#(he has not lived in this city in at least thirty years)

[courtillyy]

actually the idea of moving in with someone is fucking terrifying

[bonny-kookoo]

Hey Bonny!! I saw you wanted to play a game, so how does this sound for a drabble? Dragon! Yoongi (or Kookie since I know he's your guy) x Fairy! Reader?? Idk if you've written fairies before, but I know you've done dragons! 💜🤍

I have a dragon kook x fairy reader on my patreon as early access, so I'll make this one yoongi!

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Yoongi

Hidden in the woods

Dragons are rather social creatures- but when a young Dragonblood named Yoongi fails to find a partner while all his friends and family have moved way past those events already, he isolates himself, believing he might just be destined to be a loner. But maybe, he was just impatient.

Tags/Warnings: Dragon hybrid!Yoongi, Fairy!Reader, strangers to ???, reader is described as short oops, SFW

Wordcount: 1.6k (it was supposed to be a Drabble... oops)

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

“You rarely visit these days.”

His mothers words still echo in his mind as he tries to find a new composition on his piano that doesn’t sound like everything he’s already put out. Of course he hasn’t visited- with his brother’s twins constantly around, he’s always reminded of how far ahead everyone around him is, while he’s yet to find his first real love. He’s thirty, for god’s sake- and yet all he has is his house, a stable career as a musician, and a lot on his mind.

All his friends are married. Some have kids, others are busy preparing for the day they’ll have them. He feels out of place.

Yoongi has made peace with the fact that he’ll be the uncle to all of them, the one guy who never really seems to be happy about anything, never has a family of his own. It’s alright.

He sighs, loudly, gripping his hair for a second in frustration. This is stupid- why is he having an artist’s block right now of all times? People are waiting for something new, especially after he’s already taken a break to help his creativity. And yet, it did nothing- except for giving him a little bit more room to breathe and most of all move out of his apartment and into his new house near the woods. It’s nice here- about half an hour away from the bustling neon city he’s used to after years of living there, and also a bit more distance from his family and friends. A newfound excuse for when they ask him once more where he’s been.

The doorbell rings, attracting his attention. He’s not awaiting any guests or packages- who could it be?

Via the camera installed he can see that there’s a person he doesn’t know at the door- you're rather short, but visibly curious, looking around for any signs of life inside his home, and for a short moment, he sees them;

Delicate little slightly translucent wings. Pointy ears, tilted a bit downwards.

A fairy.

As he opens the door, you seem startled for a second or two, taking a step back, before you speak. “Oh, hello!” You greet him. “I was just about to ask- do you have uh.. Jungkook’s number?” You wonder, and he becomes hostile, crossing his arms. “A coworker of mine, Jimin, said you have it. I’m sorry I’m just, you know, showing up here like that-”

The door closes. But despite what he was expecting, you just ring the doorbell again- and again, until he opens.

“Okay, as I was trying to explain before you so rudely interrupted me-” You tease a little, arms now crossed as well as your wings flap around a bit. “-tell him at least that I need his help fixing my washing machine. He broke it and left the crime scene for me to find, and that’s, pardon my language-” You lean in a bit as if you’re about to tell Yoongi something secret, “-pretty crappy behavior.”

Yoongi stares you down for a moment, before he speaks.

“That’s it?” He asks, and you nod. “Why don’t you ask Jimin for Jungkook’s number?” He wonders, not entirely convinced. Jungkook is pretty much a magnet for people no matter what gender, and the worst part about it is that many if not most always try and get to him through Yoongi.

No one’s ever interested in him. Only his friends, or the things he can provide.

“Cause Jimin doesn’t have it either!” You whine, stomping your leg on the ground in agony. “Listen, I don’t know how to fix it and my bathroom smells like a laundromat already, my coffee machine is also broken and my script has been rejected for the third time, I really need some good news. Please?” You ask, and Yoongi contemplates.

“What if I fix it?” He asks, and your eyes begin to sparkle, wings lifting to flutter in excitement. It’s like in this very moment, he can hear the keys of his piano chime, creating a new piece in his mind.

“You can?!” You ask, stepping closer.

“Probably. Where do you even live?” He asks, before you point towards the woods.

“I live in the woods, pretty much. It’s not that far.” You say, and Yoongi sighs, looking back inside his house. It’s not like he’s going to get anything done either way, so who cares? It might take his mind off of things for a moment or two-

So a few hours later, he’s in your house, enjoying some hot coffee from your machine, which he’d fixed as well while he was at it. Well, fixed is a strong word- he pretty much just explained how it properly worked to you. It was working just fine- you just lost the manual and couldn’t figure it out on your own.

“I always thought dragons were scarier.” You say suddenly, opening a pack of cookies to put in the middle of your wooden coffee table. “You’re really nice. Tall, and a bit gloomy looking, but very nice.” You say, sitting down on the couch next to him, legs pulled up towards you.

He’s noticed something glittering all over the small house- like sparkling glitter, but much finer, and barely noticeable. Looking closer to his pants, he notices it there as well- and even after a brush with his hand, it sticks to his fingers now.

“Oh- I’m sorry! It keeps getting everywhere, especially now.. Wait- I have like, a plastic thing-” You hurry, getting up to search for something in a drawer close by your TV. “Ah, there!” You say, giving him the lint-roller. “It’s one designed for fairy dust. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought about that..” You say, but for some odd reason, he declines.

“It’s fine.” He denies. “Doesn’t bother me.” he tells you, and again, you look at him like he’s just told you the earth is flat after all.

but it truly doesn’t bother him. It would, technically, if he was anywhere else. But right now, in this moment, he couldn’t be any more indifferent towards the ‘mess’ you leave sticking to his clothes and skin.

As soon as he’s back home, the sight of your sparkling smile is still in his mind, as his feet almost automatically move towards his piano, where he sits down, and presses a record button to play something new. The melody has been stuck on repeat in his head the entire way back home through the thick snow, like his imagination was finally finding color again.

But it’s different from what he usually creates.

This piece is playful almost, intriguing. It’s a little hesitant, like someone holding back a thought itself just to not indulge too much in a fantasy they’re already creating in their mind. Fluttering notes interrupt these parts however, sneaking in with excitement and curiosity, trying their best to convince the player to let themselves go.

And Yoongi does, as he finishes the piece, and leans back in his chair, recording finished before his phone chimes with a message.

“You left your scarf at my place!” Is what you tell him.

“I’ll get it tomorrow.” He texts you back.

“I could make us dinner?” You question.

He contemplates, finger hovering over the virtual keyboard of his phone, before he begins to write his answer. Fluttering touches of his fingers moving with a hint of excitement, fine fairy dust on the skin of his hands shimmering in the setting sun dipping everything in a golden glow.

“I’d love that.”

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Heyyy!!! Hope this ask finds you well! I’m looking for all the Alpha Stiles fics! Long and smutty, if they exist! Please and thank you so much!!

Sure.

Wild Heart by giidas (KatushkaK)

(1/1 I 2,301 I Mature)

“And no, I did not get us a room,” Derek adds, just to be sure.“Let me get us one, then. Any preferences?”Derek lifts his eyebrows and gives Stiles his best are-you-being-serious-right-now look.Stiles honest to god laughs out loud, startling Derek by clapping him on the shoulder and saying: “Oh, I like you already, so much sass!” and then goes off to procure a key to a room.

My Alpha, My Pack, My Family. by Ladyofthe_Alpha

(7/? I 12,303 I Explicit)

Derek finds himself is a position where every Alpha wants him. Will this mysterious powerful Alpha help him find his place in his pack? Or will he be another Alpha looking to get an in with the powerful Hale Pack?

You're All I've Ever Needed by siriuslyuptonogood

(6/? I 14,047 I Explicit)

Stiles Stilinski has never needed Derek Hale, but Derek Hale has always needed Stiles Stilinksi.

"I don't need you, Derek" sent Derek away from Beacon Hills, back to New York, and he would like to think he's never looked back. He hasn't gone back, at least. Maybe he never will. He's happy in the city, has tons of hot, kinky sex with hotter-than-the-sun alphas, is completely satisfied. He doesn't need a pack. When one alpha breaks it off, there's another to replace him. It's New York. There are 8.5 million people. He's not worried. He's not lonely. No, not him.

Except, he's thirty-three, and it's been seven years since he left Beacon Hills, seven years since he's had someone in his life longer than three or four months at a time. He isn't sure what he needs anymore, but he has a feeling it definitely isn't this.

When the Tables are Turned by BeniMaiko

(5/5 I 16,690 I Explicit)

Derek has to deal with a newly bitten Stiles.

You Gotta Roll with the Punches by quicksylver28

(12/12 I 34,787 I Teen)

Stiles Always thought that he was pretty well adjusted for a kid.When his best friend Scott had an asthma attack when he was six, Stiles said 'ok' and held his hand through it. When his mother dies when he was nine, and his Father's soul mark crumbled off his skin like ash, he said 'ok' and picked up the broken pieces of their lives. When his soul mark blossomed on the skin just above his heart and he realizes that his true loves first words would be "FUCK OFF", he said 'ok' and braced himself for having his heart kicked in the ass.

We're The Wild Ones, Raised By Wolves. by halelujah

(12/? I 54,290 I Mature)

"Your uncle not only killed people, he bit Scott unlawfully and without his consent, he also put a big, red target on our backs." Stiles continues calmly, folding her arms across her chest. She can't help but glare. "An action that I'm now going to reap the repercussions for."

"He wasn't yours to kill!" Derek rumbles, icy blue flashing in his eyes. "He murdered Laura!"

She sees the decision in Derek's eyes before it even turns in his mind that he should attack. As she watches Derek's muscles twitch and tense, she lets out a sharp bark, one that tells Scott to stay out of it, before she meets Derek head on, eyes burning crimson.

[Or the fic where Stiles has always been a werewolf, an Alpha and female.]

Who Are You Really? by mercury_caduceus

(11/11 i 63,021 I Mature)

After hiding his werewolf and Alpha status since his mother died, Stiles runs into Derek and they work together to find the Alpha killing people in Beacon Hills. [Set in Season 1. Alpha!Stiles, Beta!Derek.] I will be continuing this slowly.

White Rabbit by BlueEyedBetaMeow

(13/? I 84,272 I Teen)

When Stiles begins to piece together that his friends are avoiding him, and why, he begins to wonder why they ever saved him from the Nogitsune to begin with. When a terrible turn of events takes place in the Preserve, and the only thing that can save him is the bite, will the pack forget the misgivings between them, or will he be left to suffer?

Underneath by groffiction

(43/? I 190,576 I Explicit)

AU, where Stiles gets bitten by a Cyger – a type of rare Weretiger around the same time Scott gets bitten by Peter. Confused and more than a bit freaked out, they both are naturally suspicious when Derek shows up out of the blue. Still, there is something about the moody, aloof werewolf that both intrigues and draws Stiles to Derek like a moth to a flame. But, everyone knows that if you get close enough to touch flames, you get burned. However, with the promise of love, is that burning sacrifice worth it? And how does a Weretiger and a Werewolf even work as mates? Very loose canon through season 1 and season 2 of Teen Wolf. Might have some things from Season 3, depending on where the story leads.

[stoat-party]

Every Fallout 4 Companion’s Approximate Birth Year (Part 3/3)

CVRIE — 2076

I assume Miss Nannies went out of production when the world exploded.

Codsworth — 2077

His box is still in your house during the prologue.

He also mentions enjoying the “months” he’s spent with you, though he might mean since Shaun was born.

Nick — 2175

We know it was over a century ago, but it can’t have been too far prior to the Gen 3 rollout around 2227.

I think Nick is the older brother, because it makes sense to start by creating a synth with stored personalities before trying to make one that develops a personality autonomously.

Longfellow — 2223

This man is only in his SIXTIES, they are LYING TO YOU

The Children of Atom were full-fledged on the Island when Longfellow was young. Confessor Cromwell is the one who sent them to Maine.

But he couldn’t have become Confessor until the mid-2250s, because he’s only FORTY-FOUR in Fallout 3, and he had a background as a trader before that! AND there still had to be time for the Children to travel all the way to Maine.

So Longfellow was born in the twenties, had his sad backstory in the fifties, and is about 65 in Fallout 4.

Strong — 2230

Strong could have been anyone, but I think he was either a divorced dad who would’ve been an accountant in another life, or just Mayor McDonough.

Hancock — 2235

Is 53-year-old Hancock controversial? Let me cook.

There’s support for the theory that synth McDonough was created before the election in 2282. We can assume the human had full gray hair at that point, because synths don’t go gray. So he was probably in his fifties at least.

John was younger, but he can’t have been that much younger. So he was probably ghoulified in his late forties.

Deacon — 2245

If you accept the John D. theory, this does put him a little on the young side, but it fits.

Gage — 2251

There’s not much backstory from his teens up to 2286, and I’m tempted to believe it was a shorter period. But he has late-thirties eyes.

…Eye.

Cait — 2260

Her parents helpfully drew the line at child trafficking, so we have a good idea of her age. She was 18 when she went into slavery and about 23 when she left.

Some time later, she spent about three years at the Combat Zone. Assuming some buffer room between the two periods, I put her at 27 years.

Danse — 2261

He’d have lived in the Institute for awhile, then Rivet City, then the Brotherhood.

He was already a paladin in 2277, but Maxson says it took him “many years” to become one.

Preston — 2262

I don’t know what it is about him that screams 25-year-old to me.

He joined the Minutemen at 17, then had “a few good years” before 2282 when Becker died.

MacCready — 2264

He was twelve in August 2277, and at that point he’d been mayor for three years.

He became mayor at ten. So he’s got to be nearly thirteen at the start of Fallout 3, which would make him 23 in Fallout 4.

Piper — 2266

Nat seems 13 to me. 

If Piper is old enough to have taken care of her as a baby, but not old enough to have significant memories of their mother, 21 sounds about wright.

Curie — 2277

Glory escaped the Institute in 2280, and she and G5 had known each other for some time before that.

Ada — 2281

Jackson seems to have created her reasonably recently.

Dogmeat IV — 2285

I think he is ouppy:)

X6-88 — 2287. 

Yeah, I said it.

This man thinks he’s so evil but he’s an actual baby.

My reasoning is that he wishes he had been there to see the University Point massacre in 2286, but apparently wasn’t.

It makes the game so much funnier.

If he was born earlier in the year, he could have been trained in time for the Kellogg flashback.

Part 1

Part 2

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: hey there! i never actually planned on writing a sequel to ‘9 pm’ but a few anons asked about it and i liked the idea of giving them some happiness following that fic! the perfect title gave me the idea for the fic and here we are ☺️ i hope you guys enjoy!!

word count: 2.8k

tw: brief and minor mention of a miscarriage, pregnancy

direct sequel to 9 p.m. in vancouver

summary: andrei’s off on a road trip and you’re more exhausted than normal. once you realize why, you have to call andrei immediately

It’s barely ten at night and you’re falling asleep on the couch, Friends rerun playing at a low volume on the TV. Your blinks get longer, eyelids heavy, while Joey yells about the Coast Guard.

A yawn creaks at your jaw and you try to blink away some of the sudden exhaustion in your body. It doesn’t really work, another yawn catching you a few minutes later. You wrap your arms around one of the throw pillows, cheek smashed up against the pillow tucked under your head.

It’s been a long few days, work overwhelming you and Andrei up in the tri-state area for a mini road trip. The Canes had lost to the Flyers before beating the Devils. They’re currently up two goals on the Rangers, according to your NHL app updates, with just a few minutes left in the third.

The team will spend the night in the city before heading to Long Island for the second half of a back to back tomorrow.

It’s a grueling schedule so early in the season, four games in six days, and you know Andrei will be exhausted when he gets home on Monday morning. At least they’re off for two days before hitting the ice for a home game on Wednesday. You yawn again and decide vaguely that maybe you’ll go to the game, if you can keep your eyes open. It’s been a while since you went to the arena and you miss watching Andrei play live.

You can’t help but think briefly about the game in Vancouver last November, almost a year ago now, and your hand drifts to your stomach.

The baby would’ve been four months old, probably keeping you wide awake right now.

You don’t really think about the loss as much anymore, you can go long stretches of time without thinking about him - because you’d decided that it was a boy, even though it was too early to ever tell. Your due date had come around at the end of July and Andrei had spirited you out of the country, the both of you quiet and moody for a few days.

And then training camp had started and you’d gotten busy with work and then the season started and you didn’t dwell on the loss for a while.

But now it’s late and you’re tired and you haven’t seen Andrei in a few days and you should be cuddling a baby right now.

A few tears trickle down your temple and you swipe at them, emotion clogging your throat.

“God, get a grip,” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head slightly. It’s not even like you’re on your period to be so hormonal right now. Your brain takes a second to process the thought and when it does, your eyes widen and you kick your legs out, struggling with the blanket to try and sit up.

“Oh, oh my god,” you scramble for your phone, tossing blankets around until you hear the tell-tale thunk of the phone hitting the floor. You lunge for it, the TV remote going flying, but you barely pay attention to that as your fingers wrap around the loop on the back of your phone case and snatch it off the floor.

Your hands shake violently as you unlock your phone and thumb over to find your period tracker app. The app takes seconds to load, seconds where your heart beats wildly and your vision goes a little blurry. You mutter, “come on, faster, faster,” under your breath and suddenly the screen loads and there in the center of the screen, in bold font, is the notice that your period has been late for more than thirty days.

You’ve missed two periods.

Without even realizing it.

To be fair to yourself, after the miscarriage, everything was thrown off and you’ve only had seven or eight periods in the past year. So it’s not totally crazy that you didn’t realize you missed two cycles.

Your stomach lurches a little bit and you chew at your lower lip. You probably should take a test. But do you want to know without Andrei, again?

It didn’t work out so well last time.

You’re probably not even pregnant, you rationalize, it’s the stress of a new season starting and your body getting back to normal.

Never mind the fact that you’ve long been cleared to get pregnant again and your gynaecologist hadn’t said anything was wrong at your last appointment.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, nearly scaring the shit out of you. It’s just a notification from the NHL app - sometime in the last few minutes, while you’d been spiralling, the Rangers had tied the game and it was going to overtime.

Overtime anxiety is better than maybe-pregnant anxiety, so you tune into Bally, the sudden brightness of the glare off the ice making you blink. You’re half-heartedly paying attention, fingers tapping against your thigh while the players zip up and down the ice, trading scoring chances. Andrei’s on the ice for a shift and then he’s back on the bench. Pyotr makes a save and then another and then he doesn’t.

You frown at the TV, watching Andrei and the guys file off the ice, miserable for the team’s loss. You change the channel back to Nick at Nite, not interested in seeing the post-game analysis of the loss.

The audience laughter from the show echoes around the living room and you chew at your lower lip anxiously. Andrei won’t be back to his hotel room for hours, the post-game process already underway, but between media, a shower, and the travel. Well, it’ll be at least close to midnight before you can talk to him.

He’ll reassure you that you’re overthinking, that it’s nothing. But a quiet part of your brain is insistent that you’re pregnant and it just won’t shut up.

The smartest thing would be to take a test, find out once and for all if you’re even going to mention anything to Andrei. You’re pretty sure there’s no tests left after last time and if there are, they’re probably expired.

Your fingers tap at the screen of your phone almost by memory, the Google search showing that there’s a twenty-four hour CVS just a ten minute drive away.

The episode ends and another begins while you sit on that information, giving yourself a moment to imagine what you’ll do if the test is positive. He has to know immediately this time, you don’t think you’d be able to wait.

“Oh fuck it,” you mutter to yourself, pushing the blankets off your legs and getting up from the couch. Your vision goes fuzzy, briefly, the blood rushing from your head. You blink and everything shifts back into focus, your heart hammering a little.

Before you can overthink it, you turn off the TV and head for the front door, making a stop at the front hall closet to grab a jacket. Your fingers close around the sleeve of one of Andrei’s, the jacket dwarfing your frame as you slip your arms into the sleeves. You shove your feet into a ratty pair of Uggs and drop a faded Canes ball cap on your head.

You look insane, more like a college kid doing a walk of shame than a married woman, but Andrei’s scent embedded deep into the collar of his jacket is comforting you.

At CVS, you grab at the pregnancy test boxes like a woman possessed - Clear Blue, First Response, and the CVS generic brand all go into your basket, along with a bag of pumpkin shaped Reese’s Cups and a pack of Twizzlers. Something about the waxy, artificial strawberry ropes seems appealing right now.

Thank God for self-checkout, you don’t think you can face another person right now.

The pregnancy tests feel like they weigh a million pounds in the plastic bag and you gnaw anxiously on a Twizzler as you drive back home.

It’s well after midnight by the time you manage to drink enough water in order to pee on all the sticks and this round is more anxiety producing than when you’d done it over a year ago. Once you’re done, you set the timer on your phone and flip each stick over on the counter, so you can’t see the displays.

Instead of waiting in the bathroom, which is feeling small and stuffy despite how large it actually is, you pace around your bedroom for the few minutes it takes for your timer to count down. You wonder if you could call Andrei now, be on the phone with him when you look at the display, but if you’re not pregnant and he’s on the phone, he’ll be disappointed right before the next set of games. He’s been talking about it a little more lately, in the abstract, how nice it’ll be to have a baby one day. And you maybe haven’t been as enthusiastic as he’s been, so you don’t want to get his hopes up.

If you’re not pregnant, Andrei doesn’t need to know that you worried yourself into a tizzy over nothing.

But if you are? Well, Andrei will be the first call anyway.

The timer goes off on your phone and the sudden, shrill noise makes you jump. Your stomach lurches and you flatten your palm over it. Underneath the anxiety, there’s a little bubble of excitement growing, the thought of a baby providing a little spark of joy.

You wander back into the bathroom and close your eyes before flipping the tests over with shaking hands.

The plastic clatters against the countertop and you squint one eye open and then the other, vision focusing on the little displays.

“Oh!” You gasp, eyes immediately filling with tears, hands flying up to cover your mouth.

All three are positive, the little Clear Blue display declaring you ‘Pregnant’ in tiny letters.

Tears slip down your cheeks and you start giggling wildly, overwhelmed in the best possible way. Your hands press on your stomach, palms flat and fingers splayed.

“Hey there, baby,” you murmur, looking down. “Stay safe in there, okay? We want to meet you.”

The tears fall faster and you wipe at them with your shoulder, a damp splotch forming on the fabric of your sweatshirt. It’s so late, but you need to tell Andrei, and you move on autopilot, climbing onto your bed and finding your phone among the messy covers - the bed hasn’t been made in two days because Andrei is more of a stickler for that than you are and you like to get right back into the nest of blankets at the end of the day. It’s on your list of things to do before he’s back in a few days. Now, you pile yourself into a little cocoon of the blankets and comforters, warm and happy.

You text him first, just a quick ‘you awake?’ that you know he’s going to read as a request for phone sex.

True enough, your phone vibrates in your hand a few seconds later, Andrei’s name at the top of the screen. You grin and slide the bar to answer, “hey there.”

“Is late,” he replies, a faint laugh in his tone. “Thought you would be sleeping.”

“No,” you giggle, feeling a little unhinged. “Not asleep. Couldn’t sleep. Um, are you alone?”

Your husband laughs fully now, the sound echoing over the line. “Solnyshka, been a long day. I love you, but we have early morning,” he teases and the rumble of his voice makes you smile.

“No, not for that you perv,” you shoot back, twisting your fingers in a loose thread. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You know you’re sounding vague and strange, but to his credit, Andrei doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he’s quiet for a second before your phone vibrates against your ear, signalling an incoming text. You pull the phone from your ear and tap over to your messages, laughing when you see the picture Andrei just sent.

The hotel room is nearly pitch black, but you can still make out the shape of Martin Nečas passed out in his bed with what looks like an eye mask covering his face. Andrei’s grinning face is cut off in the corner of the picture.

“Guess that’s a yes then,” you smile, bringing the phone back to your ear.

“Neci has earplugs in too,” Andrei informs you. “Says I snore, which is lie.”

It’s not, but you don’t feel like relitigating that particular point with him right now. So you move on.

“I know I should’ve waited, done something cute, but I’m bursting,” you let the words come out in a rush, feeling lightheaded with excitement. “I couldn’t, I had to tell you right away, Drei, baby, I’m pregnant.”

Andrei’s silent on the other end and a slightly manic laugh bubbles out of your mouth while you wait for him to say something.

“Pregnant?” He repeats, sounding like he’s just taken a blow to the stomach - winded and hoarse. “Like, with baby?”

“Yeah, mhm,” you hum, just letting the news soak in. Andrei’s breathing is audible in your ear, a soft ‘huh’ puffing out.

He starts to laugh and you can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “oh, solnyshka, fuck, I’m… ya chertovski schastliv.”

He slips into Russian and you’re not totally familiar with the words, but he repeats them in English, “I’m so fucking happy. Are you okay? How you feel?”

“I’m okay, I was feeling a little tired earlier,” you say. “That’s kind of why I took the test, just to see.”

Without asking, Andrei switches the call to a FaceTime and you pull the phone back, his grinning face taking up the entire screen. He looks lighter and happier than he has in months and the sight of him, of that smile that you love so much, makes you emotional.

“I wish I could kiss you,” he shakes his head, still smiling. “Hold you, something other than smile like idiot on phone.”

“I’m just happy to see your smile,” you say truthfully. A hug wouldn’t be unwelcome, but just seeing Andrei’s face has you calmer. “It’s late,” you continue, catching sight of the time in the top left corner of your phone - nearly 1:30 in the morning. “You should get some sleep.”

The adrenaline is starting to wear off now and you slump back against the pillows and headboard.

Andrei nods. “Call me when you get up,” he requests, phone bouncing slightly as he shifts on the bed. “We leave early, but call any time, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, pressing your lips together to smother a yawn. “Hey, I love you.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Andrei replies in Russian, warm and awed. “You and baby, both.”

You’re both quiet for a bit, comfortable and sleepy, reluctant to end the call. You just want to enjoy his long-distance presence and this little bubble, but eventually Martin lets out a snore on his side of the room, startling you since you forgot he was there. Andrei laughs faintly and reluctantly ends the call, after telling you he loves you again.

Now that Andrei knows, your whole body relaxes and you sink happily into the nest of blankets and pillows, curled up in a c-shape, one hand on your stomach.

There’s a million things to figure out in the coming days, weeks, and months, a million worries to ruminate on, but for now, you fall asleep with a smile on your face and pure happiness bubbling in your stomach.

The next morning, you snooze your alarm and allow yourself to wake up slowly and lazily. It’s an easy morning and you don’t plan on getting out of bed until you hear the doorbell ring.

With a grumble, you climb out of bed and shove your feet into a pair of slippers to pad downstairs, wondering who could be at the door this early.

It’s a delivery man, half-hidden behind a huge bouquet of flowers. You accept it, surprised at the delivery but not at the sender.

The oversized bouquet made up of baby roses, baby’s breath, and a few other types all in various shades of baby pink and baby blue can only be from your husband. Your face hurts from the size of your smile and you dig out the little card from between a pale pinks rose and a light blue hydrangea.

‘I love you, we will celebrate as soon as I am home. A hug and a kiss from New York for you, mama. -A’

It’s not Andrei’s handwriting, but you trace your fingers over the letters and feel tears well up. Any concerns or worries you might have about having a baby are pushed aside.

Andrei’s going to be the best dad and you’re so lucky to be doing this with him.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

500

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: angst

Summary: You're given a gift that will allow you to help others. You try to use this gift for good and you never make anyone feel like a charity case. However, when you meet Bucky Barnes, you know you have to do something or he'll live the rest of his life in pain.

Squares Filled: graveyard (2021) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

The thing you love most about New York is not everywhere is like the city. If you travel far enough outside of it, it turns into any normal town like any other state has. You’re on your way to visit your parents at the New York State Veterans Cemetery since your father was a soldier in World War II. Your mother requested to be buried alongside him even though she was never in the military, and they let her.

It’s a four-hour drive from the city where you live, so you take this moment to yourself and think about your purpose on Earth. About once a month, you get like this because you’re not normal. You were born with the ability to see people’s pain above their heads in numbers ranging from zero to sixty. One is not in any pain at all and sixty is the worst pain a person can be in.

You’ve been to plenty of hospitals around New York, so you’ve seen people who are in a tremendous amount of pain, but no one has ever been above sixty. You’ve been on this Earth for thirty-three years and never have you seen someone with a sixty-one above their head. Why were you born with this ability? You’re not sure but you know you can do a whole lot of good with it. 

It’s why you became a licensed therapist as well as a social worker. You take on jobs that will help as many people as you can. While you can’t heal anyone physically like a nurse or a doctor, you can help with their emotional and mental trauma which is where most of the pain lies. You’re the only person without a number above your head but it’s likely your powers don’t work on you.

You look at the taxi driver and see the number twenty-five above his head. He’s seen some stuff in his life, that’s for sure. He must be a taxi driver to get away from it all, to just coast through life without having to deal with a lot of stress. You’re guessing but it’s not like you’re going to ask the man what kind of trauma he’s been through in his life.

He drops you off at the cemetery and drives away once you’ve paid him. You like to spend hours with your parents and tell them all that you’ve seen and the people you helped, and that usually takes a few hours at the least. You clutch your mother’s favorite flowers and walk into the cemetery, keeping your head down out of respect.

You sit down right across from their graves and break the bouquet into two so both your parent can have flowers.

“I helped a teenager last week escape his abusive parents,” you begin. “They didn’t care about him and often used him as an outlet for their rage. His pain was at a thirty. Thirty. At age fifteen. I went to go visit him in his new home and his pain was at a twenty-seven. He’s healing and I’d like to think I had something to do with it. I wish you guys were here to see this. It’s amazing to see someone’s number go down because of something I did.”

You look up and scan the area when you notice a man standing by himself near one of the graves. The wind is knocked out of your lungs and you have to brace yourself on the ground so you don’t fall over. The man isn’t saying anything to the grave, just standing over it. Above his head is a whopping five hundred. If you saw someone with an eighty, you’d be floored. The fact that this man has a five hundred over his head… how is he still alive? It’s clearly not physical wounds that hurt him.

Who is this man? Even the most depressed people never go above sixty. You once got involved with a woman who was passed around in the sex trafficking ring and she didn’t even go above sixty. This man has five hundred.

Five hundred.

He says something to the grave before leaving, and you’re too shocked to get up and follow him. What would you even say to him? He had to have been broken down to the very last piece only to be put back together. Over and over again. That’s probably why he’s at five hundred. You don’t want him to feel like a charity case but you have to know that man. To think he’s walking around in such profound pain brings you pain.

“Mama, I think I found someone who might need my help. I’ll let you know how it goes next week.”

Since the cemetery is four hours away from the city, you’re hoping that he is from around here. You spend the next several days walking around Central Park just watching for that five hundred to show up again. You know exactly who the man was. You got a glimpse of his face as he was leaving the cemetery, and you knew he’d never leave New York. This is his home.

You know who he is and after some research on him, you know why he has a five hundred above his head. The following Saturday, you’re walking around Central Park in hopes of seeing this man again. You’d like to think because he has a five hundred, he has his humanity back. He’s feeling the guilt of everything he’s done so you know he isn’t dangerous.

Two women job past you laughing at what one of them said, and you notice how one of the women has a two above her head while the other has a fifteen. Maybe the fifteen did something her friend doesn’t know about and the guilt is starting to eat her alive. A young couple is sitting on the grass with a picnic between them, and both of them only have a five above their head. They must be in love. An elderly couple walks past them with both of them having a forty above their heads. Guess love doesn’t always work out for people in the end.

Central Park gets around six thousand daily visitors, and none of them have a number above sixty. You’ve traveled across the country for your job and non one has ever surpassed sixty. Not until him. You walk further into the park where a cluster of benches are, and you stop when you see that thick five hundred number again.

There he is. Sitting all alone.

Now’s your chance. You walk up to him who barely acknowledges your presence.

“May I sit here?”

He looks up and sees the book in your hands thinking you’re going to mind your business and read silently. He doesn’t say anything but nods so you sit across from him and open your book. You pretend like you’re reading it when really, you’re looking at him from over the top of your book. He has gloves on his hands and it’s not wintertime yet.

There’s a reason why he is wearing gloves.

“My name is Y/N. What’s yours?” you ask gently.

“Bucky.”

“That’s an interesting name. Is it short for something?”

“My middle name is Buchanan. My friends call me Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.” You go back to reading only to put the book down several minutes later. “Do you live around here? Or are you visiting someone?”

“No, not visiting someone.”

He’s clearly not into the conversation but you’re not going to give up. He’s not another project. You’re genuinely interested in getting to know him. Sure, his number enticed you to want to talk to him but you’re going to treat him like you would anyone else. It’s going to take a lot more than one conversation for him to open up to you.

The next day, you find him sitting in the same spot with the same five hundred above his head. You walk over to him and don’t ask to sit down, you just do. He lifts his head and notices the book first before looking into your eyes.

“Hi, Bucky. Do you mind if I sit here again?”

“No,” he shakes his head.

Today, you let him get used to your company. You don’t say anything to him except for when you part ways at the end of the day. You want him to be comfortable around you otherwise, he won’t talk to you. Every day after that, you keep sitting across from him reading the same book, allowing him to feel comfortable around you.

“So, what’s your book about?” he asks on the fourth day of sitting across from him.

“It’s called The Maze Runner. I know, it’s for an audience a bit younger than me, but I love the movies. It’s about a young man who wakes up with no memory of who he is and is stuck with a group of boys who also have no memory of who they are. They’re stuck in this maze-like area and they have to try and figure their way out of it that no one has ever survived. There are three movies but there are five books.”

“Sounds interesting. I’ll have to read it.”

“Here,” you close your book and hand it over to him, “take this.”

“No, that’s yours.”

“This is my fifth time reading the series.”

“I can’t just take your book.”

“Then consider it a loan. Give it back when you’re done. Plus, it’ll give me an excuse to come and talk to you again.”

Bucky smiles for the first time since you’ve met him, and God, what a beautiful smile it is.

“Thank you.”

“Look, I have to get going, but here is my number.” You write down your number on a spare piece of paper and hand it over. “If you ever want another good book recommendation or the second book in the series, give me a call. Or, you know, if you just want to talk.”

“Okay,” he nods.

You don’t have to look back to know he’s watching you walk away. The next time you see him is a couple of days later. He hasn’t used your number which is fine because you don’t want to rush anything with him.

“Did you finish it?” you ask and sit across from him.

“Yeah, I did. It’s really good.”

“I brought the second one just in case.”

You two exchange the books and he smiles at you.

“Thank you. Would you like to go on a walk with me? Just around Central Park.”

“Sure.”

A walk around the park usually takes two hours if you’re leisurely enough about it, and there is no rush to go anywhere else. You want to ask Bucky a million things about his life and where he came from but you don’t pry into his life. You can get that information online if you want to, but you want this relationship to grow naturally.

Though, you’re not sure you understand why someone like him can be this sad about who he is.

“So, this might be a weird question but how do you feel?”

“Why is that a weird question? I’m fine.”

“It’s just… you seem so sad sometimes.”

“Honestly? There’s not a whole lot to be happy about these days.”

“You’re alive, right? That’s a pretty damn good day to me.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes, I wish I wasn’t.”

“Well, if you weren't, I wouldn’t have met you. I think you’re a great guy.”

“That’s because you don’t know who I am. If you did, you’d be smart to run,” he sighs.

“I know who you are. I know about the Winter Soldier. I lived in DC when everything happened with Steve.” He looks at you and uncertainty swims in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter to me. I’ve read about what you have done. Hell, I’ve seen it, but that doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“It doesn’t?” he asks with a thick voice filled with emotion.

“Come on, there are a lot of people worse than you like child molesters and rapists. On that spectrum, you’re not so bad. What makes a person bad is the fact that they know what they’re doing is wrong and still continue to do it. When someone wakes up and stops doing what made them bad, that’s not being bad. When someone is manipulated into doing bad things but doesn’t do those things anymore, that’s not being bad. I’m sorry, am I making any sense?” you chuckle.

“Yeah, you are,” he chuckles back. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for the walk but I need to go now. I have to get to work. Can I take you out? You know, a place that’s not Central Park? I can show you my favorite bookstore with books like The Maze Runner.”

“I’ll text you.”

“Great. I look forward to it.”

You start to walk away from him knowing he is watching you walk off. When you get to the busy street, you look back and notice something that brings a bright smile to your face. That five hundred above his head? It’s now at four hundred and ninety-nine.

x

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[verbenaa]

to eden | chapter nine

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F! Tav 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 11.1k 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: blowjobs 😎; canon-compliant, non-graphic mentions of SA 😔 (Astarion 😭)

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “Do you trust me, Astarion?” Rin asks. She’s waited patiently enough for weeks upon weeks upon weeks, she can easily manage another minute for a proper answer from him first.

He shivers just slightly under her touch as her hands still, and Astarion averts his eyes from hers for a moment before huffing a breath and returning her gaze.

“Stop asking me questions you already know the answer to.” The bite in his words is softened by their meaning, his swallow audible as he stares down at her, a veiled vulnerability shining in his eyes as they run over the planes of her face.

𝒶/𝓃: hello!!!!! apologies it took me so long to get this chapter completed. But it is finally done and I very much hope you enjoy it. Here's to chapter 10 taking me half the time to write as this one did. please let me know your thoughts down in the comments and I appreciate you all!!!

read on ao3 | masterlist

“Are you even listening to me?” 

Rin blocks out the sound of Astarion, positively incensed about absolutely nothing of consequence, as he follows her around the grounds of the Last Light Inn, complaining rather loudly for her tastes.

She sighs as she trudges down one of the dirt paths leading away from the inn and back towards their camp, the area thankfully empty as he strides just behind her at a clipped pace. 

“I stopped listening about five minutes ago, Astarion, when you decided to keep saying the same thing over and over again,” Rin says, annoyance sneaking into her words as she cuts a look back towards the angry vampire somehow managing to stomp elegantly after her.

“I’ll stop saying it over and over again when you realize that I am right.”

Gods, he could be so irritating. 

While their encounter with Ketheric Thorm went surprisingly well and no one dared to second guess them in their ruse of pretending to be True Souls, Rin still felt somewhat unmoored by it all. The plot was thickening with a quickness and intensity she didn’t care for; something that was only growing more and more sinister brewing just beneath the surface, and she isn’t looking forward to figuring out whatever that something might be.

There’s a very large part of her the longs to run—to simply disappear into the darkness and never return; to sprint away from all of this madness, the constant battles, the sharp malice of it all.

Her life may not have accumulated to very much back in Baldur’s Gate—little money, the occasional performance at a shitty tavern, the more-than-occasional odd job for the Guild—but at the very least it was predicable in its unpredictability. 

Sure, she didn’t always have the money that she quite desperately needed, but she always knew to expect the possibility of not having it. She always knew how to sweet talk her way into getting more time to pay her debts, how to charm the baker into giving her an extra roll or two, or when times were particularly tough, how to steal what she needed to without even getting caught (most of the time). 

They were skills she had honed over a lifetime of living on the streets and in the murky shadows of the Lower City, things that she had worked hard to perfect to the best of her ability in order to survive. If there was one thing Rin knew, it was how to work to the system.

Thirty-four years in and she’s yet to meet a magistrate while draped in chains, so she must be doing something right.

But the only thing she can dare to expect these days is the unexpected. 

And Rin is not a fan of unexpected things—unless said things happen to be a nice bottle of wine or a fancy necklace; though as far as she can remember, no one has ever gifted her much of anything.

“What exactly did you want me to do, Astarion?”

“We should have stayed longer,” he hisses towards her, eyes narrowed and lip curled menacingly. “There was more information we could have dug out. There were merchants we could have bought more weapons and potions from. There were plenty of things we could have done, and yet you had us running away scared. You even let those goblins fight for their lives instead of just killing them outright. Absolutely ridiculous.”

Clearly, she doesn’t see the issue the same as Astarion, because she couldn’t find a single problem with the plan. It was the sane, normal thing to do after such a covert operation. They were a rag-tag group of adventurers, not spies.

They had maintained their cover, eventually killed the goblins, talked to the decidedly awful Disciple Z’rell, and then got the hells out of there as fast as they could.

The memory of Z’rell searching through her mind draws a minute shiver to her form, the sensation of another tadpole clawing through her brain with a wave of energy and touching on the darker things she keeps hidden in the depths of her thoughts—old memories that were purposely forgotten, hopes that she had long given up on having, disappointments that had been left to languish in the corners like dusty cobwebs—had been very unwelcome, to say the least.

She hadn’t been expecting to have to defend herself against Z’rell’s invasion, and she hated having to use her desire for Astarion as a distraction, even it if had worked. 

It had left her feeling as though she had been stripped bare, like some raw part of her had been left exposed to salt.

She didn’t dare to show Z’rell any of the truly illicit memories, for the half-orc certainly didn’t deserve to see Astarion in such a way and Rin was not about to put his body on display for her, even within the relative safety of her own mind or for the sake of the mission. 

Thankfully, she had plenty of other memories to use to showcase her more…amorous feelings about him.

The memory of him crowding her up against a cave wall, the feeling of his lips on her neck as he kissed it seconds before biting in, his lips claiming hers for the first time in the forest clearing what feels like forever ago, his fingers removing her armor piece by piece in the Underdark as heat had begun to curl in her belly…she could, theoretically, probably go on for forever.  

Rin breathes out a frustrated breath, attempting to steady herself as she turns around to face Astarion with little thought, and he pulls up short to avoid running into her, stopping right before they collide.

“Here’s the thing. You are not in charge because you did not want to be, and so now I am. And as such, I made a decision to leave, and so we did. If you don’t like it, Astarion, then by all means, go march your way back to Moonrise and have a look around, if you’d like.” 

Rin is careful to annunciate her every word as her finger pokes in the center of his chest, eyes steely as she glares up at him. 

“But,” she continues, “in the event that you decide to not trot off back to that hellish place, can you please tell me how to possibly shut you up now? Because as much as I honor and appreciate your opinion, I am tiring of hearing it.”

Astarion casts a slow look down at the finger resting innocuously against him before dragging his gaze back up to hers, brow raised alongside the casual arrogance painted on his face.

Rin knows she couldn’t look any less threatening—camp clothes slightly wrinkled from where she had pulled them on hurriedly after bathing, her hair still slightly damp, and at least a full head shorter than Astarion.

Anger has never been her strong suit, she’s far better at using the written word as a weapon than she is at yelling, and she realizes she probably has all the intimidation of a hissing cat rather than something terrifyingly ferocious and beautiful.

At the very least, the letter she writes him later tonight will be properly vicious—or at least her version of it. She’s not sure she’s capable of the raw rage of someone like Karlach or the steel-sharpened vitriol of Lae’zel, but she can at least use several choice adjectives to describe him that she has no doubt will irritate him. 

“Well, if you don’t want to hear it then you shouldn’t make stupid decisions,” Astarion says through gritted teeth, claret eyes glaring down at her. “and if you want to shut me up, you’re going to have to make me.”

“‘Make you’? How old are you, ten?” She presses her finger into his chest harder as her patience thins, biting down on her lip hard in failed attempt to take a calming breath.

Her heart is still pounding in her chest even after a relatively relaxing bath, and Astarion yelling at her about it does not help one bit. She aches to wipe the smirk off his lips as her eyes dart down to them, the way they curve up into a maddening off-kilter smile one that burns itself into her memory.

The traitorous part of her mind, the one that won’t disappear no matter how hard she tries to banish it and instead only serves to grow stronger as if to spite her, taunts her to kiss him if she really wants to shut him up. 

No better way to rid his mouth of that self-righteous smirk than by giving his lips something better to do instead, after all.

She had thought after that night, the one where he had so coldly thrown her out while still in the haze of their shared pleasure, that whatever it was that had been growing between them would be no more. It had seemed, at the time at least, that he wanted nothing more to do with her.

Instead, Astarion had shown up every night since at her tent. 

And every single night, he’d ruined her.

It had become their new routine, apparently. Every night they start by the fire as they always do—talking, drinking, divulging secrets in one another; and then afterwards, he follows her back to her tent, sets her alight with his touch, only to leave when he’s done with her.

They make something that Rin thinks must be akin to love; although she’s never really made love with anyone else before, so what does she know?

Perhaps he simply fucks everyone like the way he does her.  

The Traitor in her mind is quick to point out the falsehood that statement, reminding her that he didn’t lay with her at first like he does now. At first, there had been no mistaking what they were doing—it was sex, pure and simple, between two people indulging in a mutual curiosity and need. 

Looking back, it feels like Astarion had barely even enjoyed their first few liaisons together, his actions mostly halfhearted and his mind barely present. 

Now, though, there’s a marked difference in the press of lips, each and every one meaningful and every caress upon her skin intentional during the house they spend lost in one another.

She could no longer call it just sex, at least by her standards.

Rin didn’t know what to think. 

And how could she know, when he comes to her and sends her into complete bliss with a touch that only seems to grow more reverent with every passing night, the look in his eyes when they twine together that of a fire only growing as if being fed by more and more fuel.

But no matter how rough or how gentle he handles her—his touch somehow both softer and more intense with each night that passes, no matter how passionate or sweet the presses of his lips are against hers are as they find their completion together—he never stays.

Astarion’s interests, it seemed, were only in her physical attributes.

She shouldn’t be surprised, in the end. She was nothing more than a half-rate bard whose skills amounted to little of importance, so she can’t quite blame him for not being interested in the rest of her.

She was no sagely wizard like Gale nor a noble warlock like Wyll. She patroned no cause like Shadowheart or Lae’zel, no matter how questionable Rin finds their worship and ideals. 

She has no greater calling, no reason to be; neither a paragon of good nor an avatar of evil. 

She simply exists, day to day, in whatever way she can make it through. 

Perhaps if she were someone greater, someone of skill or importance, someone of knowledge; he would want her for more than just nights of shared passion.

The thought rankles something in her, though it shouldn’t. People like her weren’t meant for much more, and she’s never done anything to be worthy of things like tenderness, affection, or love.

If she were, then surely everyone else wouldn’t have left her. She wouldn’t have been abandoned if she’d been worth it.

Rin has nothing more to offer anyone but simply who she is—and who she is has never, ever been enough for anyone to ever take a chance on.

She’ll just have to make do with what she gets when it comes to Astarion, though he’ll no doubt leave her like all the rest when he’s had his fill of her.

But in the meantime, she’d rather have him in whatever way she can—in whatever way he will let her have him—than not get have him at all. 

And so she gives in to that traitorous part of her brain, the one still whispering of all the ways she can distract him, of the limited chances she has to revel in his closeness, and makes her move.

“You know what, fine. You want me to shut you up? I’d love the honor.”

Rin flattens her hand against his chest and pushes before taking a step forward into his space. Astarion glances down at her hand once before gracing her with a very skeptically raised brow.

Slowly, Rin steps forward again and Astarion steps back; one step followed by another and then another as they walk backwards until his back hits the stone of the wall behind them, dirt and chipped rock crumbling onto the ground next to them.

“Many have tried, most have failed.” He’s devastatingly handsome with such a devious smile, and she almost hates the way it makes anticipation startle to life in her chest. Almost.

Rin keeps her hand where it is as a small smirk of her own forms on her lips. “Most have not been me.”

“Do tell, little bard, what is to be your perfect strategy, hm?” He’s teasing and taunting her again as his head leans down towards hers, eyes narrowed in challenge.

She’s not quire sure what sparks the idea in her head; but she blames it on her ever-evolving and only growing adoration of him—slightly painful to admit, despite being very, very true. 

Regardless of whatever the reason is, she takes her chance.

No time like the present, they say.  

“Maybe I don’t need to shut you up so much as I want to hear you say something else instead,” And for the first time, it’s her own register that drops, words hushed as her cheeks flush despite herself. 

Astarion is quick to catch on, a knowing glint sparking to life in his eyes as he gleans something in her own gaze. In an instant, Rin feels an arm come to circle around her waist, dragging her closer to him until they’re flush together.

“And what is it that you have in mind, darling?” Her skin tingles where his hand rests upon her lower back, thumb brushing teasing strokes that send her mind swirling with a rush of delight at his touch.

Rin runs her hand up, drawing it across the expanse of his chest with enough pressure to make sure that he can feel the drag of it until it finds its home around his neck, her fingers curling into the hair at his nape.

She stays silent in the wake of his query, answering with only an innocent quirk of her lips before giving the path they’re standing on a quick, covert glance. She can see or hear no other being near them and, so long as they’re quick about it, she doubts anyone else will be coming this way. 

Hopefully.

“I must say, I’m intrigued. Are you thinking what I think you are thinking?”

“I guess it depends on what you think I plan to do.” She flicks her gaze back to his.

“I think that you want to—” Astarion’s voice cuts off and the smirk falls from his lips as Rin slides the hand from around his neck down his front and she lowers with it.

Rin looks up at him from under lowered lashes as her knees hit the dusty earth below her with a soft thump and she runs her hands up and down his thighs in teasing passes, thumbs pressing into the muscles of them intently.

He looks momentarily bewildered at the sight of her before him, expression going slack as his brows knit in surprise. Clearly, of all the things he expected of her, dropping to her knees on a decently well-trodden pathway wasn’t one of them.

For all the times he’s tasted her, Astarion’s yet to give her the same opportunity and she has plans to fix such a terrible discrepancy. He has no idea how long she’s waited to worship him like this—to touch and taste and learn his body as well as he’s studied her own.

She wishes that she had more time to make such an important scholarly pursuit, and the privacy of one of their tents would be vastly preferable, but Rin was nothing if not adaptable.

“Do you trust me, Astarion?” Rin asks. She’s waited patiently enough for weeks upon weeks upon weeks, she can easily manage another minute for a proper answer from him first.

He shivers just slightly under her touch as her hands still, and Astarion averts his eyes from hers for a moment before huffing a breath and returning her gaze.

“Stop asking me questions you already know the answer to.” The bite in his words is softened by their meaning, his swallow audible as he stares down at her, a veiled vulnerability shining in his eyes as they run over the planes of her face.

He’s flustered, and it’s an absolute wonder to see.

Her cheeks flush and her heart swells, despite that fact that she is technically still mad at him. Or at least she’s supposed to be. 

She can’t feel her agitation quite as keenly as she could a few minutes ago.

Rin had lowered herself onto her knees for only a few people in her lifetime, the act one she couldn’t say she had the most practice at. Men were always so typical, shoving themselves into her mouth without care until they reached their end; it was no wonder she rarely offered herself up in such a manner. 

But, Astarion—Astarion she knows will be different.

“I can’t promise to be the best you’ve ever had, but—”

“Don’t sell yourself so short.” Astarion cuts her off, his hand coming down to trace her jaw lightly as she looks up at him from beneath her lashes.

Rin leans her head slightly into his hand as it runs along the line of her face, turning slightly to press her lips against his fingers. “Is this alright, then? Will you let me suck your cock?” 

Astarion’s thumb brushes along the plush of her lower lip, and she takes the opportunity to open her mouth and nip at it playfully.

“Do you think you can take it, darling?” His eyes darken as her lips encircle the tip of his finger and she sucks, Rin relishing the almost imperceptible intake of his breath.

“I guess we’ll just have to see what I can handle.” 

“Well. By all means, then. Have at it,” Astarion says, eyebrows raising in smug challenge.

At his permission Rin’s hands jump to life, fingertips tracing up his covered thighs to hook into the waistband of his pants. She keeps her eyes on his as she slowly pulls them down, revealing his hardening length still hidden behind his underwear. 

She leans in to press kisses to the defined line of muscles along his hips, nosing his shirt out of the way as she runs her lips over the indentations of each and every one of them as she slowly traces her way down, moving ever closer to where his member twitches with every press of her lips.  

“I must say, our pretty little leader on her knees is quite a sight.” The words are meant to be easy, teasing; but the tightness in his voice belies any ease, his hips jumping as she traces her lips over the silhouette of him through his underwear.

Astarion chokes back a moan at the feeling and she smiles up at him, fingers playing at the edge of the final barrier between them before she begins to pull. Her fingers find his length once she’s freed it from his underwear, quick to run them down the velvet softness of his shaft as the deep green of her gaze meets the darkened ruby of his own once more.

“Only for you, Astarion.” Rin cuts off anything further he could have to say by leaning her head forward to press a searing kiss to the side of his erection before tracing her lips over his length.   

The first touch of her mouth against his cock has him exhaling sharply, one of the hands at his side coming up reflexively to rest atop top her head, fingers sliding through her curls as his hips jump.

She wastes no time as she licks a line across his slit, the heady saltiness of him hitting her tongue as she brings a hand up to grip him at the base, pumping him gently in her palm.    

“Does it feel good like this?” Rin swirls her tongue around the head of him, savoring her first real taste of his essence. “You’ll have to let me know how you like it, Astarion.”

His hand curls in her hair, brushing stray locks back from her face as he watches her mouth move along his length, tongue slicking across a vein before she finally wraps her lips around him.

“I assure you, you’re already doing a very, very good job.” He sags back against the crumbling stone facade of the wall as Rin takes him deeper into the warmth of her mouth, her hand pumping at the base of him as her lips work the rest that she doesn’t yet fit inside.

His praise sends a trail of heat straight to the core of her, pleasure of her own ebbing deep in her stomach as her thighs rub together. She leaves his length for no more than a second, adjusting her position on her knees before pressing more kisses to the side of him. “And this?” 

Astarion moans as her lips envelop him once more, sucking at his cock with hollowed cheeks as she takes him in, her hand moving in time with her mouth as she begins to bob her head.

“Decidedly perfect technique,” He’s practically breathless as he speaks, eyes closing as his head falls back against the wall behind him with a dull thud.

His moans echo off the ancient stone as she sucks and licks and kisses his cock, pouring every ounce of her wayward affection for him into this moment.

Astarion, she’s learned, doesn’t give up his iron-clad self control very easily; and Rin’s not going to let herself think about what it means that he trusts her enough to let her take care of him, even if it’s only like this.

It’s intoxicating to have him so utterly undone as she alternates her ministrations, each and every one only serving to push him further and further to the brink as she laves at his length, pleasure flitting openly across his handsome face.

She should tell him to be quieter, but she doesn’t have it in her to halt those beautiful moans and breathy gasps leaving his mouth, not when she revels in the sound of them far too much.

Rin pops off him to take a breath, tongue running around the crown of him before she renews her attentions, swallowing him down deeper and taking as much of him as she can fit into her mouth.

Dots of crystalline tears settle on her lashes as the head of him brushes against the back of her throat, but the ragged moan he releases is more than worth it, another bolt of heat surging down to the place between her legs.

She’s lucky she cares nothing for her reputation, because being found on her knees in front of her most dubious companion with his cock shoved deep down her throat would most certainly ruin it. 

“Such pretty noises you make, Astarion,” She hums as she pops off his cock, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his length as she breathes in another lungful of air. “Please don’t stop making them.”

The hands in her hair tighten as her mouth envelops the head of his length again and he whines, Rin once again savoring the tang of him as she sucks before taking him back into her mouth, deep again as he slides against her tongue.

“Fuck, darling—” She breaths through her nose as his thighs quiver, making sure to keep her mouth moving back and forth on his cock. “Don’t stop. Rin, sweetheart, I’m going to—”

Sweetheart. It was a new one from him, one that she finds that she likes. 

Quite a lot. 

He breaks off as Rin hollows her cheeks once more around him just as his cock hits the back of her throat again, stray tears breaking free to run down her cheeks and she can barely breathe with him like this in her mouth but can’t seem to find it in her to care. 

The thrill of finally being able to taste him and to bring him to the edge of pleasure is one she knows she would do anything to feel again, the weight of his cock nothing short of exquisite in her mouth.

She gives him a final suck and Astarion comes down her throat with a wanton moan, hips bucking as his brows crease and he cries out his completion, the sounds of his ecstasy nothing short of beautiful as they ring off the rock and stone and dirt around them.

Rin swallows his come down as his body quivers and his hips rut into her, the hands in her hair tightening into a vice grip as he rides her mouth. 

He tastes as perfect as she knew he would as words fall from his lips in a torrent—a chorus of praise, moans, and the occasional elvish word or phrase she doesn’t understand all flowing freely from his lips.

Rin lets him ride out his orgasm however long he pleases, a deep satisfaction coursing through her as she watches the pleasure painted across his features until his hips begin to slow and air he doesn’t need finally begins to return to his lungs.

“Dear Gods—” Astarion groans as his eyes open as the hands in her hair loosen  and he stares down at her, one of them migrating down from her curls to her cheeks, softly brushing away the tears that have tracked down the planes of her face.

She pulls off his softening cock slowly, taking in a much needed breath of air.

“Do you still question my decision making skills?” Rin licks off a stray drop of his come from her bottom lip before she smiles.

“Absolutely; and if this is the treatment I’m going to get every time I do, then I think I’ll have to disagree with you more often.” Astarion’s still catching his breath as he replies, but it doesn’t stop a wolfish grin from spreading across his face.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Astarion.” Rin gently tucks him back into his pants, patting his hip with a smirk before she rises back up to her full height, knees aching slightly with the motion. “If I did that every time we had a disagreement, I’m not sure I would have much time to do anything else.”

Astarion has an arm wrapped back around her waist in a mere moment and she’s pulled close again, the one hand still in her hair curving around the back of her head to tilt her face up to his own.

“Then maybe you should try to be less difficult, dearest.” His hand runs down, caressing the curve of her bottom before sweeping back up and around to hover at the front of her pants.

His touch sends a spark of heat down to her neglected arousal, Rin taking a steadying breath as she braces her hands on his chest. “If I were less difficult, you would be bored.”

Astarion chuckles as his fingertips dip below her waistband, more heat curling deep in her core as they quickly slip beneath the band of her underwear, intent to find the wetness that has settled between her thighs.

He wastes no time gliding them through her folds, running them up and down her center as Rin gasps, Astarion’s eyes intent on hers as he slicks his fingers with her arousal before finding her entrance and sinking two of them inside her with ease.

“I see I wasn’t the only one enjoying myself,” Astarion groans at the evidence of her own lust he finds waiting, pushing his fingers deeper.

“Far from it, Astarion.” She moans as her head falls forward onto his shoulder, eyes drifting shut as he curls them once, twice; her limbs tightening as he seats them fully inside her.

It would be so easy to let Astarion bring her to brink and push her over into euphoria, no doubt only a few quirks of his fingers and she’d be gone, clinging to him with every ounce of her strength as he makes her come. 

But she doesn’t want it to be about her. Not right now. 

Despite the breath that rushes free and the soft whine she lets out as Astarion pumps the fingers he has buried in her, the desire almost painfully hot in her core; Rin reaches one of her hands down to grasp his wrist, pulling his hand away from where she wants him most.

She’ll take care of herself later. She certainly has plenty of material to think about.

Astarion sends her a questioning look as he slips his fingers out of her, Rin’s hand still on his as she guides him out of her leggings. “Is there a problem, sweet? Need something else inside of you instead?”

Rin huffs a soft laugh as she intertwines her fingers with his, squeezing his hand. She fears that her expression is entirely too open as she looks up at him and her lips quirk into a smile, but it’s too late for her to take it back so she commits to it, letting a tiny bit of the feeling that’s been growing inside her show on her features.

“I just—it doesn’t always need to be about me. Take your pleasure and enjoy it. You don’t owe me one back, or anything silly like that.”

Astarion stares at her as his expression clouds with confusion, but the hand in hers doesn’t weaken, his grip still strong and sure. 

Rin stands up on her tiptoes, lips seeking his cheek as she bestows a light kiss upon it before whispering, “Thank you, Astarion, for letting me give you something for once. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

She steals her hand back, the slide of his skin against her own slow as she takes a step away from him, sending a little wave his way before she turns and walks back towards camp, leaving Astarion to stare perplexed at her retreating form.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

Astarion sits perched on his favorite rock in camp, handsome and brooding, no doubt the perfect portrait of a mercurial and mysterious vampire to anyone with eyes who chose to look his way.

Or he would be, if anybody in this damn camp would pay any attention to him.

He rolls his eyes with a scoff as he directs his gaze towards the small group of idiots that are now his companions; a preposterous notion that he even considers them to be such. 

They make their merry by the fire, passing around a bottle of what is clearly a very strong whiskey if the faces they pull after taking swigs of it are anything to go by.

He can imagine the smell of it, smokey and stout, and is very glad to have a goblet of wine beside him instead. 

Whiskey was all fine and good and certainly had its uses, but it lacked the elegance of a fine wine; no whiskey ever as smooth on its own as a delectable vintage feels gliding over his tongue and down.

It’s a chilling thought that he’s been in such close contact with these fools for months now, Astarion learning all their little intricacies whether he wants to or not. 

Yet, he doesn’t find himself hating the growing familiarity quite as much as he did at the beginning. 

He knew his siblings, of course. But that bond was different, one forged by mutual fear and shared pain. He didn’t know what kinds of books they liked to read or what their favorite sweets had been. Instead, he knew how each of their screams sounded and how their bodies had looked torn apart under Cazador and Godey’s punishments, flesh rent from bone.

No, he firmly knew more about this merry little band of imbeciles he had been thrown together with than the six souls he had known for years and years and years, with one individual in particular standing out above the rest.

Astarion, it seems, now knew more about Rin than he had ever cared to know about another person in over 200 years. Useless, meaningless information she’s offered up about herself seemingly at random and without purpose or prize. 

She was a complete and utter fool.

And yet, he drank up each and every tiny piece about herself that she gave him as though it were her blood, flowing free and pomegranate-sweet from her neck. 

Astarion knew her favorite flowers—a hard choice, according to her, but she tends to favor the perfect, happy purple of the crocus a little more than the rest. 

He had rolled his eyes at this, swiftly informing her that flowers were essentially no more than useless, pretty things with little substance; and had earned himself a very sound swat upon his arm.

He knew her favorite foods—any sort of sweet berry at midsummer, along with a nice loaf of bread and perhaps some butter or cheese. 

Her taste in food was pitifully simple, though Astarion supposes a life on the Lower City streets didn’t usually imbue people with a terribly complicated palate for the finer delicacies life had to offer.

He knew that Rin did not know her father—only that he had been an elf come to the city on some sort of business from a far away place and Rin her human mother’s only token of remembrance from an affair she only wanted to forget about, and one she eventually did forget about when she left Rin to fend for herself.

She knew nothing of the Elvish ways and customs, nothing of the language that should sit so naturally on her tongue.

The knowledge that he could say anything he wanted to her in their language and she would be hopeless to ever understand him is one that tempts him in a variety of ways that he doesn’t indulge, lest his mind find its way heading into dangerous territory.

He knew that she’d had no sweeping romances with tender touches and soft sighs—only quick nighttime flings helped along by pints of cheap ale from equally cheap taverns and that while they had perhaps filled a need, they tended to leave her feeling more empty and decidedly less than, in the end. 

Astarion all too well understood that particular feeling. He hated that she had ever felt the same.

He readily ignores the inkling in the back of his mind warning him that he, perhaps, is no better than the others when he leaves her every night staring up at him, poorly concealed disappointment etched across her pretty face.

Uselessly, he also knew her favorite color—the deep, turquoise blue-green of the Chionthar on a clear day at noontime, naturally, when the sun sparkled off the undulating current of the water. 

It could never be anything quite so easy as simply ‘the color blue’ with her.

Astarion himself had long forgotten the color of the river, having only seen it as the darkened muddy blue-black of the midnight hours for centuries now.

Rin had been utterly shocked when she asked him for his own and he had told her he didn’t have one.

“You don’t have a favorite color? Astarion,” She had said aghast, drawing out the syllables of his name as her bright eyes had widened in surprise. 

He had no use for frivolous things like favorite colors. 

What colors, exactly, was he to have had the time to enjoy?

Certainly not the darkly stained, ornately paneled woods of the chamber he used to entertain his victims; or the gaudy, overly saturated reds and too brightly shined golds in that room meant to invoke opulence and luxury, yet another layer designed to further lure them into the fantasy he provided.

Nor the watery yellow glow of torchlight against the dull, muddied brown of wet cobblestones as he led whoever had been chosen that night back to the Szarr Palace, charming and seductive as he promised them his body and their control over it. 

There was nothing beautiful about the metallic shine of a silver cage in the kennel, dotted with the rusty brown of dried blood, though whether it was his own or belonged to one of his siblings he never really knew.

How was there to be any joy found in color beyond the allure of the deepest burgundy wine as it filled up his cup to help dull his mind as he lowered himself to do the things his mark that evening wanted of him, mind drifting to focus on anything else as he did whatever he needed to do in order to survive.

Astarion grimaces, throwing back another swallow of his wine as the thoughts leave him tinged with the sickly yellow-green of disgust and the feeling of shame: a blistering, burning, glowing red.

At first, right after the Nautiloid had crashed and he had escaped the closeness of that dreadful pod, his chest having constricted at the tightness of it around him—it was just another cage in the end, wasn’t it? Just another leash for him to be collared to—the riot of colors in the bright light of the sun had hurt his newly sensitive eyes as he had hid in the shadow of the wreckage.

It was only once he had realized he wouldn’t be burned to a crisp in the sunshine, a wonder in its own right, that he began to take notice of them all. There were far too many colors and all of them were so…so saturated; all the different shades and intensities unbearably overwhelming.

From the small green leaves of the scrubby trees, to the brown grains of sand, to the grotesque purple of the Nautiloid and the soon-to-be rotting corpses of mindflayers—terribly, horribly overwhelming.

She was overwhelming to look at when he first saw her, too. Shining eyes of emerald green, warm skin thoroughly kissed by the sun, dark blonde curls gleaming in the unbearable brightness of the light. That awful outfit she wore that marked her as none other but a bard, albeit one with terrible sartorial sense. 

Rin was the first person he had set eyes on in the sunshine in over 200 years and he had hated the very sight of her. 

She had been a clash of colors, all dreadfully uncomplimentary to him, that he shied away from the sight of. Colors like that were never quite so bold in the darkness that he was so used to, their vivacity dulled by dancing firelight and the shadows of night.

She was too brilliant to bear the sight of, utterly casual and downright flippant, too unbothered by it all to be trusted—though, he knows better now; and looking back he can see that her confidence was all nothing more than a well-executed performance on her part.

He still doesn’t feel bad about holding that knife to her neck as he had dragged her down into the coarse sand with him, the scent of her scarlet blood still rich despite it drying against her cheek, dots of it mixing in with the freckles that were scattered across her cheeks like the tiniest of constellations.

Perhaps that was his first mistake in all of this, allowing himself to get so near someone so dazzling and warm. It was like playing with fire—dance too close to the flame and you were bound to be burned. 

And going up into flames was something Astarion could not afford. 

But now, slowly, the color has begun to come back to him little by little and he could start to appreciate again it for the first time in centuries.

The precise cornflower blue of the sky on a cloudless day or the deep violet of it at twilight as the stars wink to life. 

The way sunlight dappled onto the ground through a forested canopy to illuminate the all the tiny flowers that grow up from the ground in a rainbow of colors—purples, pinks, yellows, blues. 

The myriad of all the different greens that he could now truly behold: the dark, bountiful leaves of a fern, a fragile spring green stem of a flower, the lush and verdant shade of her eyes.

Astarion still didn’t have a favorite color. Not really.

But he was coming around to the idea of having one.

A laugh carries across camp, melodic and light and lovely, dragging him from the depths of his musings over to where Rin sits by the fire, their companions all floating around her like moths to a flame.

He absolutely hates the way they all look at her. 

He can see it on their faces, a blatant adoration that she somehow seems to completely disregard for reasons he can’t fathom, instead intent to spend her time with him of all people.

But he cannot blame them, after all, because he’s no better. Just as desperate for her attention and her closeness, it seems, if the way his feet kept finding their way to her tent night after night was anything to go by.

Astarion wonders sometimes if they can see the very same hopeless look on his own face as he gazes upon her, despite how well he tries to hide it. 

Rin leans against Halsin as she laughs, cheeks flushing at whatever it is the oversized elf says to her. Her curls are unbound, falling freely around her tonight in a wave of shining gold to her waist and he wishes he could bury his fingers in the strands to feel the softness of them for himself. 

The druid does nothing to dissuade Rin from the circle of his arms as he claps a hand on her shoulder before sliding it down to the small of her back, smiling at her a touch too friendly for Astarion’s liking and a stab of something hits him straight in the chest.

Jealousy.

He has no claim to her, of course. He’s not made one and has no plans to. But the sudden thought of her underneath Halsin—or any of them, really—has his jaw clenching tight. 

The other elf is attractive and strong, no doubt a good lover; and the thought of the warmth he could so easily provide her that Astarion cannot churns his long-empty stomach.

He can see it all too easily, imagining Rin so very pretty with cheeks flushed pink and body inviting as Halsin leans over and takes her sweetness for his own.

He can see Rin on her knees, looking up at the druid with the same look of affection in her eyes that she had given him earlier that day as she had tasted him.

Or perhaps the worst thoughts of them all—Rin telling Halsin all the inane things she would normally bother him with; Rin playing tiny bits of melodies and sweet little songs on her lyre for Halsin while he whittles by the light of the fire; Rin writing the druid letters that she would then hide poorly in his tent, ensuring they can always be found and read and replied to— 

He was spiraling, and he needed to stop.

Astarion shakes the thoughts away with a frown, bringing his goblet back to his lips for another sip. He doesn’t know why she favors him so, why she allows him into her orbit when there’s a group full of others who would so readily take his place, all of whom would no doubt treat her better than he has. 

He wouldn’t blame her, if she sought after any of the others.

Certainly not after that night, the one where he had made her undress before him for his entertainment and then kicked her out of his tent when she was still wrapped up in the afterglow of what was a very intimate evening.

Perhaps too intimate.

His chest gnaws at itself at the thought of the way he had handled it all.

Astarion had lost count of how many times he had undressed in front of others, so many of their faces blessedly long blurred by time.

He had unbuttoned and unlaced countless of his shirts, pants, doublets—a liar’s allure painted upon his features as he gave whoever it was a show, forever the night’s entertainment for his quarry. 

Yet, he had made her do the same.

He had enjoyed it, too. He had enjoyed watching her undress solely for him, piece by piece, her gaze piercing his own as she reveled in his attention on her.

She hadn’t said no or objected to it. But he could see the challenge in her eyes just as easily as she could see right through him and his attempt to gain back his precious lead in their little game, the perceptive little thing. 

A strange feeling—remorse—settles itself in his chest as he watches her from across camp.

The remorse only grows the longer Astarion fixates on it, leading to more and more questions that he doesn’t have the answers to, the weight of them near unbearable upon his scarred shoulders.

The crushing reality was that his plan was crumbling bit by bit, like a tiny pebble crushed under foot; and the worst part about it was that he was finding it harder and harder to care. 

Rin has made it abundantly clear that she is on his side.

He’d seduced her, had won her sword (mediocre skill notwithstanding), and had long secured her dedication to his cause.

By all accounts, his plan is practically complete where she’s concerned.

All they needed to do now was get back to Baldur’s Gate and—well, he wasn’t quite sure what would come after they get back into the city, Astarion was still a little fuzzy on the details of it all, but she’d help him figure it out when the time came, of course. 

Rin was aways helpful when it really mattered.

So why is it that he can’t stop with the first part? Even if he were to decide to stop sleeping with her, he wasn’t particularly concerned that she would suddenly turn on him. 

He has no reason to find his way into her bed now; no reason other than his own selfish, deep-seated desire for her company and attention and affection.

Rin catches his eye in a poorly timed glance of his own, and smiles so full of a sickening fondness—nose crinkled and flushed cheeks—at him.

Faster than he can follow she’s out of Halsin’s embrace, gracing the druid with a playful smile and a pat on the shoulder before she saunters over to where he sits perched on his rock, limbs unnaturally loose as she pads closer—drunk indeed.

Astarion doesn’t miss the way the light from the fire limns her figure from behind, setting her aglow in a halo of golden-red as she finds her way over to him, something in his chest warming as she nears.

She sways slightly when she stops before him and he can smell the rich tang of the whiskey on her as she sends him a mischievous look that has his lips already quirking up at the corners. 

“You,” she pokes him in the chest to add an emphasis that he did not need. “Should come join us”

“And you,” he refrains from poking her back in response, though the thought amuses him. “Are drunk.”

Rin takes a step closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning forward, slotting herself between his legs and blithely ignoring the glances the motion garners from their companions.

Astarion’s eyes widen at the blatant display of affection, taken aback by the ease of it as the scent of her surrounds him—honey and flowers and all around loveliness. 

On anyone else he would hate the perfume she wears, but on her it smells nothing short of wonderful; tempting him to bury his face into her neck and breathe her in.

Her hands play with the hair on his neck, as they always seem to, delicate fingertips running through the waves and he resists the urge to lean into her soothing touch.

He can feel multiple sets of eyes upon the two of them, voices lowered into whispers as the group no doubt gossips. The nature of his relationship with Rin is far from a secret, he’s drawn too many beautiful sounds from her lips for anyone to be unaware of their trysts. 

Astarion secretly revels in the idea that they are quite possibly jealous of what Rin gives to him; something that none of them have ever received from her. 

So let them see, then. 

Let them see that it is him who she seeks out, his arms the ones she wants to find herself in, his lips the ones she wishes to kiss.

Astarion’s arms find their way to her waist with an uncomfortable ease, hands settling along the indent of it as his thumbs run up and down her covered skin without thought, dragging her closer between his legs until their faces are mere inches from one another’s, only the rock beneath him stopping her chest from pressing fully against his own.

“I’m not drunk enough, I fear.” Rin cocks her head to the side with a smile, as she whispers covertly to him. “Maybe, if you come share a drink with me, we can fix that.”  

Astarion allows himself the temptation to brush an errant curl away from her face, the lock just as soft as he knew it’d be, before matching her tone. “Don’t be such a lush, dear.”

“Oh, come on, Astarion. I know that you enjoy a good drink as much as I do. And I promise, the whiskey is good.” 

He swears that he can hear her breath hitch as his fingers accidentally brush against her cheek, her eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise as he tucks the curl behind her ear.

“Oh, I’ve got no doubt of that, my dear,” He chuckles, a corner of his mouth turning up without his permission. “If it weren’t, you wouldn’t be quite so tipsy in front of me.” 

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing,” Rin tuts, pouting. 

The way her bottom lip pushes out and her eyes widen under lowered brows is, dare he say, cute; and he can’t help the inward sigh that he’s now been relegated to thinking of a beautiful woman something as absurd as cute. 

It’s a blow to his seductive charm, surely, to use such a word to describe her; but all of the other adjectives he’s thought of in the past seem to had fled his mind under her spell when she looks at him like that. 

What in the absolute hells has she done to him?

“Pouting? Really, darling?” Astarion drawls, the hand he had used to tuck her hair back now brushing openly down her cheek in a touch that has her face heating to a most becoming shade of pink.

Rin instinctively leans into his hand and he resists the urge to cup her cheek, suddenly possessed by the want to draw her face closer to his.

“You don’t have to come drink with me at all, of course.” Her voice takes on that same tone it had taken on earlier, intention dripping from her words like the thickest of honey as her she bites her lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. “We can always go find something else to do instead. Just the two of us.”

The pink of her tongue peeks out to wet her bottom lip, soothing the place where she bit down upon it, and if Astarion hadn’t been paying attention already, he certainly would be now.

“Oh? Just the two of us?” He teases her, his other hand moving to curl around her lower back to pull her even closer, Rin curving herself into him, and Gods if the feeling of her against him didn’t feel like heaven. “What do you have in mind? A game of cards? Or, perhaps we should practice our calligraphy together, hm?”

Rin leans in to let her lips brush against the tip of his ear, Astarion barely holding back the shiver that threatens to break free as her hands comb through his hair and she speaks low, “I can make you feel good again, Astarion. If you want me to.”

Her words bleed with affection and genuine sweetness, and Astarion finds it very difficult to say no to her when she asks like that.

His mind flashes back to earlier, the image of Rin on her knees as she had waited for his answer, hands poised at his waistband streaking through his mind along with others as his stomach tightens. 

Her perfect lips wrapped around his cock, the feeling of coming down her throat, drops of diamond-like tears tracing down flushed cheeks, his hands buried in her hair.

How she had told him to take his pleasure and not worry about hers. A very sweet sentiment that he deeply appreciated for reasons he very much didn’t want to think about at the moment.

‘Thank you, Astarion, for letting me give you something for once,’Rin had said. 

As if she didn’t already give him plenty.

He’s thoroughly enjoyed being at her mercy, her touch always soft and gentle while she asks for permission. It had been so many years since he had indulged in wanting to be touched like that, and having affection heaped upon him by someone so eager to please him has quickly become nothing short of addicting. 

“Oh? And do tell, how you plan on doing that?” Astarion lets his fingers drift slowly up her spine, enjoying the way her body presses harder into his and her breath catches, the sound lovely.

“Follow me and I’ll show you,” Rin whispers as she steps out of the circle of his arms, swaying slightly as she does, and Astarion’s brows knit together in consternation.

She grabs his hand, and Astarion swears the feeling of hers wrapped around his could scald him, every nerve in his body set alight by that innocent touch.

He allows himself to be lead to her tent, content to follow after her with hands still connected; but there seemed to be a single glaring issue standing in Astarion’s way that he was apparently now unable to ignore. 

She was quite drunk tonight. 

Too drunk, according to a newer, still unfamiliar voice in his head. 

It’s a step too far for him now, or at least it is where she’s concerned; a step that, granted, months ago he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash at taking. 

All the better if they were too drunk, it only made his job easier in the end.

But Rin’s not like that, she’s not a mark and she deserves so much better than being taken advantage of in such a state, even if for his plan or his own personal desires of her. 

She would be so easy to please like this, with the alcohol addling her mind. 

And oh, how he could please her. 

He could so easily touch and kiss and fuck any thoughts she may have about Halsin or any of the rest of them right out of her mind, ensuring that his name is the only one that falls from her lips.

She steps through the flap of her tent, her hand still holding his, and once he’s inside she’s turning again, wrapping her arms around his neck as she balances up on tiptoes, staring earnestly into his eyes. 

“I’ll do whatever you want, Astarion. Just tell me, I want to know more about what you like.” She sways again, and his arm wraps around her waist to steady her as their bodies press together.

“Let’s get you lying down, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t meant to say such a word earlier, but it had slipped out of his mouth as he had hit the burning, white hot peak of his pleasure at her worship. 

Astarion finds, though, that he likes the way it flows off his tongue when directed at her. 

It fits her well enough, in his opinion.

He lets Rin drag him to the ground until her back is against her bedroll and he hovers over her, staring down into hazy green eyes as her curls spread around her. She’s a vision like this, and he memorizes the sight of her without thinking to, his eyes moving to capture every inch of her before his mind even realizes what he’s doing and can tell himself to stop.

“And now, Astarion?” 

She waits on a bated breath, waiting, as his eyes finding their way again to her lips.

Kiss her. That voice in the back of his mind is nothing but a traitor as it whispers to him, knowing full well he can’t give in to such dizzying impulses like that on a whim.

He knows better than to allow himself to kiss her. Because once starts he won’t be able to stop.

It would be so easy to fall into her, to kiss her into utter oblivion and lose himself in the body she so readily offers. To forget all about his pathetic life if only for the little bit of time they steal away to spend together in temporary bliss.

But it always comes back after. 

The memories, the reality of who is he and what he’s done, the feeling of his skin crawling in the aftermath of so many hands that have touched him without permission.

Her touch is different, but when he’s been touched thousands of times by thousands of people, it all seems to blend together in the end no matter what he wants—even if hers is the only one he wants to think about and remember the feeling of, thoughts of her consuming him even with just a gentle brush of her arm against his.

“And now, darling, you sleep.”

He doubts she’ll remember much come morning, the whiskey burning through her veins hotter than a flask of alchemist’s fire; but Astarion finds that he wants to be remembered, if only by her, just this once.

Wants her to remember their time together the way he always will. If they survive this, even when he has his freedom and is long gone to wherever it is he wants to go—he will always remember. 

He ignores the stutter of loneliness that pangs in his chest as he imagines ever so briefly what his freedom will look like when he’s on his own with no one else around.

It would certainly be quiet. Perhaps even peaceful. 

He would be able to spend his time however he wished it in the solitude, not a soul around to bother him with foolish chatter unless he went in search of such a thing. 

Strange how the thought of it doesn’t hold the same appeal that it once did.

A hand running along his cheek draws him out of his thoughts, dragging him back to the present as Rin looks up at him, eyes soft and yet somehow still managing to pierce straight through his un-beating heart as she studies his features.

“I meant it, you know—what I said to you that night. You don’t have to fuck me, Astarion. You can come sleep with me and we can just lay together. Or even just talk. I know my conversation doesn’t mean much, but—” She cups his cheek in her palm, the tenderness of it threatening to burn him to cinders. “It doesn’t have to be just about sex between us. We’re friends too, aren’t we? Friends can simply enjoy each other’s company and presence and take care of each other, can’t they?”

She’s babbling, words falling out of her mouth freed by the whiskey; but the innate truth he hears in them threaten the remaining bits of resolve that he has left.

Astarion’s not quite sure who she’s trying to convince—herself or him—but his determination wanes regardless, like a thread pulled too tight and on the verge of snapping.

But it wasn’t just about the sex, and if it’s not just about his plan, then what was it about?

He’s fairly certain friends don’t typically know each other’s bodies as intimately as they do, or know how beautiful they look as they fall apart, or find themselves craving nothing more than to simply exist with the other near.

Friends probably also don’t think about each other in the depths of the night when they’re cold and alone and hurting, the thought of the other a shining light in the eternal darkness of their existence.  

Astarion, though, has never had any friends that he can remember.

With more gentleness than he would prefer, Astarion removes her hand from his cheek and rights himself to a kneel, his knees finding their home on either side of her hips. 

He holds her hand within his own, turning his attention where he cradles it in his palm. Her hand is smaller than his, several calluses along the places where she holds her rapier and her quill, fingers still decorated with the ink she must have used earlier to write him a very scathing letter.

He had briefly considered tearing the letter to bits, the words contained on the piece of paper properly irritating and, in Astarion’s opinion, practically libel, but he couldn’t do it; instead relegating it to the pile where he keeps all the other useless slips of parchment from her in a neat stack hidden out of plain sight in his tent.

Her letters were, after all, the first tangible thing anyone had given him since he was bestowed with his sanguine hunger, his dark curse. 

And whether he wants to admit it or not, he’s so far been unable to find a valid reason to rid himself of them, useless though they may be.

Before he can catch himself, he’s leaning his head down to the hand he holds within his own, and with a damning softness he brushes a kiss onto each of her ink-stained fingertips where they had touched his face, lips light against them before placing a final, reverent kiss in the center of her palm.

She’s looks as though she’s not even breathing when Astarion raises his head to stare down at her, her hand still clasped in his own. 

He can hear the beat of her heart, drumming loudly against her ribcage with a rhythm he’s become so very familiar with, and he can smell the ambrosia of her blood as it soars through her veins.

Even in the darkness he can see the pink of her cheeks and the freckles that dust over the tops of them and he’s half-tempted to count them, wishing to brush his fingers over each and every one of them, if only to feel his skin against the sunny warmth of her own.

But it’s too much, and he’s spiraling downdowndown again into the depths of somewhere he’s not yet ready to be, and so he needs to leave. Needs to leave for the same reason he has to leave her every night, despite the weakness that has him indulging in anything and everything else she’ll afford him.

He has no other choice, for when she speaks such innocent words to him, offering him the simple solace of rest so full of a tender, blossoming affection, he’s filled with a want so heavy it threatens to drag him under.

Because if Astarion allows himself to give in—to know what it would be like to be warm, comfortable, safe—he knows he would never be able to go without it again.

Warmth, kisses, attention, kindness—all heaped upon him without wanting anything in return. No money, no favors, no motive other than her pure wish to spend time with him.

It’s a good thing his heart no longer beats, for if it did, Astarion has no doubt that she would be able to hear the rampant sound of it in his chest just as he can hear her own.

He rests her hand back down, letting it settle across her stomach as he swallows down the torrent of things that threaten to break free from him, Rin looking at him with a confused sort of wonder, as though he were a puzzle she was trying desperately to fit the pieces of together in her mind.

“Good night.” He stands to leave, movements as quiet as the night around them thanks to the unnatural grace he possess, before turning toward the tent flap. “Sleep well, my darling.”

He’ll allow himself that much, at least; for what was the harm in letting himself indulge in getting to call her his own just this once, if only to see what it feels like?

“You too, Astarion.” He turns his head briefly at her whispered words and meets her eyes, something molten and unguarded smoldering in her gaze as she watches him leave.

He can’t bear the sight of it a moment more, another utterance from her all it would take for him to succumb to his most secret desires—things he can barely stand to admit to himself—and so he turns his head forward and walks back out into the darkness, letting the honest and true longing that has been slowly burning him from the inside out finally consume him. 

[dreadsuitsamus]

First | Choso Kamo x Reader |

author's note: this is a sequel to that small first kiss imagine i wrote a while back, and i've finally found the steam to wrap it up! i love this guy 🩷

pairing: choso kamo x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, explicit smut, fingering, dry humping, friends to lovers

Frost nips at Choso’s delicate little nose as he has a cigarette out on the balcony, his habit uncaring about the weather conditions being less than stellar. It’s cold, though not snowing at least. His dark hair is down, the ends tickling the back of his neck while a beanie covers the top of his head and ears, keeping him as warm as possible in this thirty degree weather. Shooting a gaze over his shoulder as he blows the smoke with the direction of the wind, he peeks inside of the window to see if you’re ready yet, but the living room is still empty. So, with his question answered, he turns back around and looks to the sky.

It’s been a handful of weeks since he first kissed you, and he’s kept his word: a kiss every single day, and usually more than once a day at that. And naturally, as one would hope with frequent make-outs, things have progressed a bit beyond two friends just kissing to heal old wounds. You’ve been friends for quite a long time by now, and it’s been so easy to transition to this budding romance, the expected awkwardness and general weirdness you thought would appear not existing at all. Choso puts out the cigarette and discards it with a flick to the busy city street far below him, climbing back into your apartment and shrugging the hefty coat off of his strong, broad shoulders once he’s closed the window.

“Oi!” He comes to tap his knuckle against your closed bedroom door. “We still gotta get a cab, babe, come on! We’re gonna miss our reservations.”

“I don’t know what to wear!” Your voice wails from behind the wooden barrier between you and Cho, and he sighs. He’s not sure why he didn’t expect this of you, as you’ve historically always been the late one in your friend group.

“Whatever you wear is gonna look great!” Choso pouts and leans against the wall. You’re not convinced, though, and you look between the two dresses laid out on your bed. It’s your first date with Cho, and despite knowing him for over seven years, you’re as nervous as you’d be on a blind date with a proper stranger. You’re treading a line finer than the baby hairs at the back of your neck, after all, and on the line is something too precious to lose.

But also on the line stands the chance for a relationship that could flourish into the best thing you’ve ever had. Frankly, there should probably be more butterflies rumbling in your tummy!

Moving to the bedroom door and pulling it open to see your dear friend, you take his large hand in yours and tug. Happy to be dragged anywhere you take him, especially into your lair as you’re half-naked under that little silk robe, Choso easily follows your lead. He doesn’t hide his sneaky little grin well, and you bat his arm with a laugh, warmth withering the nerves away with the comfort that, at least, he thinks you're hot. Cho’s the same as he’s always been, after all, and the reminder melts the tension from your shoulders. “You’re dating me now and still acting like this?”

“Am I supposed to stop?” He murmurs, tugging his beanie off and threading those long fingers through the chocolatey locks, fluffing it up a bit and then smoothing it out.

“I hope not.” Sinking your teeth into your lip, you pick up your two best dresses, holding them up and turning to Choso. “So, which one do you think would look good?”

His amber eyes don’t linger on either choice and instead scan that skimpy lilac robe that hardly reaches your mid-thigh, his hands closing into tight fists while his Adam's apple bobs steadily. He’s always thought of you as attractive, no doubt, and that’s why he kissed you on that sweet night your friend group passed around first kiss stories. You deserved an amazing first kiss and Choso wanted nothing more than to be that for you, to erase the memories of that dreadful man you gave your all to. His intentions aren’t all pure, however, and he hopes to God you can’t sense it.

He would kill your ex if given the chance. How dare that bastard take and take every ounce of your spirit, crushing you beneath the weight of his impossible expectations, carelessness and general assholery? Choso’s made it more than his personal mission to wipe out every memory, heal each scar and destroy any and all lingering ideas of doubting what you deserve. You should be loved, adored, cherished…

And fucked absolutely senseless.

If your first kiss was no good, your first time couldn’t have been halfway decent either. And he hasn’t wanted to admit it, he wants to be good and proper and show you what a gentleman is like… But every night it claws at him knowing that you’ve never been shown a good time. Knowing that your beautiful body was never worshipped, never adored and doted on or prioritized at all kills him. He should take it slow like he planned, he knows. It’s what you deserve!

But he’s going absolutely mad at the sight of you now and frankly, it shows; your chest flips at the look in those warm, hungry, honey-hued eyes. “Cho?” Your voice, so soft and pretty, quickly jolts him back to his senses. Shaking his head as if to knock the naughty thoughts from his brain, Choso takes a proper look at each dress you’re holding.

“Uh… They’re both… nice.” One has a plunging neckline and the other one is so short he’s not completely sure it’ll cover your ass! Why don't you just write ‘tease’ clear as day on your forehead while you're at it? Not to mention, it's thirty fucking degrees outside and he's not looking forward to giving up his coat when you get cold!

“Just nice?” With a defeated groan, the dresses are tossed onto the floor and you’re back to the drawing board in your closet, flipping through your array of sundresses, evening gowns, club outfits and more. Choso’s close behind as you walk away, a confused crease forming between his brows as he takes in just how packed this walk-in is. He could swear he’s seen you cycle through the same six or so outfits since he met you! How could you possibly have this many clothes?? 

Blinking himself out of the stupor, Cho places warm palms to your shoulders, rubbing a gentle massage into your skin. His touch is magical, and any other time would be quite soothing. But the nerves that line every inch of your body are just too frayed for a simple shoulder rub to cure this time. “Baby, it really doesn’t matter what you wear-”

“Of course it does! This is our first date!”

Okay, time to re-route.

Choso presses a kiss to your temple, hands gradually marking a path to your hips, taking the scenic route and enjoying a few selfish squeezes along the way. With soft lips at your ear, you shiver at how Choso touches you. This relationship— situationship?— is still fragile and fresher than a newborn baby, and while the kissing is plentiful, that's about as far as it really gets.

“Relax...” Cho murmurs quietly, squeezing your hips and rubbing at your rear. “Breathe, baby. It's all okay.”

Melting like butter, Choso’s touches light your eyes with lust and, dragging your wet tongue along your glossed lips as a soft moan passes by, you fall easily into his embrace. “Cho…”

With a trail of kisses smattering your neck and shoulders, Choso coos. “You could wear a paper bag and I’d still be fighting off all the other men in the room. And all the other girls could be naked and I'm still only gonna be able to see you. I mean it, babe. You're just that perfect.”

“... What if I wore nothing?”

Choso kisses a spot he's not sure he's touched yet. “Then we'd both be in jail, but my sentence would be a lot longer than yours.” Murder is, after all, a bit more than a frowned upon misdemeanor.

“And what if you wore nothing with me?”

A small smile is hidden into your skin, Choso's lips pressing insistently to your neck as his large hands come to pull at the knot at the front of your robe. “Then I think we're missing our reservations tonight.”

You're leaned back against him fully now, head rolling off to the side to allow him more unbridled access to the column of your throat. “Who likes that restaurant anyway?”

“You're right.” Sharp teeth nip gleefully alongside a low chuckle. “What's another six week waiting list, hm?” Your robe slips from your shoulders after a light, insisting tug at it by the small of your back. By the time it's pooled at your ankles, the silky fabric cool on your skin, Choso’s hands have resumed their exploration of your body.

His hands are cold still from his smoke break, which sends goosebumps down your delicious body wherever he touches you. His mouth, hot and minty with a tinge of cigarette, plants a kiss on the shell of your ear, his low voice whispering against you in a way that lights the rest of your body up.

“You’re so pretty.”

Your nipples, covered by a pretty pink bra with strawberries on them, peak as your cunt is struck with a lick of lust; you never dreamed before that Choso would be one to make you feel this way. He's always been just a friend, a guy you never really realized even had a penis, let alone one you'd like to see and touch and more.

How time changes things!

You turn in his arms, pushing up onto your tiptoes into a desperate kiss, one that nearly sends Choso off of his feet as your dalliance moves from the closet and to the bed. Boldness strikes him and he's turning your back to the bed, the edge of the mattress knocking the back of your knees before you're guided down, Choso’s large hands holding your figure tenderly.

“Can I touch you?” He murmurs, hands completely still despite his lust swelling below the belt and beneath his ribcage. Even with the general flirting, kissing and touching going on, to make the true transition of friend into boyfriend is a heavy step, one he doesn't want taken back.

Adoration-fueled goosebumps scatter your body, the tingling feeling in your breast and thighs meeting in the middle for a warm flooding of your tummy. Cho is so delicate, so thoughtful and considerate… It makes your desire for him triple in the single blink of an eye.

“Please.” His whisper is more urgent now, a frenzy building behind warm, amber eyes. He'll certainly stop if you command him so, but you couldn't dream of doing so now.

Your fingertips brush against the strong, solid line of his jaw, feeling his smooth, pale-toned skin. “Yes. Everywhere.”

Choso’s lips crash onto yours immediately, greedily having a fill of your sweet, pretty lips as the pads of his fingertips graze your body, massaging small circles into the warm, electrified flesh of your hips. The thin line of your panties taunts him, that and his own clothes reminding him of how far away he really is from you.

“Choso.” You murmur at his short hesitation, playing with the little hairs at the back of his neck. It soothes him, as intended, and he presses a sweet kiss to your cheek while dipping his thumbs below the band of your skimpy underwear, toying with the fabric before running his hands up your beautiful curves and carefully removing the thin bralette to see your breasts, bare and beautiful for the first time.

Choso’s mouth, hot and honeyed with his wanton saliva, glazes over one of your gorgeous, pert nipples. A shiver trembles down your spine and a soft little moan passes your lips as his tongue swirls and lips suck, and the encouragement is enough for him to slowly dip his hand beneath your panties, those long fingers finding a hot, sticky mess to play with.

The feeling of your juicy cunt on his hand, the way your pretty little clit hides between the succulent lips of your pussy… It makes Choso harder than he's ever been. A harsh shiver overtakes him as his fingers lather in your sweetness, two of them carefully dipping inside of your hole.

“Holy fuck…” His warm breath fans over your breast, his forehead resting against you while he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you. The way your walls just suck him in, so greedily, so warm and inviting and… and god he can't believe how hard he is. “You're so perfect…”

Heat fills your entire face at his admission. All he's done is for your pleasure, yet he's panting and groaning like you're the one touching him. Is it really possible for a man to feel pleasure from giving, rather than receiving?

With the way that rod in his jeans pokes at your leg, it must be.

“Cho, you feel so good…” Your face buries into his hair, the dark chocolate locks smelling of strawberries. He never did seem like the type to buy the “manly” ten-in-one types.

“No, you do.” Choso presses a sweet kiss to your collarbone, urging his long fingers deeper inside of your core, spreading your sticky, thick nectar over his digits. He relishes the feeling, the way your pussy grips him and asks for more and more and more. And he gives it to you, finger-fucking you faster and filling the room with raunchy squelches, the addicting sounds only urging him even further.

“So good… Pretty pussy, sweet pussy…” It's as if he's drunk, intoxicated on you and all you're giving him. He slips a third finger inside of you, gentle in stretching you open to accommodate the girth of the three fingers together. All he wants is to feel you, simply just can't get enough of you around him.

“Ch-Choso, fuck, mmmmmmmm fuck!” He's hitting all the right spots so perfectly, prodding the spongy spot inside. “I-I’m close, honey, so close…”

Sharp teeth sink into the curve of your breast, quiet growls muffled into the flesh. You're so close, and he's going to get you there, all over his hand. He needs it, you need it, god he needs it…

Your back nearly snaps as you shoot up into an arch, cumming harshly and moaning loud enough to piss off the neighbors, who also happen to be your friends, though once Nobara is past the interruption of her beauty sleep she'll surely be joining Yuji in giggling about it.

Choso's rutting relentlessly now, withdrawing his fingers from your cunt and to his mouth, moaning as he licks and sucks every ounce of your essence from his digits. This man, your friend— boyfriend, is dry humping your bed while suckling his own fingers that are drenched in your taste, getting off on pure you…

He's absolutely perfect.

Pulling his hand from his mouth, you cup his strong jaw and pull him up for a kiss, and he adjusts himself between your legs, the tinkle of his belt buckle the only thing keeping you in the moment enough to realize he's shoving his pants and boxers to his knees, that lovely cock (that you had no idea he was packing below that belt) springing up against his stomach before he lays back down, his hot cock leaking against your ruined panties as he ruts.

His large hands rest on either side of you, holding him up so he's not pinning his weight down and crushing you, and you play with his hair as he comes closer to orgasm. The bedspread is bunched into his fists as he crests, his lips no longer able to cooperate with yours as beautiful, hot, sticky ropes of thick, white cum burst from his purpled tip, covering your lower belly and panties in his seed, all whilst groaning entirely unintelligible babble.

This is the first time in your entire life that you've felt so sexy and desirable, and the warmth in your chest blooms into a strong heat, a flame of love and adoration that may never burn out.

Choso falls to the left of you, his chest heaving while he gathers himself. He glances your direction, and with a bit of an embarrassed smile, he slips his hand into yours, squeezing warmly.

[thelarriefics]

UNIVERSITY FIC REC, Part II: Below you will find more fics that take place in college. (Part I)

📖 Underneath It All by @peachypetalhazz (394k)

Enemies to friends to lovers AU where Louis is a cliché bad boy that Harry can’t seem to get rid of.

📖 there's no fair in farewell by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (218k)

When Harry and Louis, two Cupids who have been bringing people together for decades, are tasked with making Soulmates Liam and Zayn fall in love, it proves to be much harder than expected. But maybe, just maybe, that isn’t such a bad thing after all.

📖 blue moon by @aquietlarrie (152k)

or the self indulgent 50’s au where i wanted a safe space to explore the culture, history, and sexuality of being gay in a time when it was extremely difficult to do so. includes, lots of questionable dancing, healing your inner child, and one heck of an emotional ride.

📖 Never Be by @cherrystreet (117k)

The one where Harry Styles moves to Connecticut from England for nine months as a part of a study abroad program, and he just so happens to move in with Louis Tomlinson and family.

📖 Pour Your Heart Out by @hrrytomlinson (92k)

Louis is his soulmate. Or at least Harry thinks he is. Louis feels the same as Louis. But there are a lot of people named Louis in the world and this Louis might not be the Louis. It’s besides the point though, because Harry knows he can’t allow himself to get close to any boys. He just can’t and he’s told himself this multiple times. He has to simply stay away from Louis Tomlinson. But he can’t. Harry Styles can never stay away from Louis Tomlinson. It’s physically impossible for him to.

📖 knock knock, i love you by @thelovejandles (86k)

Harry and Louis get kicked out of a statistics exam for passing a knock knock joke note, and subsequently fall in love. Harry's a virgin, there's a cat, a hot cocoa date, a lot of sex, even more knock knock jokes, and everything is lovely and happy.

📖 Are There Second Chances? by @kissyboystyles (85k)

the most eventful twenty-four days of Louis Tomlinson's college career.

📖 A Distant Hazy Light by @greenfeelings (76k)

Life’s pretty ordinary for Harry. He lives with his best friend, got into university just like he’s planned, and manages to support himself just fine for an unbonded omega. If he sustains that lifestyle by getting paid to help alphas through their rut every now and then, that’s nothing to be hung up on. Until he’s hired by an alpha that turns everything upside down. Or, Harry’s working on taking Louis’ walls down, until he builds his own up.

📖 Bikestrike by @thinlinez (68k)

What would you do if you saw someone riding your bike, which had been stolen weeks before, across campus? Omega Harry chose to show no mercy. He didn't know it would all lead him to his own demise.

📖 always you (i should have known) by @28goldens (60k)

or the one where harry and louis cant stand each other and fake date to make someone jealous.

📖 Start A Revolution From My Bed. by @rainbowsandlovehl (57k)

Louis is ready to live on his own, in a dorm, in a new city. He is ready to make new friends, have fun and study a little. But he is not ready for Harry, his pretentious roommate who is out to ruin Louis' sleep and make his dorm life a complete hell.

📖 Love's On The Line, Is That Your Final Answer? by @moonhusbands (54k)

Harry can’t believe it when Louis, the boy he’s always had a tempestuous rivalry with, asks him to be his boyfriend. Well, pose as his boyfriend, that is—for a new television game show in which young couples are quizzed on how well they know each other for a jackpot of thirty grand. Reluctantly, Harry agrees—because he's got student loans to pay off, hasn't he? What's the harm? And he can totally deal with keeping his secret thing for Louis under wraps too. This is all just to win some money. It's fine. No big deal. What could possibly go wrong? Well, everything. Obviously.

📖 The First Year by @parmahamlarrie (46k)

When Louis Tomlinson was assigned a first year student to be his roommate for his final year at the University of Manchester, his expectations were low. All he needed was a cheap place to sleep and keep his stuff amidst his nights out, willing his brain to forget his past. He never expected Harry Styles to become his eclectic, sweet, and cuddly best friend. That was never the plan.

📖 your lips in the low light by @givesuethemoon (20k)

Set over the course of one night, at one fateful frat party. Louis and Harry find that there are not many things they will ever need more than each other.

📖 getting yourself wet for me by @dreamersdivin-headfirst (10k)

frat boys take on watersports

📖 my heart's against your chest, your lips pressed to my neck (i'm in love now) by @bottomhaztoplou (8k)

Five times Louis gives Harry a courting gift and one time Harry reciprocates.

📖 Hea(van) Is A Place on Earth with You by @insightfulinsomniac (6k)

University students Harry and Louis want to spend some alone time together — the problem is, both of their respective roommates are fast asleep. Harry solves that problem with some blankets, a secluded parking space, and his beloved beater van, Belinda.

📖 Lost In This Craze For You by @larrysballetslippers (4k)

Louis thinks he is incapable of making his boyfriend come, but Harry just needs a little more from him.

[kdval]

“The world in which hunters of the Beasts live is truly nightmarish,” Ha’al’s voice was, as always, soft, but his gaze promised nothing good. “Charles Newmark has served me for over thirty years, and even I can no longer count how many corpses he’s left behind. Sooner or later, a hunter’s hands get stained… and with human blood, too.”

Lara knew this all too well. At some point, she’d even stopped being frightened by how coldly she now thought about all those corpses. After all, the count was in the thousands...

“He often goes to the cemetery,” she noted. Even Roland Hardin didn’t visit his deceased parents as often as Newmark visited that grave.

“Ah, you mean her. That lady was his wife.”

“So he…”

“No, he didn’t kill her,” Ha’al frowned. “But her death is his fault. Or at least, that’s what he believes. He’ll never forgive himself for it, and I can’t persuade him otherwise. Not unless I dig deep into his mind, but trust me — I had my hands full just sewing that head back on. That’s enough for the poor little human.”

Cyberpunk 2077: Fright Night City 2024

› Day 6//Carnival

For the @fright-night-city event

[maple-the-awesome]

We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 36

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 2,430

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

Series Masterlist 🤎 Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: THAT'S F'D UP MAN

...Bucky used to have this image in his head - one of a worn-down but cozy house located somewhere far from any crowded city, at the end of an obscure dirt road that winds through country fields and hilltops.

It was one of those old white homesteads with withered color and creaking floors boards he'd promise to fix up someday, but only after the door that hangs off its hinges, letting in all the warm summer air. There would be this brown porch with a swing and hand-carved balusters - the perfect spot to sit during late evenings while watching the sun set over a freshly harvested field. The songs sung by chirping crickets and croaking toads could lull anyone asleep.

Come the holiday season, there would be a shift in peace. The entire property would transform into a winter wonderland disrupted by tiny boot prints, snow angles, and snowmen. The halls would almost always smell of some sweet treat, and the rooms would be lively with the added addition of grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins - so many cousins.

It was a vivid image for the longest time. His sisters fussing about in the kitchen, his parents and in-laws sharing stories by a fire, a handful of rambunctious children counting boxes under the tree...and a lovely wife at the center of it all.

Your entrance would be grand as you'd gracefully step down the stairs to greet guests. You'd wear this beautiful long green skirt and white blouse with a Christmas pin tacked to the front, your hair curled and pinned back after much effort that morning. The silver on your finger would catch the light perfectly as you accept your husband's hand, allowing him to guide you through those last few steps of your descent, right into his lips so that he can steal a quick kiss before anyone else can divide your attention.

...But this was only ever an image -a simple dream to keep him going during the war. Some of the other guys would fantasize about finding ‘the one’. Not Bucky. He already had a gal, and he already had a ring, too. All he needed was that worn-down but cozy house located somewhere far from any crowded city…

He'd be lying to say he hasn't still thought about it, even all these years later, however it can't exactly be called a hopeful dream anymore - not when it feels so unattainable. Now he's only reminded about all those promises he can't make, the quiet sunsets you'd never get to see together, all the holidays neither of you will celebrate. He already had the gal, but he lost her...Now he only has a ring.

It's become an annoying habit for Bucky to reach into his pocket to twirl the cold metal around his fingers. If in private, he'll even find the strength to take it into his hand and observe it closely, desperate to remember how it came to be. Did he see it in a store window once? Was it similar to something his mom or grandmother wore? What made him so sure you'd say 'yes' to this and not a more impressive diamond? …And does it even matter?

You left. You’re gone. At long last, you’ve turned your back to him, giving up just as you should've a long time ago. He should be happy. This is exactly what he wanted, isn’t it - The reason why he gave you the cold shoulder, practically ripping out your heart and stomping on it for good measure despite everything you've sacrificed to be by his side.

Without him in your life - without you constantly feeling the need to run to his side or concern yourself with his self-destructive tendencies - you'll be able to move on. You'll find an amazing partner who will treat you right and keep you safe; someone who won't put a target on your head or risk losing control of themselves and harming you.

With them, you'll be able to live a long, happy life this time around. You’ll be able to take full advantage of your miraculous reincarnation by enjoying all the wonders stolen from you in the past. They'll be there to carry you inside your dream home, to be your warm shoulder during chilly evenings, or the hand you take at the bottom of the stairs, all the while showering you with all the love you're deserving of...

"Bucky, I have loved you ever since I could remember who I used to be. Every second we've spent together - Everything I've ever done and said - It was never an act, it's always been me."

He tries to drown it out, squeezing his eyes shut with his hand clenching around the ring, yet your sorrowful voice is all he can hear.

"I've only ever wanted to see you be happy and doing well - that's my ultimate goal. While I'd like you to be that way with me - While I'd like to be happy together, if you don't -...If you don't see me as her then..."

...Damnit…What has he done?

"- Slacking on the job?"

Bucky startles all too easily, practically leaping in his own skin while stuffing the ring back into his pocket. It’s a rather suspicious reaction from someone found sitting completely isolated on the edge of a dock, however Sam’s nice enough to not draw attention to that - not immediately, at least.

"Relax. I bring refreshments," He instead takes some pride in being able to sneak up on the super soldier, smirking as he holds up two chilled bottles of beer. Passing one to Bucky, he invites himself to sit down and hang his legs over the water in a similar fashion, “‘least I could do in exchange for all your help today.”

“...Will it be enough to help your family out?” Bucky asks after a moment of silence. With ease, he flicks off the cap of his bottle before wordlessly reaching over and doing the same to Sam’s drink when the other man clearly struggles.

“This was only half the work,” Sam snorts before taking a drink, “It’ll still be an uphill battle from here, but once business takes off - which I’m optimistic it will - we’ll have a stable enough income to cover the rest of the repairs, maybe more, after all, most of what we did today is only a temporary fix…Of course, I’ll need to put in some hours of my own to help Sarah get to that point - assuming we ever get this Flag Smasher crap taken care of…

“I spoke to Joaquin,” He continues, dropping into a more serious note, “He’s been doing some digging on their movement since Latvia. Looks like they’ll be targeting the GRC conference next.”

“When’s that?”

“Two days.”

Bucky hums uncomfortably. He wants to say that doesn’t feel like enough time, but really, aren’t they already prepared? Sam has Steve’s shield. He’s been practicing with it nearly every spare second they haven’t been working on the boat - And isn’t half bad at it either. Paired with that new flight suit the Wakandans made for him, he should be able to hold his own against the Flag Smashers…Maybe it’s Bucky who isn’t prepared.

His mind doesn’t feel like it’s in the right place. Despite having put an end to John Walker’s shameful antics and making amends with the Wakandans by returning Zemo to their custody, he still feels distracted; anxious. In fact, he only half listens to Sam’s plan. The words about what Joanqin exactly said or their next course of action merely rumble against his ears as he fiddles mindlessly with his bottle and the precipitation that coats its glass. His thoughts are anywhere but on the mission.

“...Have you heard from (Y/n) at all?”

Sam suddenly jolts his bottle away from his mouth before he can even fully tilt it back. This causes a small wave of liquid to pour out which he manages to at least prevent from hitting his clothes thanks to the guard of his free hand, although he's only temporarily distracted by this inconvenience. His attention quickly sets upon Bucky through a glare, "Are you serious? You're really asking about them now after how you treated them for weeks?!"

To his surprise, Bucky doesn't attempt to argue nor does he show a single ounce of offense. Instead, he bows his head in shame while redirecting his gaze out to the sea, "I know. I'm an asshole."

"...Then why?" Sam gives an exasperated sigh and a shake of his head, "I really don't get it. You have someone who cares about you enough to literally be reborn remembering you, yet you threw them aside despite clearly loving them back - and don't give me that bullshit ‘I don’t’ excuse. Everyone can see it. I see it. Sharon saw it. Hell, even Zemo made his comments, so why? Why play this stupid game, treating them like shit which makes you both miserable as all hell when you could just be together already? When you could both just be happy?"

"It's not that simple...They could do better," There’s a brief pause where neither of them say a word, however there’s a thick judgment in the air as Sam stares daggers into the side of Bucky’s head, eventually forcing him to explain his point after a distressed sigh similar to Sam’s previous one.

"...I'm scared...I'm scared that if I let myself love them again, I'm going to end up losing them again. I'm the reason Hollie's dead. I'm the one who killed her regardless of what she or anyone else says. I’m the one who pulled that trigger.

"And - And I know the Winter Soldier is gone. I know I ended that nightmare - That it’s supposed to be over and done with, but even if that’s true, it doesn't mean that part of my past is erased! At any given moment, someone from that past could show up. They could come looking for me - Looking for revenge, and God forbid Hollie gets wrapped up in the consequences. She already has been with all this damn super soldier serum crap and look what happened! She could’ve been killed back there! One wrong move and it would’ve been her instead of Lamar.

“...I -...I can't lose her again, Sam…” Bucky’s free hand rips through his hair, gripping at strands as he lets out a stammered breath that’s barely choking back a sob, “Fuck, I can't live with that all over again. (Y/n) was the only reason I was able to the first time around. I can’t do it without either of them..."

Sam frowns, wordlessly watching his friend’s breakdown in quiet contemplation. He had a feeling that something like guilt would be Bucky’s motivation behind rejecting you. Seeing his reaction to your injury back in Latvia only seemed to confirm it, but this is much worse than he thought.

Returning his drink to his lips, he hesitates for a second before committing to a response, “...So you decided to avoid her, causing her all this heartbreak and stress in the moment to avoid the possibility - not even a guarantee, just a possibility that she could get hurt in the future if she keeps associating with you?"

"...She already wasted a life on me. I thought that if I could push her away - If I didn’t give her a choice in being together, maybe even make her hate me and leave on her own - that she'd be able to move onto better things. Find someone who could actually give her what she de -"

"- That's fucked up, man," Sam remarks harshly while finally taking that sip of his beer.

Bucky groans at the lack of sympathy he receives, however he voices no arguments for his own defense. Instead he takes full responsibility for his actions, dropping his head into his hand in defeat. Sam’s right. It is fucked up of him. He’s a complete asshole and his ‘buddy’ doesn’t stop himself from rubbing it in further:

“You know, there are guys out there who would kill just to have a girl look at them once with the amount of love and respect as they did you. You had a girl who was so whipped for your sorry ass that she chased you around through not just one, but two lifetimes, yet instead of considering yourself lucky, you decided to punish the two of you for basically no reason…And I’m gonna take a wild guess in saying you never once told them any of this, did you?”

“You know what they’re like, Sam. If I told them the truth, they’d just find all the more reason to hold on tighter and dig their feet into the ground…There’d be no convincing them to leave even if for their own good.”

Sam snorts, "Yeah, you're probably right about that. It seems that Stark stubbornness is strong enough to bleed into different lives…but you know, stubbornness like that isn’t always a bad thing. It just goes to show how much you mean to them and how much they're willing to fight for you.

“...I think you need to just be honest with them. Don’t you think you at least owe them that? I mean, in your own scrambled logic, they’ve already sacrificed a lot for you, right? Might as well pay back some of that debt by facing them like a man and saying what’s on your mind. Otherwise they’re just gonna go on thinking that they were somehow the issue while you’ll be left moping around in self pity with no resolution in sight for all this drama you created.”

Bucky huffs at Sam’s pointed blame, although he does still contemplate his advice. You probably hate him by now - No, you definitely hate him after the way he’s been treating you. Would you even care to give him the time of day to explain things? You’ve already tried that to no anvil. It’s a little too late to apologize, but like Sam said, if he doesn’t, will this feeling of guilt ever go away?

Sam sighs again, this time setting his bottle down on the dock with a 'clink' before standing up, "...Tell you what: you can stay at my sister's house with us for the night. In the morning, I'll make a big o' breakfast which you'll use as fuel to get your ass to (Y/n)'s place where you'll both talk things out like the grown adults that you are...Deal?"

Bucky rotates his grip on his bottle, glancing through the corner of his eyes at the hand Sam holds out towards him before at last taking it, "...Deal."

Next Chapter [coming soon]

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Taglist:

@arunabrak

@lovemesomevesey

[marieracingteam]

Till then I will forever miss you – sv5

Sebastian Vettel x reader

word count: 1588

summary: In which Sebastian Vettel knew he couldn’t be friends with his ex-partner until he got his priorities straight.

The news about Sebastian Vettel’s retirement was out and everywhere. His video has already been shared more than a million times in the few days it has been out. So he guessed anyone with a minor interest in the sport knew who he was and what the future looked like to him now.

Or at least what they imagine his future would look like.

The reality is that not even Sebastian knew what life had in store for him.

He was a divorced thirty-something, with three daughters who lived away from him most of the year and an apartment that made him feel like a caged animal. He had 4 world championships and a full passport, but he also had 35 years behind him in which he felt that he had achieved nothing in his personal life.

He could try and blame his fast-paced professional life for his half-hearted personal life, but he couldn't deny that he was mostly to blame for his failed marriage to a wonderful woman, his poor parenting of wonderful daughters who adored him, and his too-modern home in a city he hated.

Since his divorce, he had dedicated all his energy to racing and fast cars, but he quickly discovered that his heart wasn't in it either. So he obviously knew that he should retire and leave that seat free for someone whose heart was at the wheel.

The worst thing was that Sebastian knew where his heart was, he just didn't know how to get to it. It just had been lost since 2015.

Without it, he had been floundering ever since. He had moved, he had pursued a different lifestyle, he had gotten married, he had even changed teams trying to find it, but he always knocked on the wrong doors only. The truth was that the closest he had been to happiness had been when his daughters were born, but by then he was no longer the man he wanted his daughters to learn from.

But now, he thought. Now he was free of the chains to which he had bound himself. Now he was finally starting to realize his mistakes and taking the right steps to correct them. Now he was ready to be the man he wanted to be, for himself and, most importantly, for his daughters.

After the last race of the season, Sebastian took the first flight to his native Germany and completely left behind his past life and the mistakes he had carried in it.

He bought a house in the country as he had always dreamed of and painted rooms with children's motifs for small beds and toys. He adopted a dog as his psychologist had recommended. And he dusted off the old cell phone that he always carried with him.

It was a long shot and he knew it, but it was the only thing he could think of to find peace and happiness.

In those long eight years, there was a good chance that she had changed her number or blocked him. Maybe she too had gotten married and had a life away from him, probably better than the one he could offer her.

Maybe she had forgotten him. Maybe he should have forgotten her.

But there was no chance, however remote, that he could live in a world in which she did not occupy his thoughts at all hours. He'd been a stupid kid when he'd let her get away thinking he could do it.

He had promised her father that he would do right by her and that is what he had tried to do all his life since he met her in school. His problem had been thinking that he was doing it when he let her go so that she could find happiness away from his chaotic life when she wanted to start a family and he could only think about lifting the championship cup with the red team.

He had been a fool thinking a trophy could give him more than a life with her and even more so for believing that she could be happier away from him.

And all for what? To end up forming a family far from hers? To have his heart searching for something that he knew he would only find with her? He was a fool and he had paid for it by being miserable for the next few years, thinking that his repentance was not enough to deserve her back.

Now, something about him had changed, although he wasn't sure what at the moment. He knew now. It had been the robbery he suffered during one of the Grand Prix he raced in which he lost the photo he kept of her in her wallet. He had hundreds more hidden in his house, but that one was special. That had been a gift from her after graduating from school, a photo that her parents had taken of them to remember their last day as classmates, and that she had wanted him to have to remember her if they were not classmates at high school.

Losing that photo had been the last blow he needed to get her life back in order. When he retrieved the empty wallet he could only kneel on the ground and cry for the life he had lost. And when he found it after hours looking for it in all the garbage containers in the city he knew to do something, even if it was for nothing.

Less than a year later he was a different man. What remained to be known is whether she was also a different woman. And what that meant to them.

After breaking up their relationship, they both accepted that they couldn’t be friends. Not when they knew what it felt like to be more. Not when they had never been friends.

Since they were six years old they had been best friends, lovers, confidants, each other's other half... but never friends. Now they were nothing, not even acquaintances who follow each other’s lives on social media. Despite having let her be free to find happiness elsewhere, Sebastian knew that he couldn't bear to see her happy away from him.

He thought he was sacrificing himself for her when in reality he had just condemned them both.

However, now he wanted to change it and his only asset was that old phone that he had kept as his most precious possession.

The only number still saved there was the one he used to call at all hours and that he still had memorized.

By the fourth ring, Sebastian was convinced he had lost his last hope. But she had always told him that a fifth championship awaited her. And there was no better victory in his eyes than that fifth tone that she cut to make way for the voice that always accompanied him.

“Hello?” she whispered in German.

“Hello” he whispered back and he felt like coming finally home “I didn't know if you had changed your phone number”

“I did” she confessed “but I kept the phone in case you ever called”.

Sebastian completely forgot the paper he held tremblingly in his hand with everything he wanted to say written down when he heard her.

“You did?” he dared to ask.

“Of course,” she said “who could I not?”

“I didn’t hope you would wait” It was difficult to hear her with her racing heartbeat in his ears, but Sebastian did his best to memorize every one of her words.

“I have always waited for your love, Sebastian”

At that he couldn’t hold any longer the tears that begged to break free from his eyes. A sob left his mouth. What had he condemned them to when he chose for her?

“Everything's fine. We have a lot to tell each other, it's fine. It was difficult for me, but I understood why you did it. It wasn't our time, we didn't know how to align our dreams. But I felt your love in your sacrifice. Everything is alright.”

Sebastian could only nod even if he knew she couldn't see him. Words could not come out of his mouth with his body paralyzed in the only chair he had for now in his new living room. That photo that she almost lost on her knee staring at him.

“I’m back” he gathered the strength to say.

“I know” he answered.

“I came back for you” was his time to confess.

She laughed timidly at that and more tears escaped his eyes. “I know”.

“Can I see you?” he begged.

There was a lot he hadn't asked. He didn't know anything about what his life had been like in those eight years, so he didn't even know if he could ask that question. But he had to do it now that he had worked up the courage to do it.

“Sebastian... I also tried to look for you elsewhere” she whispered again, probably afraid of what those words could mean for both of them.

“I don’t care, liebe. There's nothing you can say that will make me love you less”.

“I have my two boys with me till next month” she said.

“I have my daughters with me next week for a month too”.

She laughed again and he knew she also felt it. He knew that she felt that everything was fine now, that everything was finally falling into place.

They will be fine.

[nevertheless-moving]

gnashing my teeth over vetinari and vimes in this au because you know what happens when you take 'not close but the closest another human can come to understanding me' and then give a thirty year headstart to the slower guy?

Harold, its just actually understanding . It's just understanding and being understood by another human, if only for brief, precious moments.

Sure vetinari understands vimes, that's not exceptional. (Except it is, it is, already so few knew him anymore, and now in the past again, having lost everything, everything - but this fresh faced dictator to be. This man who looks into people's souls and then gives vimes a double look).

But who really gets vetinari? Who else looks at children playing with garbage and sees the arteries of a world that could, must be? Who looks at pisstained ruins and sees the schools that will be built overlayed with every grueling step it will take to get there? Who's only weapon and only constraint is his own flesh and time, too much time, never enough time? Who has a Duty to The city beyond religious, ordained by the creator of their universe, something above gods and yet far, far beneath them.

Vimes doesnt need someone to direct his life. He's never needed that. Except holy shit he does, he definitely does, he needs a whole fucking support team but hes making less than minimum wage now. Give him something, anything to believe in.

Vetinari doesn't need to be believed in . He's never needed that. But he is still a man, and whoooo booooooy it is a heady thing to be trusted so recklessly, especially by someone like him, who mistrusts everything.

take that late canon Synergy, break it apart and then put it back together with a little bit more breathing room, a wee less intense power dynamics...!

Anyway they're friends. Best friends. By default possibly, since they don't have any other ones, but still. Two friends with souls too weathered for the lives their bodies have lived, bodies which are, at least at one point, and I'm not joking, teenage guys.

...

I just think they're neat.

...

Is it homerotic? Well first we have to remember that Samuel Vimes is doing Bad. We remember that? Ok. Now, let me ask you - is vimes the type of depressed that masturbates to feel something, or the type of depressed that cannot fathom human contact without pain. Exactly. It's like the cat that's both in the box and not or whatever. Sometimes one of them will be laying on the ground staring at the sky through the ceiling and the other will come and lay down next to him and their fingers will lightly brush against eachother and it will be the singular most intimate moment of not just their lives but also the life of the assassin that was watching in confusion from the window.

[themculibrary]

Stucky Christmas Fics Masterlist

All I Ever Wanted For You (ao3) - plumeria47 G, 833

Summary: They’d agreed that this year, their first Christmas together since 1944, they would each buy three things they’d wished they could have given the other one back when they were too dirt poor – or in the middle of a war. To discourage outrageous purchases, a dollar amount had been squabbled over and eventually agreed upon.

But someone broke the rules.

(AKA: An unapologetically fluffy Christmas ficlet.)

All I Want For Christmas Has Been You for More Than Seventy Years (ao3) - Kellyscams E, 9k

Summary: It’s Bucky’s first Christmas back with Steve in 70 years, just a year since he’s come to live with him and the Avengers. Steve’s taking him away from the city for the occasion. Bucky assumes it’s for his own safety; just in case the hustle and bustle of the New York Christmas Season triggers some of the Winter Soldier tendencies he’s been fighting and learning to overcome.

Bucky doesn’t mean to take this impromptu trip personally. Doesn’t want to be upset. But he’s recently recalled and redeveloped his feelings for Steve. Feelings he never shared with him. Feelings he has no idea if Steve shares, so being alone with his super soldier buddy might not be something he’s ready for. Only Steve’s reasons for taking Bucky away might not be so black and white–or red and green as it may be.

Christmas songs, snowball fights, ugly Christmas sweaters, confessions, and Bucky wrapped up in Christmas lights.

A Very Merry Christmas (ao3) - bluejaythebeautiful T, 557

Summary: Steve did that really annoying thing where he put a bunch of smaller boxes into one really big box. Bucky’s fed up with him.

Beneath the Mistletoe (ao3) - sunrow E, 21k

Summary: Bucky had a bet with his sister that if he didn’t have a boyfriend to bring home for Christmas by the time he was 25, he had to give her $200 and go blonde for a year. But now he’s 25, it’s nearing December, and not only is Bucky as single as ever, but he’s also running low on cash. He doesn’t exactly want to bleach his hair, either.

At least Steve is willing to upgrade their relationship from best friends to fake boyfriends.

christmas elves, carols, and other clichés (ao3) - D_melanogaster T, 5k

Summary: Steve and Bucky and Christmas through the years.

Or: The first time Steve and Bucky met, Bucky thought that Steve was a Christmas elf.

Clint Barton and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Christmas Eve (ao3) - coulsons-hawk (allyoop) clint/phil, steve/bucky T, 6k

Summary: A holiday adventure with the Avengers in which nothing goes right on Christmas Eve; a dragon destroys an island, two boys from Brooklyn go missing, and all Clint Barton wants for Christmas is thirty minutes of peace on earth.

Fell For You (ao3) - sadsongssaysomuch E, 4k

Summary: Bucky and Steve have always been best friends, but on Christmas Eve, Bucky wakes up to realize that the way he feels about Steve is more than just friendly.

Festive (ao3) - orphan_account E, 5k

Summary: It was almost Christmas, that was pretty exciting. It was going to be the second Christmas Bucky and Steve were going to spend together. Now that they are in the twenty first century they don’t have to worry about not being able to afford each other gifts or worry that the lights will rack up their electricity bill so high that they won’t eat for the next month.

They’re able to watch the snow fall, watch holiday movies, spend time together in a warm, comfy apartment. They were together and celebrating together, it was everything they could ever dream of… Too bad Steve had to go out and be a bad boy.

Heart-Warming (ao3) - gingertintedglasses N/R, 3k

Summary: Steve is the Building Manager for the apartment Bucky lives in. In the middle of a storm (so much for home-for-the-holidays!) Bucky’s heat goes out. Steve has an opportunity to tell Bucky how he feels. With enough encouragement, he just might.

home with my love (this christmas) (ao3) - kickflaw G, 1k

Summary: Bucky opens his mouth in greeting after Steve hurriedly throws open his door, but gets one look at Steve and stops dead. His eyes travel from the Santa hat atop Steve’s head, down over his illuminated Christmas sweater and further still, to his slippers, decorated with little reindeer antlers. Blinking, he reaches out to tap one of the fat red light bulbs decorating Steve’s chest.

“Huh,“ he says.

I’ll Be Home For Christmas (ao3) - MarleyMortis G, 3k

Summary: Sergeant Bucky Barnes goes home for Christmas leave.

I remember (ao3) - dizzyingly_dreamy M, 5k

Summary: He hated snow. He couldn’t remember why, but he knew that there was a deep, very stubborn hatred of snow. It seemed to run in his DNA, and no matter what angle he took, he hated snow even more than before.

For the moment, as he glared up at the sky, thick, cotton flakes drifted down towards the ground, lazily, twinkling softly in the lamplight. They were difficult to see without any light, but he could still see them, feel them in his hair, making his head feel heavy and insulated. It was strange, and he didn’t know if he liked the feeling it or didn’t. It looked light out, but that was only because the world was shrouded with thick, impenetrable clouds. There was no true darkness when the clouds were shielding them from it.

(or, Bucky manages to crawl his way back into a life he likes, and brightens up someone else’s just in time for Christmas.)

It’s The Snow (ao3) - postmodernmulticoloredcloak E, 44k

Summary: A snow storm, cancelled flights, one last vacant hotel room, only one bed in the room. Steve Rogers is forced to share the space with the one coworker he cannot stand - unsufferable, presumptuous Bucky Barnes, who very much reciprocates Steve’s loathing. He expects to have a terrible time. But sometimes things don’t turn out like you expect them to, people are not what you think they are, and there’s always something to learn about intimacy, pleasure and love.

Meeting in Winter (ao3) - a_written_dream T, 2k

Summary: Bucky runs into a pretty blond who looks like he’s freezing his ass off.

Mission - Steve and Bucky’s Best Christmas Ever (ao3) - LightningStriking G, 10k

Summary: Bucky has a plan. A carefully constructed, and meticulously plotted plan. Of how to give his best friend Steve the most wonderful, festive, and happy Christmas season ever. Culminating in a declaration of love, which hopefully will be returned. Can Bucky pull it off, and receive the best Christmas present of all - Steve as his boyfriend??

Not the Same River at my Fingertips (ao3) - giselleslash E, 11k

Summary: Steve desperately needs a ride home for Christmas but the last person he wants to take help from is Bucky Barnes. There’s a one night stand gone badly and four years of hurt feelings and misunderstandings between them.

Of course there’s a road trip home that goes perfectly smoothly.

Princess Perfect Pony Palace (ao3) -74days T, 3k

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and Natasha’s daughter has just admitted to her parents that she asked Santa for a Princess Perfect Pony Palace. Which is currently out of stock in every store within 50 miles. It’s time for Uncle Bucky to step up and deliver the most wanted gift of the season - he just didn’t think he’d have to fight a hot blond for it.

Put It on Repeat, It Stays the Same (ao3) - giselleslash E, 20k

Summary: Steve and Bucky have a one night stand that turns into a friends with benefits situation. A weekend snowed in at Bucky’s apartment brings to light how much that really doesn’t suit either one of them.

Steve and Bucky’s first Christmas in retirement (ao3) - Laevateinn T, 2k

Summary: Follow Steve and Bucky as they decorate their house, then celebrate the holidays surrounded by family.

When the Snow Melts (ao3) - emptydistractions steve/bucky E, 4k

Summary: It’s the first time Bucky’s been off suppressants in nearly a century and all Steve wants is for his mate to be okay. Luckily, Christmas Eve has a little surprise in store for them.

[just-an-elf-with-the-socks]

I need more headcanons about melkors and Mairons disabilities. Some fluf angs or something idk I am living for them

Thank you! As a disabled person it comforts me to write them and I’m so glad you asked. I hope you won’t mind the length of this post because it will be a long one.

Mairon will go first, since he has an invisible disability like I do and I’m most attached to him as a character.

Mairon has a disability called Retinitis Pigmentosa, also known as Rod Cone Dystrophy. The back wall of the retina is damaged, and this is a rare, inherited disease that’s genetic and causes severe impairment. It can cause legal blindness by age twenty

They symptoms usually start in early childhood, which is what happened to Mairon. He had glasses as a kid, as much as he hated to wear them

Unfortunately his vision just kept getting worse

He was from a well off family, his father (Aulë) made sure he had the best medical care possible, but Mairon never felt like Aulë made much of an effort to try and understand how his disability made him struggle, made him harder to deal with than his siblings (one of the reasons he left home)

Mairon was able to get his driver license, but by age twenty-eight he was legally blind

He has tunnel vision and is very sensitive to bright lights; his adjustment to changes from light to dark are pretty much nonexistent

It made his business as a high fashion jewelry designer difficult, even though he was highly successful and well respected, and he was forced to retire at just thirty years old (he was well off and could make it just fine but to him that wasn’t the point)

He already lived in the city so driving wasn’t a big deal, but he did have to get a service dog

Against quite literally every suggestion he got a husky as a service dog; he grew up around huskies and loved them

His service dog is named Minnie (it means “resolute protection,” he did not name her after Minnie Mouse), a red husky, and she was the inspiration for Mairon’s other two, Draugluin and Thuri

He does have a lot of internalized ableism

He doesn’t believe that other people having a disability is a bad thing, but when it comes to himself he thinks it makes him a lesser person, especially since he had to retire so young

Mairon refuses to make his apartment friendlier to himself and it’s definitely becoming a problem, especially when he lives on his own (Minnie’s working overtime)

He definitely doesn’t believe in other people “curing you” or “making you” feel a certain way about your disability (neither do I) but Melkor does help him to at least admit that he needs to be more reasonable about the practical aspects of becoming more comfortable with accepting help from others

While he practically spends most of his nights at Melkor’s now, he has accepted that his apartment needs things like railings on the stairs and handles in the shower

He is working on gaining the perspective and confidence that his disability makes him stronger, not weaker

Now we move on to Melkor, who’s experience is a little different from Mairon’s

Melkor has Post-Traumatic Arthritis (PTA) which is a form of osteoarthritis brought following a serious injury to his hand and upper arm

He was in a serious car accident on his way home from a gallery of his (he’s an artist, he makes sculptures) and it seriously damaged his right hand to the point where it nearly needed to be amputated

The surgery went fine, but the lasting effects of the injuries were what led to his PTA diagnosis

It comes with a lot of joint pain, swelling, and stiffness. He doesn’t have a large range of motion anymore, which can be difficult in terms of his career as a sculptor

He says he goes to physical therapy (he doesn’t)

He says he wears his arm brace (he doesn’t)

These things are done mostly out of pure stubbornness and unwillingness to admit he might have issues with his body

When he starts dating Mairon however, Mairon doesn’t have patience for any of this (although he goes about this in a respectful and loving way)

Mairon likes taking care of him and through this Melkor can slowly start to admit that he likes being taken care of (only in his head)

He only wears an arm brace (finally) when it’s the one Mairon made for him

[pocksprincess]

Chapter 1 - New Beginnings

Series Masterlist

Obito Uchiha x f!reader

Modern AU, obi still has scars, obi (29) is a doctor and reader (25) is a vet nurse, pining

Word count - 1283

Beta baddies - @dabilove27 + @love-sakura thank you both <333

Next ->

You are a fresh face in the neighbourhood–a new job meant a new house in a new town–lucky to have found a small, semi-detached two-bedroom amongst the suburban dream of neat front lawns and white picket fences. Your new house is the smallest on the block by far, dwarfed by the property you share an outside wall with, but that's just fine with you. You don't need much space for one. 

You even bought yourself a secondhand car with the money your mother had generously saved up for your first move–just something small to get you around quicker. You didn't really have need of a vehicle in the city, but now that you are in the comparatively quiet world of suburbia, you are more than happy to leave public transport behind and get behind the wheel. 

As soon as you graduated and left home you quickly realised that the rent of a city apartment was too much on a measly vet nurse's salary. You struggled for a year on your own before calling it quits. That's why you left for a private practice in the town of Konoha–where the pay more fairly matched the lowered cost of living in this pretty little neighbourhood. And you can confidently say that things are going well, you survived your first night in your new home and seemed to settle into your first week on the job quite nicely.

Your co-workers are very kind and welcoming. An enigmatic whirlwind of a man, Guy, gave you a tour of the practice on your first day and allowed you to shadow him. He is one of the three veterinarians on staff and is almost intimidatingly large–sporting black hair cut into a comical bowl shape that somehow works for him and the thickest eyebrows you think you've ever seen on a man. It was a lot of energy for the early hour, and he kept you on your toes as you struggled to keep up with him. 

Luckily, you are not the only one having to learn the ropes–a trainee vet nurse, Sakura Haruno, recently joined the staff, and you were able to meet her on your first day. Although she is under the watchful eye of Veterinarian, Yamato Tenzo, a tired-looking man in his early thirties who has decidedly less energy than his coworker–but he seems nice enough. He gives off a heavy work-dad vibe, even though he isn't much older than yourself.

The third Vet, Mr. Neji Hyuuga, you have yet to meet for he was on holiday your first week. You were told he is the hardass of the department, very professional, and not one for idle chit chat. You can't lie that you are especially anxious about meeting the man come Monday morning, but Shizune, the Head Veterinary Nurse, and the bubbly girl who runs reception, TenTen, assured you that there's a good guy buried underneath the pomp and professionalism.

You like Shizune and TenTen, they work reception most days (with Shizune providing support for TenTen when things get busy and completing endless paperwork) and they work well together. A day on the job with them is never a boring one. Your ragtag little team functions perfectly, something that was a big surprise to you, as you didn't expect to fit in so quickly.

Needless to say, it's nice to have some friendly faces on this new and scary journey of yours.

And then there is your next-door neighbour…a new face, certainly, but a friendly one? You aren't so sure. You don't know him well, only speaking to him in passing when you both happen to leave the house at the same time, but he's polite, at least. He's a quiet resident to boot despite being very active, so you have no complaints really–especially when he takes his daily early morning run around the block, like clockwork, returning sweaty and shirtless on the drive.

It takes everything in you not to stare at the way the glow of the sunrise glints off his muscles each morning as you make your way to your car. Impossible not to trace your eyes over the pattern of scars littering his right side, like an intricate tattoo starting from his hairline and disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. He always nods at you in greeting, eyes never really meeting your own, a little awkward but respectful. It is even harder to put the car in reverse and drive away when he starts stretching in your conjoined driveway-skin pulled taut across his muscular frame. And there is a lot to look at, he's easily 6’2, and built like an athlete. Figures you live next to a gym nut. It makes you feel oddly self conscious about your own lazy habits and un-toned physique. 

And maybe it is that instant and innate attraction always knocking you on your ass when you see him that has you bravely leaving your house and walking across the pattern of brickwork to his door–bottle in hand. You figure it's only polite to introduce yourself since you've been running into the man all week and still have no clue what his name is. 

You bought him a bottle of wine at the convenience store around the corner, just something small as a housewarming gift, the irony not lost on you. But nowhere in the 'good neighbour manual' does it say that the fresh meat can't be the one to knock on doors with a peace offering. You wonder if he will see straight through the generous act to your true intention of getting to know the handsome stranger underneath.

Before you can second guess yourself, you rap your knuckles across his front door and wait impatiently, rocking on the balls of your feet to try and dislodge the mess of anxiety in your gut. Is this a terrible mistake? Maybe he won't be home, maybe he went for a run (you know it's too late for that), and you'll just be able to leave the bottle on the doorstep and retreat like a coward. 

He abruptly interrupts your thoughts as the door swings open to reveal his impressive stature-dressed in nothing but sweats and a tight fitting tank. You straighten your posture on impulse, holding your head high and schooling your features into something more approachable. He looks so damn good with his black sweats hung low on his hips and black hair perfectly messy, he makes looking good look effortless and suddenly you feel self conscious in your obviously ‘trying-too-hard’ sundress and strappy sandals.

He actually looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since you moved in next door and you find yourself helplessly caught in his gaze. Trapped in place by eyes so deep a black you feel like you could fall into them forever and never reach an end. No…his right eye is actually a deep reddish brown, ironically reminiscent of the rich colour of the merlot you hold in your hand just for him, so dark it appears black if you aren't paying close enough attention. You didn't realise how unusual and oddly hypnotic his eyes are until right now, up close and personal, rather than several metres away, peering through a glass windscreen. With nothing but a few inches between you, his looks are having full effect on you. 

He blinks rapidly in surprise, long thick lashes grazing his scarred cheek as he looks down at you, plump lips parting on an exhale. He looks as lost as you feel. God, he's so tall and gorgeous it steals the breath from your lungs, butterflies dancing in your stomach. Oh, this is definitely a mistake.