#give him the same courtesy dammit!

[h-a-unted]

Yesterday, I read someone miss the mark so bad on But.cher's character, I exploded lmao.

[kittenintheden]

ok but what if Astarion comes upon Tav very focused on sketching, and he flirts up a storm offering to model nude, but the serious artist Tav immediately agrees, and sets up an elaborate stage with candles for him before Astarion even knows what’s happening

Astarion receives a giant ass paining of him reclining like the girl from Titanic, and he can barely fit it inside his tent but dammit he’s never not going to hang it up, so every time Gale comes to pick up a book Astarion stole borrowed Gale gets an eyeful of gloriously naked Astarion

"Where in the Outer Planes is that damn book?" Gale shifts through his towering piles of tomes, each threatening to topple at any given moment. Yet they never do. Strange.

The great wizard of Waterdeep makes an exasperated noise, scanning the floor of his tent once more with his hands on his hips. When he comes up empty once again, he throws up his hands.

"Not like I needed this mana, anyway," he snipes, raising his hand in front of him to gently pass it through the material plane and into the Weave, pulling a comforting thread close and using it to draw a familiar rune in the air. He speaks an incantation, focuses on the book he desires, and releases the spell.

Gale's eyes glow with violet pinpoints in the center, granting him mystical vision to follow a winding trail that leads... directly to the vampire's tent.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I was Mystra's Chosen. I really should be able to deduce that the thief is the most likely candidate. No matter."

His robes brush across the dusty ground as he makes his way over. He doesn't bother announcing himself, seeing as Astarion never gives him such a courtesy. Or any courtesy at all, really.

"What have you done with my-" Gale cuts himself off as he enters the man's tent, jerking his head to one side as if he's been slapped and raising a hand in front of his face.

"Do you like it?" Astarion says from where he reclines on his bedroll, the book in question open on the ground in front of him. "Aren't I majestic? Tav's quite the artist, I must say. Very disciplined."

"Tav seems to have exaggerated certain proportions, if I'm honest," Gale says back testily, his eyes still averted from the massive painting that takes up the entire rear wall of Astarion's tent.

"Yes, the ears are a bit too long," Astarion agrees, looking upon his own oil-painted visage, reclined much in the same way he is now, surrounded by draping red silks and candles, and very much in the nude.

Gale heaves a mighty sigh and holds out his hand. "My book, if you would."

"Oh, fine. I'd think someone from Waterdeep would have better appreciation for the arts, honestly."

Gale feels the heavy weight of his copy of "Mystical Familiars and Where to Find Them" sink into his waiting palm. He waves it at his campmate.

"Good evening, Astarion. You seem to be in your favorite company, so I'll be on my way. Wouldn't want to interrupt."

"Ta," Astarion says with a wave of his fingers. After the tent flap swings shut once again, he admires his portrait once more. Tilts his head just a bit. Clicks his tongue.

"I suppose it is a touch asymmetrical. Pity."

He blows it a kiss nonetheless.

[mrs-monaghan]

What makes you think jikook are boyfriends and not friends with benefits ??

Oh wow. Why such an easy question anon? Honestly, easiest question I've ever go10. Let's fucking do this

Exhibit a)

Would a fck buddy almost break their neck just to check out their fck buddy's abs and hot bod????

Oh. You know what? NVM this one. You're right. This is definitely something a FWB would do. Its just sex so of course they will admire the abs they're licking on the reg every chance they get. So scratch that one. Sorry

Exhibit a) again.

Would fck buddies stand this close to each other during multiple times on official content?? I mean, if JK was any closer he'd be inside Mimi 👀 Like, JK, please, back up a little bit.

Ahh shit. I just realised. You're right. A fck buddy would totally do something like this. I mean if you spend a good chunk of time with your naked dick inside against the Jibooty you wouldn't think twice about being that close. So again, anon I apologise. I'll find something else.

Exhibit a) for the 3rd time. My bad 🙌🏽

Would FWBs behave like this??

I mean, JK can't get his hands off the Jibooty and look at him bite his damn lip. Are you kidding me???? He is enjoying that way too damn much!

Aish. You're right. You're totally right. A fck buddy would absolutely be obsessed with his FWB's ass. This doesn't prove they're boyfriends either. Damn anon, maybe I shouldn't have gloated about how easy this question was.

Exhibit a) again. Sorry.

If they were not in a rlship, would JK be obsessed with Jimin's lips?

God dammit. Of course he would. If its all about xes and he enjoys kissing them lips, of course he will stare. 🤦🏽‍♀️

Okay, I got it. Let's start again. Exhibit a)

Does this count? JK looking at Jimin like he wants to eat him?

I mean, tbf Jimin did admit he likes to be eaten by JK....

Or like my good friend @lovelysmyleyes put it, he likes being on the MENU 🤭🤭🤭

It doesn't count? Right. I see it. Too sexual. Dangit. Why is all my evidence so sexually charged? I swear I thought this would be a walk in the park.

Okay...okay,. I got it. I got it! Be quiet and just give me a sec. I got this. Jimin and JK are boyfriends. They are more than just sex buddies and I can prove it. Alright?

Exhibit a) for the 6th and last time.

If Jikook were just fck buddies, we shouldn't be able to tell the difference in how they look at eo Vs how they look at other people. Take for example here. Look at Yoonmin. There is a clear difference on how Jimin is looking at JK Vs how Suga is looking at JK

Then we have here JK looking at V Vs how he looks at Jimin

Jimin looking at JK

This is love, anon. This kind of soft staring shows that its not just xes. Feelings seeped in there and they never left... there are feelings involved. Thus the adoring looks.

Then we have the following:

JK calling Jimin and only Jimin pet names.

Them spending all their birthdays with eo. Fck buddies wouldn't bother with something like this

Their families KNOW about them and seem to love the other which proves Jikook are most probably in a very serious relationship

Their exclusivity. This is how JK has never taken another member on an all paid trip and continued to make a romantic Vlog about them. This is how Jimin has never travelled miles for another member just to make it for their birthday. This is how JK has never sucked another member's ear

This is how Jimin only ever tries to kiss JK.

All attempted kisses here.

The special treatment they both seem to give eo. Like JK mostly reacting to Jimin stuff or buying him gifts no problem. And how Jimin lets JK get away with everything but refuses to extend the other members the same courtesy.

It's satellite Jeon/Jikook anon. Fck buddies are not usually this attached to eo. If you're just there for sevening, you have sex and once that's done you're on your way. You don't follow your FWB. You don't try to be next to them all the time. You don't cheat to be on the same team as them. You don't make sure to be next to them no matter what. That's boyfriend behavior anon.

It's the way they always find excuses to hold hands. That is NOT fck buddy behaviour. Not even a little bit.

This list is endless anon. Jimin and Jungkook are more than just sex partners. They are boyfriends and they are in love. There is no two ways about it. It is what it is.

I did it! I answered your question!

Fuck yeah, we got there in the end! I thought we'd never get there. But yeah, as you can see, these are 2 men in love. Phew!

Edit! Found a thread.

Thanks for ask! 😁😁😁

[tieflingtareon]

My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 30 | Words: 7.3k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

“What the Hells was that?” Astarion grabbed Tar’eons sleeve as the tiefling continued to walk down the hall, seemingly in a trance. “Stop and talk to me, dammit!” He hissed.

Tar’eon turned to him and opened his lips, but nothing came out. He didn’t know what to say.

“How long were you there…? How much did you hear?”

“Enough.” Astarion scowled. “He had quite the coronation.” His skin still felt tight from the thunder wave the man had downed him with. He hadn’t been expecting it — he felt like a fool, being caught off guard so easily, and that burned more than any wound.

“How much did you hear, Astar?” Tar’eon begged for him to speak plainly and Astarion frowned.

“…You were taking too long. I came up the stairs around the same time he was being ordained. Hells, you even gave your blessing. I didn’t hear much before he was manhandling you.” Astarion gritted his teeth. “If you were so desperate for another lover you could have asked, darling, no need for secrets.” He drawled.

“It’s not like that.” Tar’eon sighed, rubbing between his brows. His headaches were only getting worse as time went on. He hated this. He needed to kill Orin and get this Urge sorted out. “It’s— I’ll explain everything tonight, okay?”

“You always say that! You always say you’ll explain later, and then it’s like pulling teeth from a feral animal, the way you refuse to tell me everything. I tell you almost everything, I let you know it all, and it’s like you don’t care to give me the same courtesy. We’re in this together, Tar’eon. Or should I call you ‘Tir’yal’?”

“Please don’t. You…you’re pronouncing it wrong anyway.” Tar’eon grimaced.

“Apologises, but it’s not every day that you learn your lover has another name they never bothered to tell you about. I haven’t exactly had time to practice it.” He glowered, crossing his arms.

“It’s — Look, that name is my infernal name. I was given it by my- my father, I think.” Had Bhaal ever bothered to name him? Or had he been raised outside of the temple until a certain age? Who took care of him when Father couldn’t? His butler? He couldn't remember anything of his childhood outside that young man, no older than twenty, with white and black hair, burns streaking across his face, black ink consuming half his features. The face the Emperor had stolen to gain his trust.

“Not all tiefling’s have infernal names — depending on where you’re from, a lot of parents will stick with more humanoid names for their children so they fit into society better. 'Tar’eon' is how I get by easier without people turning their noses up at the introduction of a foulblood.” He explained. “If you have both an infernal and a common name, it’s typical for only fellow tieflings or fiends to use it, and only those you’re close with for that matter.”

“From what I’ve seen of him, Lord Gortash doesn't have an ounce of devil blood in him, so why can he call you that, hm?” Astarion quirked a brow, looking unimpressed.

“Because…I don’t know. He knows the language, maybe, and my past self…let him call me that.”

“Yes, you were close in the past. I figured as much.” Astarion sneered.

“Don’t. Don’t judge me for things I can’t remember. For the person I don’t know.” Tar’eon narrowed his eyes. “You think this is easy for me? Karlach hates Enver for all the right fucking reasons and I’m the one stuck here, bargaining with him to benefit this team, knowing how upset she’ll be with me."

"You even call him Enver, Gods-"

"We need his Steel Watch with us, not against us. Not if we want to go through the city freely and find Orin. We can't get on his bad side."

“Orin this, Orin that — you’re so bloody obsessed with her! Why? Because she calls you her kin?”

“Because she’s the reason I remember none of it!” He snapped, hands fisted at his sides. “She’s the reason I’m here, she’s the reason I’m floundering through life, and she mocks me every step of the way! I have never felt more justified in killing someone before for the sake of myself, and I cannot wait to sink my knife into her back like she did to me.”

Astarion stared him, expression blank.

“…I understand. Betrayal - it twists something ugly inside you and it can only be sated by revenge. I won’t deny you the pleasure of your kill. But you’re keeping secrets from me, and I know it. I only hope you come clean sooner rather than later.” Astarion walked past him and Tar’eon deflated with a sigh.

“I promise you; everything. All of it. I will tell you all of it tonight.”

“I hope you keep that promise, for both of our sake's. I don't see the point in sharing myself with someone who shares nothing back.”

Tar’eon pursed his lips. Some things were best left unsaid…but he meant it. He would tell Astarion everything about where he came from tonight. He’d tell all of them.

****

Mizora's words rang in his ears as he made his way up the stairs to the office above. He may lack a stone, but he was willing to take his chances. This wasn't his life on the line - it was Wyll's fathers. He needed to remain one step ahead of the devil.

Casting invisibility on himself and leaving his party behind so suddenly would probably only anger them more, but he did not have the energy to fight them after Mizora's promise of a visit. He wanted to make this conversation quick and return as soon as possible.

He stood outside the office, heart in his throat as he hesitantly opened the door, surprised to find it without a lock, the wood giving the faintest creak. Stepping inside, if felt like stepping into a different life. Something that didn’t quite fit his skin anymore, but still it felt strangely like the nostalgia that came with a childhood home. It wasn't the room itself that was familiar, but the air. He looked around curiously and his eyes widened when he saw Enver.

He didn’t know what he was expecting. Perhaps an array of guards in a dingy office that lacked much natural light, but there was nothing. The room was far more spacious compared to the memory of before, brighter, but still as messy from what he saw on the table, piled in books and maps and empty ink pots, discarded broken quills scattered across the wood. Tar'eon walked further into the spacious area, looking around for Enver, only to find him tucked away at a desk in the corner of a room, partially hidden by a large bookshelf. The smaller space felt a lot more like home than the open area of grandeur.

Enver himself…wasn’t awake. He was sleeping, back to him. He was sitting in his office chair, a leather bound chair held together with cherry red wood, his head propped up against the knuckles of his fist, eyes closed. His other hand laid on the desk, a quill between his unarmoured fingers. He hadn’t considered it before, but the design was likely purposeful so he could still write comfortably. Being a Lord, and now an Archduke, he probably wrote a lot. There was a stack of papers beside him as evidence.

Slowly, he approached, taking in the small space caved out in the large office. It smelt like dust and parchment, and the air felt like static energy about to zap him. Tar’eon wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been hyper vigilant to magical barriers. Enver had warded himself against being surprised if seemed. A good choice, considering who he was. When he said he had many enemies, he wasn’t lying.

Tar’eon pushed past the barrier, waiting for the man to react, to wake, but he did not rouse. Slowly, he came to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder, shaking gently. He heard a click, and he was slammed into the desk before he could even react, caught off guard by the others quick reflexes. There was a clatter, a ghostly mage hand stealing his blade before he could even think to reach for it, the edge of the mahogany desk pressing uncomfortably into his back, his legs barely holding him up at the awkward angle. He grunted.

He felt something sharp against his throat and held his breath, seconds ticking by as Enver’s dark eyes pinned him down just as efficiently as his forearm against his chest. The clatter he heard had been his cane. He was gripping the golden handle, a dagger hidden within reach at all times. It wasn’t just for decoration or an old injury - it was a weapon. The perfect weapon for anyone attempting to sneak up on him. He should have been scared - but something about this scene felt strangely familiar, like deja vu.

“I tire of your games, Orin. Or are you one of her shifters?” Enver’s voice was cold, calculated, and it was far different from the warmth he had spoken to him with earlier.

“It’s me — I’m not one of her goons, I promise.”

“If it’s actually you, then I apologise.” Enver’s knee dug into his hip, grinding against bone as he pressed his elbow to his throat so he could pull up his sleeve. Tar’eon grunted, fighting against his hold, but the mage hand had a grip on his hair, keeping him in place.

A hot, sharp pain burned through his forearm as the blade sliced through flesh — it wasn’t a surface cut either. He felt it dig into muscle, and he clenched his teeth with a long, drawn out growl. Enver watched him closely for a long moment, blood spilling onto his desk alongside the ink pot Tar'eon knocked over, the cool ink staining his hair, neck and ear.

Then, he released him as quickly as he had pinned him, the mage hand disappearing. He wiped the dagger against his pant leg is a movement that reminded him of Astarion, slipping the blade back into the length of his cane, clicking it into place.

“You have no idea how many times her goons have used your likeness, Tir’yal. Thankfully, most of them cannot keep your form without much needed concentration, but I can break it to reveal beneath the mask. It can be a...bloody process, I'm afraid. So you’re either you, or Orin. Orin doesn’t react to pain the same way that you do though. She enjoys it too much — and put on the waterworks.” Enver sat back with a grunt, tired eyes on the tiefling who placed a hand over his wound to stifle the blood. "You've never been much of the tearful type when it comes to pain."

“What a friendly welcome.” Tar’eon bit out.

"Please, this is hardly the first time I've stabbed you. Wouldn't be the first time you've stabbed me either, if you're feeling daring."

"Why...did I stab you before?" Tar'eon frowned and Enver chuckled, pulling out his desk drawer and reaching into it, tossing a roll of bandages to him. Tar'eon barely caught it, grimacing at the blood he got on the white bandages.

"Plenty of reasons. You never tried to kill me though. I dare say you were the only person who didn't want to. We had a mutual respect for each others strengths."

"I'm rethinking not killing you." Tar'eon huffed and sat on the edge of the desk, wrapping his bloodied arm up with a shaky hand. It fucking hurt. Enver hadn't given him any mercy in his 'test', but Tar'eon refused to give him grief over it. "You need to work on your barriers. If I could get past it without you waking, I'm sure Orin could too."

"She can't." Enver assured.

"You didn't wake when I passed through it. Obviously, your warding needs improvement." He tightened the bandage and grimaced, tucking it into itself. He wiped his bloody hand off on his pants.

"You're the only one who can pass through." Enver looked at him like he was stupid. "I've used these wards for quite some time. My office is where I spend most days and nights. Only people with no 'ill intent' can pass through undetected. I've never had anyone but you pass that requirement. Though, it did take half a year before it stopped detecting you." He smirked.

"I..." Tar'eon frowned. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. "We...really were close, weren't we?"

Enver actually laughed.

"The closest." Enver smirked. "I knew your secrets, and you knew mine. Of course, we couldn't speak of certain things because it would be a betrayal to Bane or your Father, Bhaal, such as the temples location, but...when it came us," He gestured to himself and then Tar'eon. "We were well read books to each other."

Suddenly, his smile fell, expression impassive as he pursed his lips.

"Though, I notice you're lacking carnage, blood, and a stone. I have faith in your brutality, but not even Orin is that swift. It hasn't even been an hour from my guess." Enver did not seem pleased.

"This isn't about the stone. I..." He gritted his teeth. "I need a favour. Or, I'm making an offer. A negotiation. For the future of our alliance."

Enver sat further back in his chair, watching Tar'eon. Examining the tightness in his muscles, the stiff way he sat on the desk. He was anxious. Interesting. He slowly clinked each finger against the arm of his chair, sharp metallic nails a satisfying sound against pristine wood.

"After your fanged friend attacked me in my own home? After you barged into my office and disturbed my rest? Staining my new desk while you were at it." Tar'eon could feel how thin the man's patience was becoming. "You certainly have guts...I would think you stupid if I didn't know you were the opposite. I will allow this impertinence. But only once."

"You've been fairly honest with me, so I will be honest with you." He forced himself to meet his eyes, refusing to look away as he spoke. "I don't fear your Steel Watch. If I wanted to, I could kill Orin, and then you, and it would be no sweat off my back. I have a wizard prodigy, a githyanki warrior, a solider who served in the Hells for ten years, a rogue who can get anywhere and pick his way through any lock, a warlock apt in the blade, two clerics who don't mind a little blood, a high Harper, a fierce druid, and the child of a Goddess. I do not fear you. My agreement with you if because you're useful...and because it seems my past self cared for you quite a lot."

Enver remained quiet, but his eyes were burning with something. It wasn't anger though.

"Those are just the people who travel with me. I have even more allies all over this city. I could kill anyone who got in my way. But I don't want to kill you. That is the honest truth."

"I'm hurt, you said I'd make a pretty corpse once. That I'd be your final grand murder before the world turned to ash." Enver drawled. "I know you have no intention to kill me, not yet anyway, or you wouldn't have gotten past my wards. Get to the point before I decide to make mince meat of your camp."

"...I could killed anyone. Except Mizora." He admitted. "Her fate is linked to my companions. He was only seventeen when he made the deal, but he did it for the sake of his home. The very home you are now sworn to protect. He's a good man. Wyll Ravenguard."

Enver's eyes lit up, sitting up straighter.

"Oh. The son of Ulder Ravenguard. I see. You're making a deal on his behalf."

"I am." Tar'eon sighed. "I managed to convince Mizora to let Wyll free of his pact in six months time. She knows how much he loves his father, estranged or not. That man respects him so much, even when he sent him away from the home he protected while he was gone." He shook his head. "He was a kid, and his father made him out to be a monster, and then told him to leave the only home he'd ever known. The home he become a monster to save. I might not like him, but Wyll loves him."

Tar'eon couldn't understand how Wyll didn't resent him, but the man told him resentment was something he never wanted to hold onto as a person. It was a weight, and Wyll was not looking to be tied down to it. He grew up with Ulder, and he assured Tar'eon that being unable to tell him about the pact only made it seem like he was inviting the devil into his home. Something he couldn't allow as a Duke.

He chose being a Duke over being a father in Tar'eons eyes, but his opinion didn't matter. Wyll's did.

"I know you intend to get rid of him. He's a threat to your status. But by Gods, if you harm him, I will destroy your Watchers until it is metal scraps beneath my feet. I will turn the people against you. I will tell them everything, show them everything. Even if it means damning myself with you."

"You want me to keep a threat to my ruling around? Our ruling?" Enver barked a laugh. "You never did understand the intricacies of politics, my dearest."

"I won't ask you to free him of the tadpole's command. I know you'd never agree to that. All I ask is that you keep him in your fortress, unharmed, and far away from Mizora's hands or any prison you might think about letting him rot in."

"And what am I to get out of this deal?" Enver challenged, gesturing with one hand for Tar'eon to speak, to offer up something that would make any of it worthwhile.

"That's where we negotiate. Name your price for Ulder Ravenguard's life."

"Well, you've already agreed to get Orin's stone for me, so I'm not sure there's anything else I could want from you." Tar'eon was certain this man had been raised by devils, the way he spoke. Every word felt deliberate, yet suave, twisting it around on the desperate soul to get what they wanted.

"No enemies you want me to kill?"

"Unless you plan on going to the Hells yourself." Enver chuckled.

"I can see about it." Tar'eon offered. "We might have a couple common enemies, you and I. Name your devil, and I'll have them killed." Enver actually looked like he might be considering it, golden talons scratching along his jaw.

"...An old friend of mine. Nothing as formidable as Zariel or Mephistopheles, and not your lovely devil mistress, Mizora. His name is Raphael. If you manage to kill him, I'll consider keeping Ulder Ravenguard alive."

"You will. If I kill Raphael for you, you will keep him alive. No conditions. I kill him and he lives." Enver tutted and leaned back in his chair, watching Tar'eon closely. He beckoned him closer with two fingers, and Tar'eon hesitated before standing, stepping closer, the toe of his boot nudging Enver's. Enver reached up and grasped his either side of his jaw with one hand, tugging him down to meet his dark gaze.

"You know, I've missed you. It's almost fun, knowing you don't remember our time as partners in crime. I'd like nothing more than to show you how well he worked together." Tar'eon swallowed and Enver smirked. "Kill Raphael, and return to me with his horns in tow. I'd like to make them into paperweights. And don't forget Orin's stone, either. Once you have both of those...you will join me for dinner." Tar'eon pursed his lips.

"If you're asking me to spend the night with you, the answer is no. I have a lover. I'm not willing to ruin what I have with Astarion for a one night stand. Raphael's horns and Orin's stone, and that's it."

"And dinner." Enver smiled. "That's non-negotiable if you want Duke Ravenguard to get my utmost hospitality and sanctuary."

Tar'eon gritted his teeth, his heart skipping a beat as the hand on his jaw lowered to throat, holding it just as gently as he had in the memory. Like he was cradling his life in his hand, and enjoying it thoroughly.

"And maybe...you can play for me again." Tar'eon sucked in a sharp breath, berating his body for reacting to those words. He knew instinctive that playing for Enver was more than just music to them both.

"...Fine. Dinner, and maybe a song. Happy?"

"Very. You're quite good at this - negotiations. In future though, I think I'll take the lead." Enver smirked and released his throat. Tar'eon stood straighter, thankful for the mans human hearing compared to Astarion's vampiric hearing, or else his excitement would be far too noticeable for his liking. That cleared up one thing at least. Their previous relationship had definitely been sexual, if nothing else. His body remembered its own cues far too well. He couldn't tell if there had been any real love between them; perhaps it simply wasn't possible back then, living the lives they did. The only love they could truly have was for their Gods.

"Now go. I'm a busy man. If you return empty-handed again, consider our alliance mute." He warned and Tar'eon nodded sharply, making to leave the room as swiftly as possible, barely past the table when Enver spoke again, eyes focused on the papers in front of him, quill in hand. "Oh, and Tir'yal? If you happen upon a warlock by the name of Nubaldin in your journey...Give him a good kick for me, would you? Tell him it was under the orders of Archduke Enver Gortash."

Tar'eon raised a brow before nodding silently, making his way out of the room. When he joined his party back at the bridge to the Lower City, Astarion was gone. Jaheria looked rather unimpressed by his return, as well as Shadowheart.

"I can't believe you left like that without telling us. Where on Toril did you go?"

"I was securing Duke Ravenguard's safety. From the way Mizora spoke, I wasn't chancing wasting any time with a fight if the lot of us went back inside. It was easier to make myself invisible and try my hand alone."

"You could have gotten yourself killed." Jaheria scowled. "Do not act so rashly next time. If we are to work together, I expect some communication at the very least. A toddler could manage that."

"I'm sorry. Where's Astarion?"

"He left. Threw a fit at your disappearance and said he was going back to camp for the day." Shadowheart didn't seem to disagree with the vampires actions. She looked rather annoyed by his vanishing act too. "You managed to secure the Dukes safety, how?"

"I struck another bargain. I knew he wouldn't hand him over to us - but I managed to make him agree to leave the man unharmed in the Fortress. Away from Mizora, or any jail cell."

"And what exactly did you offer that slimeball of a politic?" Jaheria quirked a brow.

"...I told him I'd kill Raphael."

"You what?" Shadowheart's eyes widened. "You expect us to kill Raphael? He'd hardly allow it."

"The last we saw of him, he's in the brothel. Alone. It wouldn't be a hard feat if we put our muscle into it, I'm sure. He's not untouchable."

"We cannot expect to defeat a devil without leverage." Jaheria shook her head. "We must find his weakness before we decide to strike."

"She's right. If Gortash wanted him dead, and it was as easy as taking his head, he would have sent his Steel Watch to do so the moment Raphael came into the city." Shadowheart warned. Tar'eon frowned but considered her words.

"Fine...He'll keep his end of the bargain as long as I deliver the stone and Raphael's head in time. We won't strike today. Let's explore the city first, and hope we stumble upon something helpful. A weakness."

"You're out of your mind..." Shadowheart shook her head. "I'm not happy about your deal with Gortash. Not after everything he did to Karlach. But I see the benefits of it; I'll be hunted enough as it is by any Sharrans in the city. We don't need the Steel Watch drawing attention to us too."

"Sometimes you must walk amongst the filth in order to rise above it. I won't say I haven't played the long game before to my advantage. It is sometimes necessary to avoid battle until battle must be done." Jaheria crossed her arms. "Let us go. There is still plenty of daylight to guide us. We shall see to Mizora and her tricks this evening."

Tar'eon nodded sharply.

"Thank you...both of you. I know I've put you both in a position you're not comfortable with. I really am trying to do what's best for us though. We won't have to skulk around the city now; we can walk freely, and hopefully, find this Minsc you speak of and the victims."

"You are our leader. You've helped me through perilous fights and being by your side has given me the chance to live my own life. If it weren't for you, I might still be stuck in that pod, without the woman I've come to care deeply for. You're always trying to do the right thing. I trust you, even if I may not like some of the decisions you make." Shadowheart gave a small smile. "Come on. Jaheria is right. We've spent enough time chatting. We have to-be-victims to find. Preferably before they're dead."

"Agreed. Let's go." Tar'eon turned to his left, almost expecting Astarion to be there, but he knew he wouldn't be. He pursed his lips. He only hoped Astarion would forgive him once he explained everything properly. There was more pressing matters at hand right now.

He would find Bhaal's cultists, his temple, and he would spill carnage in the form of his dearest blood kin.

****

It was already dark when they made it back. They had managed to find a few victims - some deceased and some alive - but no direction to Orin just yet.

"Wyll!" Tar'eon called out as he jogged up to the warlock who was chatting with Gale, Yenna beside the wizard and petting her cat Grub as she listened intently to their conversation.

"Tar'eon?" Wyll looked up in surprise and smiled. "Your lot are back rather late; dinner will need to be heated, but nothing a little magic can't manage."

"Mizora, she's-" Before he could explain, a ring of fire fell before them, Gale snatching Yenna up quickly and shielding her behind him, Yenna's head peeking her head out from behind, Grub shivering in her arms and mewling in terror. Like he knew something was deeply wrong with the creature before him.

"What in the Hells?!" Gale glared at the woman as she spoke an incantation, more fiends coming to appearing from the Hells, dressed in similar attire. Gale sidestepped a ring of fire and shooed Yenna off towards Jaheria's tent, the Harper ushering her inside as she drew her blades, waiting for a fight.

"You always have to arrive in style, don't you, Mizora?" Astarion drawled, arms crossed over his chest, Karlach beside him, burning red hot at the sight of the devils, fingers gripping tighter around her greataxe. Shadowheart's hands glowed with the faintest light, a radiant beam of magic ready to be dispelled at any given moment, Aylin and Isobel at her back. Even Halsin looked on edge, Scratch and the Owlbear cub behind his large frame, Lae'zel watching idly from beside him.

"Meet my sisters," Mizora grinned. "Be my testament, sisters!" Tar'eons stomach churned as she spoke infernal and they repeated her words in agreement. To think the Sisters of Justice would join them this evening - Mizora was hear to bargain with Wyll once more, and he knew it.

"Holy hells..." Wyll breathed.

"Please, introduce me to your sisters." Tar'eon narrowed his eyes.

"Feena, Cirrus." Mizora gestured to each sister. "Arbiters for the Hells, exemplars of justice."

"Enough games, Mizora- ugh!" Wyll held his head as Tar'eons tadpole squirmed, the images of his father in the coronation and Mizora's words to him crashing into his own mind. "Shit. Where did Gortash send my father? How do I save him?" Tar'eon pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache had grown tenfold after the connection. Enough for Mizora to speak before him.

"Sisters." Mizora gestured the sisters chanted, allowing Mizora to present the contract before them all. "Your contract, Wyll. Signed in blood, forged in fire, bound in bone - but...not unbreakable."

"Then break it already." Tar'eon glared. "Wyll doesn't need to wait six months to regain his freedom when you already swore it."

"He'll want to hear this offer though." Mizora smirked. "I'm proposing a life for a life. No contract is ended without sacrifice. The cost must be paid." Wyll sneered at the devil at the sisters flames only grew brighter, ready to hear his answer to the contract and set it in stone. Tar'eon couldn't let this happen.

"Wyll Ravenguard. A choice is before you." It was hardly a choice, and she knew it. "Option one, I show you a way to your father. I guarantee him no harm except that from you and your allies. And you pledge your soul to me and the archdevil Zariel in a pact eternal."

"Don't listen to her, Wyll." Karlach interjected. "There's no use reasoning with devils."

"Option two," Mizora glared at the barbarian. "I break your pact, and you are freed from your duty. Your father dies by his enemy's hand, and Baldur's Gate loses its greatest champion." She grinned at Wyll, knowing she had made the choice near impossible for him. "Name your sacrifice."

"Mizora, you arsehole." Wyll looked angrier than Tar'eon had ever seen him before.

"Choose."

Gale stepped forward, cautiously looking upon the warlock who struggled to make a choice. How could he? To damn his father for his own sake? To damn himself to being a dog on a leash for the rest of his days? To serve the woman who made Karlach's life hell? It was impossible. He either forfeited the life of the father he loved or forfeited his own. By Gods, he did not want to live a life of torment under Mizora's boot any longer, but what choice did he have? It was his father, the man he respected above all else.

"Wyll..." Wyll looked at Gale, the wizard looking almost as lost as he felt. He shook his head softly at Wyll. "Don't do it. Don't give up your freedom for a man who abandoned you when you needed him most. I know you love your father, but his time has passed. The future - the city - it will be passed on to you. I cannot see anyone else doing a finer a job as you would in his stead. Let the past go, and look to the future."

He offered his hand to Wyll, who's eyes burned with the desire to cry. He hadn't felt so despicable since the night he was banished from the only home he ever knew. He wanted to live, dammit. But could he live with himself if he left his father to rot under Gortash's hand?

"I..."

"Break the pact, Wyll." Tar'eon spoke up and Wyll looked at him in surprise. Tar'eons eyes burned, begging the other man to trust him. "Break it. You deserve your freedom."

Wyll looked between the two men, to the companions around him, and he knew his answer before he spoke it. It felt like a knife ripping through him, stomach to sternum, the weight of his decision unbearably heavy as he took Gale's hand and squeezed hard.

"You damned wretch. Father..." He prayed that he would forgive him. In the end, he was the monster who would end his reign over the city, just like he'd always feared. But he would make things right. He would stand in his place and lead the city to glory one day, and make it up to the man, even if he never forgave him.

"Do it. Break the pact."

"Fiat ita." The sisters chanted the same, and in a flash, the contract was burned away to nothing, the Sisters of Justice leaving the mortal plane. "Didn't think you had it in you. Seem's my boy's all grown up. And don't go fussing about your father. You made your choice, you knew the terms...You know what? I think I'll stick around. Not for the greater good, you understand. Just for the entertainment."

She vanished into flames but Tar'eon knew she would linger somewhere nearby. His stomach was hot with anger, but there was relief too. Wyll bowed his head in shame, eyes closed as Gale drew him into his shoulder. The warlock grasped at him like a lifeline. He was free. But at the cost of his father's life. The camp was quiet, a shared mourning between them all for Wyll's sake, even as some companions moved away to give him some privacy.

Tar'eon rested a hand on his shoulder and Gale looked at him with sad eyes, Wyll pulling away with a bitter twist of his lips.

"I spent seven years choked by Mizora's leash. I spent seven years hoping to break free. I never knew freedom could taste so bittersweet."

"You are your own man now, Wyll. It's better this way." Gale insisted, squeezing his shoulder. Wyll sighed.

"I have to believe that. I'm not the Hells' puppet in life, nor its warrior in death. The Blade will be guiding his own hand." He made to stand taller, but his shoulders were quick to fall again. "But freedom will be paid in my father's blood. Tomorrow, I celebrate my gain. Today...I mourn my loss." There's a moment of silence between them all, Gale's hand travelling up Wyll's back and gently squeeze the nape of his neck, a reassurance that he was not alone.

"The Ravenguard name now lives solely with me. I will make it count for something."

"You will make a great Duke. You will carry the same name, but the legacy will be even more grand once we eradicate the Absolute and the brain." Wyll spared Gale a small smile at his attempt at comfort, his horn bumping gently against the man's temple.

"Check on Yenna. She must have been frightened."

"We will speak later, okay? You're not alone."

"I know. I know that all too well." Wyll pressed a gentle kiss to the wizards cheek before Gale left his side. He sighed. "Thank you. For helping me steel my resolve. Even if the weight of my decision lays heavy on me tonight."

"You trusted my opinion on what was best for you. That in itself is a great honour, Wyll." Tar'eon fiddled with the bandage peeking out from beneath his armour, tucking it away. "But this isn't the end for your father. Mizora likes to talk of reading the fine print, but I'm afraid I was one step ahead of her this time." He smiled.

"What do you mean?"

"Your father is still at the Fortress. Under strict orders to be unharmed. I...struck a deal with En- Gortash."

"You bargained with Gortash?" Wyll's eyes widened.

"You bargained with Gortash?!" Tar'eon turned around to look at Karlach, her expression shattered by the betrayal, anger quickly morphing onto her face. "You better explain yourself, solider, or the next devil on my kill list will be you."

"Now, now, no need to get violent, Karlach." Astarion smoothly stepped between her and Tar'eon, casting a glare to the male tiefling. "He will be explaining many things tonight."

"I'm sorry, Karlach." Tar'eons heart seized at the hurt in her eyes. "But I did it for us. All of us."

"Bullshit! What could he have offered to make dealing with that slimy arsehole worth it?"

"His Steel Watch is all over the city. Unless we can find a way to shut them down, we won't get far. He's offered us a pass, free reign around the city, and the Duke's safety. I made a vow - we do no harm to him, he does no harm to us. For now, he's our ally."

"So that's it?" Karlach laughed, not with humour but with irony of it all. "I can't even fight you on it. Free reign, and Wyll's father kept alive? It'd be cruel of me to deny you your family, or our friends safety." Karlach looked at Wyll and shook her head, turning away from Tar'eon. "I'm never the priority anyway. Not unless I'm smashing skulls."

"Karlach, that's not true. You're so much more, and if I saw any other way, I would have discard the deal instantly. But we need to find Orin, get her Netherstone, and stabilise the brain, or we'll all be turned into illithids. You'll be a slave to a new master, we all will. The whole Coast."

"Promise me, the moment we don't need his 'protection' anymore...we'll kill him. He deserves to die after everything he's done to me."

"I..." Tar'eons mouth went dry. He always kept his promises, or at least, he tried. "He knows where the brain is. We won't be able to find it without him. When the dust clears, and the brain is no more...You can do as please." He bit the inside of his cheeks. Astarion was watching him, gaze scrutinising.

"How noble. Choosing your new friend over an old flame." Astarion mused and Tar'eons heart stuttered, eyes widening.

"You- what?" Karlach turned to Tar'eon in shock. "What is talking about?"

"I...Astar." Tar'eon narrowed his eyes at the vampire. "That wasn't your right to tell."

"Someone has to be spilling your secrets, or you never will." Astarion glared right back. "I think it's about time we gather around the fire and have a long talk about whatever you're hiding from us." Tar'eons tail wrapped around his ankle, his giveaway. Astarion glanced down at the action and Tar'eon cursed himself. This whole time, Astarion had known when he was omitting the truth, all because of his subconscious habit. The vampire leaned in close and took in a deep breath, closing his eyes.

"I can smell him on you. Your blood, the lingering magic on your skin, and the ink that stains it is unlike any common brand - it all lingers under the blood of shapeshifters. I'm not stupid."

"He attacked me in his office when I made the deal for the Duke's life - he thought I was Orin." Tar'eon insisted. "He's my past, he's not present or my future, Astar. Let it go. You know how much I love you." Was Astarion really that jealous?

"You- you and Gortash knew each other?" Karlach looked like she had been punched in the solar plexus. "Why didn't you tell me? I- I trusted you when I told you about him. Everything he did to me - did you even care?"

"Of course I did! I didn't bring you to the coronation because I didn't want you to be forced into a room with him again. I understand your anger, Karlach, I do, I feel it every time I see Orin, see the woman who scrambled my brain and ruined me, betrayed her own brother, stripped me of my memories, of all the truths I deserved!" Tar'eons chest rose and fell rapidly, panting through the intensity of his emotions. His eyes burned, the confessions tumbling from his lips regardless of his previous resistance to admitting his secrets.

He didn't care if they could all hear him.

"You have no idea what I'm going through right now. You have no idea about every time I'd held myself back from splitting skulls and choking the life out of all of you! You're my friends, the people who trust me to lead you into battle and come out unscathed, and every day I had to live in disgust and contempt with myself because no matter how much I love you all, I want to bathe the camp in a river of blood!" Karlach stumbled back in shock, Wyll's own eyes wide. He heard the unsheathing of blades behind him, but he couldn't stop. Even Astarion looked shocked.

"I have denied my Urges for every step of this journey, taking the role of a leader because nobody else wanted to be. I thought I hated myself before when I was simply trying not to kill you all, but I damned all of us! Everyone in the Coast. It's all my fault. The Absolute, it's all my fault!" Tears slipped down his cheeks and he covered his eyes, his chin wobbling as he dug his teeth into his bottom lip.

"All I wanted was a family to come back to after all of this, to find a home and restart my life...but my family is Bhaal! Is Orin the Red! I am his. His spawn. There will be no reunion for me, no home, no life after this. I will continue to deny my Father, mark my words, but even I know there will be consequence in doing so. I have damned us all in a life I don't even remember. I enslaved the brain with Enver, and yes, he is the only thing of my past that doesn't invoke anger or loneliness. The only thing that feels something like home. Sue me for being unable to deny him a useful pact. He offered me the chance to rule Baldur's Gate beside him, and if I were a lesser man, I would have taken it in a heartbeat. If only to belong somewhere."

"Tar'eon-" Astarion placed a hand on his arm and Tar'eon shook him off, dropping his hand from his face with a glare.

"Are you happy? There's my secrets, laid bare before you. I let you come to me. Why couldn't you do the same?" Tar'eon closed his eyes and shook his head, shouldering past Wyll. He needed away. He needed quiet. His mind was screaming, aching, trying to turn his skull inside out.

"You- Tar'eon! Where are you going?" Karlach yelled after him.

"You can't leave after saying all that!" Gale shouted.

"Did you know, Astarion?" Shadowheart asked the vampire, and Astarion pursed his lips.

"I knew of his urges. I didn't know he was Bhaalspawn."

Tar'eon held his pounding head, the ground beneath his feet rumbling. He heard his companions shouts of surprise, all trying to steady themselves. He allowed the tremors of the earth to guide him down its slope, disappearing into the thickets of bushes and casting invisibility as he went.

"TAR'EON!" Astarion called out into the wilderness, but there was nothing but silence. He cursed and hauled a stone in his anger, fangs bared as he berated himself. He'd pushed the man over the edge, and now, he was off somewhere he couldn't find him. He didn't even know if he'd be back when the morning came. Astarion ran a hand through his hair, ruining it's perfection in his frustration. He'd been counting the hours until it would come to an end...something told him his hours were up.

Tar'eon didn't realise that this was their home. It was his. His family was here. Astarion had shoved him one last time towards the door of their fragile home, and now he had walked right out and disappeared. He looked to the others who were conversing together, expressions all troubled and worried, a few disguising it better than the others. Jaheria stood at her tent, her swords sheathed, but gaze distrustful as she stood there, arms crossed. Thinking.

Astarion didn't sleep that night. He was too busy watching, waiting, for Tar'eon to come home.

[loosesodamarble]

Hey my dear Loo

Ok for you ask game 1,2,23

Have a nice day☺️

Hey there dear Marune! I've got your questions and the answers to them! And thank you for the well wishes for my day! I hope the day/night/etc that you have is wonderful too!

..........

1) that makes me smile

This is ooooooold writing of mine. But BOY it makes me soft! I was more in the Demon Slayer fandom in the early days of my blog (as it was that series and talking ocs with a friend that got me onto Tumblr in the first place). And I wrote this birthday fic for Inosuke, because he is my fictional son./lh+j AND AAAAAHHHHH!

In the end, Shizuka ended up bringing Inosuke to her borrowed room at the mansion to read through some children’s books, courtesy of Shinobu. They sat side-by-side on her bed, the book of focus held between them. They went back and forth reading sentences and if Inosuke ever stumbled, Shizuka would get him back on track. Occasionally, Shizuka would glance at her pillow, under which her gift was hidden. The reading session lasted until evening due to Inosuke’s insistence on reading every book. “The end,” Shizuka said while closing the final book. She looked out the window and at the early night sky. The dinner is going to be late I guess. Her eyes were drawn to the pillow. Shizuka reached a hand under it and slowly slid the wrapped haori out from under. “Hey, Shizuka.” Immediately, Shizuka’s head turned at the sound of her name, her actual name. Inosuke smiled at her, differently than how he usually did. This time, his grin was soft. He slung an arm around Shizuka’s shoulders and buried his face in her hair. Shizuka felt feverish from head to toe. Her heart skipped. Her breath hitched. All because of Inosuke’s closeness. “I know I drag you around a lot but it’s 'cause I like spending time with you,” Inosuke whispered. “Especially today. It’s the first birthday I really got to have. And having you be a part of it was nice. Thanks.” Turning, Shizuka let go of the wrapped gift then embraced Inosuke. “Anything for you,” she whispered back. “Happy birthday, Inosuke.”

It like the ending of the fic (so uh spoiler alert for a fic I wrote a few years ago?). It's an unexpectedly tender moment from Inosuke and Shizuka is also reassured that she didn't need to do anything particularly special for the boy she likes to make him happy. Looking back... I'm made so soft...

2) that makes me laugh

This snippet was from a delightful piece that... if I remember correctly, you inspired me to write! Morgen takes some interesting retribution on Yami after Yami gave Nacht a bit of a harsh kick to the back (and let him fall off a roof but Yami didn't plan that).

“Give me a sec!” With that said, Yami bolted for the connected bathroom. Yami emerged a few minutes later. He saw Morgen sipping his tea in peace, utterly undisturbed. “It sounded like you were being murdered in there,” was all Morgen remarked with a blithe grin once Yami was seated. “Shut the fuck up.” The conversation resumed but Yami found that he could hardly concentrate with the churning sensation in his gut that persisted. He tried to chat through the pain, to wait for it to pass, but it didn’t. In fact, it got worse as time went on. In fact, over and over, Yami kept going to the bathroom to relieve himself. Morgen had to be a saint to put up with Yami’s situation. Sitting patiently and overhearing whatever unfortunate sounds escaped the confines of the bathroom. All with that same pleasant smile. After Yami’s seventh round with the porcelain throne, Yami collapsed on his couch. His ass was in pain, he didn’t embarrass easily but he felt the weight of shame on his shoulders, and worse yet, he ran out of toilet paper. Yami glared at Morgen. “God dammit, Morgen, what the fuck did you put in that tea?” Morgen smiled and set down his teacup before leaning back in the armchair he sat in. “Well I steeped the tea leaves for a little longer than usual to strengthen the flavor. I heard that bay leaves richen the flavor as well, in a subtle and earthy way since you’re not a fan of sweetness. There’s a dash of cinnamon for spicy sweetness. And…” Morgen touched a finger to his chin in thought. After a—clearly staged, who was Morgen kidding—moment of thought, he perked up and exclaimed, “Extra strength laxatives!” Yami didn’t need to think twice. He swept aside the set up on the coffee table then lunged at Morgen while swinging. Morgen leapt out of the way in the nick of time. “Don’t run, you little shit stain! The fuck are you drugging my tea for?!”

This characterization is a little different than what I've ultimately settled on after writing for him longer. He's more conniving and lacks the airheadedness that I attributed to him later on. But still, I still like how cool Morgen plays it and just drops the whole laxatives thing on Yami.

23) that was inspired by a work from another medium (music, visual art, dance, etc.)

My fic Firefly's Dance was inspired by Kenshi Yonezu's song "Night Bugs on a Rainy Street" specifically. Some of the imagery in the fic even draw from lines the song. The upbeat yet deeply romantic tone of the song really spoke to me and how I view Morgen and Josele's relationship.

The two of them stood there, simply taking in the view of the outside. Leaves and flower petals quivered as raindrops hit them from above. The light from indoors seeped out through the clear glass, giving a corner of the garden a gentle glow, and once in a while reflected on the falling raindrops which created a flickering, twinkling effect. A faint haze filled the air, dampening the colors of the world. It was not, however, a dull or sad muting of the world. The faded colors felt more relaxed, as if taking a respite from being so vibrant. Morgen understood how it felt. After a long day of giving his all, he would let go of whatever was left of his energy and surrender himself to exhaustion. As he gazed at the garden, he felt his hand shaking, ever so slightly. He glanced down. With their hands intertwined, he wasn’t sure if it was actually his or Josele’s that was trembling. “Josie…” “Hm…?” “Are you perhaps cold?” Josele didn’t feel any colder than usual but Morgen wanted to be sure. “I’m fine…” Smiling, Morgen gave Josele’s hand a squeeze. He supposed it didn’t matter. In fact, the ambiguity of it brought him a strange comfort. Perhaps it was even the both of them. “The rain is lovely, isn’t it?” Morgen said, taking the half-step needed to close the distance between himself and Josele.

And later in the fic when they start dancing in the rain! AKJSHFKJAHETHAILEUTHILAEUHTIUH! FERAL FOR THE IMAGERY! I'M SO IN LOVE WITH TWO BEING SO ROMANTIC!

[valeriesarkive]

Hard to forget, pt. 1

✿ Pairing: Female reader x Taehyung ✿ Genre: Romance, twin flames ✿ AU: Coffeeshop ✿ Warnings: mature, explicit language  ✿ Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Just before sunset, that is the time when lovers meet again. Did you know that everything is divinely planned? There are no coincidences. It’s been in front of your eyes all this time and what truly matters is that both of you are here. 

You have to find the reason why your paths have crossed in this life. 

The answer is there, right in front of you.

The breeze brushed gently against his face, making his eyes narrow at the sea-scented caressed. His crimson lips widened in a beautiful smile hard to forget.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen him around here. He would come back every day around 5 o’clock.

Just before sunset.

With slow but determined steps, he approaches the bar to order his favorite drink: an iced americano with extra ice. Under his arm rests a thick book that change every week and, from his slightly open shirt, hung his glasses adorned with a hand-woven rope.

After receiving his coffee, he sits at the same table as usual. There, he stayed long enough for me to memorize every feature of his defined face; his heart-shaped lips, his round nose and his dark eyes. 

 “Why don't you just ask him out instead of staring at him for hours?”

Lara whispers in my ear, causing me to jump a little in my place. My elbow slips down the bar, hitting my face in the process.

 “Dammit, Lara” I whisper, caressing my cheek.

 “You do know that every time he comes to the café you keep staring at him creepily?” She goes silent, expecting me to answer. 

“Stop it, okay? I do know that, it’s just… I cannot help myself," I reply, shrugging.  

“But hey, I don’t blame you. I mean… who wouldn’t keep looking at that hottie?” She said while returning to work. 

I attempt to hide the blush of my cheeks with my hands, trying to avoid the feeling of shame and guilt before picking up my chores long forgotten. Drying the dishes with a cloth never seemed a hard task until now, since I’m avoiding at all costs my friend’s gaze fixed on my back. I give up seconds later…  

Lara could be unbearably persistent if she wanted to.

 "Go on, ask," I turn around to face her.

She looks at me with literal sparkles on her eyes. Her body leans on one side of the bar, crossing her arm with a fake seriousness on her face knowing deep down that she was dying to let out some high-pitched squeal full of excitement. 

"Well…" Lara frowns in thought. “It seems strange to me that when you started working here a few weeks ago, he started coming over more often than usual.” 

 “Or it may just be nothing. Maybe he has more free time or I don't know, I've never stopped thinking about it.” I shrug my shoulders, again.

 “Perhaps…”

Before she could continue, a new customer interrupted her. I mentally thank the gray-haired man in front of us. I knew that my answer hadn't helped Lara to draw any conclusions, but it was the only one I could give, not knowing that man's reasons either. 

I doubted that his constant presence was because of me, maybe he just liked our coffee, the view or the music, I don't know! There could be so many motives... 

That is the moment when lovers meet again. Did you know that everything is divinely planned? 

There are no coincidences here.

❊

The afternoon was a bit busier than I thought, thanks to the beginning of high season, which only meant one thing: crowded places with tourists.

I sit on a small bench behind the bar and sigh from exhaustion. My feet throbbed in pain from being standing most of the day. I glance at the clock on the wall, shortly after feeling relieved that it was only an hour before closing time. 

My gaze runs around the place until I reach his silhouette, taking me by surprise that he was also looking at me. I smile out of courtesy to which he returns to me. 

A familiar warmth rises up my cheeks, turning them bright red. I saw how the brunette chuckled at my natural, and somewhat embarrassing reaction. I shyly turn my face quickly to hide it behind my rebel curls.

The connection between two lost souls is immediate, as well as the growing attraction between them, even if it is not obvious at first glance.

Carefully, I look again at his features and his soft profile. The dimming light of the setting sun shone on one side of his face, while on the other gradually faded. His brows were slightly furrowed as he was immersed in his reading while biting the inside of his cheek. Small waves of wind touches his now rebel  hair, leaving his forehead visible. 

I grab my small sketchbook that remained in a hiding spot under the bar, checking on the customers before I open it. I look the full pages with unknown faces and, even so, his face surpassed the others in quantity. My hand starts drawing soft lines on an empty spot, guiding myself with the reminiscence of my memories of the sunset kissing his caramel skin.  

It was almost closing time. 

More customers were leaving, yet he remained seated while calmly reading.  

While I was finishing small details of the sketch, an unknown feeling of familiarity came to my mind and a few brief flashbackssuddenly flooded me…

“____.”

“Tae!”

My notebook slips through my hands, causing a dry sound when it falls on the ground.

"____, are you okay?" Lara asks, helping me to pick up my sketchbookand pencils.

 "Yes, I think so…"  

I shake my head in a vague attempt to clear my mind of any kind of absurd thoughts. Probably that was a bad move of my imagination, asking me to draw some invented story. My breath fails me and my hands shake slightly. 

But if it was just my imagination, why did it felt so real? 

I excuse myself before running to the loo, blinded with tears. I look at my reflection in the mirror, my face was slightly sweaty and pale.

When you really pay attention you will feel alienated, as if that face you see is unalike.  

But how could they be memories if they weren't mine? 

For an instant, that seemed like hours, the rapid palpitations inside my chest stopped. 

Contradictory, I know. But if I was sure of anything, it was that person wasn’t me.

This is the most dangerous for those who refuse to see their reality, since they will live in lies for the rest of their lives.

❊

The warm breeze hits my face when I open the door of the café. I take a deep breath, clutching my hand to the handles of my tote bagbefore heading down the stairs. The night was clear, so you could clearly see the stars that decorated the black sky.

I walk aimlessly for several minutes trying to avoid any kind of thoughts, while my body moves by itself among people.

Closing time was harder than I thought. After unconsciously traveling to what seemed to be old memories, I was unable to concentrate even on the easiest task to accomplish. Lara, noticing my distraction, offered to finish what was left so I could go out to eat something earlier because of my pale skin.

I take one last bite of the sandwich I don't remember packing, after throwing the plastic bag into the garbage. I only remembered bringing the small sketchbook with me. 

I felt that the answer I was looking for was right there, but why? 

My attention gets caught to this particular store full of handmade accessories. Jewelry made with sea shells and small stones with different colors. My legs act on their own as I get even closer and observe everything carefully.

 "It’s a beautiful night, isn't it?" Says the woman, suddenly appearing from inside the shop.

 "It is," I smile crookedly.

Her eyes narrow a little, while her wrinkles become clearer below the streetlights. Her hair is black and long, but a few gray hairs wouldn’t go unnoticed.

 “Were you looking for something in particular?” She asks politely. 

 "Not really," I shake my head. “I’m not sure why I came here, my body just guided me to this place.”

 “Well, everything has a reason, little one…”

The lady smiles again, but this time I notice the feeling of ease and comfort. I cross my arms at the sudden chill that runs through my body.

 “I see that you are somewhat closed and distrustful, there is nothing to fear…” Her warm hands rubbed my bare arm.

 "I… I don't know what you're trying to say."

 “That's because you’re refusing to see what you've had in front of you all this time. The universe listens and sends signals that you have to accept. You should trust more in your feminine intuition and you’ll see how the view changes.”

 “I'm sorry you got the wrong idea about me, but I don’t believe in this kind of thing. Again, I’m sorry if I wasted your time.” I back away from the lady and her store, cutting abruptly  any kind of connection that I was unconsciously feeling with this place. 

 “It will never be a waste of time to guide a lost soul that’s crying out for help.”

I ran away as fast as I could from that place. I didn't know what was happening today, but there are so many strange events that made my head throb with pain and, once again, my tears flows without warning.

 "You've been remembering things, haven't you?" The lady yells before I get lost in the crowd.

I collide with more than one person. I turn around to look at the smirk on her face. Was she... was she spying on me? Was she a regular customer at the café? No, that couldn’t be possible. There was no way for her to know that. 

My legs take long strides until I get back to the lady, my mouth opens to ask her how she knew about that but my vocal chords suddenly close, preventing any sound from coming out of my throat. The woman takes her index finger over the bridge of her nose, alluding to her third eye. 

The woman offers me to walk her home, and long before I could say no, my body is guided by her unknown vibe.

The strong smell of bushes, incense and sulfur reaches my lungs once I step in her home. The terracotta-colored walls were decorated with plants hanging from the ceiling, while the corners were lined with shelves with jars, strange-shaped boxes, and stones inside. 

The house was close to the beach, so in the background you could hear the waves beat against the stones, and from its facade I could deduce that it was more than 50 years old.

The woman tells me to sit at the brown couch, disappearing seconds later down the narrow hallway. The woman returnes with a hot kettle and a few cups on a tray. In the midst of my uncertainty, I accept a cup of tea and take my first sip of the hot drink.

The sound of waves settles between us.

 "How did you know I had 'memories'?" I interrupt the silence among us. 

 "You could say that I am a witch, as historically we women with ancestral knowledge have been called." Her slim figure occupies the front seat.

A small box with a thick lid steals my attention. It was adorned with some golden design of what seems to be a tarot card. Her long bony hands were already shuffling the cards with neat skill, before splitting the deck in two and taking one by one.

 "I see..." She whispers.

 “What?” I ask curiously. 

 "Patience, ____.”

My hand that was holding the cup suddenly lost its strength. I carefully leave the mug on the plate. I don’t recall giving her my name at any moment, how did she… 

 “How do you know my name...?” I look at her skeptically. She grins at me, as if she was having fun with this situation. 

 “Have you ever heard of reincarnation?” She interlocks her hands on her lap. 

 “I've heard very little on the subject. But as I already told you, I’m not one to believe much on these types of things.” 

The woman gives me a warm smile after cupping my hands between hers. Weirdly, her  affectionateness makes my muscles relax. 

 “I'll explain briefly then. The belief in reincarnation is very old and till now it’s been present in almost every religion, especially in the dharmic ones, originating in Hinduism. This belief affirms that every human being is a reincarnated soul and they come and go like a cycle called the wheel of karma. Each soul, after shedding its material body, chooses when, where, in which family and in whom they are going to incarnate.

 >>It is also believed that each soul has an affective bond with another, a connection so strong that it will always be present in the life you decided to be. There are soulmates and twin flames. The last one are characterized by their strongest bonds of love, as well as a shared karma that must be cleared in their next life. The signs that we know our twin flame is when our body experiences an extraordinary attraction, an unusual passion and an excessive love without any logic. Your heart stops beating for seconds, you can feel chills all over your skin. You also experience feelings with an intensity that you cannot even explain. 

She goes silent once more, deeply analyzing the message of the cards in front of her. 

 “I can see here that you already know that twin flame but you have refused to listen and perceive the signs that the universe has been sending you during this time. I understand your skepticism, however intuition never fails…” 

I look at the cards in front of me for a few seconds in an attempt to process everything that the lady  told me.

It's been in front of you all this time.

My eyes are clouded again by tears wanting to come out abruptly. I couldn’t bring myself to understand why this sudden feeling of sadness and pain inside my chest. The big lump that was forming in my throat preventing me from saying a word.

 “You may have coincided in this life because you have some unfinished business. I couldn't tell you what exactly, since I am only the carrier of this message that you had to listen to. You must find why on your own and free your souls from the karma that brought you here, my girl…”

❊

I look for my shelter in the pale light of the moon. 

Despite having a hard time understanding everything about that strange woman, something deep inside of me knew that it was the only rational response to so much uncertainty. 

And if they are here and now, is what truly matters. You just have to find the reason why your paths have crossed in this life.  

I take my sketchbook out of my bag, turning the pages quickly until I reach the ones with his face. My fingers slowly run over the delicate lines of his masculine face, abruptly remembering having drawn similar faces to his long ago. 

The answer is there, right in front of you.

I throw the book away and jump, heading to my desk and picking up all the worn-out notebooks, collecting them in my arms to sit down on the floor again. I sigh before opening them, afraid to find whatever it’s in there.

Just look it up.

I open the first notebook, then the second and finish with the tenth, all opened on different sheets. I cover my mouth with my hands to prevent the loud sob from escaping my lips. My tears slips down my cheeks once more that day. 

The answer was the same on every page; there he was, portrayed in different ways and yet, still capturing his essence. That same face I’ve been drawing these past weeks, is the same I’ve been illustrating years ago, long before I’ve met him. 

That means… I’ve been getting these memories back without realizing? 

Every sketchbook belonged to each year in which I have dedicated myself to this art, which meant that I had been drawing a stranger for the past four years… 

❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊

Note: Hello! My name is Valerie, but you can call me Vee. This is the first story I'm sharing here, so I'm excited to finally let this precious short novel out. I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. As you can see at the beginning, this the first part of this novel, I'm planning on doing three more parts, make sure to follow me so you won't miss when I post!♡ Leave a comment if you liked it, my dm's are as well opened for constructive critics.

[scifrey]

NINE-TENTHS

Part Three

As soon as I shoulder open my apartment door, someone shouts "Surprise!" from behind my sofa.

"Shit!" I drop my bag on my foot in shock, grabbing at my shirt over my heart. 

The shout is followed by coughing, which isn’t a surprise. It hasn't been vacuumed back there since my roommate Katiya left on her Grand Backpacking-and-Smelly-Hostels Tour of The Continent with her fiancé. Happily, this means I get the place to myself for the rest of the year. Even more happily, it also means she's not bugging me every weekend to spin the chore wheel. 

Less happy for Dikembe, my fourth year lab partner, who is streaked with gray and crawling out from behind the sofa.

The "surprise!" is echoed from a few other hiding places around the apartment—not that there are many, it's just a two-bedroom, first floor of a crumby, crumbling row house in the student-ghetto part of downtown—and two more people tumble into the front hall. 

"This is a gross misuse of the emergency key I gave you," I say as Hadi steps out of my front closet.

"Happy birthday!" she jeers, detangling the back of her purple hijab from the Velcro on one of my coats.

"Keep your shoes on," Dikembe says. "About face." He pushes at me until my nose is nearly against the front door.

"No, no, no," I complain. "I've been on a train for five hours. I want to go to bed."

"You want to go with us to the bar and get waaaaaasted!" Mauli says, coming in from the kitchen. They're in their Party Skirt, the sparkly blue one, which means they are planning to really properly drink tonight. Shit, is that the last of Katiya's vodka swinging from their fist? 

 Dammit, I'm gonna have to buy a new bottle before she gets home. Make it an apology present to sweeten her up to the idea that I might not be moving out right away after all. The hope was that I would find a job and be outta her hair before January. But I'm starting to think that won't happen.

"It's a school night," I protest.

"It’s summer! And, you graduated a year ago!" Mauli reminds us.

"So it's a work night." I aim an elbow at Dike so he’ll back up.

Hadhirah makes a noise like an old-fashioned telephone and lifts her palm to the side of her face. "Hello? Yes? Hmmm, you don't say. I'll let him know." She drops her hand. "Your boss says it's fine."

"Har har." I let them manhandle me outside and down the grungy cement porch to the broken sidewalk. "Just don't be on my ass tomorrow if I'm hungover."

"Hey, they're not my tips at risk."

⛾

We end up at The Brass Monkey, just down from Beanevolence. My apartment is a few blocks north of the main street, where both the bar and the café are located. It’s one of the few advantages to living in a place where the smells and stains of a hundred students who rented it before me are ground into the carpets.

Hadi spends a few minutes chatting with the bartender, while Mauli opines on the wonders of microbreweries. Dikembe makes eyes at the girls at the table next to us, and tries to look as cool as he can with a Chez Levesque dust bunny stuck in his twists.

One of the other nice things about living and working within the same few blocks is that you get to know everyone else who does the same. And sometimes they give you free shit because of it. 

"Turn that frown upside down," Hadi says in a syrupy voice when she comes back with a basket of Cauliflower Bites. There's a candle in the curry mayo. "Look, on the house."

I didn't realize I was frowning. Must be more tired from the trip than I thought. I blow out the candle, and Mau and Dike pound me on the back like I've scored a winning touchdown. Our tasting flights come with an extra shot of Jaeger for the birthday boy, courtesy of the table of girls, and I tell Dike to go thank them for me. I even brush the dust bunny away first.

"You're not going with him?" Hadi asks as I down the shot.

"Nah, Too bagged. Long day, crappy travel."

I'm not… 

I'm not going to do it. 

I'm not. 

Somehow my phone is in my hand already, though, and from a distance I hear myself saying: "Rebekah usually has Mondays off. I could—"

"No!" Hadi shouts, so quick it's actually kinda insulting. 

Mau pulls the phone outta my hands. They're tipsy enough that they fumble it. If they drop it into one of their glasses, I'm going to eat their soul. But they shove it down the front of their skirt instead, right into the boxers below it.

"Don't think I won't go in there after it," I say, pointing at their nose. "You know the saying about a bi person sticking their hands in someone's pants and being happy with whatever they find."

"Buy me dinner first," Mau says, sticking out their tongue. I make a swipe for it and miss.

"What do you call this?" I Vanna White the cauliflower.

"Didn't buy it. No Gs, No Os."

"I can get my own Os!"

Hadi snorts, and I realize what I just said.

"I can do that, too," I say, leering cartoonishly. "Masturbation is a normal and healthy part of—" She shoves me. "Abuse! Abuse! This is homophobia!"

Hadi finally breaks out a real smile, instead of that tight, sardonic thing she likes to call one. Score.

 "If you can get your own, go get one from them." Mau leans across the table and flicks their eyes at someone at the bar. "They've been staring at you since we got in."

I turn to glance over my shoulder and—It’s him.

Previous Part | Next Part | Read on Wattpad

[fromthe7thsidelines]

Damn, even what suggestions of muscle he'd felt under his hand, when he'd patted Zack's back, made little disjointed scenes play in the back of Biggs' mind about how the younger man would look shirtless. Not now, he reminded himself; they were just going to dinner. Plus, Wedge and Jessie had already heard enough from him about how hot his teaching assistant was. He shouldn't vent any more of his yearnings to his friends, when he only had himself to blame for them.

Glimpsing that bite of Zack's lip didn't help, though. Biggs swallowed hard and preoccupied himself with his phone. The other hadn't offered any suggestions yet, so he skimmed over a few local options that both of them could afford. In the meantime, he followed after Zack to the storage room and the gym.

Once the other did make a suggestion, however - courtesy of those girls in class again, apparently - Biggs was all ears. So he heard every word of...was that meant to be an innuendo, or just a profession of hunger? Dammit, why did he second-guess so much? Still, better to err on the side of caution. Even if his blush didn't get the memo.

"That hungry, huh? Me too." Whether innocuous or innuendo, Biggs' agreement would remain the same. "Think I've heard of that place; it's not far." It wasn't far from his apartment, either, but no way was he going to give that serious consideration before he'd even confessed anything. Tucking his hands in his pockets, Biggs added, trying to sound casual, "...Sounds like those girls were pretty chatty today. I'm surprised they got any notes down, between talkin' about me and about a new restaurant."

He did wonder whether the girls had really said all that or if they were a cover for Zack's own thoughts. But if it was the latter, that meant the comments about him were... He shouldn't presume too far, or make it sound like an interrogation. "Guess we'll find out with the next quiz." Biggs smirked, easy and warm, to Zack without realizing how his gaze subtly softened whenever he looked at the younger man.

Biggs felt genuinely relieved to hear that the aforementioned students were at least still taking notes. No one really deserved to get a bad grade over attraction, especially when none of them had acted on it. And he'd know all about the distraction of unexpressed feelings. Honestly, he was a little surprised those girls hadn't been whispering about Zack instead of him. Tall, kind, handsome, energetic, well-toned, endearing... and yet the younger man was calling his rear 'glorious'?

Or, no, he was quoting the girls apparently. Of course.

Sometimes it felt like his hope came and went in waves. For instance, it washed in over his heart again at being asked to dinner, then reluctantly ebbed with the correction. Still, Biggs valued Zack's company too much to refuse just because the up-and-down stung a little. The tap to his chest even tugged out a chuckle.

"Alright, alright. Can't say no to dinner." Not when it's with you. He patted the younger man's upper back, then let his palm slide partway down Zack's spine before feathering away to adjust the strap of his own bag. If this was simple friendliness, he didn't want to make Zack uncomfortable. "But, the gym first. I could look up places for dinner while you take care of that, unless you've got somewhere in mind already."

[genshinboys]

MAFIA HEADCANONS - ALBEDO

WARNING: NSFW

PAIRING: ALBEDO X FEM READER

Albedo is engulfed in one of his many research objectives when he picks up on the noises coming from the hallway leading to his private lab, courtesy of none other than the mafia boss himself. The lab is conveniently placed in the basement of his house, allowing him to carry out experiments whenever he just so fancies. 

The current arrangement is kindly sponsored by the head of the mobster family, who approached Albedo quite a few years ago and offered him a contract of a very peculiar nature. The conditions were simple and, the mysterious man was very straightforward about the whole deal.

„Become the doctor for my family and, in exchange, I will support you financially in your research. You shall be protected by my people, as well. I promise to make it worth-wile for you. You do not seem to be particularly happy about your current predicament, am I not right?”

Albedo had to acknowledge that the finely-dressed man was unequivocally and all the more painfully right about that. Despite being wildly talented, Albedo ended up being forced to work as a doctor in a local hospital. Money issues, lots of them, to be exact. His research was costly. He always found himself short on equipment and without enough funds to cover his expenses. Day by day, he would treat minor injuries or tend to kids with snotty noses. ‘What an awful waste of time and talent,’ Zhongli rubbed in his face while demanding decisions rather point-blank. 

And so, Albedo gave in.

„Albedo! Albee--, oh there you are!”

Kaeya hollers on top of his lungs while dragging you into the laboratory. His muscular arm is glued to your middle and, you are pitifully clinging to him as if your limbs turned into the octopuses’ tentacles. Albedo puts away the vial with bizarre-looking translucent liquid and cranes his neck only to see you grimacing in pain. Again. Air whooshes out of his lungs, turning into a sigh full of tiredness and maybe even irritation. You have already learned to interpret these different types of exhales or prolonged gasps. This one is undoubtedly the tell-tale sign of Albedo being done with your imbecility. Splendid. You flash him a smile, choosing to ignore the blood oozing from the deep wound on your thigh. He does not seem to appreciate the friendly gesture.

„Can’t you go a day without me patching you up?”

„I beg your pardon? I haven’t been here for a week.”

Albedo rolls his eyes and gives you one of the best ‘I am tired of your bullshit’ facial expressions ever. He walks up to you and helps Kaeya escort you to the examination couch. Albedo’s hand sneaks up to your waist.He hangs your arm over his shoulder. Dammit. His cheek is right next to your face. Ohhh, behold the beauty of this man. His side-profile makes you weak in your knees, so you are more than glad for the little assistance from the two men.

„We had a little bit of a situation there. It was a surprise attack and, we were outnumbered.”

Kaeya debriefs, stepping aside to give Albedo space to tend to your injury. The doctor arches his perfect eyebrow at the navy-haired friend and decides not to remind him how it is always something ‘unexpected’ or ‘sudden’ that results in you sitting on the very same examination couch roughly a few times a month. He turns to the small cupboard to fetch the surgical gloves.

„Spare me the details. I will let you know once she is pieced back together.”

Kaeya simply nods and waves at you before heading for the exit. Within earshot, he can hear how you start complaining, and the doctor just remains silent, attempting not to lose his shit. Kaeya chuckles, winking at poor Albedo knowingly before leaving for good.

„Have fun!”

Albedo doesn’t even respond as he is attacked by your hands, presently yanking the sleeves of his pristine-white lab coat. 

„I need to be as good as new by tomorrow. I can’t let these idiots handle the mission without me.”

Albedo glances down. Your eyes fixate on his, stirring such filthy needs inside of him that an unexpected tremble shakes his unprepared body. Maybe he should blindfold you. It would make his life a tiny bit easier. In theory.

„I’m a doctor, not a magician.”

Albedo states calmly despite the tightening sensation in his groin. There is something akin to a smirk on your face that makes him decide once and for all that today he will put an end to this madness. It’s more than the poor doctor can endure. He won’t allow himself to be further distracted from his research. 

„But Bedo, don’t be so modest. I have seen the miracles that these hands are capable of.”

Your grip on his arms gets tighter. Albedo furrows his forehead while biting his tongue in order to prevent himself from telling you how little you know about the things he is more than ready to make happen.

„I’ll do my best, Y/N.”

He informs you ever so stoically, shaking your hands off him. He once again reaches for the cupboard and starts preparing some solution. On its surface you spot these small particles of drug that haven’t dissolved fully in the water. He seems to be deep in thought while preparing the medicine, yet your curiosity takes the better of you.

„What’s this?”

You query, eyes narrowing distrustfully when Albedo offers you the small dose of this yucky looking suspension.

„The miracle you were asking for.”

He is fucking mocking you and, he does it expertly with how emotionless his face appears to be. You snort, crossing your arms on the chest. Albedo lets out another irritated sigh.

„It is a painkiller. Unless, perhaps, you are in the mood for some pain, then I can stitch you up just like that.”

The corner of his mouth goes up and it makes him look exceptionally handsome. Even more than he already is. Ridiculous. You snatch the drug from his extended hand and gulp it all down in one go. The taste of it is revolting and it makes you gag a little.

„For being such a genius, you could have made it a bit more... palatable.” 

Albedo observes how you swallow the whole substance. Something flashes in his teal eyes, like a barely noticeable sparkle. It stuns you for the briefest of moments. The previously oh so little and easy to overlook smile evolves into something more sinister. He is fucking sneering right in your face. He seems content for some reason. He takes the small cup from you and unhurriedly places it on the cupboard. He fetches the scissors instead and takes a step towards you so that he is basically standing between your spread thighs. His teal eyes catch yours again, and although it is but for a fleeting moment, the inexplicable wave of warmth washes over your body. 

„Albedo?”

You utter his name, feeling the sudden drowsiness taking over you, making it difficult to formulate any coherent words as your jaw and tongue are numb. 

„Don’t make any sudden moves. If you feel like fainting lean on me, please.”

Albedo instructs before cutting the fabric of your jeans to get to the wound. The cold steel hardly brushes over your skin, yet your body shudders uncontrollably as the researcher methodically rips the piece of clothing. It all starts feeling a bit overwhelming, as if you were desensitised but, at the same time, hyper-aware of this pleasantly musky scent of his cologne. Albedo shifts a bit closer, a lone strand of his shiny hair hangs loosely over his forehead. It’s creased. Beautiful lines appear across its surface as the breath-taking man estimates the severity of your injury. Albedo gives out a pleasant low hum. He is thinking. Calculating. More powdery like scents enter your nostrils, earthy and natural, which brings back the childhood memories of classrooms filled with chalk dust. Albedo ghosts over the flesh with his gloved fingertips. Your heart starts racing. It is almost like it clings to you. The chalk feels silky against your skin, hugs you protectively, resembling the dust settling on old books. Your brain is tricking you. 

„A-Albedo, I f-feel sick.”

You mewl and, he safely wraps his arm around your limping body. Right on time. As if he knew you were about to slide down the examination couch and consequently hit the floor face-first. But he is there. The doctor’s hand creeps up to the back of your neck where he holds you firmly, vigilantly. You feel as if your body didn’t belong to you anymore. It’s just his hand that you are so dependent on, the one that forces you to peer at him for one last time despite the irresistible need to close your heavy eyelids. His studious eyes zero in on yours. Albedo is watchful, gazing upon you in sheer fascination.

„Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

It’s the uncomfortable sensation of a parched throat that makes you regain consciousness. The faint sounds of the pencil brushing over the acrylic paper come to a halt and you can distinguish the soft squeaks of the chair as somebody moves closer to you. The lingering chalk fragrance. You can feel him first before you even open your eyes and find yourself scrutinised by the teal orbs, glowing in impatience. Albedo puts away his sketchbook and sits beside you on the bed. With bated breath, you attempt to sit up but, it turns out that you can’t. Something is pulling at your wrists and when you glance to the side you discover the reason why. You are tied to the bed. You tear your gaze away from the secure knot to peer questioningly at Albedo. He remains unfazed, unperturbed by the whole thing. As though having you restrained to his very own bed was a natural occurrence in his life.

„What’s the meaning of this?”

You manage to croak out through the dryness of your throat. Albedo’s eyes drop to your wrist, observing how you fight to set yourself free, but the resolve dies in you just as quickly as it appeared when you realise that on top of being tightly roped to the bed like some specimen awaiting examination, you are also outrageously... almost naked.

„Albedo?”

You demand, this time louder and more urgently to get your point across as the handsome albeit admittedly unhinged doctor remains tight-lipped. No fair. He shifts closer and suddenly the room gets all too warm despite you wearing nothing apart from the white t-shirt and a pair of panties. The underwear you swiftly identify as your own, however, the same cannot be said about the other piece of clothing. The t-shirt looks ridiculous as it is discernibly too tight in your chest, but clearly, Albedo didn’t mind when deciding to put it on you. Fuck. It is exactly the moment when it finally dawns on you. You didn’t wear any bra today. Your cheeks turn red and, your heart starts pounding like a drum in your ears.

„Before you start complaining, let me inform you that I have the boss’s approval. Zhongli told me to keep you here for as long as needed to ensure your quick recovery.”

Albedo’s body bends as he reaches for the glass of water placed on the bedside table. The fabric of his lab coat comes into contact with your naked thigh. It tickles your sensitive skin, causing the little hair to stand erect as goosebumps form on the surface of the flesh. He turns to you, fingertips take hold of your chin in an assertive manner, and then he brings the glass closer to your lips. You are thirsty. In a haste, you begin chugging down the water, letting him help you with his dainty hands. They are cold, yet your face heats up even more when he focuses his eyes on you in curiosity. His thumb moves slightly. It starts to caress your jaw-bone hesitantly. Little drops of water escape your lips, but the watchful doctor makes sure to wipe them off your face before they can dribble down to your pretty neck. Albedo swallows hard as if he was the one drinking after hours of dehydration.

„There, there. It’s enough for now.”

Albedo almost whispers and puts the glass away immediately. You notice how his chest rises up and down in an uneven manner.

„Did he also explicitly give you the permission to drug me and tie me to your bed?”

You counter, feeling a little bit more like yourself, having satisfied that terrible thirst. 

„I deemed it necessary knowing you and your inability to act rationally.”

Albedo defends himself and fetches a small tube from his pocket. It looks like some sort of an ointment when he squeezes a small amount on his finger. You briefly wonder if stripping you naked was also one of the things he deemed necessary, but you don’t have enough courage to address the matter so... overtly.

„Furthermore, I still need to tend to your wound. So, if you have any objections, we can discuss it once I am satisfied with the treatment process.”

Wanting to prove his rationale, Albedo puts a dab of ointment on the wound and begins to rub it in gently. Your body flinches slightly, but it is not because of the pain. It is the way his hand is so so close to your core, dancing over the exposed flesh, always brushing over the skin by accident instead of focusing solely on the injury. He sneaks a guilty peek at you whenever he lets his fingers wander to the inner side of your thigh, marvelling at how you pliantly hold still for him to continue his treatment. There is almost none of the ointment left and yet he keeps stroking the skin. What is it? Albedo’s teal pools widen beautifully when he lifts his head to peer at you in wonder. Have you just spread your thighs a bit further? 

The skin is flushed, beautiful red colour dusts the softness of your cheeks. Albedo moves his fingers higher, closer to the inner side of your thigh, and then, you gasp subsequently biting your lip to shush yourself as if you understood that it was loud enough to reach Albedo’s ears. The corner of his lips arches upwards impishly and, he can do very little to cover the thrill of excitement that ripples through his body, commanding him to get even more daring. Besides, it is not like you could do anything to squirm away from his intrusive fingers, so why not indulge himself a bit longer?

Albedo’s always so impassive irises dart up and down your body, unable to decide if he desires to gaze into the beauty of your eyes or admire how increasingly more promiment that blotch of wetness, deliciously seeping through the material of your underwear is becoming.

„That must be terribly uncomfortable, Y/N.”

Albedo voices his inner thoughts before he can think twice of the impertinence of his comment. If your cheeks weren’t burning up before then now it feels like somebody is putting hot coal to your face.

„I don’t know what you mean.”

You bluff, clenching your fists. 

„Oh, allow me to demonstrate.”

Albedo slides his palm fully to the inner side of your thigh and squeezes it, still careful enough not to cause you any pain because of your injury. He notes in particular how your breath hitches in your throat and digs his fingers into the supple skin, inches from the hem of your panties. There it is. A moan. You arch your spine and, he feels your muscles getting all tense, straining underneath his open palm. Albedo’s erection swells against the zip of his slacks, too big to go unnoticed. He catches you staring at the tent in his trousers.

„Is that also a part of the so-called treatment of y-yours?”

Your attempt at teasing him does not go too well as your voice goes out rather shakily, pitifully turning into yet another moan when Albedo presses his thumb into the centre of your clit.

„Oh-hh, f-fuck!”

He hits it dead on, applying pressure to the nerve cluster that feels good and bad at the same time. Too sensitive. Too intense. He circles the clitoris, letting his thumb glide over the swollen nub. The fabric sticks to his fingertip as your juices rapidly gather all over your folds, leaving the underwear unpleasantly wet and tacky. He leans closer, making you breathe in his faint chalky scent. Your head gets dizzy.

„As long as my patient is satisfied, I consider it to be an apt course of medication.”

He hovers over you with the most predatory and maniacal look on his face that makes you gush out your juices even more shamelessly so. You spread your thighs guided by the silent demand in his teal pools. He plunges his finger inside, pushing hard enough to dip it almost fully inside despite the resistance of the material of your panties. It creates this sort of friction, making you feel things twice as much as you normally would. You tremble convulsively, when he stubbornly digs it in even further, his thumb still securely locked on the centre of your nub.

„Al-Albedo!”

He doesn’t control the chuckle that leaves him, as if he was out of his mind, drugged on the way you react to his touch. Had he known you would be so eager, he would have done all of that a long time ago. Now it feels as if his sanity was brutally taken away from him. The wait to make you his has taken a toll on his frenzied mind.

„So, tell me, my Dearest, are you satisfied yet?”

He continues massaging the rapidly swelling nub while plunging in with his digit, pushing the fabric inside each time. The underwear is soaking wet with your arousal, sticking to your walls with Albedo’s relentless thrusting. Your hips jolt upwards to feel more of him. Albedo sucks in a breath, loving how your body betrays your needs.

„You would have to do better than that, Mr Genius.”

You challenge without a care in the world and, Albedo’s eyes darken with lust. Stars are a weird thing to see in the middle of the day but that’s exactly what happens when seconds later the provoked doctor disposes of your underwear. Almost instantly, before you can even prepare yourself mentally for what’s about to happen, he just shoves two fingers right into you, with the sexiest and lewdest grunt you have ever heard in your life. Quite frankly, you could most probably come undone just from seeing him so out of it, unbecomingly unprofessional and dripping pre-cum into his laboratory uniform. 

„Shit-shit-shit!”

You sing for him. Albedo moves closer to finally capture your lips with his. Warm and soft. He tastes like the sweetest cake that you have been denying yourself for far too long. Albedo runs a finger along the edge of your hairline, purring into the kiss with his voice taking on a seductive tenor. Shivers. Lots of them. Your heart thuds in your chest as if chased by the pack of hungry wolves. He establishes a rather lazy rhythm, matching the tempo of the fingers sliding in and out of you. He presses his thumb to your clitoris again, re-awakening that bothersome sensation deep in your groin. He flicks the tip delicately, careful not to cause you any discomfort while making you feel so full with his short but nimble fingers. At this point, your hips are just moving on their own, slowly, passionately rocking towards the doctor to help him finger-fuck you better. 

He is a good kisser. Albedo’s lips caress yours. He grazes over the bottom lip, almost like the lightest strokes of the softest feather, only to nibble at it playfully the next moment. You moan helplessly, overwhelmed by that sensation of a pleasure knot forming in your lower belly. Albedo moans back, frantically pressing himself closer to you so that his erection is flush against your thigh.

He breaks the kiss, cupping your chin to make you look into his wide eyes. Nobody should be this perfect.

„You are close, aren’t you?”

Albedo states as if he diagnosed another patient of his. Always right. 

„I might have something that will make it much better. If you give me your consent, that is.”

He whispers sweetly, his lips inches from yours. You snort right into his face, awed by his sudden wariness.

„You didn’t ask for it before deciding to undress me and tie me to your bed. Why bother now?”

Albedo levels you with a frank gaze. His breath exhales on half a laugh when he finally decides to speak.

„You are right. I shall proceed as planned.”

He lets go of your chin and reaches out to the pocket of his lab coat. There is a small pink device in his hand. Your nervousness flares when you realise what it actually is. 

„No way.”

You tell him, your voice a mere squeak which embarrasses the hell out of you, but it all becomes unimportant when Albedo turns on the vibrator and presses it to your clit. He pulls you in for another kiss, possessive, hungry. You cry out, shocked by the intensity of the vibrations, unprepared for the little spasms that take over your body, tentatively thrusting back into the toy, somewhat scared of the budding sensations deep inside your core.

He travels lower with his lips, teasingly trailing them all over your neck, and you can only moan as much, beg him to continue because clearly, it is more than you have bargained for. You have waited long enough. After such a dry spell this orgasm feels like heaven. Like coming home after a long and exhausting journey. It happens so quickly, the tip of your clit starts to burn as if it was about to blow. You need it so much. Your eyes prickle with tears. Albedo notices how your whole body tenses, and then he hears his name falling from your lips as if it was torn out of your throat. The rippling moan leaves him shuddering. His cock twitches so hard it actually hurts. 

That’s it.

He makes sure to let you ride out your orgasm, down to the last of these bone-shattering waves of pure pleasure and, then he begins to undress while leering over your exposed core. You came so hard that your thighs glisten with the slick. Everything is swollen and red. He steals a glance at your rosy face, so blissfully relaxed after the release. He thinks you might fall asleep, but he doesn’t mind at all. When he positions himself behind you and unties one of the knots to set your arm free, you are basically like a lifeless doll, murmuring some incoherent words. 

He kisses your cheek and helps you rest on your side while gently placing his hand under your knee to bend your leg. It is the injured one, so he wraps his leg around it to make sure it is secure and doesn’t move too much. 

„Albedo?”

You question, realising that one of your hands is no longer restrained and that the doctor is right behind you. He pepper-kisses your neck while aligning his dick with your entrance. It kicks in his hand, impatient to finally get into that tight heat. You feel his wet erection. The mushroomy tip being pressed to you, albeit still shallowly, creates new bolts of electricity that go right into your groin.

„I kept thinking about that. Couldn’t get it out of my head. Do you know how distracting you are? Do you have any idea?”

He complains in that velvety voice of his, breathless, borderline angry. Then again, you recognize the faint buzz of the toy he prepared in advance to use on you today. A gasping sound leaves your lips. You press yourself harder to him, pushing your ass into his abs. Albedo hisses. You mean to respond, tell him that you have been having a hard time as well, but then he buries himself fully, hitting your cervix. His left hand presses the vibrator to your folds and it is too late to say anything. Your mind goes on the fritz.

He moans out your name, and it thrills you immensely. He starts penetrating. The doctor plunges himself in and out of you, which together with the vibrator prevents you from putting words together. He doesn’t even go that deep or fast with his thrusts. He focuses on the device in his hand, giving him absolute control over your mind and body. Your thighs quiver. You are more than grateful for being held nicely in place as your Bambi legs would surely give out some time soon. 

„I can’t stop staring at you. Can’t stop fantasizing about you. It is pure agony.”

Albedo struggles with being articulate as well. The words come out fast, his voice strained as if someone put weights on his chest. He circles the clit, lets the device pulse right in the centre of your folds before repeating the circular motion. His cock is hard and hot as he guides himself in, dragging it in and out of the tightening walls.

„You make me so hard,--d-damn. Always. Na-ahh---, h-hiding behind the lab coat. So humiliating.”

Albedo’s confessions make it all feel so intimate. Your belly fills with butterflies. You’re proud. So proud of making him lose his cool, drop that indifferent mask and reveal the raw emotions bottling inside. His head slumps over your shoulder. His balls are heavy, full of that cum ready to burst into you. He just needs you to cum with him. One more time. He wants you creaming all over his length with his name on your lips like moments ago. He forces himself deeper, afraid to move too fast as he is dancing on the edge of the precipice. He licks your earlobe and listens to you suck your breath in which is followed by another begging whimper. So fucking cute. He wishes he could hear that on a loop. Albedo presses the little button on the vibrator to turn up the speed, and then it quickly becomes too much to bear.

„Albedo! I can’t! Oh--huhhh, fuck!”

You scream, writhing pathetically as that coiling sensation finally snaps. On cue, he picks up the pace to help you get rid of the tension spiralling through your sensitive core. Sparks of pleasure fly through your abdomen, making you feel hot and bothered. It feels so sticky as you gush down his girth. Albedo cums immediately after you. That obscene sound you made was enough to get his cock spurting out the hot and thick seed from his aching for release member. When you move your face to the side to peer at him, he just looks so fucking sexy and vulnerable it makes your chest fill with warmth. A living picture of tension and need. He orgasms on a shuddering sigh, pressing his nose to your cheek, cradling you into his arms with his cock still moving excitedly inside of you. 

For a moment, there is just this soothing melody of your ragged breaths mingling together as you try to calm down. Albedo gently places your leg down, careful not to irritate the wound. The new position makes his cock brush over your already abused walls and, you can’t suppress the shiver that zips down your spine. It makes him chuckle in that seductive timbre again.

„It seems that I have run into a very hard to please patient after all.”

He teases right into your ear.

„Is that the treatment you use on all of them?”

You retaliate, suddenly getting irked by his over-confident comment. Would you admit openly to feeling jealous for no reason? No, never.

You sense him smirking into your neck. He places a couple of kisses there, going higher up until he plants the last one on your jaw.

„Oh, don’t worry. It’s reserved for you only.”

OTHER BOYS:

KAZUHA

CHILDE: PART 1 X PART 2

ZHONGLI

THOMA

MASTERLIST !

[sapphicscholar]

Sorry this is so tropey but if it speaks to you: I wish you’d write a fic where Ava and Deborah get accidentally locked in a room together. (ideally when they are mad at each other ;)

I love a good trope when it fits the bill <3 going into some more season 2 speculation (drawing on some things we got from the promo photos and captions) because dammit I am EXCITED for the space of the tour bus hahah

*

Deborah is going to kill them all. Since when does Marcus go out with Damian and get so blindingly drunk he has to call out sick of all things? She can't even remember the last time he took a sick day. Maybe he'd taken a long weekend for the flu of '09... But now he's single and "finding himself" in his 40s like he's some middle-aged mom that just read Eat, Pray, Love for the first time.

She glances down at her phone for what feels like the hundredth time, rereading Damian's message about staying back to take care of Marcus while she steadfastly avoids eye contact with the only other person on this bus as they trundle down the highway.

"Deb?" Ava is, apparently, not going to afford her the same courtesy.

"I'm working," Deborah manages, her tone clipped. The kind of voice anyone else would hear as the end of conversation that it is.

"You've had the same email open this whole time. I can see Damian's string of sad-face emojis from here."

Deborah runs the tip of her tongue along her teeth and takes in a deep inhale. "You're gonna dictate what counts as work now, too?"

"That's not—"

"Save it."

"You know, we have to talk about it at some point."

Decidedly, they do not. Deborah built a whole career on talking around the things that don't need to be dredged back up. At least until now. Until Ava. Who will not force her hand again. Not now. Not after...

"Fine," Ava huffs. "I'll go talk to the bus driver."

"Went so well the last time, hmm?"

Ava's mouth draws tight, and she drops back down to her seat, curling her feet under her. "Most people like car games if they're stuck on the road this long."

"No one likes car games."

"I do!"

"Of course you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

Ava looks ready to fight back, but after a long moment, she gives up the ghost with an annoyed little sound in the back of her throat.

Of course, no silence can go unbroken, and it isn't long before Ava's standing right in front of Deborah, fire blazing in her eyes. "I know you're still pissed. I get it. But you kissed me, lady. And acting like it didn't happen isn't gonna make it go away."

"Sit down," Deborah hisses.

"No!"

The driver merges jerkily into the left lane, and Ava stumbles over her feet. (Deborah really needs to buy him a nice present at the end of this.) Ava widens her stance, only to go flying into Deborah as the driver merges back over, and Deborah's breath catches in her throat as Ava's hands land on either side of Deborah, leaving them much too close. (On second thought, he's getting paid a perfectly livable wage.)

"Sit."

This time, Ava does. Right next to Deborah. Close. Too close.

"You have a whole fucking bus."

"So what? Do you want me to go sit in the back and scream up to you about how you yelled at me for an hour, broke a grand worth of New Age hippie crystals, then planted one on me, and stormed out to give me the silent treatment for days?"

Deborah practically snarls.

"That's what I thought."

"Don't act so smug."

"I'm not! I just...I mean, are you ever gonna, like, tell me what that was about?"

Deborah sniffs. "A mistake."

"Mistakes don't normally last that long."

"Oh, I don't know about that. You've been my employee for how long now?"

Ava recoils, and Deborah lets herself relish in the rush of savage satisfaction. "That's not what I meant."

"What do you want me to say? I'm so used to anger and sex going hand in hand from years spent with Frank and Marty that I let myself get carried away? Is that enough introspection to get you off my fucking back?"

Ava blinks at her once. Then twice.

"And what about you, hmm?"

"What about me?"

"I wasn't the only person in that room. What had you shoving your hands up my top in less than two seconds?"

Ava juts her chin out, the muscles in her jaw clenching. "You've got great tits."

Deborah's caught between shock and annoyance (with a flare of desire she'll never let herself admit to), and she barks out a laugh. "Well, it's settled then."

"Deb. C'mon, obviously that's not the only reason why, just like I'm pretty sure you didn't actually mistake me for a 70-something sleazebag."

"You're right. He's got bigger tits by far."

Ava lets out a loud huff of frustration. "And maybe you actually enjoyed yourself with me."

"Please. It was a minute of frantic groping. I've gotten further from leaving my phone on vibrate overnight."

Ava's cheeks flush pink, and Deborah settles herself back in her seat and pulls her email up again. There's an apology email from Marcus with two typos in it. He really must be on death's door. There's a slew of messages from her QVC reps, plus a confirmation email about this little YouTube episode she's somehow deigned to do. Apparently these days any asshole with an at-home studio can reach millions of subscribers without hauling their ass all the way across the country.

"I think you kissed me because you wanted to," Ava says after a long period of quiet.

"That simple, is it?"

Ava shrugs, scooting closer to Deborah. All brashness and little thought of the consequences. One of her hands lands on Deborah's thigh, just an inch or two higher than propriety would deem permissible. "I think it could be... If you let it."

"Nothing here is simple, honey."

"Not the rest of it. But wouldn't it be nice to just...let yourself want something and have it?"

"Nothing's ever worked like that. The rest of the world is always going to be there, Ava. Just like every bit of our history is always going to be there."

"They're not here on the bus, are they?" Ava's hand slides a little higher, her face moving closer.

Deborah licks her lips. "Ava," she whispers.

"Simple," Ava says, her voice low, little more than a murmur. She presses a soft kiss to the corner of Deborah's jaw. "I want you. I'm so done with hurting you. I just want to be something good for you. I want that."

"That doesn't sound very simple," Deborah manages, her breath coming a little faster as Ava's mouth moves along her jawline.

"Right now, all you need to know is how much I want you. Okay?"

And for once, with a needy whimper catching in the back of her throat, Deborah lets herself give in.

[rwprincess]

Two Worlds Collided

Masterlist

A/N: Oh, an anachronistic songfic from RWPrincess? But this time it’s about John Bender! :D Inspired by Never Tear Us Apart (originally by INXS in 1987, but I particularly like this Paloma Faith version)

Word Count: 2K

Synopsis: Bender met reader at the Breakfast Club and the two seemed like opposites, but they shared a common hidden sadness. Over the years, feelings and relationships change.

CW: Swearing, sexuality, Bender being a general asshole

Bender had met her the same way everyone in the Breakfast Club had, on the Saturday detention on March 24th. He had seen her in the hallways prior to that as he was always observant. He had seen everyone in the Breakfast Club before that day; but he hadn’t given her much thought. Now, he was paying attention to little else. He had no idea why he was drawn to her; they were both so different and he could never picture himself with a goody-two-shoes like that. But the way she had reacted to his more vulnerable, real moments, how she tried to make a connection with him...that stuck with him. He knew he should have learned from his disastrous blow-up with Claire that two people who were so different just wouldn’t work out. He repeated this to himself over and over, like a mantra, but it never changed how he actually felt.

After the breakup, the Breakfast Club had a split between those who chose Bender and those who chose Claire. Of course, Andrew sided with Claire unconditionally, but John considered that as no big loss. Allison tried to play the middle ground and Johnson had sided more with him, but he was surprised at the wholehearted backing he received from Y/N. He had assumed that she would either try to be neutral like Allison, or pick Claire. She had no reason to side with him, he had always come off as an aloof ass. But she had, and he was eternally grateful for that. He had originally decided to get together with Claire because the notion had a hot, forbidden quality to it. They spent time insulting each other and making out to make up for it. It was as passionate as it was destructive, so of course it couldn’t last. However, when he was alone and reflected to himself, he had been attracted to Y/N all along. She was hot, yes, but he had plenty of good-looking girls to choose from. He was more drawn to that kind, quiet inside she had displayed that day. How she had gone out of her way numerous times to reach out to him and had been genuinely nice to him. Most of the time, someone only did that to gain something for themselves. Whether it was to use him or to make themselves feel better, it depended on the person, but with Y/N that never felt like it was the case.

Don't ask me

What you know is true

Don't have to tell you

I love your precious heart

He thought back to the first time he saw her on that Saturday, walking into the library and looking so out of place. He was already adjusting into his spot when she entered and she froze in front of all the tables like a deer-in-the-headlights, as if she had just materialized there and had no clue what she was doing. He remembered feeling both attracted to that doe-eyed look and scoffing internally at it. While she wasn’t part of the cliques that Andrew and Claire were, she had a very sheltered look to her and he was envious of that type of innocence. Her ignorance must have been bliss compared to the hell he lived each day at school and at home. She was just as out of place as the preppies or ultra-dweeb Johnson, but instead of being offended by that notion, she looked terrified. She meekly put her items on the front-row desk opposite to him and he thought about all the fun he could poke at everyone here, including her. However, the first blow did not land well. Bender loved making people uncomfortable, but he didn’t necessarily want to make them cry. He’d made some off-handed remark towards her. He had been circling her and eyeing her, employing the discomfort he liked inflicting, trying to ‘guess’ why she was in detention. “I bet you were caught fooling around with a teacher, right? Always the quiet ones that you’d least suspect…”

John Bender rarely regretted his words or actions. He knew he was an asshole and let unfiltered thoughts through so that he could be the center of attention. In doing so, he had to stand by all the shit he said, even when he crossed a line. This was one of the scattered occasions in which he felt remorse, though. She didn’t reply, not verbally, anyway, but she looked scared shitless and was rooted to the spot. Tears instantly sprang up in her eyes and she looked as if she were about to hurl right on his combat boots. He backed off after that. He didn’t apologize, because that’s not something John Bender could have on his reputation, but he didn’t target her. There was something so sincere about her reaction and he saw himself reflected in that expression. Not the tough-as-nails persona he projected, but his secret self who had seen too much too early in life and could barely stand another blow. He didn’t know what her deal was, but there was a heavy sadness behind those eyes that was far too real for him to tamper with.

When he had shown the group his souvenir for spilling paint in his garage, courtesy of his father, she must have seen that reflection back. No one in that group actually knew him. They all thought he was a lying sack of shit; what could he say? His reputation preceded him. But he caught her gaze as he backed away from the group, and the sadness in her recognized the sadness in him. He felt an odd sort of click, a mutual understanding, but he turned away from them all and trashed the library.

I, I was standing

You were there

Two worlds collided

And they could never tear us apart

That was months ago, and out of everyone he met that day, she was the one who truly stuck by him. He’d surprisingly connected with Johnson, sure. Everybody likes to get high and Bender was the supplier. And he and Allison had similar interests, but she wouldn’t give up Andrew and with that territory came Claire...there was just no going back to that. But Bender still had Y/N, and he could never understand it. The first time he had brought her into his friend circle, he tried to justify it as sticking to his word and ‘having the balls to stand up to his friends’ like he had told Claire to do. He also reasoned that it was some sort of social experiment. As much as he liked to portray himself as someone who couldn’t care less, Bender was entirely social. He craved attention and admiration for others and could read just about anyone like a book. Maybe that’s why he didn’t mess with Y/N after that first comment landed so wrongly. He felt like he knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling and decided to back off. However, it wasn’t just some ‘watch and see how she interacts’ set up; Bender genuinely wanted her there. He wanted to integrate her into his life.

She was still extremely quiet, mostly a speak-when-you’re-spoken-to type, but he started to peel back layers in her personality. He found that, despite that lurking sadness, there was an unending pool of optimism. She tried to see the best in situations and in people. She meshed incredibly well with his friends because she listened instead of judged. She would nod along like she knew exactly what they were talking about and how they felt. He started to develop an attachment to her. While he was still dating Claire, he told himself it was akin to having a pet. Y/N was like a goldfish that he could tell his problems to and know the secret would be kept. But after Claire, he realized that wasn’t the case...particularly when he sought Y/N’s comfort above all else. He divulged the entire last big fight he and Claire had to her, and she was just so...reassuring. After that day, he began to see her in a different light. He argued with himself over what his feelings and intentions actually were, but he couldn’t keep them at bay for long. She was good for Bender. He had never felt lighter.

Of course, Bender had not known stability in his life ever, and the risk of falling for Y/N and having it mean something and being accountable to one person overwhelmed him. He did what he knew best: he fought it and ran away from it. At first, he tried to avoid her, just distance himself. But he’d gravitate back; being without her was too heavy to bear. He wanted to try to actively push her away, to fuck up this relationship with his words, just like he did with everything else. But when he opened his mouth to try to lie, to say he didn’t need her or want her around or whatever, he would look into her eyes and it became impossible. He remembered the way he had shaken her to her core the first day they met, and he couldn’t allow himself to bring that sadness up again in her.

We could live for a thousand years

But if I hurt you

I'd make wine from your tears

Eventually, he gave in. While he was able to control his words to not say anything harmful, he wasn’t able to contain them from slipping up and telling her, “Dammit, I love you!” It wasn’t in a context that could be taken as joking or being said flippantly; she knew immediately what he meant and that he meant those words, wholly.

She took his face in her hands and told him, “I love you, too.” There was no turning back, and as the years passed, they fell deeply in love. He'd dug up her secrets and fears, but she seemed to trust him enough to not use them against her in any way. They both dreaded the prospect of never getting out of Shermer and falling into the same circular trap their parents had. However, he reassured her that the moment they had the opportunity, they would bust out of there. He lucked out that Claire had never asked for her diamond earring back. It was probably one of many and she had forgotten she had even given it to him as a token. He decided to pawn it to top-off the savings he and Y/N had accrued. "You're too good for me, you're sure as hell too good for this place,'' he told her. The trade-in was enough to get them out of town and start anew, but only one of them could really ‘move up’ for now. While they argued back and forth about who should get to pursue which dream, Bender rationalized to her, “I was barely cut out for high school. I can’t really do college. And that’s okay. You’re the brains in this relationship, I’m the beauty.” He winked at her and with her laughter as response, that sealed the deal of who was going to school.

I told you

That we could fly

'Cause we all have wings

But some of us don't know why

She searched the crowd, holding her diploma. Bender had supported her both financially and emotionally these last four years and now they had the degree to prove it. She felt pride in being able to take over from him and let him follow a new path. He had always been good with his hands, but despite his protests, he was good with his mind too. He was a sharp-thinker and she knew that he could make a career that he loved out of that. She’d be there to push and brace him as he had done for her. Finally, she spotted him. When their eyes connected, she felt that same crackle that she had the first day they had met, all those years ago. Before the friendship and the love, she knew there was a spark there, that they were two of a kind, even though they were so different.

I, I was standing

You were there

Two worlds collided

And they could never tear us apart

[absolutepokemontrash]

The Demon Bros Play DND!

Who’s ready for some Stupid Headcanons?

So, the Satanic Panic of the 1980s claimed that the tabletop RPG known as Dungeons and Dragons had the power to turn your children into satanists and devil worshippers. So of course, the brothers have totally played DND after hearing about all the human world nonsense.

Lucifer the Back-up Back-up DM

He’s too busy to play this game dammit, stop inviting him! What do you mean both Satan and Simeon can’t DM the one-shot? Ugh... fine.

Despite all his UUUUUUUUGGGGHHH, Lucifer is a damn good storyteller, prepare to be immersed as hell.

Also, sorry guys, he’s a rule whore. If something’s against the rules, YOU AREN’T DOING IT.

He’s also a complete sadist who will randomly get everyone to roll perception checks for NO REASON.

Lucifer has definitely stood up and slammed his hands on the table while giving a description for extra effect, Mammon screamed and nearly fell out of his seat which REALLY ruined the mood.

“Everyone, we’re rescheduling, I’m too busy.”

He’s been a player a few times, and he’s NOT good at it. All his characters end up being really generic and boring. He’s better at being the world and everything in it, not the dummy wandering around it.

Human/fighter lookin’ motherfucker

In conclusion, he’s a good DM, but he’s probably too busy to play.

Over-Powered Self Insert (Mammon)

This game is for nerds! He’s not playin’, Levi!

Fine, his character is great and amazin’ and is also him. MC! What do these numbers mean-

Mammon’s the type of player to make his character a self insert and not take it too seriously, then get really REALLY attached as the campaign progresses.

He’s the type not to make a backstory for his character either, so go wild DM MCs!

He also both purposefully and accidentally metagames a whole bunch. Like dude, YOU know this, YOUR CHARACTER DOES NOT.

Shit he forgot his dice, can he borrow some?

“Okay MC, that’s five points of piercing damage.” “I RUN OVER AND HEAL THEM! I’LL SAVE YA MC!”

Mammon goes out of his way to save MC’s character long before it would make sense in-character to do so.

“Well, as your first man it’s my duty to save your character! You’ll probably be a blubberin’ mess if I didn’t...”

He’s not the best role player, but he’s also not the worst at it either. He tends to break character when things get too serious and he doesn’t know what to do.

Notes who? He came in here with one sheet of printer paper and it’s for doodling only.

He and Asmodeus start the tavern brawls. No question about that.

Theft is very common, he’s stealing from everyone, including but not limited to: the party, the royal guards, the dead enemies, the giant fuck-you dragon that Satan dropped in there to deter Mammon from stealing...

“I’m gonna steal that crown from the dragon.” “Roll stealth.” “Nat 20 BITCHES.” “Fuck you.”

If his character dies, may the Demon King have mercy on his greedy little soul because he’s going to mope about it for a damn long time.

Over-Powered Self Insert Again (Leviathan)

His character totally isn’t a self insert, shut up! He just looks and acts like an idealized version of himself!

He’s the one with twenty pages of character info and backstory AND the amazing commissioned art.

Levi has about 40 sets of expensive blue dice that he claims gives him the best rolls but an average session with him usually leads to roughly 10 crit fails.

While his luck with dice isn’t that good, he’s the player who will get as much out of their turn as possible, AKA break out the calculators and notes we’re doing some math.

His turn goes on for at least ten minutes because of all the shit he’s doing. When you finally think it’s over he goes “I still have my movement!”

Takes notes like a madman, every bit of lore and character info is being written down, meaning it’s a headache for everyone involved if there’s a continuity error because Levi WILL point it out.

“So you all head to the east, the great Valley of-” “Hang on, valley? In the second session you said there was a mountainous area to the east.” “Levi, shut up.”

Levi is the self appointed “guys come on let’s get back on track!” player, and whoever’s DMing is grateful to have him.

Levi is kind of the opposite of Mammon in terms of character seriousness, at first he’s taking everything super seriously and then as the campaign goes on he slowly loosens up and has some fun.

Out of curiosity one day he searches up a magical girl DND class and he’s ALL OVER IT. PLEASE LET HIM BE A MAGICAL GIRL NEXT CAMPAIGN-

Damn good at roleplaying, he’s carrying the entire in-character discussion until everyone else gets into it.

The Done With Your Bullshit DM (Satan)

So, this is the game that’s supposedly summoning him all the time despite the fact that he hadn’t been up to the human world since the 50s... what the fuck is everyone on up there?

It was the 80s, probably a lot of drugs.

When Satan DMs, you can only break the rules if it enhances the story... or if it fucks with Lucifer’s really boring character.

He will fudge dice rolls every once and a while, he also gets very attached to the characters everyone has made so he doesn’t want to perma-kill any of them unless they roll a DND quadruple natural 1 sin or something.

As attached as he gets, he isn’t above completely raging, killing everyone’s characters, and ending the session if everyone’s being annoying.

Don’t worry, your characters will be safe and sound next session once everything calms down... just don’t mention how Satan burned your character sheet right in front of you. It’s your fault if you didn’t make a second copy of your character sheet!

He’s pretty decent when it comes to improv when a player stumbles into something he didn’t plan out, but that’s not going to stop him from getting a little annoyed.

Though, if you somehow manage to get to the big bad too soon... yeah sorry, he’s got a way more dramatic fight scene planned, your player’s getting conveniently blasted out of there.

As a player, Satan is pretty decent at the game overall, but he tends to be a little aggressive if there’s an overarching mystery to be solved.

He needs to understand what’s going on! He doesn’t care if it upends the plot or it’s too early to find out! He needs to know!

His character is actually distinct and different from himself, Satan thinks it’s more interesting that way. All the books he’s read have made him a pretty awesome role player!

Satan’s notebook both as a DM and a player is filled to the brim, no detail is too insignificant to be put on the page.

Satan doesn’t fear dungeon puzzles... dungeon puzzles fear Satan.

“Are you all stupid?! This puzzle is so easy a four year old could solve it!”

I ROLL TO SEDUCE- (Asmodeus)

At first he didn’t want to play, he doesn’t play these kinds of games, sweetie. He’s too pretty.

When he’s finally convinced he puts a decent amount of effort into his character, but leaves the backstory pretty open.

Asmo would probably be the bard... right? No. He’s the warlock with the magic sugar daddy patron, and the warlock patron is spoken to as such.

“Hey baby... how’ve you been? Have I been good~?” “...”

Huh! Who woulda thought that all the bedroom roleplaying would transfer so well to DND!

Simeon is the only DM that doesn’t immediately shut this down, so Asmo will be extra inclined to play if Mr. Nice Shoulders is DMing.

When he gets really into it he buys a bunch of sparkly and very pretty dice, they bring him good luck in every roll!

Asmo has a fictional harem, no question about it. It gets to the point where Satan, Lucifer, and Simeon stop describing NPCs as attractive.

He’s rolling to seduce either way, he’s turned many an antagonist into a lover. To be fair, Asmo’s horniness has gotten everyone out of a lot of jail cells... so they can’t complain.

His notes consist of really random comments about the plot and the other players. It’s also COATED with doodles.

‘Wow, this character is such an asshole, I hope Belphie kills them.’ ‘Shit.’ ‘MC looks so cute when they play their character!!!!!!!! :D’

Poor bab forgets the rules a lot... it’s just too much to remember, okay?! How was he supposed to know that he ran out of spell slots an hour ago?!

Please help him, MC...

*Dice Cronch* (Beel)

Homeboy has been given edible dice, no question. He has also eaten the non-edible dice...

Beel goes to Satan for help with making his character, and he ends up really loving the character! :D

Problem is, he’s not that good at roleplaying... D:

“Can my character eat that person?” “Beel, no- you know what? Let me check what you’d need to roll to do that.”

I’ll save you MC part 2 electric boogaloo, but when it comes to Beel, the entire party is getting protected, no matter how little it makes sense in-character.

While Beel does take notes, a lot of them don’t end up being very important for later events. For example, he’ll jot down stuff about the layout in one room, but it turns out he didn’t take notes for the room that was actually going to be used for a boss fight.

He’s always nice to the NPCs, shame Belphie doesn’t show them the same courtesy.

Murder Hobo (Belphie)

Chaotic evil.

“Belphie, your character’s alignment is neutral good, remember?” “Fuck that, this guy’s annoying me.”

If Belphie doesn’t like an NPC, it’s up to the rest of the party to stop him from derailing the campaign and killing them.

He has space themed dice because cow-man likes space and thought they were pretty.

Notes? NOTES? You think Belphegor, the Avatar of SLOTH, takes notes? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-

He’s drooling all over the notebook... ew. Someone wake him up and tell him it’s his turn.

He puts about 35% effort forth to make a halfway decent character, and approximately 4% effort to actually roleplay.

Belphie sleeps through important plot details so he’s almost always really confused. He’ll turn to MC and ask them to explain what he missed before not learning his lesson and going back to sleep.

Wake him up for the dungeon puzzles though, he and Satan love those.

“Okay, we can’t see what’s in the room because none of the conscious party members have dark vision?” “Nope, what do you do?” “...I shove Mammon inside and shut the door.” “WHAT?!”

Bonus! The Best DM (Simeon)

Our favourite angel has homebrewed this entire campaign and boy fricken howdy are these players going to enjoy it.

Simeon fudges the dice rolls to avoid anything too irreversibly bad happening, buuuuuuut he’s still a total asshole who does the random perception rolls to keep everyone on their toes.

Everyone gets a character arc god dammit, even if they don’t have a backstory, one will be provided!

He’s got a map, he’s got miniatures, he’s got dice and backup dice for the backup dice, he’s got DM notes for days!

Simeon could be a voice actor with the amount of character voices he can do, no one ever gets confused with who’s talking.

Did someone just uncover a massive bit of plot that was meant to be found out later? Good job! No harm done! Simeon’s DM improv is second to none, and the plot will adjust accordingly!

[anika-ann]

I Need a Hero (S.R.)

Type: A dad!Steve standalone or a part of the Melting Hearts ‘verse

Melting Hearts series (part 1 & part 2 & part 3 & part 4) with Avenger!reader AU.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (in absentia)  Word count: 1800

Summary: Tony is throwing a party, again. It’s moments like this (except every other minute of his existence) Steve wishes you were still here, so he wouldn’t sit at a bar, watching happy couples and generally giddy people all around.

Nosy women don’t exactly help his mood. Then again, his daughter might.

Alternatively: The First Time Grace Rogers Saved Her Father and Thus Proved She Was Her Parents’ Daughter.

Warnings: death of a parent and a spouse (in the past; reader died), completely inappropriate but innocent mention of daddy kink, language, fluff & angst

A/N: Can be read as a standalone, I suppose, but better as a trilogy of with Hell Froze Over as a whole. Preceeded by this and this dad!Steve fic from the same ‘verse. If read as a part of Hell Froze Over, remember that it’s a flashforward.

Previous dad!Steve // Previous chapter  // Story masterlist

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Steve wasn’t even sure what the gala was for, only being certain it wasn’t for celebrating Grace’s birthday – because he wouldn’t miss that. It was one of those head honchos party Tony threw from time to time, mostly for courtesy. Avengers PR. Keeping important people on their good side.

While Steve didn’t necessarily mind, he couldn’t say he was enjoying it either – and damn, he’d say all of the Avengers were getting a bit old for this and Avenging.

Grace was somewhere in the crowd, smiling politely or laughing at (usually Sam’s) jokes and he caught her bright eyes from time to time as his (and no matter how much he hated it, hers too) teammates danced with her. She was beauty. She was literal grace. She was sunshine in every dark place. She was a fighter too, he knew, but not tonight.

Steve found it hard to mingle in the large crowds. While people still did approach him, something must have radiated from him, giving his attitude away, the false smile hinting them to keep their distance. He was glad for that – but then it meant being alone was too close to being lonely.

Once again, for the millionth time, he found himself missing you. He was no dancer, but you would have convinced him to at least sway for one or two songs, and he wouldn’t even mind that people would be watching you two, possibly thinking you were being ridiculous. The light in your eyes would make him forget about all the nosy looks and his own awkward moves.

But you weren’t here, for so many years now, but he still felt the absence, painfully so. Instead of dancing, he had parked his behind at the bar, occasionally doing the required small talk, otherwise keeping an eye on Grace or talking to Natasha, who was behind the bar for the evening.

And – or rare occasion – he would have to deal with very unpleasant company.

The woman had been talking his ear off for the past few minutes; or was it hours? It felt like hours, and Steve didn’t even bother to pretend he was listening. Apparently, she didn’t care for the lack of his attention.

Or perhaps she didn’t notice – after all, she had completely ignored the lonely-wolf aura the others seemed to pick up on.

She was also very loud.

What was worse, though, was that she was starting to get tactile, putting a hand on his forearm and bicep.

And most importantly, she seemed a bit inebriated. Then again, the women these days still managed to confuse Steve occasionally. Maybe she was just that forward and alcohol didn’t even affect her brain-to-mouth filter.

She leaned to his ear – an unexplainable gesture since she didn’t bother lowering her voice – her hand on him again.

"Come on, handsome. I'm flexible – in all senses of the word-"

"Ma’am-" Steve started, having just enough of her, trying to figure out how to get her off his back without being too rude if possible. But she just wouldn’t take the hint, dammit.

"Yes, Sir? Or, yes, Captain?" she giggled in response and Steve closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. Don’t be rude. Don’t be an asshole… echoed in his head with barely any effect. "I can call you anything you want. Sir. Captain. Cap. Soldier. Even a-"

"Daddy?"

Steve froze at the voice sounding so close behind him and the hand on his other shoulder.

The touch of his companion immediately disappeared.

Natasha behind the bar barely held back a snort as the ‘flexible woman’ choked on her own spit. It wasn’t a public knowledge that Steve and Grace were related, let alone so closely – the story of Grace was simply that she had once been an enhanced whom the Avengers took in.

Oh god, this was golden. The timing.

Steve was entirely bemused at why she was with him all of sudden where there was much better company literally anywhere else. And why she had addressed him with his rightful title?

"Hi, babygirl, is everything okay?" Steve asked his daughter with concern.

This time Natasha did let out a strangled sound, disguising it as a cough. Steve was either oblivious to the beautiful double meaning or used the endearment on purpose. Probably not the latter, because Steve Rogers was not capable thinking that way about his daughter, not even when joking. Grace, on the other hand, definitely went with the addressing on purpose, Natasha was sure of it.

"Oh yuck... fucking pervert..." the woman mumbled as she took an abrupt leave, blind to the highly amused faces and one confused, belonging to the captain.

"Now everything is okay. How are enjoying the party?"

"Less than you, apparently," Steve replied, but quickly dropped his sarcastic tone as if he realized whom he was talking to. He smiled even as Grace took the seat after the ‘flexible woman’. "You danced. That's good."

Grace chuckled. "Yeah. With Tony, Sam and Bucky, because no one outside the family would dare to ask with the line of bodyguards behind my a-- back. I think a guy over there is gathering some courage… the whole evening. We’ll see how that goes. You didn't dance though."

"No one asked," Steve shrugged it off, not pointing out he was happy for the fact. "No one dances with over hundred- and fifteen-years old man."

"Barnes’ older than you. And Miss Flexible over there sure seemed eager,” Natasha noted with a grin and Steve shot her a murderous glare which she ignored in favour to prepare Grace a non-alcoholic drink.

"She was a bit much," Grace agreed with the redhead spy and Natasha just smirked.

"You know, you could have saved me, Romanoff."

Natasha scoffed. "And miss the fabulous rescue delivered by your daughter? Nah. Plus, you finally need to get back to the saddle."

Steve stiffened as the conversation took his least favourite turn. He mentally scolded himself – he totally waked into that.

"Agreed. But clearly not with her. She was terrible, dad. I'll find you a better one,” Grace declared, her gaze dancing over the crowds. “Any tips, Nat?"

"The brunette in the corner has been eyeing him." Steve shot Nat another glare as she beckoned inconspicuously to someone, probably some brunette. "But not necessarily in a predatory way."

"...in what?"

Actually, Steve didn’t want to know. He understood enough. And he didn’t want to be a part of this conversation. At all. He didn’t want to be the subject of this conversation even.

"Which one?" Grace pried, looking around almost animatedly.  

"Blue dress."

Grace glanced – presumably – at the woman, while Steve stubbornly kept glaring ahead of himself. If he ignored them, they’d stop eventually. He knew he just needed to wait it out—

Only he got betrayed coldly by his own blood. "I approve."

"Grace!"

"What? We talked about this, dad," she murmured, her face twisting in a sad grimace, lips pursed. No, he would not relent. Not about this.

"Exactly, young lady. We did. If I enter a relationship, it will be when I'm ready. On my own terms," he repeated for the hundredth time, narrowing his eyes a little when looking into her eyes. She pouted some more, but didn’t push this time and took a sip of her drink.

"Fine. Can I have a dance at least? Please?"

"Grace..." Steve sighed, not feeling like entering the dance floor.

The irony was not lost on him though; the only woman he wanted to dance with shared genes and name with the woman asking him now – and Steve had to slowly start accepting she was much more of a woman than a girl.

"Pretty, pretty please! I promise to leave your love-life alone for the evening!"

"You're gonna do that anyway, you know. And not just for the evening."

Steve narrowed his eyes strictly, heart already softening at her pleading – she just didn’t want him to be here, sulking alone. Dammit.

"You're so stubborn," she exclaimed, still watching him with pleading eyes. Steve felt himself cracking under the puppy look she was attacking him with, but tried to resist a little longer, even when knowing it was probably pointless.

"Clearly you’ve taken after me," he mumbled. Apart from the puppy eyes; that talent was definitely from her mother’s side.

"Clearly. Dance with me, dad? Please? Just one dance and I’ll leave you to whatever it is ou were doing until now."

Steve gave up, pretending not to notice Natasha showing his daughter thumbs-up.

"Well, how could I say no to the beautiful lady with those hopeful eyes..."

"Yes!" Grace chanted, immediately sliding from her stool and taking his hand to pull him towards the dance floor.

"I still can't dance, you know…"

"I don't care,” she sing-sang and Steve couldn’t help but smile fondly. She was so vivid and amazing he couldn’t believe he was his daughter sometimes.

He wasn’t sure what do to with his hands, but settled with lightly placing one on her hip and the other against hers. She smiled wildly and started swaying to the rhythm of a song Steve failed to recognize.

“You’re so full of it! You’re doing great,” she praised him and Steve allowed himself relax a little and perhaps feel a bit proud. Both for himself and for his daughter. She had begged him to dance with her – but a dance with a young lady like her was a privilege.  “Thank you, dad. I love you. I… you know I just want you to be happy, right?"

Tears stung in his eyes as she was looking up at him softly, a tiny wrinkle of concern on her forehead.

"I know, babygirl,” he admitted with a sigh, fighting off the burn in his eyes. “But pushing me won’t help. Thank you for the rescue on the other hand, that I needed."

"Anytime.”

Steve couldn’t but wonder at her reassurance. He knew she meant it. He felt their relationship shifting gradually, from father-daughter to more partnership-like one. She had been displaying care for him since her early years, probably picking up on the worry in everyone else’s eyes and soon figured out it was for him.

For Steve, she would always be his little girl, his instinct to protect her stronger than anything, but he couldn’t stop her from being protective over him as well. He wasn’t able to and he wouldn’t want it. Instead, he tried to accept it, to indulge in the feeling of being cared for instead – at least within boundaries. They were family after all – and family was everything to him as he had led her to believe that too.

“Anytime,” he echoed, squeezing her side before spinning her under his arm.

His actions were rewarded by her delighted laugh, thousands of tiny bells lighting up the room and his heart.

Before the night was over, Steve learned – thanks to Bucky's and Natasha’s plotting – that the blue dress brunette's name was Amelia. He danced one more time that night, because she shyly asked him too and he found himself unable to say no to those hopeful eyes either.

For now, she was Amelia, a woman he shared a dance with, an acquaintance and a potential friend. One day, she might become more.

────── ·❆· ──────

Epilogue

────── ·❆· ──────

Hopefully, it was as (bitter)sweet to read as to write 😌

Brace yourself, epilogue is coming ✨ This flashforward was short and the fic has been going on for quite a while, so I promise I’ll try to be quick with the heavy editing. 

Thank you for reading 🥰

[vvienne]

SANGCHENG FIC RECS

flight of a one-winged dove by bloodletter

Talking at someone is only fun for so long. That's all being a sect leader is: talking and talking to people bound by courtesy to listen to you. It's so fucking dull. A relief, then, to face one’s equal, and no less an old friend who is inclined to interrupt you whenever you ramble. He likes it. It’s one of Jiang Cheng’s best qualities.

In the years after Guanyin Temple, Nie Huaisang attends to unfinished business.

whipped by reindeercolin

Jiang Cheng blinks. “Dammit, they do think you’re dating one of us! I hate it when Wei Wuxian is right.” “Excuse me?” Nie Huaisang gives him an incredulous look. “First of all, they think I’m dating you, and if anything, they’re getting more aggressive!”

(or, the one in which Jiang Cheng has too many relatives, not enough patience, goes through a brother-divorce and finds out he has a boyfriend - in that order, more or less.)

Ponder the Manner of Things by Pip (Moirail)

It's not that Jiang Cheng can't do a quadruple flip followed by a triple toeloop. It's that his mother seems to think that's still not good enough.

Jiang Cheng is grateful that Huaisang doesn’t have the same kind of family life that he does, all - messy with expectations and cravings for closeness and nothing but vague filial piety where love is meant to be.

a matter of time and organ donation by nev_longbottom

This is it. The call he’s been waiting for. His brother had ‘an accident’ or ‘died in his sleep’ or some other lie to cover up the murder.

“Please, Mingjue is missing. He got into one of his moods and he was gone when I came back from grocery shopping. He’s not answering his phone. I don’t know if he left or was kidnapped or if something else happened. Huaisang, please, if you’ve heard anything,” Meng Yao begs.

Nie Huaisang hunts his brother's killer.

no tip necessary by tattletold

With all the nervousness of a virgin in a whorehouse, Jiang Cheng closes the door behind himself and enters, sitting on the low seat across from the escort. The pretty young man keeps his face hidden behind the delicate fan, and Jiang Cheng thinks for a moment that he recognizes the design painted onto it now that he’s closer.

It’s only when he lowers the fan and opens his eyes, wide, does Jiang Cheng paralyze with realization.

They speak at the same time in equally horrified tones.

“Jiang Cheng?”

“Nie Huaisang?”

Your Place in the Family of Things by raisedbyhyenas

No matter what happens, no matter the circumstances, Wei Wuxian will always leave and Jiang Cheng will always get stuck trying to rebuild from whatever’s left.

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

In which Jiang Cheng makes friends; gets a cat; begins to rebuild a relationship; and maybe, possibly, potentially, learns a little bit how to be happy.

sigh yourself to sleep by merthurlin

“Let me take care of you, A-Cheng.”

No one—no one has ever said that, not to Jiang Cheng. He wasn’t a very sickly child, true, but the few times he remembered being sick it was never—he had a-jie, and later on he had Wei Wuxian, for what it was worth, but he never—

halcyon days by serein

They're in a forest, it seems just the two of them.

"You have to be patient," Nie Huaisang says, "I once waited for three days to catch a sparrow."

"Three days?" Jiang Cheng replies, sceptical. He can't imagine Nie Huaisang having the attention span for that.

"It's not that hard," Nie Huaisang says, "if you know what they want, and find a way to get it for them."

[JC stumbles across an array and gets physically de-aged to be 16/17. NHS kindly offers his help to an old friend, but things... escalate.]

To Distraction by isozyme

It’s the third night of Yunmeng’s kite festival celebrations. Nie Huaisang has come visiting, eager to partake in the food, the arts, and Jiang Cheng.

-

Jiang Cheng wants to forget. Nie Huaisang has some new lube and wants to see if he can put his whole fist in somebody’s ass.

Lights, Camera, Kiss by MissMagus

When Nie Huaisang gets paired with straight porn star Jiang Cheng for a five-part series, he’s sure it will be an utter disaster. Until the cameras start rolling and their chemistry alights like wildfire.

(Or, the five times Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng have sex for their job, and the first time they have sex outside of it.)

Only the Shallow by hamburglar

When Nie Huaisang gets bored and convinces Jiang Cheng to make out with him, he’s probably not expecting to still be dealing with the guy 16 years later.

OR the story where Jiang Cheng goes into: the Cloud Recesses, denial, some bushes, the private porn library at the Unclean Realm, and subspace.

Blind for Love by manamune

Jiang Cheng is poisoned with an aphrodisiac and needs to orgasm repeatedly in order to flush it from his system.

The first person he thinks of going to for help is Nie Huaisang, who does what any good friend would do: he shoves his three decades worth of feelings for Jiang Cheng deep into the recesses of his mind, locks them up so he can pretend they don’t exist, and then fucks him so hard that he passes out.

Descending by lightningwaltz

“I want to… to not be embarrassed.”

“To not be embarrassed during what?”

“During sex.” There. Jiang Cheng can say it. “In general. Also with you right now.”

“Very good.”

“When did you become so authoritative?” Jiang Cheng wants to sound irked, but can’t quite manage anything beyond nervous curiosity.

dark water by Morgan (duckwhatduck)

There are words, somewhere, for this. Words that would put a shape to the thing that sits between them, would seal their understanding. There are words for sympathy, for friendship, for understanding, for that touch, for this feeling.

Jiang Cheng can feel them, somewhere, fluttering formless at the back of his throat, squirming under his ribcage, but he cannot grasp them. They swim beneath the surface, fish in muddy water - and like fish, they will dart away if he grabs for them incautiously, and leave him nothing but cold splashes and grit.

Or: Why talk about things when you could fuck about it instead?

never knew i was a dancer by isozyme

“What’s a stone butch and why aren’t they real?” Jiang Cheng asks, too buzzed to care too much about not being up on lesbian culture.

Huaisang pats Jiang Cheng on the no-man’s-land between her boobs and her shoulder. “You’re so useless, Jiang Cheng. A stone butch is a fictional hottie who doesn’t make you do any work at all, just wants to give head and fuck you stupid on her strap.”

“Fictional?” Jiang Cheng echoes, having - not a moment, per se, but sort of a problem where her thoughts are going too fast for her poor drunken brain to keep up with.

“Nobody actually wants to fuck a chick who’s too lazy to eat you out after,” Huaisang mumbles.

-

After leaving Wei Ying and Lan Zhan’s bachelorette party, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang decide to experiment with some outdated stereotypical lesbian sex roles.

lights out by rynleaf

“Nie-zongzhu makes the most sense,” Sect Leader Yao nods sagely, to murmurs of assent across the Jin Sect’s gold gilded banquet hall. Jin Ling, clad in opulent robes that look somewhat comical on a boy of sixteen, inclines his head as his scribe makes a notation, and the noise rises as sect leaders pat themselves and each other on the back for a decision well made.

Jiang Cheng groans and downs his cup of wine in one go.

-

In which the Sect Leaders elect a new Chief Cultivator.

shadow eternal by rynleaf

“You want me to distract the Chief Cultivator from the Annual Cultivation Conference, so you and other sect leaders can… what. Sign contracts without adult supervision?”

“If Jiang-zongzhu is amenable,” Sect Leader Ouyang repeats with a nod.

Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose. The pressure he felt building behind his eyes all morning is swiftly coalescing into a bitch of a headache. “Just what do you all think I’m capable of?”

Sect Leader Ouyang bows with a cheerful smile. “We have utmost faith in Sandu Shengshou’s abilities.”

-

In which a night hunt ends in disaster, Jiang Cheng catches a glimpse of Nie Huaisang's heart, and feelings are discussed after a certain fashion.

Four Days in Lanling by halotolerant

Nie Huaisang looks at him. ‘You are confusing me, Clan Leader Jiang, perhaps I misunderstand, but…’

‘You didn’t misunderstand. You don’t misunderstand. You understand all of it.’ For six months Jiang Cheng has been mulling this over, and now with Nie Huaisang in front of him he can’t figure out if he most wants to knock him down or kneel at his feet. What he does is try and breathe. Clench his hands at his sides. ‘And now I am going to ask you to do something for me. You have to do something for me. You have to help Jin Ling.’

Lean for Love Forever by Pip (Moirail)

Having a crush on your roommate is really embarrassing, except that's apparently the opposite of a problem. Jiang Cheng can't deny that's pretty convenient.

Wei Ying holds it up, a series of straps and buckles and velcro and wow, really a lot of leather. It has absolutely no conceivable form beyond tangled.

Nie Huaisang opens the door at exactly the moment that Wei Ying holds the thing up to Jiang Cheng’s chest, as if he’s trying to imagine how exactly it would fit onto a person, and it falls into a tangled pile between them while they stare at Huaisang in mild mortification.

acquired momentum by mongrelmind

Had Madam Yu known that this is where her son would end up, she would have gouged his eyes out with her bracelet before he made the grave mistake of looking in the direction of Nie Huaisang.

-

in which Nie Huaisang has an art show, Jiang Cheng is begrudgingly topless*, and there are. Shenanigans.

*Nie Huaisang excluded.

[valeriesarkive]

Hard to forget, pt. 1

✿ Pairing: Female reader x Taehyung ✿ Genre: Romance, twin flames ✿ AU: Coffeeshop ✿ Warnings: mature, explicit language ✿ Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Just before sunset, that is the time when lovers meet again. Did you know that everything is divinely planned? There are no coincidences. It’s been in front of your eyes all this time and what truly matters is that both of you are here. 

You have to find the reason why your paths have crossed in this life. 

The answer is there, right in front of you.

The breeze brushed gently against his face, making his eyes narrow at the sea-scented caressed. His crimson lips widened in a beautiful smile hard to forget.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen him around here. He would come back every day around 5 o’clock.

Just before sunset.

With slow but determined steps, he approaches the bar to order his favorite drink: an iced americano with extra ice. Under his arm rests a thick book that change every week and, from his slightly open shirt, hung his glasses adorned with a hand-woven rope.

After receiving his coffee, he sits at the same table as usual. There, he stayed long enough for me to memorize every feature of his defined face; his heart-shaped lips, his round nose and his dark eyes. 

 “Why don't you just ask him out instead of staring at him for hours?”

Lara whispers in my ear, causing me to jump a little in my place. My elbow slips down the bar, hitting my face in the process.

 “Dammit, Lara” I whisper, caressing my cheek.

 “You do know that every time he comes to the café you keep staring at him creepily?” She goes silent, expecting me to answer. 

“Stop it, okay? I do know that, it’s just… I cannot help myself," I reply, shrugging.  

“But hey, I don’t blame you. I mean… who wouldn’t keep looking at that hottie?” She said while returning to work. 

I attempt to hide the blush of my cheeks with my hands, trying to avoid the feeling of shame and guilt before picking up my chores long forgotten. Drying the dishes with a cloth never seemed a hard task until now, since I’m avoiding at all costs my friend’s gaze fixed on my back. I give up seconds later…  

Lara could be unbearably persistent if she wanted to.

 "Go on, ask," I turn around to face her.

She looks at me with literal sparkles on her eyes. Her body leans on one side of the bar, crossing her arm with a fake seriousness on her face knowing deep down that she was dying to let out some high-pitched squeal full of excitement. 

"Well…" Lara frowns in thought. “It seems strange to me that when you started working here a few weeks ago, he started coming over more often than usual.” 

 “Or it may just be nothing. Maybe he has more free time or I don't know, I've never stopped thinking about it.” I shrug my shoulders, again.

 “Perhaps…”

Before she could continue, a new customer interrupted her. I mentally thank the gray-haired man in front of us. I knew that my answer hadn't helped Lara to draw any conclusions, but it was the only one I could give, not knowing that man's reasons either. 

I doubted that his constant presence was because of me, maybe he just liked our coffee, the view or the music, I don't know! There could be so many motives... 

That is the moment when lovers meet again. Did you know that everything is divinely planned? 

There are no coincidences here.

❊

The afternoon was a bit busier than I thought, thanks to the beginning of high season, which only meant one thing: crowded places with tourists.

I sit on a small bench behind the bar and sigh from exhaustion. My feet throbbed in pain from being standing most of the day. I glance at the clock on the wall, shortly after feeling relieved that it was only an hour before closing time. 

My gaze runs around the place until I reach his silhouette, taking me by surprise that he was also looking at me. I smile out of courtesy to which he returns to me. 

A familiar warmth rises up my cheeks, turning them bright red. I saw how the brunette chuckled at my natural, and somewhat embarrassing reaction. I shyly turn my face quickly to hide it behind my rebel curls.

The connection between two lost souls is immediate, as well as the growing attraction between them, even if it is not obvious at first glance.

Carefully, I look again at his features and his soft profile. The dimming light of the setting sun shone on one side of his face, while on the other gradually faded. His brows were slightly furrowed as he was immersed in his reading while biting the inside of his cheek. Small waves of wind touches his now rebel  hair, leaving his forehead visible. 

I grab my small sketchbook that remained in a hiding spot under the bar, checking on the customers before I open it. I look the full pages with unknown faces and, even so, his face surpassed the others in quantity. My hand starts drawing soft lines on an empty spot, guiding myself with the reminiscence of my memories of the sunset kissing his caramel skin.  

It was almost closing time. 

More customers were leaving, yet he remained seated while calmly reading.  

While I was finishing small details of the sketch, an unknown feeling of familiarity came to my mind and a few brief flashbacks suddenly flooded me…

“____.”

“Tae!”

My notebook slips through my hands, causing a dry sound when it falls on the ground.

"____, are you okay?" Lara asks, helping me to pick up my sketchbook and pencils.

 "Yes, I think so…"  

I shake my head in a vague attempt to clear my mind of any kind of absurd thoughts. Probably that was a bad move of my imagination, asking me to draw some invented story. My breath fails me and my hands shake slightly. 

But if it was just my imagination, why did it felt so real? 

I excuse myself before running to the loo, blinded with tears. I look at my reflection in the mirror, my face was slightly sweaty and pale.

When you really pay attention you will feel alienated, as if that face you see is unalike.  

But how could they be memories if they weren't mine? 

For an instant, that seemed like hours, the rapid palpitations inside my chest stopped. 

Contradictory, I know. But if I was sure of anything, it was that person wasn’t me.

This is the most dangerous for those who refuse to see their reality, since they will live in lies for the rest of their lives.

❊

The warm breeze hits my face when I open the door of the café. I take a deep breath, clutching my hand to the handles of my tote bag before heading down the stairs. The night was clear, so you could clearly see the stars that decorated the black sky.

I walk aimlessly for several minutes trying to avoid any kind of thoughts, while my body moves by itself among people.

Closing time was harder than I thought. After unconsciously traveling to what seemed to be old memories, I was unable to concentrate even on the easiest task to accomplish. Lara, noticing my distraction, offered to finish what was left so I could go out to eat something earlier because of my pale skin.

I take one last bite of the sandwich I don't remember packing, after throwing the plastic bag into the garbage. I only remembered bringing the small sketchbook with me. 

I felt that the answer I was looking for was right there, but why? 

My attention gets caught to this particular store full of handmade accessories. Jewelry made with sea shells and small stones with different colors. My legs act on their own as I get even closer and observe everything carefully.

 "It’s a beautiful night, isn't it?" Says the woman, suddenly appearing from inside the shop.

 "It is," I smile crookedly.

Her eyes narrow a little, while her wrinkles become clearer below the streetlights. Her hair is black and long, but a few gray hairs wouldn’t go unnoticed.

 “Were you looking for something in particular?” She asks politely. 

 "Not really," I shake my head. “I’m not sure why I came here, my body just guided me to this place.”

 “Well, everything has a reason, little one…”

The lady smiles again, but this time I notice the feeling of ease and comfort. I cross my arms at the sudden chill that runs through my body.

 “I see that you are somewhat closed and distrustful, there is nothing to fear…” Her warm hands rubbed my bare arm.

 "I… I don't know what you're trying to say."

 “That's because you’re refusing to see what you've had in front of you all this time. The universe listens and sends signals that you have to accept. You should trust more in your feminine intuition and you’ll see how the view changes.”

 “I'm sorry you got the wrong idea about me, but I don’t believe in this kind of thing. Again, I’m sorry if I wasted your time.” I back away from the lady and her store, cutting abruptly  any kind of connection that I was unconsciously feeling with this place. 

 “It will never be a waste of time to guide a lost soul that’s crying out for help.”

I ran away as fast as I could from that place. I didn't know what was happening today, but there are so many strange events that made my head throb with pain and, once again, my tears flows without warning.

 "You've been remembering things, haven't you?" The lady yells before I get lost in the crowd.

I collide with more than one person. I turn around to look at the smirk on her face. Was she... was she spying on me? Was she a regular customer at the café? No, that couldn’t be possible. There was no way for her to know that. 

My legs take long strides until I get back to the lady, my mouth opens to ask her how she knew about that but my vocal chords suddenly close, preventing any sound from coming out of my throat. The woman takes her index finger over the bridge of her nose, alluding to her third eye. 

The woman offers me to walk her home, and long before I could say no, my body is guided by her unknown vibe.

The strong smell of bushes, incense and sulfur reaches my lungs once I step in her home. The terracotta-colored walls were decorated with plants hanging from the ceiling, while the corners were lined with shelves with jars, strange-shaped boxes, and stones inside. 

The house was close to the beach, so in the background you could hear the waves beat against the stones, and from its facade I could deduce that it was more than 50 years old.

The woman tells me to sit at the brown couch, disappearing seconds later down the narrow hallway. The woman returnes with a hot kettle and a few cups on a tray. In the midst of my uncertainty, I accept a cup of tea and take my first sip of the hot drink.

The sound of waves settles between us.

 "How did you know I had 'memories'?" I interrupt the silence among us. 

 "You could say that I am a witch, as historically we women with ancestral knowledge have been called." Her slim figure occupies the front seat.

A small box with a thick lid steals my attention. It was adorned with some golden design of what seems to be a tarot card. Her long bony hands were already shuffling the cards with neat skill, before splitting the deck in two and taking one by one.

 "I see..." She whispers.

 “What?” I ask curiously. 

 "Patience, ____.”

My hand that was holding the cup suddenly lost its strength. I carefully leave the mug on the plate. I don’t recall giving her my name at any moment, how did she… 

 “How do you know my name...?” I look at her skeptically. She grins at me, as if she was having fun with this situation. 

 “Have you ever heard of reincarnation?” She interlocks her hands on her lap. 

 “I've heard very little on the subject. But as I already told you, I’m not one to believe much on these types of things.” 

The woman gives me a warm smile after cupping my hands between hers. Weirdly, her  affectionateness makes my muscles relax. 

 “I'll explain briefly then. The belief in reincarnation is very old and till now it’s been present in almost every religion, especially in the dharmic ones, originating in Hinduism. This belief affirms that every human being is a reincarnated soul and they come and go like a cycle called the wheel of karma. Each soul, after shedding its material body, chooses when, where, in which family and in whom they are going to incarnate.

 >>It is also believed that each soul has an affective bond with another, a connection so strong that it will always be present in the life you decided to be. There are soulmates and twin flames. The last one are characterized by their strongest bonds of love, as well as a shared karma that must be cleared in their next life. The signs that we know our twin flame is when our body experiences an extraordinary attraction, an unusual passion and an excessive love without any logic. Your heart stops beating for seconds, you can feel chills all over your skin. You also experience feelings with an intensity that you cannot even explain. 

She goes silent once more, deeply analyzing the message of the cards in front of her. 

 “I can see here that you already know that twin flame but you have refused to listen and perceive the signs that the universe has been sending you during this time. I understand your skepticism, however intuition never fails…” 

I look at the cards in front of me for a few seconds in an attempt to process everything that the lady  told me.

It's been in front of you all this time.

My eyes are clouded again by tears wanting to come out abruptly. I couldn’t bring myself to understand why this sudden feeling of sadness and pain inside my chest. The big lump that was forming in my throat preventing me from saying a word.

 “You may have coincided in this life because you have some unfinished business. I couldn't tell you what exactly, since I am only the carrier of this message that you had to listen to. You must find why on your own and free your souls from the karma that brought you here, my girl…”

❊

I look for my shelter in the pale light of the moon. 

Despite having a hard time understanding everything about that strange woman, something deep inside of me knew that it was the only rational response to so much uncertainty. 

And if they are here and now, is what truly matters. You just have to find the reason why your paths have crossed in this life.  

I take my sketchbook out of my bag, turning the pages quickly until I reach the ones with his face. My fingers slowly run over the delicate lines of his masculine face, abruptly remembering having drawn similar faces to his long ago. 

The answer is there, right in front of you.

I throw the book away and jump, heading to my desk and picking up all the worn-out notebooks, collecting them in my arms to sit down on the floor again. I sigh before opening them, afraid to find whatever it’s in there.

Just look it up.

I open the first notebook, then the second and finish with the tenth, all opened on different sheets. I cover my mouth with my hands to prevent the loud sob from escaping my lips. My tears slips down my cheeks once more that day. 

The answer was the same on every page; there he was, portrayed in different ways and yet, still capturing his essence. That same face I’ve been drawing these past weeks, is the same I’ve been illustrating years ago, long before I’ve met him. 

That means… I’ve been getting these memories back without realizing? 

Every sketchbook belonged to each year in which I have dedicated myself to this art, which meant that I had been drawing a stranger for the past four years… 

❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊✿ ❊

Note: Hello! My name is Valerie, but you can call me Vee. This is the first story I'm sharing here, so I'm excited to finally let this precious short novel out. I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. As you can see at the beginning, this the first part of this novel, I'm planning on doing three more parts, make sure to follow me so you won't miss when I post!♡ Leave a comment if you liked it, my dm's are as well opened for constructive critics.

[wolf-and-bard]

So, I wrote a Lambert x Aiden thing because of a conversation I had with @littoraly-art, so here we go. It’s hurt/comfort, but very much on the angsty side.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: explicit language, (brief) mentions of self-harming behaviour

You can also read it on AO3 if you want to

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The hunt didn’t go according to plan. Lambert underestimated the amount of ghouls that would crawl out of that shithole and fought them well into the night, dodging and striking, dodging and striking for hours on end. They chased him through the forest and branches whipped at him. More than once, did he narrowly escape their bites and when they were dealt with and he stumbled back to light a bomb in the nest, he wasn’t fast enough on the retreat. His ears still ring and white spots dance at the margins of his vision. Lambert only notices that he’s overdosed on Thunderbolt when he’s already back at the inn he booked for the night, two ales down, and his muscles are still taut, ready to strike, while his sense of self-preservation has plummeted. Fuck. His fingers shake as he gestures for another drink. Sweat gathers at his collar, at the small of his back. He wants to sleep and rest, but he won’t be able to, not with the residue adrenaline.

“Lambert?” someone says and Lambert hunches his shoulders. Maybe if he hides his face, he won’t be recognized. But Aiden’s already emerged from the crowd and, anyway, he would have smelled Lambert the moment he set foot into the building.

“It is you!” Aiden saunters over, all neat bun and scandalously tight gear, his brown hair looking almost black in the downcast light of the inn. His smile is brilliant as he takes the chair opposite Lambert. Takes Lambert’s hands and inspects them for wounds before bringing them to his lips. “Hey, there, pup,” he murmurs against Lambert’s knuckles. Lambert’s heart does skip a beat, but with that comes a flare of anger. Aiden doesn’t get to be lovey and cheerful when Lambert wants to crawl out of his own skin. He hums something indiscernible.

“What is it? Talk to me.”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, really? Alright, if that’s how you want to play it,” Aiden says mockingly, letting Lambert’s hands go. “What? Oh, yes, it is good to see me, isn’t it? How I am? I’m so glad you asked. I managed to haggle a big fat fee on a rock troll couple that were mating up in the mountains and causing avalanches and now I’m drowning in coin. Pretty crazy, right? If I made it okay? Aww, sweetie, there’s no need to worry. Haven’t got a scratch on me. You wanna hear more about it? No, of course it isn’t too much to ask, I will happily oblige.” 

"Just... leave me alone," Lambert cuts in, and lifts his tankard to veil his face. He's good at hiding his emotion, but in the face of whatever this is and with the day he's had... well, his boundaries are more than probed.

“What? So, you can give yourself a sorry hand-job and cry yourself to sleep? No, sir, that would be incredibly pathetic and a crime against humanity.” Aiden smiles and before Lambert can keep drinking, he’s snatched the tankard away and emptied it himself. Great. Now there isn’t even that to hide behind. Lambert likes Aiden, he really does. On most occasions, he’s so overjoyed to see him that he doesn’t recognize himself. Aiden makes him feel… too many things to think about right now. Today though, Lambert’d rather be alone.

“None of your business.”

"Fine, have it your way" Aiden says with a good-natured shrug and, humming, stands. He makes a beeline for the nearest table full of average-to-handsome soldiers with the Temerian blazon on their chests, and slams a hand down on the table. His hips are cocked out, his smile sly, exposing overly sharp canines. They all look up at him with varying degrees of surprise, realisation. “Any of you boys down to fuck a mutant?” Lambert's blood runs cold, he’s had enough of this. He hurls his empty tankard across the room, angling just so he doesn't hit anyone - though no guarantee on the rebound – and leaves.

His armour, clothes and swords are scattered across the small room he rented by the time he makes it into bed, wearing only thin cotton smallclothes. He sits not two minutes, contemplating whether to go asleep or order himself more alcohol to dull the edge of his frustration even further, when Aiden comes into the room, no knock, no courtesy.

“Aren’t you off sucking flaccid cock? Or are you already done the whole lot of them?” Lambert spits, and crosses his arms over his bare chest. Aiden’s eyes darken and he shuts the door behind himself, forceful enough that it rattles, then slips out of his own armour and boots without much ceremony. “Go get your own room, asshole.”

“You know what? Go fuck yourself,” Aiden replies in a measured manner. All his earlier aloofness is gone, replaced by a gravity Lambert has a hard time looking at. Aiden sorts both their stuff into neat piles, then takes Lambert’s swords to the corner chair. Lambert stares at his own knees, but he can hear every tiny movement of Aiden’s hands as he cleans Lambert’s swords, inspects them for chips, pulls out a whetstone to restore their edge. The amount of care this alone conveys almost brings tears to Lambert’s eyes. Aiden could be deep-throating handsome soldiers right now, but instead he’s here, doing for Lambert what he doesn’t have the energy left to do for himself.

When he’s done the swords, Aiden does the same to his own pair, then examines the two sets of armour plating for tears or gashes that need mending. He lines up both chests of potions and counts out what’s missing, takes notes for ingredients. It’s a normal routine, only that usually, each witcher does it for himself. Lambert feels a mixture of embarrassment and affection heat his cheeks, but he doesn’t look up, not yet. Only when Aiden finishes with a soft exhale and wanders over to the bed which dips under his weight, does Lambert uncross his arms. Dares to take a peek. Fuck. He shouldn’t have. Aiden’s pupils are wide in the starlight that falls through the single window, the moon painting him in blues and silvers. Some of his hair has escaped his bun and his lips part on a sigh that expose his teeth. He’s a fucking vision, too gorgeous to be sitting here.

For once, there is quiet, so rare with the two of them. If Lambert lets go of consciousness a little more, it almost feels like a dream. If it were, he would reach out, draw Aiden onto his lap, lose himself in the familiar glide of their bodies against one another. As it is, the silence hangs by a thread and Lambert cuts it, edges fraying into dust between them.

“What,” he barks and Aiden sighs again.

“The only cock I want to suck is yours, idiot. Flaccid or not.

“Is that so?”

“Yes? I thought I had made that abundantly clear.” Aiden has. There have probably been more blowjobs than nights they shared a bed, altogether. And maybe that’s the problem. Aiden might not seem it now, but one day Lambert’s cock will not be enough to make up for his mouth.

"Why were you so obnoxious then?" he asks.

"Because you need to learn not to push me away, Lamb. I'm here, I understand, I'm yours." Three quick sentences that puncture Lambert like barbed arrows. I'm here feels like sparks of an off-kilter Igni that eat at his fingertips. I understand goes right to his gut and makes him feel like he is out on the rocky sea, in a rickety boat all by himself, at the storm's mercy. I'm yours is the lightning that strikes then and short-circuits his nervous system into small spams. He takes a deep breath and the soft kiss Aiden places on the corner of his mouth when he leans over helps quell the panic. "I can't change how I am," he says. Prickly, loud-mouthed, mean.

"You really aren't... no, that's not gonna work, is it? C’mere." Aiden crawls over the bed and settles next to Lambert, draws him against him, his strong arms wrapped firmly around Lambert's bare chest. Lambert's head is throbbing lightly, heartrate kept accelerated from the alcohol, but he deflates a little. Notices the small vial with almost clear liquid Aiden is holding between his index and middle finger. “You didn’t drink it, did you?”

Lambert shrugs. So, maybe he forgot to take the White Honey, fucked-up as he was. So, maybe he didn’t want to take it, stay fucked-up a little longer. He has days like this, where the lingering toxicity of the potions stokes some dark flame deep inside of him, kindled by his hatred for what he is, what he has become. Lambert isn’t prone to self-harm, but this, well. This he is prone to and Aiden is seeing right through him. Fucking cat, fucking.... is this love yet?

“I didn’t.”

“So, do it now.” Aiden uncorks the bottle with one hand and his grip on Lambert tightens so that he would have to struggle to escape it. For a moment, Lambert thinks about refusing. He wants to wallow, dammit, he wants to pity himself and maybe have Aiden pity him too. “Don’t think about it, pup. You can bullshit your way around other people, but not around me,” Aiden continues and holds the vial to Lambert’s lips. Lambert snatches it away and empties it in two long drags. Immediately, his vision sharpens and his lungs clear. His muscles stop trembling and his heartrate settles into its normal, mutated rhythm. “Better?”

“Better,” Lambert agrees sulkily. He tosses the vial aside and sinks back against Aiden.

“You’re really stupid sometimes, you know that?” Aiden says with a sharp edge to his voice, but he noses at Lambert’s ear, under it, breath hot over the skin of Lambert’s throat.

“You’re the one that’s stupid…” Stupid for caring for me. Stupid for still being here.

“Will you stop it already? I’m trying so hard to be patient and you keep pushing me away. Did you forget who I am? What we share?”

“I didn’t,” Lambert says. He is weak and tired. He lets Aiden tug at his chin and half-turn him for a kiss that lingers even after their lips part for breath.

“Then drop the farce. Fuck, I don’t know what to say to you,” Aiden whispers against his mouth, chasing each word with a kiss to Lambert’s lips, the corners of his mouth, his nose. “I love you, Lambert, I love you so fucking much, but I can’t keep prying you out of your shell. Don’t you trust me?”

I want to love you too, Lambert thinks.

With my life, Lambert thinks.

You’re the best person I’ve ever met, Lambert thinks.

But he isn’t ready for that yet and so he settles for the next best thing: “I’m sorry.” The rest of it he pours into their next kiss, one that feels frozen in time for how slow and indulgent it is, the world reduced to the drag of their lips and the scratch of Aiden’s canines, the stuttering of his breath. Lambert wriggles around until he straddles Aiden’s lap with his thighs and frames Aiden’s tanned face with his scarred, pale fingers. Even paler next to his lover. Aiden fucking glows and Lambert is less a man, more a phantom next to him.

“Fuck, puppy, you’re so beautiful, do you know that?” Aiden gasps when they part once more. His hands are splayed over Lambert’s upper back and they are both half-hard against one another, but Lambert doesn’t feel like sex. He feels like curling up and having a good cry. He feels like kissing Aiden again, and so he does.

“And here I am, trying so hard to hide it so you peasants don’t feel bad about yourselves,” Lambert says, on instinct more than anything else. He wants to slap himself, this is exactly what Aiden meant, isn’t it? But Aiden laughs, the fucker, a clear sound that sets loose something fluttery inside of Lambert. Shit. It is love. “I thought the scar would have done the job.”

“Joke’s on you, I adore the scar.” Aiden presses his lips to the bottom of it and drags them along, skipping Lambert’s eye in favour of nuzzling his forehead. It’s ridiculous. It tickles. Lambert laughs and hides his face in Aiden’s neck. Aiden sighs and his hands wander up to Lambert’s head, cradling it. “Promise me something, pup?”

Anything, Lambert thinks. He grunts.

“Allow yourself this. I don’t need you to fall onto your knees and profess your love in some grand gesture, but… don’t shut me out. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you.”

Lambert falls asleep like that, tucked against Aiden’s chest and he wakes in the morning facing the sunrise with an arm slung around his bare torso and Aiden’s nose pressed against the nape of his neck. He allows it to last.