#there’s something very special and important to me about his frayed shirt sleeves. with his fancy jewellery

[messrmoonyy]

Dutch Van Der Linde + Details

[shadowywerewolfqueen]

I Don’t Want a Soulmate

Dean Winchester stared at the clock with rapt attention. In exactly fifty-eight seconds he would be turning eighteen and somewhere on his body, his soulmate tattoo would appear. He glanced over at his younger brother who was fast asleep. Sam was in awe of the idea of having a mark on your body that was a perfect match to another person’s. Even though he was four years from getting his mark, for the past few months, it had been the only thing he wanted to talk about.

“Dean, what do you think yours will be?” “Do you think it will hurt when it appears?” “How long do you think it will take for you to find your soulmate?” “What if you don’t like your soulmate?”

Dean had finally shouted at his brother to quit asking about the stupid things. Unlike Sam, Dean hated the idea of the soulmate marks. He was furious that he didn’t get to choose the person he was going to spend his life with. He had learned all too well how fate could be a bitch. His parents were a perfect example.

Mary Campbell had been the sweetest, most outgoing person who saw the good in everything. Mary Winchester was a shell of the person she was before she met John Winchester. After enduring years of abuse from John, Mary took her own life when Dean was thirteen and Sam was nine. Dean had sworn to himself that if his soulmate were anything like John, he would never stay with them.

Dean watched anxiously as the seconds on the clock ticked down. As soon as the time changed to midnight, he felt a bright hot pain sear into his left shoulder. He gritted his teeth through the pain, not wanting to wake up his sleeping brother. Once the pain had faded, Dean walked into the bathroom to see what his mark looked like. He stood in front of the mirror and slowly pulled his shirt sleeve back.

Dean’s mark was a simple hourglass with equal amounts of green sand in the top bulb and blue sand in the bottom bulb. “Well, it’s not the worst mark I’ve ever seen,” Dean muttered into the quiet bathroom. He glared at the mark as he pulled his sleeve down to cover it. He was going to do his best to pretend like the thing didn’t even exist.

                                                           *****

Dean was standing at the bar drying shot glasses when the seat in front of hum was suddenly filled with six feet of aggravated Castiel Novak. Dean grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured the tattoo artist a shot before sliding it over to him. Cas glanced up at him with a mumbled, “Thanks.”

Dean threw the towel over his shoulder and leaned forward on the counter, his elbows supporting most of his weight. “What’s got your panties in a knot?”

Cas slammed the empty shot glass down as he growled, “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t wear panties.” He smirked at his roommate as he said, “You on the other hand have quite an extensive collection.”

Dean grinned, completely unashamed. “Damn straight! I’m telling you buddy the material feels so good against your skin and they hug you in all the right places.”

“As I always say, I’ll take your word for it. Pour me another shot.” Cas slid the glass back over to Dean.

Dean poured more whiskey into the glass. Cas went to reach for it, but Dean shook his head. “Nah ah, not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Give me the damn glass, Dean,” Cas snarled.

Dean glared at his friend, refusing to follow his order. “No. Something happened and I want to know what.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m your roommate, but also because I’m your friend, Cas. I need to know if I have to go beat somebody up,” Dean answered.

“We’ve only been roommates for a few weeks Dean.”

“And?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.

Cas huffed but finally said, “Balth dumped me for some twink in tight little boy shorts. Like, if the dude is even eighteen, I’d be surprised. We’ve been together for two years and he cheated on me for a fucking twink! What the hell does he have that I don’t?”

Dean passed the shot glass over and Cas downed it in one go. He held the bottle out and said, “Here, you need this.” Cas took a long gulp from the bottle. “I’m sorry, Cas. I know you really liked him.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Truthfully, I don’t know how much I liked him anymore. The past few months haven’t been all that great. I think I’m more pissed about the fact that he refused to break up with me to my face. Not to mention, he chose somebody that’s at least a decade younger than me. Great boost to my ego.”

Dean reached out to grip Cas’ shoulder in a comforting embrace. “Look, Balth was a douche and you deserve so much better. If he can’t see how great of a guy you are, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

Cas flashed a small grin at his friend. “Thanks Dean. You know, I still can’t fathom why you are single. I mean, it’s not like you give a shit about the whole soulmate mark so why not have a little fun?”

“Why even start something with somebody if they’re just gonna leave you in the end? I’m ok with being single for the rest of my life,” Dean replied with a shrug.

“So, why don’t you go look for your soulmate then? I know you’re afraid after what happened with your mom, but you’ve got to try, Dean,” Cas insisted.

“No,” Dean said sternly. “I’d rather be single than find out that my so-called perfect match is some douchebag.”

Cas frowned. “I wish you would let me see your mark. I’m sure it’s something awesome.”

“It’s nothing special. Besides, it’s not like you’ve ever let me see yours,” Dean shot back.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to since you’ve made it very clear how you feel about them. Hell, I learned about your panty collection on the second day of knowing you and you made less of a fuss about that. You nearly bit my head off when I asked about your mark.” Cas lifted the bottle to his lips and took another sip from it.

“Did you ever see Balth’s mark?” Dean asked softly.

Cas nodded as he answered, “Yeah, it was some weird cross thing. Not even close to matching mine.”

Dean sighed. He had only known Cas for a few weeks, but he was the best roommate Dean had ever had. The previous three had been nothing but trouble. One brought all their dates to the apartment and Dean had to listen to them going at it all night. Another smoked pot nonstop. Dean wasn’t a prude; he’d tried a lot of things in his twenty-five years of life but even he didn’t want his apartment smelling like a pot factory nonstop. The one before Cas had been ok except for the fact that they didn’t pay their part of the rent, so Dean kicked them out.

From the very first day, Cas had been an enigma. Cas was the only tattoo artist Dean knew who didn’t have a single tattoo of his own. When Dean had asked why, Cas said he didn’t want to have them, and his soulmate not like them. Dean had scoffed at they, saying it was Cas’ body and he should be able to do to it what he wanted.

That wasn’t the only weird thing about Cas, though. His favorite piece of clothing was an old tan trench coat that was frayed at the seams and had a few odd stains on it. Cas said he’d had it since he was a teenager and couldn’t bear to part with it. Cas also had an unhealthy obsession with bees and botany. Dean had listened to dozens of lectures about how important bees were to the environment and which flowers attracted them the most. The weirdest thing about Cas was the way he always tilted his head and scrunched his eyes and nose when he was confused. Living with Dean meant he was confused most of the time.

Even though Cas was an odd guy and was taken, Dean had quickly fallen head over heels for him. Before Cas, he would have never spent hours watching nature documentaries or thought that anybody would look good in a baggy trench coat. Dean’s heart stuttered every time he caught Cas doing the adorable head tilt thing.

It was because he was so in love with Cas that Dean said, “If you show me your mark, I’ll show you mine.”

Dean nearly dropped the glass he was holding when Cas cocked his head and scrunched his eyes. “You’ve never wanted to see it before, why now?”

“MaybebecauseIlikeyou,” Dean said in one go.

“Uh, Dean. I didn’t understand a thing you just said.”

Dean sighed before slowly saying, “Maybe because I like you.” Dean felt bile rising as Cas continued to stare at him. “Oh shit, you don’t feel the same way. Fuck, you just broke up with your boyfriend and here I am admitting I have feelings for you.” Dean dropped his eyes and muttered, “Way to go Winchester.”

“Dean look at me,” Cas said gently. Dean slowly lifted his eyes to lock with Cas’ blue ones. “Maybe I like you too. It was just one more thing that was driving Balth and I apart.”

“Oh great, I’m the reason your boyfriend of two years cheated on you,” Dean cried as he threw his hands in the air.

“No, you weren’t,” Cas assured. “We’ve been falling apart for months, so please don’t blame yourself. If I truly loved him, there’s no way I would have fallen for you.” Cas grabbed Dean’s hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. “Dean, I don’t care if our marks don’t match. If we start something, I’m not going to leave you for some stranger who has the same mark as I do.” Before Dean could reply, Cas pulled his left shirt sleeve up and exposed his mark to the dim light.

Dean gasped as his eyes locked on the hourglass filled with green and blue sand. He shook his head, whispering, “It can’t be,” over and over. He tore his eyes away from the mark to stare at Cas wide eyed.

“Dean, is everything alright?” Cas asked with concern.

Dean’s hand shook as he grabbed his shirt sleeve and slid it up over his shoulder, allowing Cas to the see the mark etched into his skin. Cas’ jaw fell as he stared at the mark. Cas looked at Dean, his expression a mirror image. “Our marks… they match.”

“Yeah,” Dean said shakily.

“I can’t believe this. I’ve imagined meeting my soulmate hundreds of times, but I never imagined he’d end up being my roommate,” Cas said in awe.

Dean was hesitant as he replied, “I’ve always been so afraid of meeting mine. I hated that fate got to decide my perfect match instead of me.”

“And now?” Cas asked hopefully.

Dean’s lips spread into a bright smile. “Now, I guess I have to admit fate knew what it was doing when it picked my soulmate.” He grabbed a fistful of Cas’ shirt and pulled him across the counter. Their mouths met in the middle. Dean moved his lips against Cas’ and marveled at how soft they felt. Cas moaned and Dean took the opportunity to lick into his mouth. Their tongues danced with one another as the kiss deepened. As they broke apart, Dean whispered, “I think I might already be in love with you.”

Cas kissed Dean again before replying, “I know I’m already in love with you.”

Tagging: @lonewolf34500 @notwithd @multifandom-fanatic @flowersforcas @cockleslovesdestiel

[noocturnalchild]

SEALED IN MARBLE  Chapter II  The First Sins

The church bells chimed, announcing Lauds, the dawn prayers. Father Garupe woke up drowning in his sweat .

He reached down his mattress to find the package, still in the same place where he had put it last night.

***

Last morning he was incautious enough to go to the sculptor’s atelier in his clerical robes. What he did was like an act of bravery, as if he wanted to know if his legs could lead him there. And there he went, without any plan in mind, and just stood for minutes, gazing at the surroundings before turning on his heels and hoping that no one saw a black robe prowl in the corner.

Francisco had to think.  

If he wanted to present himself to the sculptor, he had to do it under a false name and in secular clothes. He had to invent a past and a family and a profession and maybe speak in another tone that wouldn’t give him away as a man of God. In short, he had to lie.

- “Francisco!”

Father Rodrigues had to rise his tone a bit louder than necessary, and as it earned him disproval stares from his superiors, his friend was all but ready to listen.

Garupe was fumbling with his spoon and staring at his untouched supper when he deigned to answer.

- “What?”

- “Parchment, Garupe, I was asking you for extra parchment!” an irritated Rodrigues hissed.

- “You can have mine for tonight, I think I am feeling sick today…” Garupe muttered and he excused himself. It was his second lie that day.

But instead of returning to his cell, he slipped in the kitchen through a back door, then into the dorms of the manservants. There, he made quick business of “borrowing” the clothes of one that was about his height and size, following which he almost ran to his room and closed the door behind him, like a thief.

***

Garupe proceeded to his ablutions and fell into step behind the other priests for the prayers of dawn. He prayed with the same devotion and sincerity as always, trying to ignore what he did and what he was about to do. It was something he should be ashamed of, but once he had the money in his hands, he would confess all his sins. He had time and he should help a powerless widow and three little angels that had no sins but to be born women. Weren’t the Jesuit ideals all about linking faith with justice and having special concern for the poor and the oppressed? And wasn’t he following these very values by acting like he did? Garupe felt suddenly thrilled and stayed on his knees till Prime prayers, reinvigorated by a hope so big it made him fly to meet his superior just after the last psalms were recited.

- Father Garupe, I see you overjoyed this morning, I might attribute your elation to the prayer, I wish.  

Garupe retorted in a tone he wished composed.

- “Always, your excellence.” Garupe smiled before adding “Pardon me, your excellence, I came to you for a request… Yesterday, I went for a walk after prayers… on my way, I saw a poor family …a deplorable sight… I took pity on them, for as your excellence knows, that’s what Christ would do … and I promised to return today, and to visit them regularly with some … food to meet their needs for a few days … after your permission, of course.”

- “Good my son, good…” the brows of the bishop knotted for a second and he flexed his jaw, as if to comment something, but then he relaxed as he continued “You might go now, may the holy spirit accompany you in your endeavour.”

Garupe held his breath for many seconds after his encounter with his superior. He couldn’t believe that he could lie so blatantly and repeatedly in a span of a few hours… But he pushed his guilt away for now, as his legs performed lengthy strides and stilled behind a dilapidated wall.  He hopped over a barrier and sank into a small but luxuriant wood. There, he quickly changed into secular clothes, kissed his rosary and hid it in a deep pocket of his priest robe before folding it in a sack.

The sun was high in the sky when the priest knocked on the master sculptor’s door. He waited for seconds that felt like hours, mentally prepared to greet an old man, august and condescending, but instead he saw a boy, running through the yard to swiftly open the door, big crooked smile and wide eyes meeting his.

- “Excellent day milord! please come in”, the boy shouted, bowing and scraping.

Garupe nodded and followed the boy through the yard. The place revealed more of its secrets as he progressed in its depths. The garden, whilst vaster that he thought, wasn’t maintained and looked more like a messy bush, wild flowers and vines that grew past its borders and invaded parts of the yard, climbed the marbles statues, the fountain’s borders, the walls and the roof of an elegant albeit old building,  which first floor was framed with tall windows that reflected the sunlight. Garupe was lost in the enchanting beauty of the place as he was pushed inside a fresh gallery that led to a big empty room, solely lit by two windows on the ceiling that scattered liquid squares of light on the floor and illuminated a block of raw marble and a table displaying a variety of sculpting tools, rags and bottles.

The boy extracted him from his bewilderment when he finally spoke.

- “ I’m Miguel, Master De Luna’s apprentice, milord, to whom do I have the honor to speak?”

Garupe gasped as the sense of reality caught him again, he swallowed a lump in his throat and spoke as calmly as he could:

- “Vicente Santos. Servant.“

Garupe couldn’t lie further, as he was indeed in the simple clothes of a low ranked man.

As the boy stayed silent, Garupe added:

- “I heard you are in search of models…” he lied carefully and was relieved when he saw the boy relax, another wide smile appearing on his juvenile face:

- “You come in time milord” - the boy continued to address him using the same epithet even after revealing his low rank - “usually we choose them, but my master is about to start a new …particular work, we have one job available milord, if you…” – the boy gave Garupe a prolonged look, up and down, which made him nervous- “… oh but my master should see you first! please wait for me here? milord?“

And the boy slipped away before Garupe could utter a word.

An eternity seemed to pass before the boy appeared again, an eternity where Father Francisco Garupe regretted a thousand times his acts and decisions, but just as he was thinking about running away and abandoning his impossible adventure, the boy reappeared, followed closely by a small frame in …a cloak. A large dark cloak that hid the shape of the master’s body and face …

Garupe narrowed his eyes but, and as to make the task even harder, the master stood in the shadow, where the squares of light couldn’t reach his face. The master stood still, not speaking, not budging, but Garupe felt him staring at him and taking him in with invisible eyes, covered by veils of darkness. Garupe felt a chill run down his spine, and a spontaneous prayer played on his lips as he tried to focus and say something to alleviate the dread that began to take hold on him.

- “Vicente Santos, master, at your service.” Garupe offered a small bow, "I believe your apprentice informed you of the reasons of my visit."

The Master returned the bow and simply hummed, what Garuped believed was a hum of appreciation.

The boy then spoke again:

- “My master can’t speak, but with him present here, I can explain to you the details of the job.”

The master nodded as to encourage the boy to continue.

- “I hope milord here wouldn’t be bothered to pose without clothes on…” the boy coughed, “as my master is about to make a big work of art, a representation of the original man, no less, biblical Adam, milord.” And the boy opened his arms with emphasis as to demonstrate the importance of the work.

Garupe felt the world spin around him as he tried to make sense of what he had just heard. Did he miss something? Clearly not. They were telling him that the only work available was nude modelling!

- “I beg your pardon, Master” Garupe tried to adjust nervously the sleeves of his shirt. “As it is my first time in the business … I … I’m afraid I’m not comfortable enough…with such ideas.”

- “Models posing nude are doble paid, milord” the boy cut him off, yelling with enthusiasm, before the master stretched a cloaked hand and led him violently off the room.

The brisk reaction of the master sculptor made Garupe gasp in shock. But as he pulled himself together, he thought God was giving him a second chance to run away. He should, now, or never. He should say no, no matter how much they offered, no matter how strong the temptation would be.

Yes, leave now.

But just as he was about to turn away and disappear, the sculptor and his apprentice showed up again, like evil spirits from the depths of hell. Miguel ran to him and whispered something in his ear, something that made Garupe’s eyes almost roll out of their orbits. And that’s how he knew that he was really being tested.

- “All… all that, just to strip?”

The master sculptor nodded from his spot in the dusty darkness, and Garupe swallowed thick.

Shall he? Should he? Could he?

Lord, have mercy.

- “My master thinks that you are the man for the job.” Miguel re-entered the fray again, “I assure you milord, you’ll be a perfect Adam. Just think of your body as a tool, and it is, as you will see, as important for the art as the ones you see on that table. Just look at this block of dead marble. Do you think it’s worth a Real if not polished and worked to imitate life? And do you think it can stand in the most prestigious palaces of this town and arouse admiration and wonder in the eyes of kings and prelates if the very life that inspires it is mediocre?”

- “Excuse me”, Garupe replied, confused and a bit taken aback by the boy’s words, that seemed all but his. “How… how do you know that I … I would be what you are looking for if you’ve not seen … me yet.” Garupe couldn’t bring himself to mention his body, as tension grew tighter in his stomach. He had never imagined that a day would come when he would have a conversation about the worth of his body with anyone, ever, not even his confessor.

- “My master here is a connoisseur, and he has seen your face, milord.” The boy smiled, radiant. Garupe couldn’t help but notice the troubling contrast between his words, that were those of a grown adult man, and his facial expressions, that belonged to a no more than twelve year old boy.

- “How is my face…” Garupe stopped in the middle of his sentence. It was ridiculous, the fact alone that he wasn’t already taking leave, was ridiculous. The fact that he was here trying to discuss things that weren’t even in the realm of possibility for him was absurd. He tried to collect his courage and refuse, leave, return to his prayers and routine and forget about the letter, tuck it away, burn it, pretend he never received it… but Miguel, that little devil, was approaching him again with that big smile and the master’s eyes were so persistent on him, a burning stare he could feel but not see .

- “Milord, what had brought you here to model, is, I assume, a scarcity of money, and here my master is bidding you plenty of it just to strip of a few clothes, which, my master believes, is a very generous offer.”

- “It is, a very generous offer indeed”, Garupe found himself muttering. “But…“

- “Just a try, milord, I assure you, you will not regret it, let me help you, think of all the possibilities, do you have a family to feed, maybe a beautiful wife that you want to please? Or maybe parents that are in need?”

Garupe shook his head… Parents in need.

- “Fine! I will! I will.” He didn’t know, maybe another man shouted those words because what Father Francisco Garupe wanted now, was to be buried six feet deep, that was better than the disgrace he managed to become in such a short timeframe.

In the worst case, Garupe thought, chasing away his guilt, he could take the money that the master would give him today and never return again. But deep inside, the stubborn priest refused to accept that all he had done till now, all the risks he had been taking would come to nothing, that all the sins (and they were aggravated in his mind), would have been committed to no end at all. That would make them worse in his eyes, and he was sure, in God’s eyes too.  

- “I will.”

His voice was his that time, resolute and determined as he started to work on his vest’s buttons, carefully avoiding the two pairs of eyes that were avidly waiting, like for the doors of Heaven to open.

[riotwritesthings]

As I Want You to Be

WinterIron, college AU, E, 2.4k | AO3

Written for @adoctoraday24, with special thanks to @desitonystark for the wonderful, delicious suggestions and encouragement.

Based on this gif. (I don’t know WHY this took me so long to write but I am so happy to finally have it out of my WIPs ahaha. I hope you like it!)

-

Tony picks at the loose threads at the knee of his jeans, sighs, slumps back against the bench and kicks his legs out. “Can’t believe I rushed through my homework for this, asshole can’t even show up on time,” he grumbles to himself because seriously, he could have just brought a book with him if he’d known he was going to be left waiting. Not that he even has another class until Tuesday, but Tony hadn’t wanted to have to worry about anything this weekend.

He looks up at the sound of approaching footsteps, but quickly drops his gaze again when he doesn’t recognize the silhouettes. It’s pretty dark out already, but at this point Tony would recognize his dumb boyfriend and his dumb boyfriend’s friends even in a blackout. This is just a couple of guys half drunk and on their way to a party to get properly wasted, if Tony had to guess. He returns to picking at the loose threads on his clothes, knowing that he’s just making the fraying worse, and grins a little victoriously when he realizes this is the flannel he ‘borrowed’ a couple weeks ago.

“Hey get a load of this,” one of the guys says and yep, Tony was right. Definitely half drunk. He can practically smell it as they get closer and then the same one calls “shouldn’t you be on a leash?”

Tony sighs, resists the urge to roll his eyes with everything he has. Here they go, apparently. “I’m free range, pending a behavioral review,” Tony mutters sarcastically under his breath, doesn’t even care if they can hear him or not.

“Where’s the muzzle?” The other asshole asks and now they’re pausing in front of Tony’s bench, giving him speculative sneers.

“Are you asking me if I bite?” Tony asks, raising one eyebrow pointedly, “because that seems awful personal.” He pushes himself to his feet, and he knows he’s not that tall but confidence is half the battle. And Tony knows how to fake confidence in spades, even if the sleeves of his flannel shirt are falling down over his clenched fists. “Or did you mean in a sort of, ‘do I fight fair’ kind of way? Because the answer is no.”

For a second it looks like the assholes are actually going to start a fight, and Tony is almost looking forward to it, but then they just sneer again, apparently decide their party is more important, and stumble on along their way with a couple more insults that Tony just tunes out. They’re not even that creative. Before he can sit down again the sound of quiet laughter has him spinning on his heel and there’s Bucky. Finally.

“Hey babydoll,” Bucky says in greeting, his smile wide and his eyes warm, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket as he strolls up. “Still can’t believe there was ever a time I thought I had to worry ‘bout you.”

“Don’t you ‘hey babydoll’ me, you are late,” Tony says with a pout. He can’t stop himself from stepping closer though, loving the way he has to tip his head back to continue meeting Bucky’s eyes, loving the warmth that pours off of Bucky.

“By five minutes,” Bucky says with a fond grin, leans in to scrape his teeth over Tony’s lip lower lip and then kisses him, swallows down Tony’s gasp. One of his hands comes up to tug at the thick leather collar around Tony’s neck, his finger looped thought the metal D ring, and Tony breaks away from the kiss with a whine. “Been looking forward to this,” Bucky says, voice a little rougher than it was before.

“Judging by the fact that I was the one actually on time, I’m gonna say I’ve been looking forward to it more,” Tony can’t resist saying, even as he gasps for breath and leans further into Bucky’s space. ‘ Looking forward to it ’ is an understatement, really, Tony has been thinking about this all week. He may have spent more than one of his classes just day dreaming about it, because with both of them having roommates privacy isn’t something get very often. Especially not an entire weekend’s worth of privacy.

“That mean you’re ready to go?” Bucky asks, gives the collar another tug and grins when Tony collapses forward against him.

“I’m about to leave without you,” Tony mutters even as he wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist, “I know where your place is. I’ll just bust in through the window.”

“What a rule breaker,” Bucky says with a laugh, “I like that in a guy.” He finally lets go of the collar to wrap his arm around Tony’s shoulders instead. He starts leading them back towards his apartment, where his roommate Steve is going to be gone all weekend. Tony’s heart is already racing in his chest and he doesn't see it slowing down any time soon. “You eaten yet?” Bucky asks, keeping Tony tucked in close to his side as they walk.

It’s not really that cold, especially because Tony actually remembered to wear his thicker jacket for once, but he's not going to complain about the close proximity. They spend the walk planning what leftovers they're going to eat in front of what terrible movie, and by the time they make it through the front door Tony is almost surprised to find himself spun around and pressed against it. Bucky kisses him with a startling intensity, like they weren't just laughing and mocking each other's movie tastes, and all Tony can do is melt under it.

He's so distracted with the way Bucky is determined to re-familiarize himself with every inch of Tony's mouth that he doesn't even notice Bucky is up to anything else until there's a distinctive click and a familiar weight tugs at the thick leather band around his neck. Tony breaks away from the kiss to drop his head back against the door with a loud groan, the chain leash making a soft sound as it hangs from his neck and falls against his chest.

"There you are," Bucky says with a wicked smile. He drags his palm down Tony's chest, right over the chain and Tony would swear he can feel the chill of it even through all his layers.

And he can't let Bucky get away with that, can't be the only one losing his mind, so Tony does his best to just smile back as he says "well, guess I'll just make myself at home then." He unzips his jacket, shrugs it off and lets it drop to the ground.

"That's my shirt," Bucky growls out after a couple seconds of just staring, eyes going gratifyingly dark as they drag down Tony's chest. The way Bucky's breath hitches in his throat is almost hilarious, because Tony is literally wearing a collar that Bucky bought for him, but honestly Tony is all for anything that gets Bucky looking at him like this. Dark and hungry and possessive.

Bucky crowds him in tighter against the door and it's so tempting to just go with it, to let himself get caught up in the heat of Bucky's lips pressing against his own again. But then Tony's stomach growls and reminds him that oh right, he was promised leftovers and he's kind of starving. It's with only some regret that Tony pulls away from the kiss, can't help grinning as he thinks to himself that they have all weekend, after all.

"Pretty sure this is my shirt, now," Tony says smugly as he ducks under Bucky's arm, letting his hand linger against Bucky's side as he finally steps away and into the small living room. "Plus, if I don't get some food soon I'm going to starve to death, and you'll have to bury me in this shirt," Tony says, carefully draping the chain leash around his shoulders like a boa before sashaying his way to the kitchen. The sound of Bucky’s laughter echoes after him, loud and gorgeous.

They end up ordering pizza, because Steve apparently ate everything in the house before he left for the weekend, and eat the entire thing on the couch in front of a movie decided by coin flip. It's something artsy and depressing that probably belongs to Steve and neither of them enjoy past it's incredible potential for mocking. At some point Tony becomes aware of the quiet jingle of the chain, and he looks over to find that Bucky has the leather loop in his hand, twisting it gently between his fingers. What’s really interesting though is the look on Bucky’s face, his gaze predatory and it knocks a hard breath out of Tony’s chest. As soon as he realizes he’s caught Tony’s attention Bucky smirks, gives the leash a light tug that Tony wouldn’t even dream of not following.

Bucky draws him into a kiss that starts out sweet and quickly turns deep and filthy, Bucky’s free hand cupping the back of Tony’s head and pulling him closer, his nails scraping over the short hair at the base of Tony’s skull. Before he knows it Tony is halfway across the couch, his palms braced on Bucky's chest as he tries to press closer, tries to chase the addictive heat of Bucky's mouth against his own. Tony has spent the past week in a state of low grade arousal, and it feels like a wildfire finally bursting free to spread rapidly through his whole body.

“You done watchin’ the movie?" Bucky asks, voice low and rumbling as he drags his lips along the line of Tony's jaw. His hands slide down Tony's sides to palm at his hips, fingertips curling around and pressing against the cure of Tony's ass.

“What movie?” Tony asks, and he’s only half joking. It’s so easy to forget everything else when he has the full force of Bucky’s attention on him, Bucky's teeth scraping over his jaw and down his throat. Bucky laughs softly, pulls Tony into another mind-melting kiss, and just as Tony settles comfortably in his lap Bucky surges to his feet, taking Tony with him. "You realize we don't actually have to move, right?" Tony can't resist pointing out even as he wraps his thighs around Bucky's hips and drapes his arms over Bucky's shoulders.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna need a bed for all the things I wanna do to you," Bucky responds, lips brushing over Tony's with every word, his tone low and dark with promise.

"Oh," Tony sighs, like the sound has been punched out of him. He goes from half hard to painfully hard so quickly that it leaves his head spinning, and the short walk to the bedroom passes in a blur, most of Tony's attention focused on tightening his hold on Bucky, shifting and wiggling until they line up just right and he can feel Bucky’s equally hard cock against his own. “Okay, that's- yep. Bed. Good plan."

Once Bucky kicks the bedroom door shut behind them Tony lets himself be set back on his feet with minimal grumbling complaints. He tangles his fingers in Bucky's shirt, tugs him into another kiss and whines when Bucky keeps the kiss light and sweet, just the barest brushes of lips as he starts taking slow steps back across the room, making Tony chase after him.

There's only the soft sound of the chain shifting in warning, and then a sharp tug at the collar has Tony collapsing down to his knees with a soft groan. He tips his head back and is treated to the sight of Bucky’s eyes gone nearly back, smiling as he loops the leash around his hand a couple times, making sure he has a firm grip on it.

All it takes is the slightest tug and Tony is eagerly leaning forward to nuzzle at Bucky’s cock through the worn denim of his pants. He brace his palms against the thick muscle of Bucky’s thighs, breath coming a little faster as he feels Bucky’s cock twitch against his cheek. At least Tony doesn’t have to worry that he’s the only one who’s been losing his mind, Bucky is already fully and Tony can feel the heat of him even through his clothes. After a moment Tony forces his eyes open again, looks up at Bucky from beneath his eyelashes and tightens his hold on Bucky's jeans, lets his voice go soft and breathy as he says "please."

"Fuck," Bucky groans, like it's being dragged out of him. His hand is shaking slightly as he pops open the button of his pants and shoves them down just enough to free his cock, already flushed an angry red and wet at the tip. Tony’s mouth is watering, his pulse echoing loudly in his ears and he leans forward, pressing his weight against the collar. "Open up, sweet thing," Bucky instructs, his voice barely above a growl as he presses his thumb to Tony's lower lip. Tony lets his mouth fall open instantly, a low whine escaping him as he flicks his tongue out against Bucky's thumb.

Bucky doesn’t make him wait long, uses the leash to tug Tony that little bit closer, until the head of his cock is nudging at Tony’s lips, pressing into his waiting mouth. Bucky continues using the grip on the collar to keep Tony right where he wants him, holds Tony still as he starts slowly rolling his hips, thrusting deeper with every shift forward.

Tony doesn’t try to fight it, just lets his eyes fall closed as he focuses on working his tongue over the underside of Bucky's cock as he slides himself into Tony’s mouth one tantalizing inch at at time. Still, he can't help a soft whine every time Bucky withdraws, and he flicks his tongue over the head like a plea.

"Damn that's a pretty sight," Bucky sighs, his free hand cupping the back of Tony's head. He scrapes his nails over the short hairs at the base of Tony's skull again, sending shivers down his spine the way it always does.

Tony groans as Bucky thrusts into his mouth harder and then pulls back, leaving Tony with his mouth hanging open and his lips tingling, spit and precome sliding down his chin. Another soft tug at the leash directs Tony further down, until he's mouthing wet and messy at the base of Bucky's cock, and then his balls. Tony keeps his eyes closed, breathing hard, letting Bucky direct him wherever he wants and focusing on the taste and feel of Bucky against his lips ad tongue.

Bucky tugs up hard, pulls the collar up high on the back of his neck and Tony moans helplessly as his head tips back and his mouth falls open wide, the sound almost instantly muffled by Bucky’s cock sliding back into his mouth and then deeper, pushing at the back of his throat. Tony claws at Bucky's thighs, fingers catching in the worn fabric, and shifts until Bucky can thrust easily in and out of his mouth.

“Fuck that’s good,” Bucky growls, fingers tightening in Tony’s hair as he fucks into Tony’s throat and the rough, uneven sound of his voice makes the arousal clench up even harder in Tony’s gut. “So perfect, such a good boy for me, aren’t ya?”

Tony’s answering moan is muffled and wet, his own cock throbbing and nearly painful where it’s still trapped in his jeans. His eyes are watering, chest heaving with every uneven breath, and he groans every time Bucky’s thick cock presses into the back of his throat again. He can taste how close Bucky is, and he doesn’t even try to contain his pitiful whine when Bucky pulls away suddenly. The noise is cut short by Bucky hauling him up to his feet again, cupping Tony’s face in both hands and pulling him into a fierce kiss. The leash is still wrapped around Bucky’s palm, pressing into Tony’s cheek and the chill of the metal is almost a relief against his burning skin.

It knocks the air out of him when Tony suddenly finds himself tumbling backwards, down onto the unmade bed. He can’t even worry about getting his breath back because Bucky follows directly after him, pinning him in against the sheets with more heated kisses, teasing his tongue over Tony’s lips and teeth, hands roaming restlessly all over his body. Bucky keeps kissing him even as he strips Tony out of his clothes, rolls them both to the center of the mattress and grabs for the lube. He works Tony open with steady, knowing fingers, biting marks into his throat until Tony feels like he's burning alive, gasping and moaning and shaking under Bucky’s amazing touch.

"If you don't fuck me soon I'm going to be seriously pissed off,” Tony finally bites out, and he’s not entirely sure when he tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair, but now he tugs it for all he’s worth.

Bucky laughs, rough and deep and gorgeous, bites his way back up to Tony’s lips for another deep kiss while he presses three fingers in hard. Tony moans and tugs his hair again, impatient, so turned on that he can barely see straight, can barely think about anything past Bucky’s fingers inside him and that fact that he wants more. When Tony tugs at his hair again Bucky abruptly pulls back, flips Tony over before he can say anything else and then grabs Tony’s hips tightly to yank him up to his hands and knees.

Tony’s arms are shaking, his entire body is shaking, but he locks his elbows and holds himself steady because god he wants this. “C’mon baby, I’m fucking dying for you,” he groans out, head hanging low, and then gasps when the clink of the chain is immediately followed by Bucky tugging his head back up, forcing his back into a sharp arch.

“You want it?” Bucky taunts, because he’s kind of best kind of asshole, using one hand to rub the head of his cock over Tony’s hole in a maddening tease. Bucky feels so warm against him, huge and amazing and it’s only the grounding weight of the collar around his neck that keeps Tony from completely shaking apart.

The whine that’s been caught in Tony’s throat finally breaks free and he gasps out “please, god- honey please-“ He spreads his legs a little wider, arches his back a little harder and whines again when the head of Bucky’s cock catches against his hole, barely pressing him open.

“Then take it,” Bucky growls, voice low and Tony doesn’t need to be told twice. With another soft groan he starts rocking his weight back against the thick press of Bucky’s cock, until it slips inside him and he goes still with a gasp. Bucky tightens his grip on the leash just a little, just enough to keep Tony from shifting forward again. Tony has no choice but to continue, working himself back onto Bucky’s cock and with every inch deeper into him that Bucky slides he wraps the chain a little tighter around his hand, keeps the collar pressed snug against Tony’s throat.

“Oh, fuck-“ Tony gaps out when his ass finally settles against Bucky’s hips. He shudders as he struggles to adjust to the burn of Bucky spreading him open, splitting his apart, shaking because he still just wants more. He always wants more.

“That’s good, baby,” Bucky says, voice gone soft and reverent, “so good for me.” He rolls his hips forward hard, so hard that Tony's entire body jolts and his ragged moan is cut short by the collar pulling tight across his throat.

A second later the leash goes slack and Tony drags in a ragged breath just to moan out “Bucky- oh god-“ He drops his head again, biting his lip as he tries to convince himself not to just come right now, just like this, Bucky’s cock thick and hot inside him, dragging over his prostate as Bucky slowly withdraws.

“I’m gonna keep you just like this all fuckin’ weekend,” Bucky promises and tightens his hand on Tony’s hip, holding him still as he slowly slides back into him. “Keep you spread out and desperate for me, moaning and shaking on my cock, you like the sound of that baby?”

“Yes, fuck yes- please honey I-“ Tony’s voice breaks off into a wail when Bucky thrusts back into him hard, using his hold on the leash to tug Tony back into it. It yanks Tony’s head up again, spine arching sharply and Tony wails as Bucky presses into him deep, so fucking deep.

Bucky builds up a rhythm like that, withdrawing slowly only to slam back in hard, keeping a tight hold on the leash to keep Tony exactly where he wants him. Bucky’s jeans slide down a little further with every roll of his hips, until his skin slaps against Tony’s ass with every thrust. “So fuckin’ pretty, baby, just look at the way you take it-“ Bucky growls out, his breathing going rough and uneven and it pushes the fire in Tony’s gut higher just as much as the possessive words. “And you’re all mine, ain’t that right gorgeous?”

“Yes, yes- Bucky-“ Tony’s barely aware of the words spilling out of his slack mouth, all he can focus on is the mind-melting pleasure of Bucky sinking into him over and over, “yours, please-“

“Yeah you are, baby doll,” Bucky sighs, hand finally moving from Tony’s hip, sliding up over the curve of his back, “like you were made for me, like this ass was made for my cock, takin’ me just right, tight like a fuckin’ dream- damn baby- shit you feel so fuckin’ good-”

Bucky keeps talking, the sweetest, most wonderful filth but Tony doesn’t register any of it past the pounding in his ears as the heat in his stomach starts to spread. Bucky pulls the leash a littler tighter, slams in hard and Tony lets out a strangled moan as he clenches up hard. Bucky continues thrusting into him steadily, even as Tony starts to shake and writhe in his hold.

Tony whines every time the fat head of Bucky’s cock nudges over his prostate, presses deep inside him only to leave him feeling hollowed out every time he withdraws. His own cock throbs almost painfully between his thighs, but it’s taking everything he has to hold himself upright against the force of Bucky’s thrusts and finally he gasps out “please baby I- I need- oh, fuck-“

“I know what you need, sweet thing,” Bucky growls, the motion of his hips finally speeding up a little as his wide palm slides down over Tony’s ribs to rest huge over his stomach, fingers inches from his aching cock. “Always gonna give you exactly what you need, take care of you just right.”

“Please,” Tony gasps out again, and then Bucky’s fingers brush up the length of his cock at the same time he tugs hard on the leash and Tony is gone. He gasps against the pressure of the collar pulled tight across his throat, rocking back desperately to meet Bucky’s steady thrusts as his orgasm washes over him hard. Tony moans and whines and gasps all the way through it, clenching so hard around Bucky’s cock that it finally disrupts his steady rhythm.

When Tony can finally focus on anything past the fire surging through his veins and the way his brain is melting out his ears he becomes aware that Bucky is talking. “So perfect, fuck, look at you, gorgeous thing, sound so fuckin’ beautiful for me, feel so good-“ he just keeps going, filth and compliments spilling from his lips as he continues thrusting into Tony’s clenching, shaking body, making him whine because he’s horribly over sensitive but it’s still so fucking good.

Tony’s arms finally give out and Bucky just bears him down into the mattress, his leash-wrapped hand landing beside Tony’s head as his thrusts finally speed up and lose their rhythm. Tony can only moan and take it as Bucky covers him completely and fucks him into the bed with rough motions. “Want it,” he slurs out, turning his head until his lips brush over Bucky’s fingers with every word, “c’mon honey, come for me, fill me up.”

“Fuck, Tony,” Bucky groans and grinds into him hard, jolting Tony up the bed with the force of it. When Tony swipes his tongue out, licking over Bucky’s fingers and the warmed metal of the chain, Bucky lets out a low moan and comes with a couple final rough thrusts. Tony whines because god, he can feel all of it, Bucky’s cock twitching inside him, the warmth of Bucky’s come as it fills him up, starts spilling out.

“Holy fuck,” Tony sighs, going completely limp as his entire body tingles pleasantly. He whines again when Bucky shifts enough that his cock slips free, leaves Tony empty and fucked open. Bucky shifts a little more, until he can flop down beside Tony, close enough that they’re still pressed together tightly. Two of Bucky’s fingers trailing down his spine is all the warning Tony gets before they sink back into him, lose and wet and easy. “Bucky,” Tony gasps out, shaking all over again and writhing and even he can’t tell if he’s trying to wiggle away or press back against Bucky’s fingers.

“Shh, babydoll,” Bucky hushes and his voice is sweet but his smile is absolutely wicked before he leans in to press a quick kiss to the curve of Tony’s shoulder. “All weekend, remember? Gonna fuck you out til you can’t remember your own goddamn name.”

“Holy fuck,” Tony gasps out, and now he’s definitely arching up to meet the amazing pressure of Bucky’s fingers inside him, blushing at the wet, sloppy sound of it. “I demand movie breaks,” Tony says petulantly even as he spreads his knees a little wider, rocks back to meet it the next time Bucky presses two thick fingers into him.

“I think we can make that happen,” Bucky says with a rough laugh, presses his teeth to Tony’s shoulder in a sharp kiss.

[kythen]

Haikyuu!! - death-scented sweetness [2/?]

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: Kurodai

Summary: Vampire!Kuroo. Kuroo is looking for his next meal and he thinks he just found him. Also found here on AO3.

[Chapter 1]

Word count: 2,768

The second time Kuroo meets Sawamura, it is at Sawamura's mansion again when the night is young and the moon is full, heavy with magic and mystique, shining down on Sawamura as he levels a flat look at Kuroo through the bars of his ornate gate. Kuroo flutters his fingers at him from the other side of the gate, smiling pleasantly, and Sawamura crosses his arms over his chest.

"What are you doing here?" Sawamura asks, making no move to open the gate separating them.

"I was in the area and I thought I'd drop by to say hello," Kuroo says truthfully. Mostly truthfully.

"Well, you've said hello. Goodbye then." Sawamura turns his back on Kuroo, ready to go back to his mansion.

"Wait!" Kuroo thrusts an arm through the bars of the gate, a gate which he could easily break through if not for the fact that he knows Sawamura would be very angry with him if he did so. He snags the back of Sawamura's shirt, his hand twisting in the cloth as he physically stops Sawamura from walking away from him.

It is all too easy and Sawamura jerks to a stop, held in place by Kuroo's hand. Besides his supposed immortality, there isn't anything special about Sawamura. He can't break free of Kuroo's superhuman grip on him, his eyes don't glow red, and his form remains unchanged under the full moon. He is, however, very angry and he twists in Kuroo's hold to glare over his shoulder.

"Let go of me," Sawamura growls and the warning note in his voice convinces Kuroo to do so immediately.

Kuroo pulls his hand back into the safety of the other side of the gate and Sawamura straightens out his wrinkled shirt, shooting Kuroo a withering look. It isn't anything worse than Kuroo has encountered before, but there is something very convincing about Sawamura's flat stares and glares. He makes Kuroo feel like a very small child who had just done something bad despite being told repeatedly not to. Kuroo thinks the feeling might be guilt, mixed in with a bit of glee and his fingers crossed behind his back when he says he won't do it again.

"What do you want, Kuroo?" Sawamura asks.

"I was wondering if you would like some company," Kuroo explains himself. "I mean, doesn't it get lonely in that mansion by yourself? Do you have any friends? Family? Pets—"

"Are you here for my blood?" Sawamura cuts in bluntly.

"Thanks for the offer but no thanks," Kuroo replies, holding up a hand. "I just ate."

At this distance, he can smell Sawamura's nauseatingly sweet blood, the scent of death still hanging heavy over him. With Kuroo's stomach full of warm, delicious-smelling blood, Sawamura's blood doesn't appeal to him that much. While Kuroo wouldn't mind a sip as dessert if Sawamura was offering, Sawamura seems more likely to offer Kuroo a bite of a wooden stake than his blood. Besides, Kuroo isn't actually here for his blood.

"You mean, you just killed someone," Sawamura states.

Kuroo shrugs. "That's what I do. Anyway, if they were skulking around in a back alley at this time of the night they couldn't have been up to any good."

"I was in a back alley the other night and you wanted to kill me for my blood."

"My point stands." Kuroo shrugs again. "You couldn't have been up to any good."

"I was returning home after visiting a friend. There's nothing illegal with that."

"At that time of the night?" Kuroo asks, leering through the gate. "Who's your friend?"

"Yeah, I'm not telling you anything." Sawamura crosses his arms over his chest. "Like I said, I don't know you and you're a vampire."

"You say vampire like it's a bad thing."

"In case you haven't noticed, vampires feed off humans like me."

"So you are human." Kuroo leans into the gate. "Then why can't you die? And the cut from last week is completely healed." Kuroo reaches between the bars again, seizing Sawamura's hand in one lightning-quick movement and pulling it up.

Sawamura's shirtsleeves are unbuttoned and his sleeve falls away to reveal his arm, his skin smooth and unmarred despite the cut Sawamura had sliced through it just a week ago. His point made, Kuroo drops Sawamura's hand and retreats behind the gate again.

Sawamura scowls, tugging his sleeve back down over his arm. He reaches for the gate and Kuroo takes a step back, moving out of his reach. But instead of thrusting his arm between the bars and throttling Kuroo like he had anticipated, Sawamura does the smarter thing and opens the gate, eliminating the flimsy barrier between Kuroo and him altogether, giving him a wider range of choices when it comes to dealing with Kuroo.

"If I answer some of your questions, will you leave?" Sawamura demands, propping his hands on his hips.

"Well," Kuroo considers this, "that would depend on which questions get answered."

"Or I could get out my vampire-hunting equipment."

Kuroo falters. "You have vampire-hunting equipment?"

"You're welcome to come in and take a look," Sawamura says sweetly.

Kuroo takes a split second to think this through seriously. Although most human beings thought of vampires as terrifying, bloodsucking denizens of the night to be avoided, a vampire's existence was frighteningly fragile when faced with someone who knew all the right ways to kill a vampire. But Sawamura doesn't seem like a hunter and their previous interactions had taught Kuroo that he is stronger and faster than Sawamura. If Kuroo stays on his guard, he could overpower Sawamura easily and flee if Sawamura intended to do him harm.

Not that Kuroo thinks he would. Sawamura had fed a starving vampire without expecting anything in return and Kuroo has a good feeling about him. He trusts his instincts.

"Don't mind if I do," Kuroo says airily and breezes past Sawamura, boldly inviting himself into his premises. "Maybe I could give you a few tips on improving it."

---

Kuroo finds himself in Sawamura's parlour, perched on the edge of an ancient armchair. Everything in Sawamura's mansion looks like they have seen better days, yellowing and greying and fraying around the edges. The grandfather clock across from Kuroo looks like it could have been made in the same year as Kuroo and that is saying something. Kuroo has never been in a place styled so closely to the time period of his birth and it is a bizarre kind of nostalgic.

Sawamura enters the room with a tea set, pouring tea into the only tea cup on the tray before settling down in a chair across from Kuroo and taking a sip. Kuroo eyes him, grudgingly admiring this show of pettiness. It isn't like Kuroo could drink tea but it would have been nice to ask and Kuroo had an appropriate response prepared for that particular question. Sawamura had just sidestepped everything neatly, sitting there without initiating or inviting conversation. If awkward silences was part of his vampire-hunting skills, Sawamura was more prepared than Kuroo had thought.

"Nice decor," Kuroo remarks, breaking the silence before it gets too unbearable.

Sawamura makes a wordless sound of assent.

"So..." Kuroo pushes through valiantly. "What do you do for living?"

"I'm a researcher."

"What do you research?"

"The human body. Biology."

"Is that an—"

"No, it is not an euphemism." Sawamura shoots him a dirty look. "Why is everything about sex with you?"

"It's an occupational hazard." Kuroo grins. "I'm a writer of erotica. Specifically, vampire erotica."

Sawamura chokes on his tea.

"Our areas of interest aren't actually all that different, don't you think?" Kuroo rests his elbow on the table, watching the interesting shades of red that Sawamura's face turns.

"You, of all people, being a writer of vampire erotica is just wrong on so many levels." Sawamura coughs, setting his cup down on the table before he drops it.

"That's the point. I can't be putting all our deepest, darkest secrets in a piece of sexy fiction read by countless numbers of people."

"You mean you're using erotica to spread misinformation?" Sawamura raises an eyebrow.

Kuroo smirks. "Exactly."

"I always knew that stuff was trash."

"Some of it is. But the ones I write are very good," Kuroo says loftily. "They may not be factually or even anatomically accurate at times but they are very stimulating."

"I'm... just going to take your word for it."

"I could read some out to you," Kuroo offers, making a show of searching his pockets. "Oh dear, I don't have any of my books on me now. But don't worry, I remember the important parts."

"No, thank you," Sawamura says hurriedly.

"Oh, but I insist. As repayment for your lovely blood the other day."

"I'm already regretting feeding you."

Kuroo places a hand over his unbeating heart. "By sustaining me, you're sustaining the vampire erotica that so many men, women, and supernatural creatures live off. You're a champion of erotica, Sawamura."

"What have I done?" Sawamura laments, a smile tugging at a corner of his lips. "I'll never be able to show my face in polite society anymore."

Kuroo flaps a hand at him. "They're a boring lot anyway. You're always welcome in impolite society."

"You mean vampiric society?"

"They actually do read my stuff, you know. Some of them like it. Unironically."

Sawamura winces. "Don't tell me that the vampires up north actually like that stuff."

"Up north?" Kuroo asks, feigning ignorance.

"The vampire coven up in the castle in the mountains. Aren't you with them?"

"Ah," Kuroo says, noting Sawamura's knowledge of this. While the vampire stronghold in the mountains was not exactly a secret among the supernatural creatures, normal human beings usually didn't know about it. "No, I'm not from there."

"Then where are you from?"

"Nowhere and everywhere," Kuroo says smoothly. "I'm a traveler."

Sawamura sinks back in his chair, his eyes dancing and a smile sharp on his mouth. "I'm not the only one being coy here, am I?"

"I speak nothing but the truth." Kuroo matches Sawamura's smile edge for edge.

"The abbreviated truth, you mean," Sawamura says, picking up his tea cup again. "It's fine. I won't pry, unlike a certain someone."

"You don't mean me?" Kuroo presses a hand to his chest.

"Yes, you," Sawamura says, eyeing him over the lip of his tea cup. "I was trying to be tactful so I wouldn't hurt your feelings."

"You've hurt them anyway," Kuroo says, getting up from his chair. "I know you want me out of your mansion."

"I didn't want you in my mansion in the first place."

"It's fine," Kuroo sniffs, moving towards the door. "I'll leave."

Sawamura puts his tea cup down and rises from his chair. "I'll see you out then."

Kuroo follows Sawamura as he leads him out of the parlour, through the hallway lit by a single branch of candles, and back to the door. Outside, the moon is still high in the sky, presiding over a twinkling night and bathing the wild vegetation in Sawamura's front yard in a pale glow. It is a night for romance and Kuroo thinks he spent it well. A hearty meal of blood and a spontaneous date wreathed in secrets—what more could a vampire ask for?

"You know," Sawamura remarks as Kuroo steps outside, "you could have just said that you had to leave before the sun comes up." He doesn't follow Kuroo out, leaning against the doorframe with a wry look on his face.

Kuroo turns towards him with a grin. "It's so much more dramatic this way, isn't it? Parting with conflict? Plus, it gives me a reason to come back so that we can make up."

"Vampires." Sawamura rolls his eyes. "Always so dramatic."

"Humans," Kuroo scoffs. "No imagination. When you've lived as long as I have, you need some entertainment in your life to spice things up a bit, even if you have to do it yourself."

"What makes you think I haven't lived as long as you have?" Sawamura retorts. "For all you know, I could be older than you."

"Yet another reason for me to come back. So we can compare ages and settle who's older once and for all." Kuroo winks. "I'll see you around then, Sawamura."

---

Sunrise comes a scant hour later when Kuroo is safely in the underground maze of tunnels under the city. It had taken him almost the entire hour to travel from Sawamura's mansion to the nearest underground entrance on foot. Safe from the sun, Kuroo whistles as he walks through the dripping tunnels, the sound echoing cheerfully off the curved walls.

Shadows flicker at the corners of his eyes, human and supernatural beings who have made their home in the vast underground tunnels and caverns. Kuroo hasn't been here long enough to know them all—a feat he doubts he could achieve even with the time—but they know to leave him alone after making the mistake of targeting him on his first night here. Nobody crosses his path but a rat or two and Kuroo makes it to the hole in a wall he calls his temporary home.

"Kuroo!" a voice greets him as he pulls himself up onto dry ground. A bright-eyed vampire bounds forward, his fangs gleaming in a genuine smile as he sees Kuroo. "You made it just before the sun came up. Good hunting?"

"Excellent hunting." Kuroo ruffles the vampire's spiky hair in passing as he heads deeper into their shared home. "How about you, Inuoka?"

"Nothing for me tonight but I got some food for Shibayama."

A human boy with straight black hair waves at Kuroo, seated at the very back of the cavern that the three of them share. A paper bag lies on its side beside him, apples spilling out of its open mouth, and another ripped paper bag before him serves as a makeshift plate for wedges of cheese and hunks of bread.

"Welcome back, Kuroo," Shibayama says with a shy smile.

Kuroo adds a slightly squashed cake wrapped in oilpaper and string to Shibayama's meagre meal, something that he had gotten off his own meal after he sucked him dry. Shibayama lights up as he unwraps it and Inuoka beams at Kuroo and they are both blinding. A sunny day on the surface would be less radiant than the both of them combined in this dank place and Kuroo finds himself wondering if he could raid Sawamura's pantry for something nice to give to Shibayama.

Or he could just ask nicely. Given that Sawamura was really just a huge pushover with a soft heart and sweet blood, Kuroo could tell him about a starving boy living in the sewers under the city and there was a good chance that Sawamura would help. Anyone who would feed a starving vampire would definitely be a friend to the young and the weak, even if the young and weak in question had gifts in blood magic. Polite society frowned upon mages, especially those endowed with unusual magic, and Shibayama had fled underground to the vampires and other creatures of the dark when his family had thrown him out.

"Kuroo," Inuoka says as Kuroo takes off his coat and loosens his shirt collar, ready to bed down for the day. "Did you hear the latest news today?"

"The cravat is in fashion again?" Kuroo ventures.

"It is?" Inuoka cocks his head to the side, confused. "No, I heard that a group of hunters came into the city today so you should be on your guard."

"Are they here to hunt vampires?"

"No, they're not vampire hunters. They're from the World Order. I heard that they caught wind of someone special in the Firestarter District. A human who lived past his time."

Kuroo freezes with a sock in one hand and the other still on his foot. He had just spent the night there in the only mansion that was still inhabited, in the company of a human who had most certainly seemed as immortal as he claimed he was. Kuroo hadn't wanted to test that theory that early on into their acquaintanceship and risk losing Sawamura for good when he was only just starting to get to know him.

Kuroo has heard things about the World Order, a group of fanatics sworn to keep the balance of the world right, meaning that human beings were supposed to be nice, normal human beings and supernatural beings were only just tolerated. They wouldn't like Sawamura at all.

[anneelliotscat]

Rumbelle Christmas in July

Here it is, the first chapter of my RCIJ donation. I’m a little intimidated, since the spectacular smartgirlsaremean is my giftee! But, here it is: and the rest is coming very soon! 

Hope you enjoy!

The Coffer of Divers Sorceries

Chapter 1 It was a dark and stormy night. The wind tossed the blooming lilac bushes about, and lightning flashed across the sky almost without ceasing. Belle stood at the front window watching the storm. Her current book hung, forgotten, from her fingers. Since she was little, she had hated storms: the thunder reminded her of ogre attacks, and her time in the Queen’s tower had only added to her fear. The building had swayed, and the wind and rain had seeped in through cracks. Belle wanted Rumple. His arms would hold her tightly, and his voice (so different now, but still somehow familiar) would comfort her. And then he would ease her towards the stairs, and they would .... She still couldn’t talk about it, the things they did together. It was so new, and strange, and somehow wonderful. She wondered if they could have been doing–that–all that time in the Dark Castle, and if he had wanted her that way, and if that was what her father had been afraid of. How different would it have been, there? she wondered. But he wasn’t here now. They had been in bed, laughing about something or nothing, but then one of the little boxes he carried had buzzed. Rumple got up, looked at it, and swore. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. There’s been a break-in at the shop. I’ve got to go see what’s happening. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, poking it and frowning, then setting it down and getting dressed. “You stay here.” Then he had kissed her and left. She hadn’t been able to sleep, so she had slipped on the tiny yellow silk chemise and long wrap (with the absurdly huge sleeves–kimono? was the word Rumple had used) and wandered downstairs for some tea. 4:30. 4:30 in the morning. What kind of emergency would keep him away for two hours? Why hasn’t he called? He’s so worried about me; he won’t let me go anywhere. I might as well be locked in the Dark Castle. That was it. Enough. This was supposed to be a new land, but Belle had only had a few glimpses of it. It was time to act for herself. She ran upstairs and hunted for some proper clothes. In the end she had to settle for a scandalously short kirtle, because that was all Rumpelstiltskin had provided for her, but she added some heavier leggings. She frowned at the wall of shoes. It was just over a mile to his shop, but that was too far to walk in the dangerously high shoes she had here. There had to be something more practical for her to wear. Eventually she found a pair of brown, flat-heeled suede boots, lined with fuzzy wool. Grinning, she slipped them on. She remembered to turn the lights out, and she was sure the cooking stove was off, before she left the house. She didn’t lock the door, because she didn’t have keys. Besides, who would be mad enough to rob Rumpelstiltskin? Except that someone had. Again. The shop was brightly lit, and the front door opened to her. “Rumple?” she called out as she stepped inside and looked around. There weren’t any apparent signs of a break-in: no open windows, no broken glass, no obvious disarray in the shelves and counters and crowded floor. It looked pretty much like it always did, from what she could tell. “Rumple? Are you here?” “Belle.” Rumple came out from the back room. He had taken off the jacket, but he still wore the dark waistcoat over the simple blue shirt, and the blue-and-gold cravat–No, it’s a tie here–she reminded herself. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?” “You didn’t come back, or call. I was worried about you. So I walked down the hill. I remembered the way from when you took me to your home. Don’t worry; I didn’t see anyone, and I don’t think anyone saw me.” His fingers were twitching on the head of his cane, so she went to him and kissed his cheek. “What happened here? I don’t see anything really out of place. Did they take anything?” “It’s hard to tell. I’ve only found a few things missing, and–it makes no sense. Whoever it was wasn’t  looking for money or valuables. And only one person would want the thing that was taken. But he couldn’t–as I said, it doesn’t make sense.” Rumple’s dark eyes–so expressive–narrowed. “And you like things to make sense.” She smiled at him and squeezed his arms. “So tell me about it. Maybe I can help.” “So far as I’ve been able to tell, the only things missing are a few trinkets: a pocket knife, a bracelet or three, a medal, and a child’s stuffed rabbit.” “That sounds like children.” “Indeed. But what would they be doing out in the middle of the night? And what kind of children  would be daring enough to break into my shop and rob me?” There didn’t seem to be any answer to this. It wasn’t like Belle actually knew any children, after all. “Are you sure it was children?” “Almost. Come see this.” Taking her hand, Rumpelstiltskin led her into the back room. There was a small, musty-smelling (but scrupulously clean) bathroom back there, with a basin, a close-stool (no, it was a toilet!) and the rain-bath she had used that first day. There was a small window in the room, too, and it was open. There were muddy footprints on the toilet. “I see what you mean. No grown person could fit through there. I know I couldn’t. So it had to be a child who came in this way. But maybe the child opened the door for someone else. I’ve heard of gangs of thieves in cities who do that.” “No, because the doors were all locked, and you have to have a key to open them, even from the inside,” he replied. They wandered back into the front room. “So why do you think it wasn’t a child?” “Because of the rabbit.” “I’m sorry. You’ve lost me. The rabbit? It’s a child’s toy.” “It’s which child that concerns me. Or rather, which adult would care about that particular rabbit.” “I don’t understand.” Rumpelstiltskin sighed. “Belle, everything here in my shop came from our old lives, from the Enchanted Forest and the surrounding kingdoms. You know, Agrabah, Carabas, Duskhaven....” “Arendelle?” He smiled at her. He was so different here, so much colder and distant, or warmer; he didn’t play the imp with the voices and the atitudes and the poses. Or was this just a different set of poses? “Yes, even Arendelle.” He pointed to an ornately carved tray. “That is from a fat merchant who wanted fair winds for his ships.” “So this rabbit is from the other realm? What’s so special about it? “It holds a special meaning for someone. Rather like your teacup.” Her face fell a bit, and she stepped back from him. “But if it was that important to someone, and was such a little thing, why didn’t you– “Why didn’t I give it back?” He smiled gently and ran one finger across her cheek to her throat. “First, I didn’t notice it for a long time. There are a lot of things in here, Belle.” “I noticed.” “Second, I didn’t know where the rabbit came from, or whether the people who cared about it were here in Storybrooke. And he never came in to ask about it.” “If he had, would you have given it to him?” “I don’t know. We were friends, once, in a way. But perhaps not. I am not a very nice person, Belle.” He sighed and took her hands in his. “I doubt he ever knew I had the rabbit. But he is the one person in Storybrooke who would have wanted it.” “But he’s not small enough to get in and through the window. Would he have gotten a child to do it for him?” “Doubtful. Jefferson would more likely storm in here and throw things and people around until he got it. Subtlety is not a word in his vocabulary.” “So we’re back to a child, or children. Having an adventure.” “That’s what it looks like ... no!” Rumple dropped her hands and stepped past her, looking intently at a set of deep shelves. He began searching the shelves, pushing books, boxes, leather cases, bottles, and small object d’art around. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO!” “What is it? What are you looking– “Belle, you have to help me.” “Of course, Rumple.” “On the shelf next ot my worktable, there’s a book, Mantegna’s Compendium of Arcane Armaments. I need it here.” She hurried to get the huge leather-bound codex, which seemed to be held together by fraying green tapes tying it shut. When she got it back to the front room, Rumple grabbed it from her. He didn’t even bother untying the tapes, but just magicked it open, and began shuffling through the heavy pages, sending fragments of parchment and dust into the air, muttering as he went. At last he stopped, stood straight, and pointed. “There!” he said. “That. That is what I’m looking for. It should be right–here,” he jabbed at the jumbled shelf, “and it’s not. And I didn’t move it. And I don’t see it around here. Help me look for it.” “Well, it’s good to know you haven’t forgotten how to give orders,” Belle said, bending to examine the faded page. “The Coffer of Divers Sorceries,” she read aloud. She examined the picture, of a small box, ornately inlaid with rare woods, metals, and stones, and then read the description. She gasped. “Rumple, this is terrible. If someone had this thing, and they didn’t know how to use it, I mean, since you brought magic back....” “Even in the world without magic, someone could do a lot of damage. And it would be worse if someone did know how to use it.” “Does anyone here know how to use it? What about– “Regina?” “Yes, Regina. If she had this box, this coffer, what could she do?” “Regina doesn’t know how to use it. No one here does.” “Except you.” “Not even me. Not really. I had a special vault in the castle. One you never knew about. That’s where I kept objects and–artifacts–too dangerous even for The Dark One. The Coffer was in there.” Belle set the enormous book down on the counter and rubbed her temples. The sky was getting light; the sun would rise soon; the town was in terrible danger from an ancient mysterious magic, and she was hungry. Rumpelstiltskin was still digging around in the display cases, kneeling to excavate the bottom shelf of a heavy secretary, his trousers accumulating dust and lint from the floor. “Rumple, stop.” He paused and looked up at her. “We need to go about this sensibly. Logically. Let’s get some breakfast. Then we can think.”

[justsomebucky]

Flashes (Part 3)

Summary: Soulmate AU. “The fault, dear Brutus is not in our stars, / But in ourselves, that we are underlings.” - William Shakespeare (Julius Caesar)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,012

Warnings: language, fluff, angst, it’s actually kind of optimistic???

A/N: Well, I did it…at least I tried. The lovely @minervaem challenged me (sort of) to do an angsty story. I’m warning you now, it’s not gonna be pretty.

Reader has her first flash, and stumbles upon some intriguing information...

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

This is really freaking weird.

That was your first thought when the flash started, and it wasn't an exaggeration. While Natasha had always described her flash scenes as having radiant colors, your first flash wasn't quite so dazzling. 

Everything was very surreal and hazy, as if there was a filter over your eyes that muted each color. You were still standing on a street in New York City, but you didn’t recognize it at all, nor did you understand its significance. Shadows and shade covered most of the street.

You squinted, scanning every direction for any hint or clue as to what you were meant to be witnessing. There was a whole lot of no one and nothing in particular. What good is a flash if it doesn’t actually help you?

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a slight movement – one of the shadows seemed to move ever-so-slightly. You turned your body slowly, focusing on the corner and mentally pleading with your brain to tell your soulmate to just freaking show himself already.

As if someone heard your thoughts, the silhouette of a person came into view. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized that you were staring at a man in an all-black suit…or was it a uniform? You studied his form carefully, raptly tracing every detail and mapping them in your memory.  

Yeah, it was definitely a uniform. 

The hard lines of his clothing showed off his muscular arms, broad chest and shoulders, a fit waist, a pair of thick thighs…

You tried to move closer but found that your feet were fixed in place. You were voiceless when you tried to call out to him. Natasha had always described herself in more of an observer role, having previously mentioned that she couldn’t interact with Clint, but you tried anyways for your own piece of mind.

Well, this sure as hell didn’t seem fair. There was actual man candy standing in front of you, and you couldn’t even interact with him. Shouldn't you get some kind of special deal because you missed out on flashes for so long? Some kind of two-for-one special? You deserved extra-long, extra-detailed flashes for all you'd been through.

The man shifted, placing his hands in his pockets as he turned his attention to something or someone you couldn’t see. As he turned, you noticed a small badge on the sleeve of his shirt. 

 NYPD.

Much to your dismay, your flash ended as abruptly as it started, leaving you dazed on the sidewalk in the light of day.

So, your soulmate was a police officer?

Natasha was going to be so freaking jealous! 

You longed to go back and see him again, or see what else you could figure out. Now you understood all the smiles Nat wore when she was having a vision; there was no other feeling like it in the world.

Since you finally had a flash, it meant your soulmate was alive and nearby. You were so overwhelmed by the mere idea of him that you collapsed to your knees right there on the sidewalk. All your life, you’d been told you were incomplete, but you’d never quite believed them until now.

You buried your face in your hands and wept for yourself, for your soulmate, but most of all, out of sheer relief.

Once you picked yourself up off the pavement and managed to calm down, you called Natasha.

You let her speak first, knowing that she was probably bursting at the seams to tell you about her progress. She informed you that she was still waiting for Clint to come out of a meeting after having two more flashes in the last three hours. According to her, if she didn’t see his face in the next twenty minutes, she was going to go into the board room and drag him out by his ‘sexy arms.’

“So anyways, what’s new? Did you find that Vision guy yet? Get any wackadoo mojo going?”

“Nope. He went out of business or into hiding or something.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry.” Nat’s motherly voice was in full force. “I know you really wanted this to work. What are you going to do now?”

It was now or never. “Well…I, uh…I had a flash anyways…about five minutes ago.”

There was a brief pause of what you presumed to be stunned silence, and you bit your lip, waiting for the fallout.

"OHMYGODYOUHADAFLASH?" she shrieked. “Really? You’re sure? You’re not in some weird café where a hippie named Sunflower slipped you something, RIGHT?”

You cringed, pulling the phone away from your ear to try to spare your hearing. "Yes, I had an actual flash. It was...it was incredible, Nat."

“This is crazy! I am so excited for you! Who did you see? Were they hot? Wealthy?”

“It was a man. I didn’t see his face, but I saw his uniform,” you supplied, finally letting yourself feel excitement alongside your relief. “He’s with the NYPD.”

“Ooooooh! I could totally see you marrying a sexy cop.”

“I have to find him first, Nat,” you reminded her, a small smile gracing your lips. “And since this is a huge city with a ton of police officers, I’m not exactly sure where to start.”

“Well, start in the freaking city, of course! We can think this through.”

“I don’t know. It was different for you. You had a lot more to go off of when we searched for Clint’s name and photo.”

“It’ll be all right, Y/N. Reason it out like you always do. Your little impromptu trip must have finally triggered the connection, but I wonder why the distance was a factor. Maybe there’s more to his story than we could have ever guessed.”

“Maybe.”

Natasha was silent for a moment, but you knew she was still on the line because you heard people talking in the background. "Start with injuries," she suggested finally.

"Injuries? Like a head injury?"

"Yeah, like...he was MIA for over a decade, right? Something had to happen to make your connection weaker, to make it go silent for that long."

Nat made a damn good point. "I guess I could try the public library," you mused. "Maybe they have access to old newspaper archives.”

"It's a start, isn't it? Better than going to every police station until you have more flashes. Let me know what you find out, okay?"

"You got it. Thanks, Nat.”

“By the way, Y/N…” Natasha’s voice was wobbly now. You could tell she was emotional now that your news had sunken in. “I’m so freaking happy for you. You deserve love more than anyone I’ve ever known.”

You were a woman on a mission. 

Now that you’d seen him, knew he was real, knew he was within reach, you’d be damned if you were going to let a silly thing like knowing absolutely nothing else about him stop you. Nat was right; there had to be a reason for his prolonged absence, and it was probably the key to figuring out who the heck he was.

The public library was easy enough to find, and they did offer guest passes to use the internet. A man with a very important-looking library badge handed you a pass, then politely told you that you had thirty minutes of free internet usage.

You had thirty freakin’ minutes to narrow down the search for your soulmate.

No pressure.

The first newspaper archive pursuit yielded way too many results, so you narrowed your search.

You were able to get it down to six major results that were within the time frame between what should have been your flash age and now. Five of the police officers listed had died as a result of their injuries, and of the two who were still alive, one was a woman. Since you had seen your soulmate already, you ruled her out. 

That left one profile. Your stomach was churning, your nerves completely frayed as you clicked on the last news link. 

"Sergeant James 'Bucky' Buchanan Barnes, NYPD," you whispered to yourself, scrolling down slowly. “A Profile in Courage.”

The article stated that when he was thirteen, Bucky was the only survivor of a car accident that killed his parents. A drunk driver had crossed the center lane on a highway and hit the family’s sedan head-on. 

Doctors put him in a medically induced coma to try to save his life after significant brain swelling was detected. Once he regained consciousness, it took nearly two years for him to fully recover his mobility, followed by several more years of extensive physical therapy.

Eventually, he was released to the custody of a neighbor, Mrs. Sarah Rogers. She had been designated as his legal guardian in the event of his parents’ death. Her son, Steve, had gone with his adopted brother Bucky to police academy.

Well, that answered at least two of your questions.

Bucky had obviously either been incapacitated due to the coma during his flash age, or his injuries had been too extensive to allow any connection to occur at the time.

He also was able to have a great job with the police department, no questions asked, because he had clearly received an official medical exemption to the soulmate status laws.

Your heart ached for him. You wondered if he went into law enforcement because of that life-altering car accident. You wondered…

The article went on for a while, detailing his education, his time at the academy, and the event that caused him to get a commendation in the first place.

Nearly a year ago, Bucky single-handedly saved a woman and two of her neighbors in Brooklyn. The perp was the woman’s own abusive husband. He’d been drinking, and had come home and tried to kill her. She managed to get away by hitting him with a frying pan and running to the next apartment over for protection.

Lucky for everyone, the neighbors had heard him shouting the moment he came home, and had already called the police. Bucky was in the area, so he responded to the call quickly.  That night, he took a bullet in the shoulder to take the man down, disarm him, and get him in handcuffs. 

Sergeant Barnes sounded too good to be true. 

When you scrolled to the bottom of the page, there was a picture of Bucky shaking hands with the mayor with a bright smile on his face. He had the best smile, with little laugh lines and a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes.

Damn, you were lucky.

It amazed you, too, because you’d never considered yourself lucky like this before, never thought you’d been given the best of anything. But Bucky…

You were absolutely head over heels in love with Bucky Barnes. You were the epitome of the heart eyes emoji at this point, and you didn’t even mind it. It was stronger than anything you’d ever felt for anyone before, and for that, you were grateful.

God, how many times had you sat around wishing for this? The endless longing, the tears, the discrimination, the lonely nights…all of that would soon be distant memories, leaving room for new memories you would make with Bucky, if he’d have you.

If Natasha could see you now, she’d be thrilled, but she would also be sure to get a dig or two in, considering how much you’d teased her about Clint.

Hopefully you'd measure up to his standards, too, at least enough to deserve a man like him. After all, he had turned tragedy into triumph. You...well, you did the best you could with the circumstances you were given. That’s what soulmate connections were supposed to do, though, weren’t they? Your soulmate was supposed to make you want to be your best self, and help you achieve that through your partnership.

There was no way that you were going to let your insecurities keep you from meeting him. Both of you had waited far too long for this connection.

It was time to meet your soulmate.

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

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Story Tags: None this time! only one part left, sorry!

[flauntpage]

Checking In on Your Favorite NBA Player's Summer Vacation

This column was supposed to be a fun and freewheelin' roundup of vacation photos lifted largely from the Instagram accounts of NBA players, a centralized database and leading source of who is having fun in the sun and who got a sunburn. Given the alarmingly eventful trend of the offseason thus far, it's clear that this column is more important now than ever before. It's a desperately needed chill counterbalance of cracking a cold one in a league gone superteam survival mode.

I've been a staunch defender of the supposed ruinous coming of the NBA superteam, but if the aggressive early trades and other news this offseason—David Griffin fired, Kawhi having or not having braids anymore, Phil Jackson hating Porzingis/Knicks fans—are a response from franchises feeling the ripple effects of these past Finals, consider me convinced. I can deal with superteams upending the very landscape of basketball as we knew it, but I won't abide by them ruining what's sacred: NBA summer vacation.

So, with the draft in our rear view mirror, let's get back to what's real, what's important, and what matters: tandem banana boat rides, the Gasol brothers swimming in the ocean in socks, and Matthew Dellavedova on a beach.

We start with the presumptive MVP.

Russell Westbrook

A solitary, cinematic shot of Westbrook getting off a private plane, taking in something in the distance while someone else captures this photo. Where is he and what is he doing, the "It's a whynot? Lifestyle" caption gives us no clues.

But two hours later, we find an answer.

Mon dieu! Russell is in Paris. The caption #parisfashionweek helps (it's not), but the pièce de résistance came shortly after:

Russell Westbrook/Instagram

Gucci diaper bag on blast; wearing, you guessed it, cutoffs. We got a vacation, folks. Extremely interested in following this trip through to its conclusion, hoping against all hope we get a picture of the Brodie biking around with Daft Punk, a baguette tucked in the basket. Honestly, protect Russell Westbrook at all costs.

Rating: 3 Palme d'Ors, a half dozen macarons, 0 Jacobins, Westbrook thinks it's Fashion Week therefore it is. Perfect score.

DeAndre Jordan

Let's move onto DeAndre and son in front of a donut wall in the sun. As we can clearly see, his shorts are cutoffs—which we've already established is primo vacation attire—and I want to say his shirt is covered in paint. Super casual. I wish he was wearing his felt Coachella hat of Clippers postseason pressers fame but I'll take the ball cap. When the toughest choice of your summer so far is what donut you're going to help your child pull off a wall, you're doing good.

Rating: 4 ½ paint splatters on a perfectly good t-shirt out of 5

Pau Gasol

Full disclosure: I think we should have a special section for when the Gasol brothers wear tube socks on boats in the ocean. The infamous photo, taken during the 2013 offseason, is a prime example of how bad execution can mess up a perfectly fine vacation photo.

To be fair, it's Marc doing the crime—and, like, crunches, on the back of a boat—but what is in Pau's hand? A wet sock he's quickly removed from his own foot? It's also unfortunate where his shorts are sitting. That's certainly not the glistening butt crack I'd want to see if I wanted to see one.

But what's the eldest Gasol up to this offseason?

Pau is alone at the ballet in Barcelona, thoughtfully sitting off to the side and far away from the stage to not block anyone's view. My guess is he has socks on. Hermosa.

A glistening Pau takes a selfie in front of an ancient crypt in his hometown. We can't see his feet in this photo but please close your eyes for a second and tell me if you can't picture him wearing socks and sandals. I'll wait.

Rating: 3 soaking wet tube socks out of 5

Marc Gasol

"If Apple started in a garage… why not reinvent myself?" Huh. Well, unfortunately it's still very clear that the younger Gasol is terrible at vacations. The most fun thing in this picture of Marc's garage is a riding lawnmower. But his aspirations seem ambitious and at least we already know he's not going to freeze to death next winter.

Rating: 4 soaking wet tube socks out of 4 (this is a negative rating)

Paul George

Young Trece is throwing a few casts in the Geist Reservoir outside Indianapolis. Would love to see if there are cutoffs involved and the style of sunglasses involved, but I like the solitary, sort of badly-cropped background and inability to see if the line is in the water or if he's just holding the rod above it. Did he catch anything? Is this symbolic of casting a wide net? Is he angling to leave Indiana? Big fish, small pond? Wow. Good luck, Pacers fans.

Rating: 1 freshly opened can of worms

Steven Adams

Steven Adams climbed a pyramid barefoot. Of course he did.

Rating: 2 good mates out of 5

Patrick Patterson

Oh, Patrick. For non-Torontonians I will break this down. 2Pats is sitting on a Co-op Cab, flanked by a Beck Taxi—2 local cab companies—staring wistfully off into the distance. His head is tilted at an angle that suggests to me that he's staring at the CN Tower and he's wearing a red (very CanCon) watch. Has there ever been a louder cry of Please re-sign me, than this?

Rating: 3 wracked sobs and one sniffle because I'm crying

Dwyane Wade, Carmelo Anthony, Jimmy Butler

Dwyane Wade Snapchet/@DefPenHoops

Tenir le téléphone! Wouldn't you know it, Dwyane and Carmelo were peeping the scene on the Seine when they just happened to run into Jimmy Butler.

Unknown if these dudes plan on meeting up with the Brodie and executing an international Bateau Banane, but Jimmy is really channeling that vibe here, and nobody seems especially stressed about the current management meltdown in Madison Square Garden or Jimmy getting shipped off to the wilds of Minnesota. Please note Melo wears a timeless cutoff short, while Butler has opted to cut off his sleeves for a kind of cartoon fleece fray.

Rating: 3 potential buds for Bateau Banane out of 4, probably don't tell LeBron

You can follow Katie Heindl on Twitter @wtevs

Checking In on Your Favorite NBA Player's Summer Vacation published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv