pinned to a board--it was too painful to try to break yourself free, even as the assailant wielded his next blade like he was about to field dress an elk.

You'd never felt fear like that.

But it didn't last long. A great cave bear launched through the air and into your attacker, wasting no time before ripping into the soft flesh of his throat and tore it out.

The smell of fear on you was strong, he knew you couldn't fight like that, so he simply stood guard over you, tearing to shreds anyone who got close from what small parts of it you can remember through the utter fear.

It was the after math of that fight when you knew you could never let him go.

He cups your face in his large, warm hands.

"Look at me, dear heart. Look upon me and remember that you're alive. There is no more threat. There is no one to hurt you. I would never let someone take you away from me before nature deigns it so."

The blades, you wept, the blades would hurt to remove.

"They will, but only for a moment, my love. Just a moment of pain before I heal you myself and carry you back to camp."

It's Astarion who removes the blades from your palms and frees you; he has the steadiest hands. But Halsin wastes no time in cradling you close to him, holding both of your hands in his own as he quietly whispers the healing word. You watch as your flesh and tendons weave themselves together. Then he envelops you and comforts you as you cry. Just cry.

How lucky it is that he is so at peace with every expression of you. He takes you as you are at all moments; whether you're bloodthirsty, joyful, or terrified. He basks in it all.

At Camp

Always touching you. Always. To him this isn't a public display of affection. It's not awkward. He loves you, why should he not touch you at every moment he can?

Sometimes it's a small thing, a broad hand on the small of your back as you discuss travel plans with Wyll. A little touch to remind you that he is there, like a tether to safety.

Other times your bodies are a tangle of comfort. Like he's looked for every way he can weave his body with yours. His fingers in your hair, your arm over his shoulder, your leg betwixt his, his wide chest lifting and falling with his sleepy breaths. This is often how you wake in the mornings with him.

Perhaps your favorite, though, is the nights by the fire. He doesn't even ask most days, just places himself behind you and offers himself as your seating arrangements for the night. His arms up behind him as he reclines against a rock or a felled tree, you sitting on his lap or between his lazily bent legs. His husky laughter tickles against your ear, the little hairs on the back of your neck. His rough voice rumbled against you as he regales the camp with yet another story of his youth.

He's a bit of a night owl. You fall asleep long before him most days.

He's also a bit disheartened by how difficult it is to find clothes that fit him in your travels together. Karlach as generously offered to share her clothes with him of course, but...something about her taste doesn't really seem to quite suit him.

(A disappointment to you, considering how nice those legs looked in infernal leather.)

He's the one who does much of the hunting for the party, along with Astarion. Halsin's a shockingly gifted fisher, though most of the fish he brings back to camp have bites in the flesh.

It was unnerving to gale at first, but he learned to live with it when he once brought back a salmon the size of a deep gnome.

When You're Alone

Rarely fully clothed. Not shocking, of course and certainly not something you would ever complain about. He usually just takes his tunic off, he says it feels restrained by it. He feels like he can breathe a bit better when his chest is bare.

No pun intended, of course.

Funny thing though, you always feel its much harder to breathe when he's shirtless.

There are no chaste kisses with this large elf. He seems to not have the restraint.

"I love the taste of you, my heart. It's the finest ambrosia. How blessed I am to have free reign to sate my appetites with you."

He likes to braid your hair and you're not sure why you're surprised at how good he is at it. Braids are a common hairstyle for elves, after all, and the man is a few centuries old. It soon becomes your favorite part of any day.

"I love how long your hair is getting, love. These times with you, my focus lost in your tresses...they have become some of my most treasured memories."

He compliments you often and freely.

One day you tell him about how you worry that you're too brutal to be with him, that you're concerned you'll scare him off one day for good.

"My heart, I spend more than half of my life in the form of a cavebear. I know I have told you how I received this scar. I may treasure the thriving, living of nature but that is only one side of the coin. Nature can be as brutal as it can be miraculous. In you, I see the beauty of brutality. I do not fear it, I admire it."

In Intimate Moments

Potential NSFW below, proceed with caution.

TW|| Mentions of consensual rough housing before...well, you know.

He is...proportionately sized...if you like.

(You do. You like very much.)

You sometimes have to remind him to get his pleasure with you. He is so pleased to be with you in this way that he forgets to indulge himself, even when it would be a moment of shared pleasure.

He loves every iteration of making love with you. He loves to take you fresh after a battle, covered in blood, to remember what it is to live and be alive.

He loves to take advantage of the vulnerability of a bath in the rivers and lakes of Faerun. Seems to particularly enjoy the sounds that come out of you as he thrusts up and into you, the sounds of your bodies muted by the water so he can hear every whimper and hitch of your breath.

He loves to hunt you. More than once you've stolen away into the forests and he gives you a head start. It's some of the most thrilling experiences you've had being intimate with someone.

This is no simple game of hide and seek, it is a true pursuit.

He always finds you quickly and he is fast, but you are faster. It's always a struggle for him to catch you. When he finally does succeed in his quest, you are so lost in the thrill and challenge of the pursuit that it becomes a struggle.

This part he always wins though. Sometimes because your desire for his body takes over your desire for besting him.

Sometimes you are still fighting when he gathers both of your wrists in a single one of his hands and carefully locks your legs beneath his.

He is careful though. He would never do anything without your express consent, without your enjoyment. He may be lost in the moment but he is old enough and wise enough to keep his head.

"Do you still want this, my love? Does your body still burn with need? Or has the pursuit run away with you?"

When you tell him you want this; you want him. That brief tarry into gentleness vanishes. He smiles sharply and turns you over, taking you as an animal in the wild might. Rough and unrelenting.

His hands dig into your thighs, your hips. His fingers tangle and pull your hair.

But when all is said and done, the kisses are soft and sweet. Peppered over your shoulders, down the path of your spine.

He collects you in his arms and soothes you.

"Have you pain anywhere? Is there anything I can get for you my love? You have been so generous with your body this night, it is only right that I take care of you for the remainder of it."

He likes to discuss your intimacy at length. He wants to know what you liked, what you didn't like, what he should change. At first you didn't like to critique, but he pressed you about it once he started to notice changes in your demeanor or reactions in the act. It's gotten much easier for you to discuss these things with him over time.

He simply loves discussing the potential of a family with you. Sometimes enough to be ready for a second round. But that second round is much gentler and more loving than the first. Like he's dreaming of a future with you.

[hgfictionwriter]

Maybe This Time

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: UCLA was a long time ago. Jessie couldn't bring herself to make a move back then and missed her chance. But now that you're back in her life, maybe things can be different.

Warning: None

A/N: A bit more fluff for y'all! And sorry for flooding the Jessie tags. I’ve got a bunch of fics just sitting around!

"Jessie?"

Jessie turned and couldn't believe her eyes. Y/N. Y/N L/N. The girl she'd pined over at UCLA; who her friends had relentlessly made fun of her for liking and never pursuing; the girl who still showed up in idle daydreams from time to time, even all these years later.

"I heard you were playing in town now. Oh my gosh - it's been so long. I was hoping I'd run into you at some point."

Here you were standing in front of her. Smiling at her. Instead of being the...relatively...confident person Jessie now was - she was national team captain, a gold medal athlete, for goodness sake - she wasn't a young girl anymore hiding behind textbooks and her friends, instead though, she felt her cheeks burn hot and her words got caught in her throat. She stood there staring speechless at you.

"Don't tell me you don't recognize me," you said, a hint of apprehension beginning to cast over you.

Finally, Jessie began to react. She closed her eyes briefly in hopes of resetting, shaking her head and allowing herself to smile.

"Of course I do," she finally managed, only stammering slightly. "I mean, I recognize you. Of course."

"Okay." You let out a small laugh of relief. "For a second I thought worldwide athletic stardom made you forget your favourite lab partner."

"Of course not," Jessie readily assured you. "I'd never forget you."

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She clenched her jaw as she reprimanded herself internally for imploding so quickly and after so much time. She cut herself some slack when you smiled again at her.

"That's comforting to hear. Well, I mean, I know you're just leaving," you gestured to the door of the coffee shop, "but, um, I don't know." You laughed nervously before settling on what to say. You offered her a resolute nod. "It was nice to see you again."

Jessie's mind whirled with ideas and options. Anything coming out of her mouth now was mere instinct.

"Nice to see you too. Um, I don't know, maybe we could chat sometime? Are you in Portland too?"

"Yeah, I work at a logistics firm in town." You cracked a smirk. "Not nearly as glamorous as being a national icon, but you know, I do my part."

Jessie chuckled and ran her fingers through her hair.

"If you call 4 am wake-up calls, jet lag, and bruises to high heaven glamourous, then sure, I guess it is."

"Sounds not too unfamiliar from your UCLA days," you teased. "I still remember when you showed up to class with a black eye. And I see you've healed fine from your recent one."

Jessie blushed. So you watched her games? And you remembered moments from uni.

You'd been friends in university, but that's all it ever was. Her friends had goaded her again and again to ask you out, but Jessie could never work up the courage. She'd doubted herself too much. And then before she knew it she'd lost her chance. You dated other girls and that was the end of it. She stepped back and time ticked on.

You remained close friends throughout uni, sharing deep conversations, hopes and fears, silly moments, too. There were moments where Jessie felt hope starting to blossom in her chest - that maybe you had feelings for her, but she'd stamp it out. She’d just be setting herself up for disappointment.

After you both graduated, that was it. She'd gone off to London and you fell out of touch. It was for the best really. Well, maybe.

"Anyway," you started again, drawing Jessie back from her thoughts. "Sure, I'd love to catch up. I'd say I'll message you on Instagram, but I know your social media is a black hole. I can give you my number if you like."

Jessie gave you a tight-lipped smile as she scratched the back of her head and let her gaze fall to the bulletin of flyers instead.

"Yeah, I'm not much for social media."

"I know," you chuckled. "You never were."

Jessie cleared her throat and looked back to you. "And sure, what's your number?"

She almost missed you telling her because her mind drifted back to class when you reached over and scribbled your number on the top corner of her paper and told her to text you about the reading. Jessie’s words had died in her throat and she had to settle for merely offering you a delayed nod as you gathered up your books and left. She’d felt light on her feet, nearly dizzy even, all day. Her hands had shaken when she texted you and her palms were clammy as she awaited your response.

That was a lifetime ago. But now here you were, and number newly confirmed. Jessie tucked her phone away in her pocket.

"Okay, I'll let you go," you told her. "And truly, if you aren't up to a chat of any kind - no pressure. You probably have so many people vying for your time. I won't be offended." You said with true earnest. "In case I don't see you again, I just want to say I'm really proud of you for everything you've achieved. And I'd say I'm impressed, but A) that goes without saying, and B) I always knew you were going to do great things. I told you time and time again. Anyway, it was so good to see you. Take care."

Before Jessie could respond, you'd turned and disappeared to the other side of the shop and into the line. She forced herself to turn and leave.

The door had barely closed behind her when she opened her phone and pulled up her messages with Teagan.

"You will NEVER guess who I just ran into."

-----

"Hi Y/N. It's Jessie. UCLA."

"Lol the one and only. How are you?"

"Well forgive me for not assuming that you would know who a random 'Jessie' is lol. I'm doing well, thanks. How are you?"

"You were always very humble. It was always very endearing, so I'm glad to see you haven't lost that. I'm doing well. Working late. Some of my vendors are shitting the bed, so I'm scrambling to find alternatives."

"Seriously? That sounds brutal. I'm sorry to hear that. Well, if it makes you feel better, the team had to run extra drills today because of how bad our last game was."

"It's the start of the season - lots of new players. Chemistry takes time. You guys will find your groove soon. I'm positive. How is Portland treating you, by the way? I'd love to hear more about your time in London too at some point."

"Well, if you still want to grab coffee, I can tell you all about it. And I want to hear about you too. Did you ever make it to the Ghibli museum?"

"Oh my gosh lolol. You remember that. And yes! I did. And it was amazing. And coffee would be amazing, too :)"

Jessie belatedly realized that she was smiling as you texted back and forth. It was an odd feeling - it was strange to be talking with you again, yet entirely natural.

To her surprise, you ended up texting every day until you met up Sunday afternoon. She'd mentioned to Teagan that you two had this scheduled and soon Jessie was hit with an onslaught of messages from all her Bruins mates stepping right back into form and teasing her.

On a scale from 1-10, how red did you blush? And why was it 20.

Can I finally tell her you mumbled her name in your sleep? Several times?

Please tell me you immediately pulled out a vision board with her face all over it.

LOL the universe said, “Think you’ve suffered enough pining for this girl? Think you’re over her? Guess again!”

She still hot? Send pics.

Jessie sat in her car down the street from the coffee shop and essentially gave herself a stern, mental talking to about your get together. She was not who she was 5 years ago, and neither were you. She didn't need to be so nervous. There were no stakes at all, she could just relax, be in the moment, and reconnect with an old friend.

When she stepped into the coffee shop, her pulse picked up just so when she saw you seated at a table, but thankfully by the time she sat she'd composed herself again.

"The good news is, the rain is nothing new to me after being in London," she joked as she swept some rain off her baseball cap.

You looked up from your phone and a large smile crossed your face.

"Yeah, I hear you. And what's going on - how did we both go from sunny LA to rain central?"

Not entirely surprising, conversation flowed easily between you two. And it wasn't all reminiscing and nostalgia, it was easy to talk about current things as well. Pretty soon, you were both at the ends of your second cups of coffee and yet neither of you made a move to leave.

"So, um, you've been in Portland for a while now," the ease Jessie had felt faltered some as she broached a topic she'd been highly curious about, "did [y/gf] come with you?"

You screwed up your face and laughed.

"No," you answered easily. "We broke up like a couple of months after convocation. Let's be real - that was never going to last."

"Oh," Jessie replied, surprise showing on her face at how readily you dismissed the notion. "I had no idea. I thought you two were solid."

"Well," you drained the last bit of your drink, "I guess I wasn't entirely forthcoming then. Sure, things were okay. But, I was lying to myself if I thought that was going to be a 'forever' kind of relationship." Jessie's look of surprise lingered and you rolled your eyes, leaning in. "Jessie. She'd get distracted every time she walked by a mirror. I wish I was exaggerating, but I'm not. Come on, don't tell me you didn't notice. Her full on checking herself out anytime she caught her reflection?"

Jessie sat back and gave you a brief look of disbelief, shaking her head. "I tried not to notice."

"Smart," you retorted good naturedly. "She was nice, and we had fun, but beyond our values not exactly aligning, an equal partnership it was not."

"Well, okay, she's out of the picture. You must be with someone new, then," Jessie went on. She ignored the twinge in her chest when you shook your head 'no'. Just as quickly, she scolded herself. Why would it matter? She was getting way ahead of herself here. She supposed that old habits - and evidently dormant feelings - died hard.

"No. I mean, I dated a couple of girls since I've been here, but nothing's really stuck." You looked up from your drink to Jessie. "Now, superstar, you have to tell me your update."

Jessie mouth contracted into a tight smile and she felt her cheeks begin to burn under the scrutiny.

"That's confidential," she quipped.

You rolled your eyes dramatically and leaned forward. "That is so not fair." Jessie remained smugly silent and merely shrugged. You let out an exasperated sigh and slouched back in your chair. "Fine," you relented not wanting to push too much. "You were always tight-lipped in university, too. You could've had anyone and you - as far as I know," you said pointedly, "didn't date anyone."

"Oh come on." Jessie now rolled her eyes. "I was so shy and quiet. Even if I'd liked someone I would've never gotten up the courage to ask them out." She felt a buzzing in her head as she watched your reaction. You smiled sweetly.

"You were shy and quiet, yes. But you opened up once you were comfortable. I mean, look at us, look at you with your teammates. And you were so smart, incredibly sweet, and pretty, and you had that dry sense of humour. And, hello, captain of the football team!"

"Co-captain," Jessie interjected pointedly. You hung your head briefly with a laugh.

"I repeat - you could've had anyone."

Jessie subconsciously fidgeted with her hat and planted her feet further apart as she shifted down in her chair. "Well, didn't seem that way at the time."

"Wait - so who did you like?" You probed.

"No one," Jessie retorted, her features scrunching up as she played off the question dismissively. "I barely had time to breathe. There was no way I could date someone."

"You are so cagey sometimes," you said lightly, not being able to resist ribbing her once more. "Fine, so, what about now? Are you seeing someone?"

Jessie's composure was long gone and her face burned hot as your interrogation got her flustered. She took a subtle breath and worked to calm herself.

"No, no one's caught my eye just yet," she relayed.

You studied Jessie, discerning whether to drop the topic or not. You eventually relented as you crossed your arms and reclined in your chair.

"Well, I imagine that's not easy. There's a lot to live up to. And you're surrounded by impressive people every day, so the bar's gotta be high. Again, you can have your pick."

You grabbed your phone and looked it over quickly.

"I need to get going. I have a few errands to run still before the weekend's over," you said, a hint of regret in your voice before you offered a smile. "I had a great time though. It was so good to catch up with you."

Jessie removed her hat, running her fingers through her hair briefly before pulling the cap back down on her head.

"Yeah, I had a great time, too."

For the first time this conversation, a small lull formed and neither of you jumped to bridge it. Eventually, Jessie cleared her throat.

"Maybe we could get together again. Coffee. A drink. Whatever, really."

A mild look of surprise crossed your face, puzzling Jessie.

"Sure, I'd like that," you told her warmly as you shrugged on your jacket.

"Okay." Jessie gave you a small smile as she, too, rose from the table. "Will you be at the game next weekend?"

"I hadn't planned on it, but I could be." You smirked.

"No pressure," Jessie said as she felt that old nervousness begin to bubble up. "I could get you tickets if you ever want to go. That's all."

You smiled, looking at her in appreciation. "I'll have to take you up on that."

Jessie chuckled, but gave you a pointed look. "Honestly, you don't have to. I know you weren't a big soccer fan even in university."

"But," you started, drawing the word out and returning her pointed look, "I started going to games after becoming friends with a certain someone. I just haven't had a reason to go to a Thorns games yet."

Jessie resisted her impending blush and instead crossed her arms loosely in front of her, shifting her weight to one leg. "Okay, just let me know," Jessie said. She gave you a small nod. "And I promise these games are even better than Bruins ones."

You cocked your head, a hint of a smile on your face as you lifted a finger to your lips and narrowed your eyes in mock contemplation.

"What are they calling you these days? Midfield Maestro?"

Somehow, Jessie didn't even feel the urge to blush. Instead, she gave you a cocky smirk.

"So you really have been following my career."

She nearly grinned at how your cheeks flushed pink and you broke eye contact. You only took a moment to compose yourself and look back to Jessie with a half smirk.

"Hard not to," you simply said.

Jessie relented, feeling like she'd teased you enough. For now. She smiled and spoke earnestly.

"Offer stands - if you wants tickets, just let me know. Regardless, let's get together soon."

"Deal," you told her, your blush slowly fading.

There was a brief moment of stillness and uncertainty before you stepped forward and pulled Jessie into a hug. It only took her a moment to relax into it, her arms wrapping around you. Even though your body felt different now - so was hers - it felt natural to hold you close again.

You stayed like that for several moments, surprise and tampered excitement filling Jessie when you tightened your embrace before letting go. She noted the renewed colour on your cheeks when you stepped back.

"Text me?" You asked.

Jessie nodded. "Of course."

[reiderwriter]

My Love Is Mine All Mine

Week 2 of my Playlist series 🎧💕

Summary: Spencer Reid always liked broken things, but you didn't think you could be fixed. Maybe all you needed was understanding and companionship.

Warnings: slight angst, case details mentioned - misogyny, kidnapping, etc, but no graphic/ explicit details. Hurt/Comfort.

A/N: Tumblr, please let me post haha I've been good, I promise 🙏 This fic is so late because I've been having some technical issues with tumblr and it has greatly annoyed me, so hopefully if you're seeing this it's been fixed? Who knows... Thank you to everyone who has sent in songs so far for the Playlist series, I'll be cresting the playlist today and posting it for everyone to see and use!

Masterlist || Series Playlist

Falling for Spencer Reid wasn't in your plan for the new year, but looking back, it was probably something that was just bound to happen. 

He'd been the first person to show you any kindness after everything you went through, the first person who hadn't put their own rigid horror at your past before their attempts at sympathy. 

You watched the way people recoiled from you as you told them - bluntly, you had to be blunt - what the man in the cabin had done to you. 

He listened to your words, didn't interrupt, didn't quietly shake in anger, and refuse to meet your eyes like your father did, didn't weep for her baby like your mother did. He took your hand as it shook. He held your gaze. 

It was his job to ask questions, but there weren't many left to answer. 

The only reason you were alive was because his team had tracked the string of bodies to your kidnappers home. You were alive because one of his coworkers had put a bullet through his head, ending your nightmare. 

The very idea of love was repulsive to you as you emerged from that basement in the first days of the next year, and you remembered thinking the snow looked fresh and soft. You remembered wanting to lay in it, to wrap it around yourself like a warm blanket and drift into sleep. The cold ground would be as much comfort as you would allow yourself. 

Because after everything, you knew you didn't deserve love. 

You accepted understanding from him, though. 

When the shock wore off, you were awash in all the misery inflicted upon you. You raged, kicked, screamed, broke things, and made people uncomfortable. Nothing would numb the pain of being trapped inside your head, your head still trapped inside that basement, that cage. 

He came to visit you at the hospital. The nurses had given up on you, were content you were physically healing, and that they had technically done their job but not bothered by your deteriorating mental state. Some days, you swore that they pierced your skin in the wrong places purposefully, not even searching for your vein. 

But then he was there, with a book and a chess board, and he'd asked you if you'd ever played before. 

“No. Chess always seemed too…” You swallowed the bile that drowned your lungs and tried again. “Before, it was boring. An old person game, too many rules. Now… He said we shouldn't do things like this. Said we shouldn't cultivate our minds.” 

It was a confession again, but one that took a weight off your shoulders, and not one that pushed it further down. 

“Would you like to learn?” His tone was so soft and awkward, like a teenage boy asking a girl out on a first date, that you almost giggled. 

“I'll be honest and say you'll never beat me, I've played through most board combinations, including a large proportion of the 10^80 theorised checkmate positions, so if you'd rather do something else, that's fine, or I can leave, too, if… you'd… prefer?” 

You had laughed then, a thing that bubbled up from the pit of your stomach and left your shoulders shaking as you gasped for breath doubled over. 

You'd been in hell for six months, and he'd drawn you out of it for a few moments by rambling about chess. 

“Are you a patient person, Doctor Reid?” 

“I think so.”

“Then set up the board and let's play.” 

He beat you every time, obviously, but you enjoyed his small explanations of the moves, and you did improve slightly. 

More than that, you enjoyed his company. It wasn't that you talked extensively In your hospital room, oscillating between your lowest point and somewhere just a rung above that where the snow was falling and the air was fresh, but that he never looked at you the way others did. 

You were discharged and were sad to lose that small glimmer of normality. He'd come twice a week throughout January, and now you were back in your usual shape. You were being discharged, and so that would end. 

You were surprised that he came to pick you up from the hospital the day you left. 

The parents who had looked everywhere for you for half a year hadn't wanted to, and the close friends from before hadn't spared you a thought since reposting your missing poster on their social media pages. 

But the man you played chess with twice a week, the man who'd carried you out of hell himself was there. 

“Ready to go?” You nodded, dumbstruck, and followed as he grabbed your bag. 

You weren't exactly sure where it was you were going, but you followed the man anyway, only a small part of your brain shouting in protest considering the last time you'd been blindly trusting.

He led you back to an apartment with some bare furnishings but a large window and a warm soft blanket covering the bed. It wasn't his, but yours. 

“Your parents are paying for it. They're taking the city to court due to the circumstances. Apparently, there were numerous phone calls to law enforcement that went unnoticed, but the city is looking to settle, so you don't have to worry about rent for a while, maybe ever again. The WiFi is all set up, hot water is working, and so is the heating. The locks are triple enforced, and I'm right down the hall, so if you need-” 

“What?” 

He blinked at you and suddenly, looking sheepish, as if becoming aware that he'd presumed a friendship between the two of you without consulting you first. 

“I live down the hall.” 

You stared at each other for a few moments as you processed his words. He lived down the hall. He'd driven you to your new home, set everything up for you, and he lived down the hall. 

“You're a good man, Spencer Reid.” You whispered, turning away to not let the moment linger anymore than it already had. 

Chess nights became routine. You'd set up the board and play for an hour or two or until you were sick of losing. 

Gradually, though, the nights got longer. He'd arrive just as you were eating a meal, and you'd invite him to join you, or he'd bring along takeaway and you'd eat quietly together, talking about everything and nothing.  

One day, you'd mentioned a film. A popular one, one you'd loved as a child and still rewatched to this day. 

“I've never seen it, is it good?” He'd said. And in your shock, you jumped up and sent half the chessboard flying. 

“Well, it seems that now our game is over, that we have time to give you an education, Doctor Reid.” 

“I have three PhD's-” 

“And still you haven't seen Clueless?” 

You'd pulled him over to the couch he'd picked out for you, loaded up the movie and then invented a new tradition. 

Chess nights and film nights were separate days of the week. So he could always promise to be around for one of them even if he had to miss the other because of work. 

You didn't ask him about his job anymore. He saved people like you, and you didn't need to be thinking about people like you too much.

What they went through, if they survived physically. If they survived in other ways. 

He always visited you first when he returned, though. There would be a knock on your door at some point in the day or night, and he'd let you know he was home safe. 

Another tradition. You'd opened the door to let him in the first time he'd returned from a case after you moved in, and he'd leaned down and wrapped his arms around you. 

You heard the breath of relief, loud and emotional, and hadn't quite realised it had come from you until a few minutes later. Some part of you had thought he wouldn't come back. 

Now, every time he came home, you ran to the door and quietly comforted each other, reminding the other that no matter what happened, you were both there for each other. 

You weren't sure when traditions and movies turned into love or if it had lingered over you the entire time. You didn't think you could love someone right then, your heart broken into small pieces with the torment you'd suffered. 

But it was stitched back together with pieces of him still lodged inside. He was in the very fabric of your being as you became whole again. 

The truth was that you most likely couldn't find love again because there was no room in your heart for anyone else. And you'd never be able to reschedule chess nights to go on dates anyway. 

You weren't sure if Spencer ever figured out how much of hum you carried around with him, how your eyes followed his lips as he ran through decades of memories to give you the fact he thought would please you the most. You weren't sure if he loved you as much as you did him until you were.

You'd agreed to watch one of his movies for a change, agreeing to stop the streak of 80s brat pack classics to watch a black and white war film from Russia with no subtitles. You'd sat together on that couch under blankets you'd bought together months earlier, and he'd pulled you in closer.

“I want to watch the movie and translate at the same time. You should sit here.” He'd pulled you into his lap, letting your back fall against his chest as his lips fell to your ears, and he began to whisper. 

Sitting there so closely, so intimately, was almost torture. Unconsciously, your head tipped back with his words, displaying your neck and shoulders, silently willing his lips to drift even once. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you did your best not to squirm the entire movie, but with your heart beating out of your chest, it was a hopeless cause. 

“Did you enjoy it?” He whispered as the credits rolled, but you hadn't even noticed the movie had ended. It wasn't until the silence that followed his question stretched out notably that you came back to reality. You couldn't answer, in fact. You gaped for a few short moments, hoping something vague but accurate enough would just pop into your mind. 

As you attempted to negotiate yourself out of distraction, you turned your face to his, but he was closer than you thought.

Your noses touched, and your breaths mingled. His arms still wrapped around your waist, and your blankets still anchored you to one another. 

“I wasn't paying attention to the movie, Spencer. I'm sorry.” The words came out of you so fast, yet so quietly that you were surprised yourself how honest you had chosen to be. 

“Why not?” He asked, eyes having drifted sleepily down to gaze at your lips. 

You didn't answer his question but felt your cheeks flush red. You thought about pulling away, moving back, or at least laughing everything off, but you didn't. You stayed there, still like a deer in headlights. 

“Your voice was too distracting,” You forced some of the tension out of your body and let your head fall against his shoulder again, hoping this moment wouldn't end anytime soon. 

“Distracting?” He sounded concerned and shifted in his seat, lifting you up from your happy place in his arms until you were again face to face. “Did I make you uncomfortable?” 

The look on his face was so concerned and focused that you had to pause for a second to catch your breath. He cared about your comfort so much and paid attention to each word that came out of your mouth. He wanted your happiness more than anything in the world. 

“No. I'm never uncomfortable with you, Spencer.” You were back to whispering now, hands floating up to grab his own, fidgeting by his sides. You bought them up to your face and guided his hands to your cheeks, needing to show him just how comfortable you were with him in actions, not just words. Words could be dishonest. Actions were honest. 

His concern melted away as he began stroking your cheek with his thumb, smiling sweetly at you. 

Though you were both content, you'd never been quite this intimate before. So when his thumb swiped over the corner of your lips, your eyes both caught on each other. You could see him weighing up the outcomes in his head, going back and forth between pulling away and pushing in closer.

Slowly and softly, as though he were trying not to startle you, his head moved closer until his lips were on yours. 

It was a quiet kiss. You wouldn't describe it as fireworks, or butterflies, or anything loud and grand and passionate. It was quiet, and it was right. 

He pulled away seconds later, trying to gauge your reaction, but you followed him away and kissed him again. 

When you finally pulled away, it took you a few seconds to realise you'd climbed back into his lap, unconsciously having moved closer to him. You guiltily looked up, waiting to see any discomfort on his features, but to your surprise, he was busy straightening out your hair. 

“I love you, Spencer,” you whispered as he took care of you. He smiled, looking down at you once again, pulling his arms around you to gently lower both of you down to a laying position on your couch. 

“I love you, too,” he said as you held each other and drifted into contented sleep.

[leveloneandup]

T: Obviously, the way that I've always gone in my career is, let's let my body try to do as much work as it can. You know, I believe in my body's ability to heal on its own. Somebody gave me hope that I can make the Olympics so I said, 'Look, I'd love to go for it.' Actually, I didn't say that. I think I had to be a little convinced of it because it was a very tight timeline and I truly believed that I wouldn't have been able to do it. C: Yeah. I think we should pause there. Because I remember this as very, actually, interesting and it was when I started to see how you and I were a little bit different in terms of our mentality even though we have so much in common. C: I remember when we were having conversations about whether or not you could try for the Olympics. I thought, you absolutely go for it. No reason not to. You try. And you thought, 'I only want to do it if I can do it and be the way that I need to be.' T: Yeah, for sure and there's always been this part of my career that I have just such a high level that I hold myself to in terms of football. I didn't want to just go to the Olympics. I wanted to go to the Olympics and I wanted to be the type of player, I wanted to play the type of football that I believe is within me, and I wanted to win another Olympic gold medal. Those are my standards. If there was any possiblity that I wasn't going to be able to get to that level at that time, in my mind, I'm like, 'No. I don't want to do it.' I'd rather just focus on giving myself a little bit more time thinking about the World Cup and working towards that. C: Yeah. And it's such a beautiful perspective because through it all, you can actually think of the team, and you can think of others, and you can think of the game of football. And with myself, I only thought about what value you could get. I said to you, 'Try and fail because what a more beautiful story. There couldn't be a more beautiful opportunity to learn than if you give it your all and you don't make it.' I could only see the value for you and you can always hold the value for the game and for your team and for the sport and how you want to leave it at the same time. T: Yeah, I think that was a new introduction to this whole thing, was that idea of trying and it's not something I was necessarily comfortable with but I got on board with it, and yeah.

🎥: The RE—CAP Show | Season 3, Episode 1

[vixstarria]

Another gift

This is a continuation of my headcanon of Astarion’s romance with bard Tav. I can’t remember the actual chronology of cutscenes, but let’s assume this takes place after you’ve started a sexual relationship with Astarion and are beginning to grow closer. I was going to take it in a different direction initially, but these things have a mind of their own once they get going. 

If you like it, check out my first fic. I do plan on writing more! 

P.S. I may have taken some liberties with the game background story and DnD lore and magic system here – if it doesn’t really match up or make sense – sorry! Also I’m still only on Act 2. 

Tav tries to comfort or distract a brooding Astarion. 

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav  

Comfort, fluff, budding love, humour, angst, banter, no spoilers, non-explicit 

Approximately 2,000 words. 

AO3

 

Astarion was standing outside his tent with his back to the camp, staring into a silver mirror. The man had either lost his vampiric condition, lost his mind, or was simply brooding.  

“Looking at something?” he asked absent-mindedly, as you approached. 

Brooding. Definitely brooding.  

“Looking for something.” 

“Oh?” He turned towards you. “Just my company, or is there something else I can offer you?” 

“I'm the one making an offering, actually. I thought I’d bring you a little snack” 

Astarion grinned and beckoned you inside his tent.  

Inside, aside from his bedroll, was a trunk with a large mirror opposite, a lit lantern and a scattering of weapons, equipment and books. You assumed your usual position, cross-legged on the bedroll, and offered him your wrist. This didn’t take long. Just a little pick me up.  

He finished, planting a light kiss on your wrist, reached for his amulet and whispered an incantation to heal the wound. He kept hold of your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.  

“Do you have any idea how much I appreciate that you don’t sexualise this?”  

“I haven’t thought about it... Really?” 

“Well imagine that any time you went to, say, take a bite of a turkey leg, there was someone staring, groping themselves and wagging their tongue at you. When you’re just trying to perform basic functions to stay alive.” 

“Sweetheart, that’s an average evening at the pub for me, when I perform. With or without me biting on anything. ...But I see what you mean”. You contemplated what he just said in a brief silence. “I can't believe you just compared me to a turkey leg.” 

“You’re more of a ripe, juicy peach” he said. You found yourself oddly pleased to be compared to fruit rather than poultry. 

You glanced at the large mirror standing on the floor of the tent.  

“You own an awful lot of mirrors for a vampire. Why do you even keep this here?” 

“That? Oh, it reflects light... makes the tent appear more spacious... prevents anyone from sneaking up on me. ...Unless they’re another vampire.” Astarion said contemplatively. “And I figured, I woke up once with a tadpole in my brain that let me walk in the sun again – who's to say I won’t catch another parasite tomorrow that might cure my vampirism entirely?” 

“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?” 

“Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red. My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing I’ve lost. I wouldn’t even recognise myself anymore. It’s been two hundred years.” 

“But...” you fumbled, trying to wrap your mind around that. “You could have found a street artist to sketch you since then.” 

“In the middle of the night?” 

“Or commissioned a portraitist, those artistic types would accommodate you any time of day or night” 

“Commissioned a - …I’m sorry, at what point did I give you the impression that Cazador paid us an allowance..?” Astarion was growing agitated. “And before you say I could have stolen – remember, everything I had, anything I acquired by any means, the clothes on my back, my body, my will – it all belonged to the master.” He paused, regaining control of his demeanour. “There was no point in having any possessions, it would all be the bastard’s in the end. I didn’t want to give him any more than I absolutely had to.” 

You kicked yourself in the ass mentally.  

“Well how’s this... We get to Baldur’s Gale. We exterminate Cazador and take over his palace. Then we rip out whatever he’s got as décor, commission all the best artists, and hang paintings of you on every wall. There will be nothing but portraits of Astarion everywhere.” Astarion’s eyes softened as he watched you gesticulating and getting carried away by your own imagination. “Astarion in shining armour. Astarion on a horse. Astarion on silk bedsheets, half-covered in rose petals. Pirate Astarion. Astarion stroking a cat. Historic events, but every single person depicted is Astarion. Oh! And in the main banquet hall, there will be an enormous mural of you, fully naked, lounging on a divan and being fed grapes by a cadre of nymphs.” 

“With a fig leaf covering my unmentionables?” 

“A comically large fig leaf. Or better yet, no fig leaf, just your full unmentionable glory looming over the dining table” You paused, as if sobering up after being lost in your grand vision, and added in a more serious tone: “We can commission busts and statues, too. Get a mold of your face for a hyper-realistic one.” 

“We” he whispered, as if to himself, with a scornful chuckle.  

“Oh? Do you have someone else in Baldur’s Gate you’d rather spend time with?” You realised how callous that might have come across as soon as the words were out, and cringed inwardly. 

“...No, I don’t” he said absently. 

“Elves live long lives... Do you still have real family there? Friends from... before? ...A spouse? Children?” You'd wondered about this before, and figured you may as well lie in the hole you’d dug for yourself.  

“Gods, no!” Astarion blinked in surprise. “I wasn’t even considered a full adult by elven society then. No, mercifully I didn’t leave any little Astarions behind. All my friends from my youth are either dead or have blissfully forgotten me. And I don’t even know where my family is.” 

You gave him a sympathetic and questioning look, waiting for him to go on. He sighed and continued. 

“As you might expect, Cazador placed a restriction on me, preventing me from telling anyone about my affliction. I couldn’t approach my old acquaintances and go ‘Surprise! I’m actually alive! ...Sort of. I’m just someone’s vampire spawn slave now!’. No. I was to turn around and walk the other way if I ever came upon anyone who might recognise me. I was supposed to be devoted only to my new ‘family’.” he scowled. “I feared that Cazador would use anyone he thought might be important to me against me - for fun, or to teach me a ‘lesson’. And he would have, too: the mental torture he unleashed on his spawn was far worse than physical.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I couldn’t go and see my family, but as soon as I had my wits about me, I managed to arrange for one of the mercenary guilds to quickly escort my relatives out of the city. They were to be told that I made some powerful enemies who had me murdered, and that these enemies would come for them next. That they had to leave, change their names, and never return. I don’t know where they went. I can’t know, if I want them to be safe.” He looked away. “I can’t imagine how much they hated and cursed me. I ruined their lives.” he whispered. 

“You saved them!” you objected, taking his hand. He shrugged but squeezed your hand back. 

“I suppose I might have. Cazador would’ve left their heads on spikes in my crypt by now, otherwise.” He met your eyes again. “So yes, if anyone is going to be helping me decorate a palace, it’s you.” he added with a false cheer, clearly finished with the topic of Cazador.  

You thought he might want to be alone then and were about to leave, but he gently pulled you towards himself. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a trunk. You settled between his legs, your back against his chest, his lips right at your ear, one arm across your shoulders and chest, the other playing with your hair. The large mirror was on the ground right in front of you. He studied your reflection over your shoulder. You appeared to be lounging suspended at an odd angle.  

“How does it even work, anyway... It’s not just your body that disappears, it’s your clothing, too”. You grabbed a hat from the top of the trunk, holding it by its crown, and held it over Astarion’s head, moving it in circles against his hair. “Now you see it...” You let go and watched it disappear in the reflection. “Now you don’t.” 

“I’m actually not sure, darling. Maybe it needs to be supported solely by me. Or it’s got to do with movement” He threw the hat back onto the trunk, where it reappeared in the reflection. 

“Say...” threw your head back to look up into his eyes “Do you think my reflection would disappear... if a part of you was inside?” you bit your lip and grinned mischievously.  

“I don’t think so, but I love how that dirty mind of yours works” he purred in your ear. “Let’s check and find out” His hand slid towards the clasp of your pants, but you swatted it away. 

“Later.” Suddenly you were on a mission. “I have an idea.” 

The rest of your group were gathered around the fire as you made a dash for your tent and grabbed your kit of stage paints and powders.

“Chk, are you doing each other’s makeup in there?” came a scoff from Lae’zel, as you rushed past. 

“Don’t be jealous, Lae. We’ll have a girls night and braid each other’s hair tomorrow” you retorted, making Shadowheart choke on her drink.  

Back in Astarion’s tent, you reached for one of your loose facial powders. 

“You really don’t need to do anything, I’m used to it and nothing will work anyway” protested a confused and weary Astarion. 

“Astarion!” you said gravely, “This isn’t for you. This is for science”, and you blew the powder hard into his face. Sure enough, an outline of his features appeared briefly in the mirror, as the powder flew all around him. “It worked!” 

“Fan-tastic! Too bad you had to blind me to achieve that split second of a silhouette!” he coughed and rubbed at his eyes. 

“It should work with water, too, if you want me to pour some over your head. You need to wash all that powder off anyway, you look ridiculous.”  

He glared at you through the still flying powder particles and pointed a finger at your face.  

“No.” 

“Actually, hang on, I have a better idea.” You heard him groan into his hands behind you, as you ran back to your tent, to return with an amulet.  

“So, the good news is, I am really, really bad at this.” 

“If this involves setting me on fire again...” 

“That was an accident. Anyway... No, this lets me create a fog cloud. Or so it should. I can just barely manage some fog tendrils. Now if I just aim them at your face...” You concentrated on the spell. Whisps of fog appeared around Astarion. “Look...” As the fog tendrils twisted in the air, you could just make out a form that they floated around, in the reflection, one unmistakably of a face.  

“Well...” breathed Astarion, transfixed by the reflection, trying to make motions with his head to make the fog recoil. “It’s not much, but it’s more than I’ve seen in centuries” 

“Come on” you grasped his hand. “Let’s go outside, it needs a different light and a slight breeze” 

Astarion snatched his handheld mirror and followed you. He was actually eager.  

Outside, Astarion spun in the whispy fog, gazing at the mirror in disbelief, as you continued to concentrate on the spell. It was actually working. Your conjuration magic was just bad enough to make the thinnest layer of fog, framing his face like a delicate mask and reflecting in the mirror. What would have been considered incredibly precise work by a wizard, was made possible entirely thanks to you borderline failing.  

“That’s better... I’ll channel the fog right, you turn left against it. No, your other left! No, don’t go into the fire, you idiot, it won’t be my fault this time” 

You grabbed Astarion by the hand and tried to guide him away from fire and anything he could trip over – he was paying exactly zero mind to anything around him, as he semi-stumbled in circles, looking in the mirror. Scratch ran around you, barking, excited for a new game, and eventually tripped you both. 

“Another gift...” Astarion smiled at you, as Scratch did his utmost to lick his face.  

Meanwhile, the group watched the two of you from a distance, dumbfounded. Lae'zel broke the silence: 

“Your people have the strangest mating rituals.”  

“Should I... should I tell them I can probably just cast mirror image on him? I’ve only done it on myself, but it should follow the same principle” added Gale. 

“Maybe tomorrow” said Shadowheart. “Just let them enjoy this tonight.” 

~~~~~

Next in series

AO3

[violetsiren90]

The Light of Your Eyes

Pairing: best friend's younger brother!Changbin x f!Reader

Genre: one-shot; friends to lovers; smut and fluff; hurt/comfort

Summary: Can the gentle touch of an unexpected pair of hands on your body heal the wounds of your soul?

Content warnings: 18+ (minors, dni), age gap romance (consenting adults); mentions of break-up and unhealthy past relationship dynamics; depression and anxiety symptoms (mild); MC has self esteem struggles, some are body-image related; the ex was low-key emotionally abusive tbh 😒; depictions of alcohol consumption (no drunkenness); depictions of food and eating (MC has a moment of negative thought patterns in regards to food consumption); gaming/watching movies; emotional breakdowns; kissing (so much kissing, guys); Fluffy fluffy FLUFF 💕; making out; interrupted shenanigans; cuddling; shirtless Binnie 👀; strong and gentle Binnie 🥺💘 ; working through FEELINGS 😅 ; breast play; nudity; oral sex (f. receiving); feedbag position; confessions and new beginnings.

Word Count: ~9300

Author's Note: Well, here it is - my first Binnie fic! I wanted to make it as sweet and sexy as he is...which, I know, is impossible, so I gave it my best shot! Hopefully, it's something worthy of his face-claim. I'm not going to make any judgements as to whether I feel it fits the bill, but rather like the man himself, tell you to be the judge of your own opinions! Jutdae!! 😂💗 But in all seriousness, if you decide to read this story, thank you! I hope it brings you something warm and fuzzy!

*The poem at the beginning is an original, and is what inspired this story!

Acknowledgements: I cannot thank @moni-logues enough for beta reading this for me, and for all her hype and humor and general human decency - this story wouldn't be what it is without her! 💖

As always, if no one has told you today, please know that you're loved, and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

    

the

Bright color of my laughter and the

Melody of the curve of my hips and the

Soft velvet of my irises

     seemed

To have taken their first breath,

Opening gently - like flowers perfuming my soul

- When bathed in the light of your eyes.

"Changbin? What are you doing here?"

     "I could ask you the same question," he says with a little smirk, whipping a dish towel over his shoulder as he shuffles back to let you in.

     Fair enough, you suppose. You are showing up without notice. Not that you ever need to give his sister any notice - as your best friend, there's a key with all the others in your purse that unlocks the door you're closing behind you. You wouldn't have even knocked had his car not been parked in the driveway.

     "Where's Nari?" you ask, glancing at the gaming console hooked up to the massive flat-screen, and a bullet blender cup half filled with something thick, pale and probably protein-packed sitting on the coffee table.

     "She went out of town for the weekend," he calls, heading back toward the dining area. "Last minute work thing." 

     Damn. 

     Your apartment is boring and barren and lonely. You wanted to hang out. You've been coming around more than usual – almost as often as when you were in grad school together. But Nari had her own life, you understood. You had your own life too.

     And then three months ago, on New Years Eve, your long-term boyfriend called it quits. It wasn't as if you were heartbroken. Not really. The relationship had been sick and slowly dying. But returning to a life lived in solitude was proving a difficult adjustment – especially navigating the new and constant stillness which left you the mental space and dexterity to run up against the shadows of wounds unhealed. And you didn't feel like growing into your EQ. You felt like distracting yourself. So you ended up at your bestie's place more often than not, these days.

     You sigh, trailing toward the kitchen. You won't stay long - if her younger brother is house sitting, he'll probably have people coming over. It's Friday night, after all, and he's twenty-four years young.

    The sound of running water, and music from a little speaker playing a catchy beat laced with fast-paced rap draws you into the warmly-lit, open kitchen. You recognize the voice on the track.

     "This new?" you ask, dropping your bag on a barstool and rounding the island to where Changbin is up to his elbows in suds at the sink. He's in a black band tee and bright blue joggers, his curly dark hair unstyled.

    He looks over his shoulder and nods.

    "What do you think? Wait, no, lemme start it over..."

     You smile to yourself as he hastily dries his hands and whips out his phone, pulling the track back to the beginning. He braces himself against the edge of the sink, gnawing on his bottom lip as he bobs his head with the lyrical punches and runs. 

     You smile to yourself, leaning your back against the counter beside him.

     "This is good, Bin," you nod earnestly. 

     "Yeah?" he asks, returning to his soapy task.

     "It really is. Hyunjin's pretty damn fast. Not as fast as you, but who is?" 

You grin, bumping your hip into his side.

     He smirks down into the bubbles.

     He's wanted to make music for as long as you've known him, and even fifteen years ago he could spit out a diss track that would have you wetting yourself laughing. He and his buddy, Hyunjin, met in high school and started messing around with music senior year. They committed to the dream, and both worked full-time gigs - Hyunjin as a tattoo artist and Changbin as a personal trainer - while promoting their artistry in their spare time. Production was a tough road to take when they were counting on nothing but raw talent and guts, but you'd always been an unflinching supporter.

     "We've got a gig next Saturday...at The Eight Ball," he remarks, looking over at you as a proud smile presses a tiny dimple into his bread cheek.

     "What?!" you squeal, turning to smack him on the arm. "Dude, that's fantastic! Oh my god, congratulations!"

     "Thanks, and ouch!" he replies, rubbing his arm with a pout that you ignore. It couldn't possibly have hurt him, not with those biceps.

     He moves to the fridge, a grin still plastered on his face.

     "You should come!" he urges over his shoulder as he appraises his sister's stash before grabbing an energy drink. "I know the boyfriend isn't into rap, but you could come with Nari..."

     You scoff softly.

     "Doesn't really matter what he likes anymore," you mumble bitterly.

     Changbin freezes as he's about to crack open the beverage in his hand.

     "Wait, what? Did you guys...is that over?"

     You purse your lips and nod. Changbin looks completely taken off guard in a way that surprises you. 

“When did that happen?”

You reach back to clutch at the cold tile of the countertop.

“Beginning of the year.”

He scratches his head.

“Nari didn’t…why didn’t you say something?”

You shrug, your eyes falling. For reasons you'd never considered, you’d rarely brought your ex around or even brought him up to Changbin. 

He turns to the still open fridge and swaps out his energy drink for two beers, opening both and sliding one across the island between you.

     "How you holding up?" he asks in earnest concern, a little furrow appearing between his dark brows.

     You want to tell him that you're fine - it's what you've been telling everyone else - but from the way he holds your gaze before letting his eyes search your face, he's looking for a real answer. You pull your lip between your teeth. You're not ready to form the words that spell the truth. He sees it.

    "Ah," he waves dismissively, "Fuck that guy. You're too good for him anyway. What an idiot."

      You blink, a little smirk tugging at your lips.

     "You don't have to hate on him just because we're-"

     "I'm hating on him because I hate him," he stares at you unflinchingly, taking another swig of his beer. "He wasn't good to you, didn't make you happy. I'm glad he's gone. Seriously, fuck him."

     You didn't expect that sort of reaction out of Changbin. Not that you expected anything, but the strong, certain tone he took in regards to your ex's unworthiness has a tiny little warmth glowing in your chest. It was like him to feel strongly and take a stand, but to have his conviction aimed at you...

     "Thanks, Bin," you murmur softly, hiding your smile behind your beer.

     The young man nods, and his lips part as if to speak when his phone buzzes in his pocket. As he answers the call - clearly, from the nature of his greeting, one of his buddies - you're reminded that you’re trespassing on his Friday night. Draining your beer, you grab your bag and slip out of the kitchen. 

     You huff a little sigh as you pull on your shoes, lingering listlessly for a moment before pulling open the door. The thought of going home has your stomach churning. You can't go back and be alone there. 

You can't.

     You have to.

     How pathetic could you possibly get? you consider sickly, staring out into the darkness. Your self-loathing and mounting anxiety battle for dominance as you will yourself to take the step over the threshold that will carry you to your car…

     Click.

     The door swishes shut, and you blink in confusion before you note a bulky arm stretched over your shoulder, hand pressed to the wooden frame below the peephole.

     You turn into Changbin's frame and he jostles backwards, hand dropping to your shoulder.

     "Where do you think you're going?" he asks, a little smirk playing on his lips.

     You try to get your bearings as you resurface from the flash flood of inner turmoil, blinking up at him in confusion.

     "Uuhh...home?" you answer, jerking a thumb back toward your intended exit.

     Changbin shakes his head. 

     "You just got here."

     "Well...I came to see Nari but she's gone, so..." 

     When the faintest shadow of hurt seems to flicker over his features at your words, you stammer to clarify.

     "Bin, it's Friday, I- you've got plans, right? I don't want to be in the way...Like, it's really nice seeing you don't get me wrong, but, it would suck to have one of your sister's random friends underfoot if you're...if..."

     You trail off. He's watching you in amusement now, arms crossed and bottom lip pulled between his teeth, one eyebrow cocked just a little higher than the other.

     "What?" you press him, now a bit self-conscious at your rambling and still on edge from the surging anxiety of moments ago. 

     Damn, what was with you? You'd been a mess lately, and now you couldn't even get your words out with Nari's kid brother?

     "I do have plans."

     Changbin's words interrupt your muddled self-assessment. You glance up at him.

     What? Okay, that's what you had been trying to...

     "I plan to kick your ass at Super Smash Bros Brawl," he quips, turning to round the couch and settle in front of it before reaching for the blue controller discarded on the coffee table.

     Huh?

     You watch him start up the game and move through selections. Shuffling toward the back of the couch, you place your hands on it. He wants to hang out? Now that he found out you'd been dumped. Nari's away, so he's falling into stride, you think to yourself. You sigh. You should be grateful. Instead, you feel like a burden.

     "Um, Bin..." you murmur, "You don't have to do this..."

     "Do what?" he asks without looking back. "I'm not going easy on you, if that's what you mean. And I'm using Kirby - nonnegotiable."

     Your heart melts a little as your eyes rest on him. He's always been a good guy, and it was like him to do this sort of thing - look out for someone when they were feeling low. Leaving simply because you don't feel worthy of his care and attention risks hurting him more than you.

     You slowly slip out of your shoes and cross into the living room, retrieving a red controller from atop the console before sinking onto the carpet beside him. You toggle through your choices before landing on Link. Changbin glances over at you disparagingly. 

     "Link sucks."

     "Kirby sucks."

     "Hey!" Changbin, practically shouts in your ear, "Don't insult my widdle cutie guy..."

     You grimace theatrically at the baby talk.

     "Don't ever do that again."

     "Or what?" Changbin challenges as he immediately unleashes a combo move that has your character hurtling toward the edge of the battle stage.

     You hop around, avoiding him and trying out different button combos. It's been forever since you played this game. Your ex had been a Halo enthusiast. You were never big on first person shooters, but you tried to get into it for his sake. He hadn't the patience to help you learn, though, and after a couple of sessions of grimaces and apologies on your behalf mumbled into his headset, he'd stopped taking you up on your offers to join him. 

     Kirby darts back and forth across the screen after you on stubby pink legs. Eventually you get the hang of things and are returning his attacks, though he easily bests you in an embarrassingly short sequence of moves.

     "Sorry, I'm no good at video games," you mumble apologetically. 

     The smug look falls from Changbin's face.

     "Why are you sorry?" he raises a brow, dropping his controller into his lap, a little smile still playing on his lips.

     You shrug. His smile fades.

     "Who says you're no good?"

     Shit.

     You shift your focus to the screen and toggle for a new character.

     "Best two out of three."

     You can feel his eyes still on you as you opt for Princess Peach.  

     Two out of three turns into five out of eight, and around eleven out of twenty, the doorbell rings. When Changbin turns in surprise toward the sound, you take the opportunity to deliver a critical blow, winning your first match of the night. He rolls his eyes as you giggle wickedly and moves to answer the door.

     You pull your phone from your pocket reflexively to check the socials you've deleted, before sighing and tossing it across the room to land on the carpet with a thud.

     "Did you just throw your phone?" 

     Glancing over your shoulder, you catch him shooting you a quizzical look over a stack of pizza boxes tall enough to feed a small army. Clambering to your feet you trail after him into the kitchen.

     "You do have plans, you liar!" you elbow him as he opens the top box and pulls out a slice, hissing as the melted cheesy overflow burns the tips of his fingers.

     "Ow!" he snaps up a napkin and cradles it under the steaming piece of pizza, shaking his other hand before holding up his fingers in front of you.

     "Blow on 'em," he whines.

     You raise your eyebrows.

     "You're joking."

     He pouts and you want to laugh. This big, grown man is seriously going to give you the lip right now?

     "That's what you get for having no patience, Bin..." you tsk disapprovingly. 

     He lets out a little disappointed sigh.

     "Meanie..." he grumbles, and lets his hand fall.

     You return your focus to the obscene amount of food now stacked on Nari's kitchen table. 

     "So, I'm sure people are going to start showing up, so I'm just gonna..."

     Changbin hands you a paper plate with two slices of pizza and heads to the fridge where he fishes out two more beers. You stare at the plate in your hand.

     "I...Bin..." 

     "What, you don't like sweet potato?" he asks with a smirk, cracking open a can and handing it to you. 

     You blink at him in confusion. 

     "Please enjoy this meal compliments of Han Jisung, who never remembers to update the address on his delivery app. Now, load up on pizza and let’s get back to it because I'm not trying to let you act like you came out on top from winning that last match on a fluke."

     You scoff at his last remark. Watching him pile several slices onto his plate, you take a bite of yours. It tastes good, and you realize as it hits your stomach that you haven't eaten all day. When was the last time you ate a real meal? When was the last time you wanted one? 

     "Noona?" 

     Changbin's voice makes you realize you had zoned out and when you blink up at him, there's just nine inches of disposable dinnerware between you. His lips are pursed and his eyes trace your features, their gaze gentle but searching. 

    "You alright?" he asks.

     There it is again; the concern. He isn't just checking in. His voice is soft and low, like his eyes. As a rule, Changbin's voice is strong, resonant - saying everything from his chest without even trying. So when he's gentle, when he pulls himself back...

    "Do you miss that guy?" he murmurs.

     "No!" 

You say it so quickly.

     Changbin nods.

     "I'm just..." Fuck, why are you suddenly so emotional? "I think I'm...adjusting. Y'know?"

     He nods again slowly. Then he reaches up and touches your face, dragging his thumb over the side of your mouth and suddenly your brain waves flat-line. Your eyes widen and your lips part, but before you can even process what's happening, he drops his hand to swipe it on a napkin.

     "Had sauce on your face," he mumbles, and you can't read his.

     His mouth is tugged up in a small smile but somehow it looks sad, and his eyes look like they're still asking a question that was never really answered. Before you can consider any further, he picks up his plate and heads back toward the living room.

     You follow him, still half in your head.

     When you sit down next to him, there's something hanging unspoken in the foot and a half of space between your bodies. Something has shifted, gone taut. 

     Shit, had you made him uncomfortable? Why had you stared at him like a weirdo when he...wait, he touched you...

     Your eyes shift over to where he sits beside you. He runs a hand through the wavy hair over his ear. Has he always been so beautiful? He turns quick enough to catch you staring and you put your plate out of your lap. The pizza smells so good but suddenly you can't touch it.

     Changbin initiates another round, which you lose in record time. Your stomach grumbles.

     "You better eat if you're going to have any hope of beating me again," he goads, finishing off his third slice to abandon the crust with the others on his plate before launching another game.

     "I had enough," you deflect, pushing your plate toward him.

     "You took two bites."

     "I need to cut back."

     "Like...go on a diet?"

     "Yeah."

     His brows furrow and his tongue slips between his lips as he sends Kirby into a hammer flip that lands as a critical hit and you wince.

"What have you eaten today?"

"What?"

     "You heard me."

     "I...I don't know. I..."

     Your stomach twists. The hunger is there, but so is the anxiety. The fear of being judged for eating too much or too quickly or...

     The game pauses. Your plate slides back toward you over the carpet.

     "The rest of that piece. Or whatever else you want. But something." 

     His voice is gentle but firm. You sigh.

     "Fine," you murmur, grabbing the half-eaten slice.

     You take a bite, and slowly raise your eyes to his as they regard you patiently.

     "Sorry," you mumble, covering your mouth, shifting away from him.

     "Why now?"

     "I make gross noises when I eat."

     "What? No you d-" 

     A hand tugs at your elbow. When you look back toward him his handsome face holds so many things, and you watch as they take turns seizing his features. Horror...pity...anger.

     "Who told you that?" he asks lowly, but it doesn't sound like a question. "Noona..."

     He squeezes your elbow.

     You feel everything you've been shoving down in your chest begin to well up. 

Fuck, no! 

Your lip trembles.

He's shifting to face you.

You shake your head and press your eyes shut.

Your hand is encompassed in a larger one.

     "It's lies, all of it," Changbin whispers with desperate conviction...and your dam breaks.

     He pulls you into his arms as you sob with abandon. One of his hands encircles your waist tugging you against his broad, warm chest, and the other slips to brush tenderly over your nape as you tuck your face into his neck. 

     "He's a liar...shhhh...he's a lying piece of shit," he insists earnestly, into your hair. "You're perfect. He's the one who needs to fix himself. You're so, so perfect." 

     Perfect? You let your heart hold the word in its palm for one precious moment before pushing it away. Your heart had never been one to accept gifts it didn't think it deserved.

     You weep and weep in his strong arms until you run out of tears, and then he holds you while you breathe. As the catharsis of your breakdown begins to settle in, you wonder at the comedown - a softer, warmer one than you've ever known – and you consider the loveliness that has broken your fall.

     Soft and firm, everywhere he touches you. And warm. So warm. Not just the heat radiating from his body like a furnace – the velvet rasp of his voice, the absolute and unfaltering nature of his embrace.

     Your hands move tentatively against his back. Soft cotton stretches and bunches between your fingers over his sturdy frame. Where your face is pressed to his collar every breath draws in a comforting combination of detergent and cologne. When you close your eyes and sigh, letting your weight sink against him further, you feel his arms tighten in response. 

     "Sorry," you croak feebly.

     "Stop," he implores you, "Every time you apologize, I want to sock that guy in the face."

     "I...I'm so stupid, I didn't even really realize..."

     "No," his arms squeeze you again, "He had your trust. It was his job to protect you."

     Protected. That's how you feel right now. Safe. So, so safe. Letting him hold you and reassure you felt good...it felt right. But yet again, the voice in your mind that liked to remind you how much of a burden you always were speaks up in a sickly whisper.

     You pull yourself slowly from his arms and off his lap. Drawing yourself up to stand, you wipe your hot cheeks, puffy red eyes finding his like the needle of a compass. Unprepared for what awaits you in his gaze, your knees nearly give out beneath you.

     Changbin is looking up from where he kneels before you, the yearning in his eyes unchecked as they burn with  an unasked question and an unspoken promise.

     "I should go," you whisper, barely able to form the words.

     "Don't," he says, standing.

     "If I stay I'll just wreck your night," you mumble.

     "You could never," he insists, lips tugging into a little smile. His eyes are still pleading.

     "Changbin..." you breathe, suddenly drowning again in the fizzy serotonin his words ignite in your chest. "You don't want..."

     "You let me be the judge of what I want."

     His hands find your arms and he pulls you in. There are centimeters between you. His eyes rest on your lips. Your heart hammers in your ears as your brain begins to malfunction the way it had when he touched your face...

     "D-do I have something on my-"

     Mouth? His.

    The whole of your being floods with something beautiful and ineffable at the touch of his lips and no voice, no doubt, no force in the world could be stronger than the one that pulls you into him. Your arms fly up to wrap around his neck and tug yourself impossibly closer. His hands drop to your waist, pressing desperately in kind, and your bodies mold together. You flush with heat, sparks igniting in your belly and skittering through your veins as his lips move against yours. He stumbles back, pulling you with him as his knees buckle at the edge of the couch, and your body spills over his lap.

Your fingers card into his hair.

His hands drop to the back of your hips.

Your tongue brushes his bottom lip.

He moans.

     At the gorgeous, deep sound from his chest, you pull back, fighting the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth. What the fuck is happening right now? You don't get much time to consider as his head falls against the backrest and his eyes flutter open.

     "Sorry," he grins bashfully. The tips of his ears burn pink.

     "Now who's apologizing for no reason?" you tease, pressing your hands to his chest.

     He smiles so sweetly in return you feel you might physically melt. And then the smile fades and the lids of his eyes grow heavy and he leans up to claim your mouth.

     His lips taste the same as a moment ago, but their press is slower, hungrier. His hands are powerful and assertive as they hook under your thighs and pull your hips flush against his own in a single tug. You gasp softly against his lips and you feel his smirk. You feel his smirk and something else - something beginning to press up into your ass through your jeans.

     Licking into his mouth, you push down, grinding your hips over his in a slow, deliberate undulation. The groan that falls from his lips unlocks something inside of you that needs to know every sound he makes and how to elicit them. Your mouth drops to his neck.

     Suddenly, he's gripping your waist and pivoting to lay you on the cushions, slotting himself between your legs. You're still dizzy from the sudden rush of movement, when your legs curl around his hips and over his ass and–

     A loud buzzing from the coffee table has you mourning the press of Changbin's lips to your throat as he glances at the caller ID. 

     "Shit!" he scrambles to sit up, hand still gripping your thigh above your knee when he presses the phone to his ear.

     "Hey," he runs a hand through his hair. "What? Nothing. No, I didn't forget. I will, I will."

     You recognize his tone of voice. There could only be one person on the other end of the line. You sit up, your head beginning to clear as the reality of the situation washes over you.

     "Okay, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Be safe. Love you." 

Changbin presses the end-call button and tosses the phone onto the cushion beside him. He leans back against the couch and claps his hand against your leg with a sigh.

     "She really knows how to wreck a moment for me."

     You crack a wry smile.

     "I mean, it's probably for the best that we don't desecrate your sister's couch."

     His eyes widen as horror, disgust, and amusement wage war across his features. You burst into a fit of giggles. He feigns a gag. You laugh so hard that you snort.

     "S-sorry," you clap your hand over your mouth, still tittering while your ears heat in embarrassment.

     Changbin's face softens again. He reaches for your hand and pulls it from your face, threading his fingers through yours.

     "Cut it out."

     "What? I can't be embarrassed about snorting like a pig?"

     "No. It's cute," he smirks.

     "It is not!"

     "Mhm. Everything you do is cute."

     He glances over at you, a lopsided smirk on his perfect lips, his eyes sparkling. He means it.

     You fluster, gaze dropping to your enjoined hands, and concentrate on tracing little patterns on the back of his with your thumb. He sighs.

     "Wanna watch a movie?"

     The request takes you by surprise and your heart squeezes. If it was any other guy, the night would have been over. For the fourth time tonight, you had been about to head for the door, and for the fourth time, Changbin makes you feel wanted. So you stay.

     You grab a big, fluffy blanket from the basket in Nari's room, and when you return, Changbin has the lights dimmed and Your Name ready to go on the TV. You smile as you settle in beside him, tossing half the blanket over his widespread legs.

     "We don't have to watch this just because it's my favorite, you know," you insist, but he shakes his head.

     "Taki's ma' boy," he smirks, shooting you a glance as he presses play on the remote.

     You're not quite sure what it means, but you feel your heart skip a beat just the same.

You love this movie. You love that you've seen it enough times that you can talk through it. You love that Changbin is more than willing to talk over the film himself. You're not certain when it happened, but by halfway through the movie his arm is stretched out behind your shoulders and your head rests on his bicep.

     "Do you remember seeing this together in the theater?" he asks suddenly, tilting his head toward yours.

     You grin.

     "You cried and Nari gave you shit about it," you recall.

     "You bailed me out. Told her all the sniffling was you. Never even teased me about it either."

     Changbin smiles down at you, his eyes sentimental.

     Butterflies flutter their delicate wings in your ribcage. How does he make you feel this way?

Your eyes dip to his lips for a moment. Sighing, you nuzzle into his shoulder, hiding your face as much as seeking his warmth. His arm slips off the back of the couch to curl around your shoulders and pull you into his side. The movie plays on.

     When the credits roll, Changbin stretches and yawns, and watching him it dawns on you that, working at a fitness center, he's an especially early riser.

     "We should call it a night," you offer, standing and stretching yourself, but you're tugged back down into Changbin's lap, yelping as you topple onto him.

     His arms encircle your hips as he regards you with a sleepy grin.

     "What, do I live here now?" you tease.

     "Stay the night," he urges, tightening his arms around you. "You really want to drive back now?"

     You chew your lip, eyes tracing over his face. This is all more than a bit unreal, and you haven't given yourself even one second to process what's happening, lest you utterly panic. All you know right now is that your little ship had been sinking and he had hauled you into a lifeboat. Everything outside of him seems like a raging sea.

     You nod.

     "Okay," you whisper, combing his hair away from his forehead. “I’ll stay.” 

     His eyes dip shut at your touch and the butterflies flutter gently once more.

     A few minutes later, you take Nari's room and slip into a pair of her cotton shorts, which do basically nothing to contain your ass, and tug on a plain white tee that stretches snugly over your torso. How a big guy like Changbin could have emerged from the same genetic pool as his teeny tiny sister was beyond you. As you glance in the mirror, your heart sinks. You don't like how the tight fit is pressing you out everywhere you're most self-conscious. But, they are just pajamas, and they're all you have at your disposal.

     As you're about to head into the master bathroom to finish your nightly routine, you remember that the toothbrush and toiletries you keep on hand at Nari's are in the little half-bath attached to the guest room. You groan, glancing at yourself again in the mirror, and pull a blanket around yourself before crossing the hall.

     Hoping Changbin hasn’t yet fallen asleep, you knock hesitantly on the door. You hear the bed creak before the door opens to reveal a head of mussed hair and hands scrubbing over bleary eyes. But it's not what you notice. Your apology for rousing him dies on your lips as your eyes glue themselves to his bare chest. Blinking dumbly, your eyes climb from his soft stomach subtly rippling with the presence of strong abdominals up to a pair of impressive pecs with wide-set, dusky nipples. His flannel pajama pants settle at his hips, accentuating how his body broadens as it rises from his waist to his full chest and wide shoulders flanked by bulging biceps. Thick. He's so fucking thick you could bi-

     "...Noona?" he rumbles, his voice husky from sleep. "What's wrong?"

     "Nothing...sorry..." you rush out, ripping your gaze up to his. "My toothbrush is in your room – I mean! in your bathroom. That's where I usually stay, so...but I didn't think you'd be asleep. Sorry, I can just..." 

     He rubs over one of his eyes with his palm as he steps aside.

     "You can grab it."

     Right. You shuffle in awkwardly, trying not to step on the blanket dragging around your feet. As you cross the dark room, you try not to dwell on the rumpled sheets of the bed that speak of his body having lain between them, or the soft smell of his cologne hanging in the air. You quickly retrieve the little toiletry bag and, as you move to squeeze past Changbin at the door, he eyes the fluffy shroud you're clutching to your chest.

     He raises a sleepy eyebrow.

     "I'm sure Nari has pants you could..."

     "I'm wearing pants!" you bluster, "They just...don't fit."

      You move out of the doorway to make your way back to your room, but a hand cups the side of your face and turns it as soft lips meet your forehead. 

     "Good night, noona," he murmurs with a little smile before retreating back into his room.

     You stand in the hall, staring at his door, the butterflies absolutely aflurry.

     Despite your best efforts, you can't sleep. Your mind is full of the last five hours. Full of Changbin.

     He had kissed you. You had kissed him back. And it had felt...

     You roll from your side to your back, sighing up at the dark ceiling. You chew on your lip as you remember breaking down and his arms around you. You would usually feel regretful and ashamed after baring yourself like that to someone. You despised moments of weakness. But you couldn't bring yourself to hate the moments in his arms. You didn't regret them. In fact, you wanted him to hold you again. You wanted to feel vulnerable in his hands, and you wanted him to keep you safe.

     You feel heat rush up from your neck as you recognize these feelings.

     You must be absolutely shameless, you conclude in wonder. You should be freaking out right now - this was Changbin, for Christ's sake – Nari's brother! You should be wondering what happens next, and what all of it means...but even so you can’t bring yourself to care. All your mind can focus on is how his arms felt like waking up after a nightmare to song birds and soft sunlight.

     After an hour or so of tossing and turning, the salty pizza from dinner has you parched and slipping out to the kitchen for a drink. You pull a glass from the cupboard and fill it at the fridge, gulping down the contents to refill it again. Suddenly, you feel two strong arms snake around your waist and you start, sloshing your water and smacking the back of your head into the man holding you. You hastily set your glass down and turn in his arms as he lets out a groan, one of his hands releasing you as it flies up to cup the front of his face in pain.

     "Bin, oh my god! Are you okay? You scared me!" you chide with a chuckle as you reach up to push his hand away and brush the tips of your fingers across his nose. 

    He pouts down at you and you smile.

     "Did I wake you?"

     He huffs.

     "Yeah. To get your toothbrush. Then I couldn't go back to sleep."

     "Sorry," you groan, still stroking over where you had struck his face. "Does it hurt?" 

     He nods.

     "Kiss it better," he mumbles cutely.

     You roll your eyes, but lift your lips to comply when suddenly he interrupts the motion with the soft press of his mouth to yours. It's slow and sweet, and you're struck all over again with how quickly you melt at his touch - a sensation you cannot imagine ever growing accustomed to, but to which you are fairly certain you are in danger of growing entirely addicted.

     "Bin..." you whisper against his lips, "Bin, what are we-"

     "Liar," he murmurs, pulling back.

     Your mouth parts in confusion as you stare up at him, still drunk on his lips.

     "You said the clothes didn't fit. You should wear this all the time," he smirks as he squeezes low on your waist.

     Your cheeks heat as you remember what you're wearing, but you don't have long to be anxious over it as he presses his lips to your nose...the corner of your mouth...your jaw. You tremble as you lean into him, fingers splaying over his warm, bare chest.

     "Let me show you," he whispers against your skin.

     "Sh-show me...what...?"

     He draws back, pressing his forehead to yours.

     "How perfect you are."

     You still, eyes flicking up to his. They're dark and tender and pleading. You let out a little shuddering breath.

     "I...you don't have t-"

     His arms hold you closer, gentle but insistent.

     "Let me," he whispers, the tip of his handsome nose brushing over the dip of your cupid's bow. "Please. I want to."

     You swallow, eyes dropping to his lips. You want it too, you find. You want his hands and lips and eyes all over you, bringing warmth everywhere they meet your aching body. You nod and take his lips again with yours. 

     "Yeah?" he murmurs against them.

     "Yeah," you breathe, slipping a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair.

     He groans in response, deepening the kiss as he licks at your parted lips and when your tongues brush, sparks burst in your belly. You feel it all slipping, the masks, the walls - every barrier you hold up to shield yourself from not being enough. His arms are strong and his lips are tender and you can't focus on anything but the perfection of being so utterly held.

     His mouth moves to caress your jaw, under your ear, down the column of your neck, and suddenly you feel the edge of the counter pressing into the small of your back. His hands grip your waist and he hitches you onto the tiled surface with ease. It's cold against your bare legs, but you don't have more than a second to register the discomfort as Changbin nudges his way between your knees. He runs his hands over your thighs as his eyes trail from your panting lips to your lightly heaving chest.

     You feel your nipples pebble under his gaze and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his eyes glinting with mischief as he runs a hand up your side, over your shirt, to rest under the swell of your breast. He flicks a thumb over the hardened bud and you whimper and jump. He laughs softly, his smirk spreading into a full smile as he squeezes your breast and brings his eyes to yours.

     "Your pretty body likes me, noona," he puffs proudly, massaging you deftly through the soft cotton of the tee.

     You don't have a witty retort. Your body likes him so much that it frightens you. And with the deep affection you already feel, have long felt, for him...

     You reach to gently tangle your hand again in his coarse, dark curls. He glances up, a sweet little smirk tugging at his pretty lips again. 

     "Bin..." you sigh.

     "Hmm?" he hums as he slips his hands to your bottom and tugs you forward so that you're flush against him.

     You dip your head and your lips ghost his.

     "Nothing," you whisper, and you kiss him again. Again and again.

     His hands slide from your ass to slip beneath your shirt at your lower waist and he kneads the soft flesh above your hips.

     "So soft. Feels so good," he groans into your mouth.

     You moan as the walls of your pussy contract. You're beginning to ache, beginning to drip – and his words seem to affect you as intensely as his touch.

     He moves his lips to latch onto the soft skin of your neck and suck, his hands bunching your shirt up and up until his mouth pops free from your skin and he's pulling the thin garment over your head and tossing it aside. The cool air pricks your skin and you become keenly aware, for the briefest moment, that you are sitting on your best friend's kitchen counter, stripped down to her sleep shorts, with her brother between your thighs. As your brain races to decide whether to find that incredibly arousing or absolutely panic-inducing, Changbin's cherry lips rewire your neurological pathways in favor of the former when they close around your right nipple. Your head lolls back, colliding with the cabinet door and it clatters. 

     "Shit..." you hiss softly, threading your hands into his hair and gripping it by the roots.

     Your eyes slip shut and you focus on the sensation of his warm tongue slipping over the peaks of your breasts, his strong, smooth palms cupping and caressing. And then you feel his little puffs of breath and the nudge of his nose at the valley of your chest as he groans and smushes your tits up to meet his face. 

     "I fucking live here now," he mumbles into the globe of your breast, and despite the heat of the moment, you softly laugh. You laugh and you feel his smile pressed to your skin.

     Then suddenly he's pulling you into his arms in a bridal carry. You know he's strong, as you wrap your arms around his neck, but can't push away a pang of self-consciousness as he bears your weight. 

     "Bin, I'm so heavy..."

     "You're not."

     "I don't want you to..."

     "Stop it," comes his voice in a soft, deep command as he halts in his tracks to kiss you.

     He kisses you and kisses you until you believe that he could carry you until the end of time, and then he takes you into the guest bedroom and sits you gently on the bed. The bed with the mussed sheets that smell like him. The sheets that he's leaning you into as you push yourself to the middle of the bed while he hovers over the top of your body, his lips never leaving yours.

     As he sinks down over you, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress has warmth licking through your veins. You move your hands to caress over his broad back, feeling his muscles ripple beneath your fingers as he shifts to prop himself up on his elbow. You use the free space to trace your hand down his chest and abdomen until you reach the waistband of his pants. If he'd just push himself a few inches up you could...

     He pulls away, just barely breathless, and his eyes find yours. He reaches down with his right hand to pull yours gently from between your bodies and to his lips, before threading his fingers through yours and pressing your joined hands into the sheets beside your head.

     "I want to eat you out."

     He says it so simply, so confidently, and you can feel more arousal gush to join what's already begun to paint your inner thighs. 

     "Fuck..." you breathe, your fingers trembling in his grasp.

     "Can I?" he asks, kissing your lips softly again.

     For a moment you're afraid of what saying yes will mean, of the intimacy of it all, of the possibility that you won't measure up, someway, somehow, or maybe...that you will - and what in the world you would do with that level of acceptance...

     You let out a shaky sigh, as you hold his gaze. It arrests you and washes over you. You remember his eyes as he knelt on the living room floor, and all they pleaded with you to disbelieve, to unlearn. 

     Yes. Yes...If it's him, you want it, whatever it means.

     You surge forward, pressing your lips to his, your hands weaving through his hair, pulling him in. He lets out a tiny whimper as you devour him, kissing him with determined abandon until you have to come up for air.

     "Yes, Bin, yes," you shudder into his mouth as he pants over you. “Yes I want you to.”

In answer, he presses one last tender kiss to your lips before moving to kiss down your body. He moves slowly, but with purpose, pressing an adoring mouth to every part of you that’s bared. He kisses your ear, your neck, your collarbones…he moves over your shoulders and down your right arm to the tip of each finger. He kisses your breasts and down your stomach. He kisses your belly button, and over your hips and down your left thigh. He kisses the inside of your knee, and bends your leg to kiss over your calf and down to your ankle. 

You can barely watch him, as he brushes his lips over you, but he flicks his eyes up to yours so often you don’t dare look away. There is something flickering in his gaze, something like a challenge - daring you to contradict, to doubt what he seeks to impress upon you - and you begin to feel something strange and new. Something you’d never found at the touch of a lover, blooming in your chest and unfurling like a proud little flower under the sun: the strong, heady beauty of esteeming yourself worthy of his desire. It terrifies you a bit, and the ugly voice that has heckled you so often tries to cast doubt, but Changbin’s lips and hands are too persistent and assured for the harbinger in your mind to linger long. And the tidal wave of lovely feelings crashing over you threatens to destroy the shabby prison your heart has lingered in for so long.

Changbin lays his head on your thigh as he brings his hand off the other to cup your pussy over the softness of your shorts. His groan is nearly as loud as yours when he rubs over your mound, and it makes you impossibly wetter. He’s so unabashed and liberal with reacting to what he enjoys, and he is clearly enjoying you as much as he ever has anything.

He moves to bring his face to your clothed cunt, hovering over you for a nanosecond to catch your eyes as he mouths down over you. Your jaw drops open, and when his teeth scrape dully over your clit, your hips jerk and you fist the sheets. Changbin pulls back with a smirk, and sits back on his knees between your legs. He pulls one of your legs up to lean against his shoulder as his hands instinctively knead over the muscles of your calf and thigh.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, with a little smile.

You nod with one of your own.

“I’m gonna lift you, okay? You can hold onto my legs, but I’ll have you, so don’t worry.”

You bite your lip and nod, suddenly a little shy. Look at him. Where did he get all this confidence?

He drops your leg briefly to tug off your shorts and panties, cursing at how wet you are, and gently slipping two fingers to brush between your glistening lips and over your clit. You gasp at the sensation - his fingers deft, his touch soft but firm where you ache for him. And then, suddenly, he is sliding your legs back up to rest against his chest and shoulders. His hands slip down to your hips and he effortlessly tugs your ass over the incline of his thighs and flush with his abdomen. Your heart starts to thrum in your chest. His body is warm and sturdy against the soft plush of your ass. Heat floods your cheeks when you sense a slickness against him where your arousal has begun to smear against his stomach. He, however, is far less bashful. Widening the gap between your thighs, he dips his head down, inhaling deeply.

"Fuck…" he murmurs, squeezing your legs where he holds them. 

When he raises his eyes to yours again, they’re unlike you’ve ever seen. They’re dark and hungry and hooded in a way that nearly intimidates you. His expression is full of heat, and manly in its sudden gravity. He watches you as he slips his thumbs under your waist and, slowly with strong hands, pulls your hips up beneath his chin. Your legs bend at the knees and drape around the crown of his head. Your spine curves where your upper back is flush with his thighs, your arm on either side of his kneeling form, and as he embraces you tightly around the hips and waist, you feel nearly every ounce of your weight suspended in his hold. The blood rushes to your head where it lays against the mattress, your neck curving just shy of his knees, offering a clear view of his gorgeous face as he wastes no time in pressing his open mouth to your labia. 

Your core muscles flex in response, hips pressing higher against him as you feel ripples of exquisite pleasure trickle through your body from above. The smooth muscle of his tongue slips past your entrance and begins fucking into you. Your head swims, the slightest dizzying restriction of oxygen dampening your ability to focus on anything but the bliss of his hot, wet mouth. Being tasted has never felt this intense. You whimper, your hands reaching around his body to find purchase on his muscular ass. You feel the press of his throbbing erection into your back as his tongue fucks unhurriedly into you. He’s rock hard, and all for you. From the sight of your naked body, the feel of you in his hands, the taste of you on his tongue. From the sounds pouring off of your lips as he worships your sex. 

Your legs begin to shake. You’re so totally in his hands. He holds you, lavishes you, consumes you. Nothing stands between you and ecstasy, and you can feel your climax fast approaching as pleasure ebbs and flows like a crashing tide on the rhythm of his firm, languid strokes.

"Ch-Changbin! Nhhh!" you mewl, you voice throaty and muffled from your position. 

He growls against you and you nearly cum then. One of his hands drops to squeeze the soft mound of your right breast. Your cheeks burn, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead and neck. You can feel your pussy throbbing - hot and sticky and swollen with stimulation - as he devours it like the flesh of ripened fruit. His lips encircle your clit and suckle as the tip of his tongue flicks over the erect peak of your bud.

And then it all goes white. You lose all sense but feeling as you rock your hips up to meet him, the tension in your abdominals adding sinfully to the fluttering pulsating of your pussy. There’s nothing but you and him and his arms around you and his mouth against the most intimate parts of you as your orgasm washes over you in electrifying slow-motion, pulling you under a tidal wave of bliss for what seems like an eternity. Your lips part in a silent scream of his name, your eyes pressed shut, as he works you through the longest and most intense climax your body has ever experienced.

You feel him place one last sweet, gentle kiss to your cunt before moving the hand on your breast to one of your thighs as he guides you back down onto the bed. You’re panting and boneless as you watch him draw an arm over his cum-slicked chin and cheeks. For a moment he simply looks down at you, a victorious air about him as his eyes trace your sated features and his gorgeous chest heaves with labored breath, then he crawls forward on the bed, stretching himself out on his side next to you, his body flush with your own. He slips his hand over the soft skin of your belly and rubs it soothingly as he watches you with a little grin.

“You good?” he asks in a raspy murmur.

You reach for his face, bringing it to yours as you kiss him with what wherewithal you have. You pull away, still breathless.

“Am I good? Seo Changbin, I think I could fly.”

His answering smile is so filled with joy and pride and affection that you think you truly may have sprouted wings. You roll to your side to press yourself against him, your hand tugging at the waistband of his pajamas, but he takes your hand again in his.

“Not tonight.”

“Why?”

“Tonight is yours.”

“Bin…”

“I’m yours.”

You blink up at him, his head resting on his hand, his eyes sparkling and soft.

“If you’ll have me,” he raises your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “You don’t have to answer right now. I know you’re going through a lot, and this is all…new.” 

He smiles again, glancing down as his features take on a boyish shyness.

  “But I care for you. And, however things work out,” his eyes lock with yours again, “I’ll always protect you.” 

Your heart stands still. There are things that are too deeply lovely for words to be wasted on them. Any words but three - three that are already deeply true, but which have begun to mean something beautiful and different tonight, burying themselves like a little seed in your heart that needs time to grow. So for now you let yourself cry tears that fall like raindrops in the sunlight, and drift to sleep with the steady beat of Changbin’s heart.

“Ay!” Nari’s voice cuts through the din of chatter as her hand shoots out to narrowly prevent a fellow patron from snagging the chair beside her. “Sorry, seats are taken.”

She takes a sip of her beer and stretches her short legs as far as they will reach across the two empty chairs beside her.

“The guys are gonna have to hustle if they’re gonna sit with us,” she says reproachfully, dark brows rising as her eyes scan the venue for the bodies that belong in the seats you have been desperately attempting to reserve for the last hour.

The Eight Ball is crowded to bursting, and you scan the stage for signs of the evening’s openers. Checking your phone, you find that it’s nearly eight. You also find a text that brings a smirk to your lips.

“What?”

You glance up at Nari, who’s staring at you suspiciously.

“Nothing…” you mumble, flipping your phone back over onto the table. You sip your cocktail through a straw.

“Are you texting him?”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“What? Who?”

“You know who,” Nari mocks, narrowing her eyes at you. “The jerkwad.”

“Oh my god, Nari, no!” you sigh, as your phone buzzes again. 

She glances at it.

“Then what was with the look? Who are you…”

“Are these for us?” a voice belonging to a smiling, dimpled young man in a black hoodie with a matching beanie pulled over his head saves you from further explanation.

“Jesus, Chris, finally,” Nari admonishes as he takes the seat next to you, pulling her legs off the remaining chairs to free them up for the other two men that follow behind him. 

The freckled blond pulls Nari into a side hug which she returns, booping his nose before leaning across him to peer menacingly at his friend.

“Yo, Jisung,” she barks, “If you’re gonna order several hundred pizzas, how about taking some with you next time? My fridge is still stuffed.”

The young man blinks wide, surprised eyes at her before his brain catches up with her scolding.

“Sorry, but it wasn’t my fault!” he insists poutingly. “I ordered them because Changbin asked me to and then he canceled gaming weekend ‘cause he had a girl over.” he grumbles, causing the other two to snicker.

“Nice,” Chris giggles.

This time you do choke.

Your eyes fly to your best friend, watching the barrage of questions bubbling up on her face when a voice cuts through the din, silencing the crowd and unknowingly saving himself for the time being.

“Good evening, Eight Ballers!” Changbin rasps into his mic as Hyunjin waves, as ridiculously beautiful as ever, beside him.

You look at Changbin’s eyes.

They’re bright and confident and determined. You smile and cheer when he finishes introductions. As the band hits the first few notes of the opening number, his gaze finds yours, and it’s full of so many things.

His eyes sparkle with seven days worth of secrets – of waking up to your eyes and arms, of a weekend of nothing but bare bodies and hearts, of weeknight phone calls until the wee hours of the morning…of a new way of caring for each other that you’ll eventually tell the others, but that is just yours for now.

As you look at him, so full of adoration, you hope you can offer him even a fraction of the new world he’s only just begun to share with you – and the reflection you see a little more beautifully each day in the light of his eyes.

-Fin-