#but some suck less than others and i figured you should at least know about them

[mashiraostail]

your gang orca praise kink stuff goes soooo crazy please give us some gentle dom praising from halsin w Fem reader PLEASE

glad u like it thank u!!

yall are crazy outing your praise kink in my ask box. Ask and u shall receive tho!!! Kind of a long one, i care for u guys so I have to feed u.

NSFW under the cut!

Aches blossomed like weeds all over your poor body. Maybe you should have brought Halsin along on this one, a healer would have done you well about 3 hours ago. He stayed back, or perhaps he went on his own way for the day. For all your not seeing eye to eye Astarion was seemingly happy to help you hobble along with an arm slung over his shoulder.

He's biting something back and Karlach all but shoves it out of him.

"Thank you. For...taking those hits for me." He rolls his eyes when he says it, but it does nothing to veil his grateful tone, "i can't imagine it was pleasant."

"It wasn't." You muse back, "but you're helping me along."

"Well-" He sputters, "I figured you could take it since you have Halsin waiting for you with baited breath every night."

He was right, you did. He tried to be subtle, to give everyone a once over after a hard day, but he always lingered on you. He liked you, perhaps more, it was obvious. At least when you stumble back to camp he has a reason to make a b-line to you first.

"What happened?" He takes you from Astarion, who snickers a bit at you.

"Nothing, just the typical day." You shrug.

"Is everyone else okay?" Bless him, he feigns interest in the other 3 trailing behind you.

"Don't worry." Wyll waves, "we'll live."

"Come with me." He doesn't even respond to Wyll, he was not as good of an actor as he hoped to be.

You go with him, not that he gave you much of a choice, guiding you away before he could even finish. He settles you down by a shallow river not too far off from camp. He brings a bowl and a rag, with a small sack of supplies to clean you off with.

"I know you're capable." He starts, as he wipes layers of blood and grime away from your skin, "i'm not underestimating you-"

"I understand." You cut him off before he can prattle off into a nervous explanation as to why he seems to favor you over the others when you're injured.

You fall back into silence as he cleans you off.

"Look up at me." Fingers on your chin crane your gaze up to him, if he's trying to be seductive it has certainly worked, and if he wasn't it was cruel. He's scanning your face, his eyes meet your gaze.

"Will I live?" There's a coyness to your voice that just about knocks him off balance.

"Yes, lucky me. Does your head hurt?"

"Not at all." You felt better, under his caring hands, there was a dull soreness now, it overtook the harsh and stinging aches.

It was already dark, nobody had bothered to call the pair of you for dinner, perhaps more knowing than they let on.

"Can I do anything else for you?" He asks, kneeling now but still tall enough to be gazing down at you. The dull light of your lantern made him glow.

"No-" Suddenly you can't play coy anymore, it's like his sucked the air out of your lungs, he takes your hand.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" when he asks he traces his fingers over the back of your knuckles.

"Of course." You nod, something flutters under your ribs. He brushes his lips over the back of your hand, and it lights you up. It's such a silly, small, innocuous gesture, but it makes your stomach warm.

"Thank you." He looks up from the back of your hand to catch your gaze.

You kiss your teeth, your mouth feels dry all of a sudden, "why thank me?"

"Because you're allowing me." Halsin murmurs it, "I'm grateful to be let so close to you." He kisses his way up your arm in a galant gesture, though it makes you feel light headed none the less. When he reaches the crook of your neck, the shallow divot where your shoulder ends he stops, and drops your arm gently onto your lap.

"You can act modest, or play coy," He continues despite the lack of contact, which makes you feel cold and even more exposed then when he's ravishing you. "But you know how I want you. You indulge me."

"Please," You're fluttering, you try to sound casual but you're fluttering like a moth and Halsin is a big, bright fire drawing you in. "it's self serving."

"Even better." He elects to sit beside you, "indulge yourself in me."

"Oh gods." You feel hot, in the back of your neck, in your chest, between your legs.

"What?" Halsin reaches for you, you let him, he wraps an arm around you, he draws you in. "don't you want to?"

"I do-" You're practically whining despite the fact he has not denied you, and probably never would. You turn your face into his neck, nosing at his collar. He makes a pleased noise at the feeling, and brings a hand up to cup your hair.

"Then tell me what you want. You can have it, you deserve it. Anything, just tell me."

You aren't sure when you make your way into his lap, when the desire to taste his skin becomes so potent that you have no choice but to glide your tongue over his collar bone. He's happy to rub up your back and thighs, to pull your closer by the back of your head.

"Is it me you want?"

You moan, gasping, you aren't sure when you started rutting against his leg, but he seems all the more happy to have you there so you cast aside the sheer embarrassment of it all.

"You can have it, you can have me. All you have to do is take it. I'll let you, I'm yours for the taking."

You practically cry at that, you aren't sure when you'd become so pent up.

"You can have me." One of his hands is holding onto the bend of your hip, guiding them against his leg in a languid rolling pace, "you already do. You deserve it, all of it, whatever you want. Tell me."

You let him take your shirt off, you're more than keen to free him of his.

"I must have been particulalry well behaved in my past life." For a breif moment his hand releases your hips and he's gliding rough palms over your chest and stomach, "you're such a lovely thing..." He ducks down, kisses at your chest, pulling you away from the perfect friction of his thigh to the warm heat of his mouth and tongue.

He's kissing, licking and nipping at the newly exposed skin while his hands trail over your ass, up your back and thighs, drawing you in impossibly closer to his mouth.

"I'd give you the world, anything you'd ask." He pushes the small of your back, guiding you back down onto his lap, "but you only want me?"

"Do you really feel that way? That I should have whatever I ask for? Whatever I want?"

The sight of your chest heaving, glistening from his mouth makes him groan, "how could I not? Tell me what you want, My hands? My mouth?"

You feel on the verge of passing out, terrible and blissful all at once.

He lifts you as he stands, but just a quickly sets you down again laying on your back.

"Are you sore?" His hands hold your waist, his nose is at your jaw, "I'd be content just to stay here, looking at you, kissing you. We would not need to anything more to sate me." He assures you, "the sight of you like this alone would be enough to satisfy me for lifetimes to come."

"No." You're breathless, you shake your head.

"No?" Despite what he's said he sounds hopeful, grateful, pleased even.

"No." All you can think to do is repeat him. You help him help you out of your pants.

"Will you let me?" He's already lowering himself between your legs, you flush.

"You hardly have to ask permission."

"Yes?" He pushes you for it anyways, of course you indulge him.

"Yes."

It's been hundreds of years, of course he was an attentive and...skilled lover, but this was almost too much.

Your back arched off the ground, his hands were there, big and warm and slightly rough, he held your waist there his fingers wrapping around to the small of your back where it arched. Where they held you his hands pulled you closer, just barely.

He didn't protest when your thighs closed around his head, when they squeezed, or when your hands pulled him impossibly closer by his hair. In fact he sounded more than pleased at all of the above. Every time he had a spare breath he was singing you praises. You were perfect, you cried out for him perfectly, and you were so easy to love.

His hands squeezed your waist where they held you, he groaned every time you called his name.

When you do reach your climax it almost blinds you for a second, but Halsin doesn't seem interested in letting you rest until you force him off with a keening sort of whine at the overstimulation.

"I'm sorry," He's kissing at your legs, your lower stomach and up your ribs ravenously, "I can't bring myself to stop with you."

It's so easy to open yourself up to him, to let him take and for you to take what you want.

"You're so lovely." He's kissing around your chest, subtly gasping for you air, "I'd mistake you for an angel if not for the things we do together." He guides your legs around him, closing the small amount of space left between you.

"If I didn't know you to be so truly good then I'd mistake you for something much more sinister than an angel, considering the spell you must have put on me." He's arching up into your hands, turning and preening at every touch and heavy breath, "do you know what you have done to me?"

Eventually you stop your head spinning enough to fumble with his pants, until there's nothing at all between you.

"I was taken by you from our first meeting," He groans as you undress him, "but all the things I dreamt have been put to shame at the feeling of the reality of it in my hands." He takes in an uneven breath as your hands run over his cock, you turn your head to open your neck to him, he's glad to muffle himself into it. The feeling of his low groans vibrates the crook of your neck. You arch your back, pressing your chest into his which seems to set him over the edge.

"You're the most lovely thing I've ever laid my hands on, please, say you'll have me." As if it wasn't obvious, as if you weren't laying naked below him, blossoming at his lips and fingertips.

He guides himself easily into you It’s hardly painful, it barely stings, it tingles up to your stomach, and it’s pleasant. A blooming sort of feeling that you often pined for once it was gone. It was fleeting and easily missed when it dissipated. He's captivated by you, your expressions, the way you cry out, the wavering in your voice.

As with all things, he's incredibly gracious with you, giving you long, deep rolls of his hips and easy praise. He enjoys watching you melt from it, it makes his chest warm with affection.

"You're divine," He doesn't mind your arms around his neck, he holds you closer with a hand between your shoulder blades, "every single time." He enjoys the feeling of your hand holding the back of his head too.

"Every time I swear you can have me, but you're always bent at my will aren't you? Beautiful, obedient, and mine for the taking. Look at me."

All you can do is obey and nod, maybe a bit dumbly. You wrap your legs tighter around him, there was no way you'd last very long in this state. He holds you by your chin, he keeps his eyes on you whenever you cum, muttering out obscene praises. Occasionally he'll use his hold on you to turn your head to the side, to observe your throat, he swears he can see your pulse beating.

When the pair of you are finished Halsin seems perfectly fine to dip into the shallow river, it hardly reaches his waist.

"Come here," He insists, "I'll hold you."

"is it cold?" You roll over to see him.

"No, barely." He waves you over, and fuck, you're still coming down from your high, still bent at his will. You go to him, you let him guide you by your hand into the river, once you're close enough he holds the crook of your elbow, then the bend of your waist.

You rest your head against his chest as he runs wet hands over your hair.

"Many people have held my favor in my life," He looks down at you, "but I don't recall ever being so enthralled by someone." He runs a wet hand down the side of your face, "some days I dread the thought of our paths diverging."

"Don't think you'll be rid of me so easily" You manage to be a bit cheeky. Despite yourself you brush gentle fingers over the side of his neck, he closes his eyes thankfully.

"Kiss me." His voice is quiet but steadfast. Of course you go to him.

When he pulls away it's just enough to speak, "you know I adore you, tell me you do."

"I know." You grin and push his damp hair back, "you're especially sentimental today."

"I suppose I...must have missed your company." He decides, "we usually travel together."

"Is that it? I'm not complaining, maybe we'll travel separately more often."

He groans, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up, "don't be cruel to me when you were so well behaved all night. I'm not sure what I'll do."

You laugh, bracing yourself against his chest as he prepares to drop you into the river, "no please, I swear to keep you dutifully at my side from now on, just don't drop me in this water!"

He's ravishing your neck again, your laughter made his chest burn with affection, "I truly can never deny you."

You have a feeling tonight may be a longer night than average.

#halsin x reader #bg3 #Halsin #bg3 x reader #bauldrs gate 3 #bauldrs gate 3 x reader #halsin bg3

[me-loving-woso]

Rebuilding the Family aka Monthly visits Part 4

Hey! Okay, I know I have been MIA for more than two months, BUT you have to be proud of me because I finished another part of Monthly visits AND started part 2 of Bruises Apologies and Cookies. This is Part 4 of Monthly visits I hope you enjoy. It's not proofread but I wanted to give y'all something. These are the previous Chapters: Monthly visits, Meeting the Family, The Aftermath

“Alexia?” Your hand dropped from the door knob to your side. You were definitely surprised to see her.

“Hi.” She greets you shyly, so timidly that you can’t recognize her voice. You cross your arms, waiting for her to continue. “Is it a bad time? Should I come some other time? I can totally come tomorrow, maybe at a more decent time. I should go-“

“Alexia, slow down. You are rambling. Do you want to come in? This is your house too, and you might miss Nala.” You offer her. She gave you a shy smile and entered her home.

“I missed it here. The hotel room sucked.” She says tiredly, yawning. You could see from her face that she hadn’t slept much. You figured that she has probably been on the plane or in an airport these past two days.

“How long have you been awake?” You ask her worriedly while she kneels on the floor, reuniting with her dog after so much. 

She looks at her watch, which her father used to wear, “52 hours now.” She says, looking at you. “I missed you so much, Y/n. I’m really sorry about all of it. I know I have much explaining to do, and you probably have much, if not more, to say to me. But the last two days have been pretty intense. And I really need a hug, please.” She looks at you, nearly begging for it, with glassy eyes.

“Come here.” She puts down the little dog and almost runs towards you, putting her arms on your neck, trying to keep you as close as possible for at least a minute. 

“I’m really sorry. Do you hate me now?”

You remove her from your embrace, cupping her face. “I could never hate you, okay? Now, we have many things to discuss, and you, woman, you have a lot of making up to do. And not the sex type, okay?” You whisper, not wanting to wake up the kids. She puts her hands on top of yours and nods, pulling your foreheads together.

Then you push her, maybe a little too harshly, making her look at you extremely confused. “And this is because you went MIA for two days after storming out of a match. Power move, by the way. But you made me extremely worried. I nearly booked a flight to New Zealand because of you.” You point your finger at her.

“My phone died just before I went to the airport. I’m sorry if I worried you.” She apologizes, looking at the floor.

“I’ll text your mom, sister, and our teammates that you are safe, here with me.” She nods, yawning again.

“Alexia, you should go to sleep. You are exhausted.”

“But we have to talk; I need to make it right. I need-“She pleads.

“No buts. Now you go to sleep; tomorrow, when you are more rested, we will talk about everything, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll go to the hotel down the street and call you tomorrow?” She asks, hopeful. 

“Have you already booked the room?”

“What?”

“Have you already booked the room at the hotel?”

“No, I didn’t. Hopefully, they have a spare room for me.” She says, scratching her eyes, making you smile at her cuteness. You always loved it when she was tired. She was less composed and in control and more herself.

“Stay here.” You say earnestly. “I bet you miss your bed and old clothes; I just cleaned your favorite shirt, which you wear only on special occasions. Plus, this is your house, too. You shouldn’t sleep in a hotel.”

“Only if you are okay with it. And the kids, of course. How are they, by the way?”

“They are great; Ava misses you a lot.”

“Lucia?” 

“She’s a little mad that you left me and didn’t say goodbye to them. She’s just very protective, but she’ll come around. We’ll talk more about it later. Now go to sleep, Ale.”

She goes up the stairs but stops midway, “Aren’t you coming?”

“Do you want some company while you get ready to bed?” You joke.

“Always.” She smiles, making you go into the bedroom with her. While she goes in the shower, you sit on the edge of the bed, texting everyone that Alexia is here with you and there is nothing to worry about.

As soon as she leaves the bathroom, you see her with half-dried hair, only with some shorts and her shirt on. She goes on the edge of her part of the bed and gets inside the sheets, making you turn your body to look at her.

“Goodnight Alexia.” You stand up, not knowing what to do; it was the second time you didn’t sleep on the same bed, the first time being when you stole the keys to the pitch.

“Wait, where are you sleeping?”

“On the couch with Nala.”

“But I thought-“

“I can’t sleep with you, Alexia; we need to discuss what happened with Vilda and us. I’m still mad and hurt. So tomorrow, the kids will probably be out all morning, so that is when we’ll talk if that’s what you want.”

“That’s all I want.”

“Then it’s settled. Goodnight.” 

“Night.” You give her a last look, and then you go downstairs. 

-

The following day, you wake up early with an ache from sleeping on the couch all over your body. The first thing you do is to silently check on Alexia; you find her still sleeping, hugging your pillow. You leave her a note saying that you will be going soon and coming back in approximately an hour.

You bring Ava to Nico, who offered to take Ava out after yesterday’s casual visit from Alexia so that you could talk properly with her. Meanwhile, Lucia would be going to the pitch again because she wanted to start the season with Barcelona B prepared and in shape. You admired her dedication, even though you told her it was unnecessary. 

As soon as you got home, past 10 am, you found Alexia with a cup of coffee in her hand while she was scrolling through some news on her tablet; this felt very familiar, making you not know how to feel. This thought was soon interrupted by Nala, who ran to you, waiting for cuddles; this made Alexia turn around to you and smile.

“Good Morning.”

“Good Morning to you, too.” You picked up the dog and gave her some food, then went to the kitchen, putting the car keys on the countertop.

“If you want, there is some coffee left.” She informs you while you rummage through your cabinets, trying to find a mug. 

“I really missed your coffee.” You say, looking at her, sitting down in front of her, “You can’t cook for shit, but you always know how to make great coffee.”

“I can cook!” She says, offended.

“We both know that you can cook only two dishes.” You chuckle.

“Okay, that’s true.” She agrees, chuckling, then turning the conversation into a very awkward silence.

Both of you hated confrontation, so this was going to be interesting. You knew that you had to talk, or else you could risk losing each other, which neither of you was looking forward to, but simultaneously, you didn’t want to have any uncomfortable conversations.

“Y/-“

“Alex-“You both say at the same time, stopping, trying to make the other speak. This was going to be complicated.

“You go.” You offer.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “I just wanted to apologize for everything. I’m so sorry. What I did was shitty and cowardly.” She says, keeping her face as open as possible.

“You just did what you felt was right at that moment. I mean, the timing was a little bad. Really bad. But you did what you thought was right.”

“I realized something while I was away.” 

“What?”

“I remember that some time ago, a really bad interviewer asked me who did I play for. Initially, I didn’t reply because I thought it was a weird question to ask, which completely discredits my career. But when I came home, I thought about it and realized I didn’t know. I know that when my dad died, I played for him and dedicated everything to him, and I still do. But somewhere along the way, I realized I don’t know anymore. Since I won the Ballon d’Or, everybody wanted to talk to me and wanted me to perform and play in a certain way. Still, after returning from my ACL, the expectations were even higher. How was I supposed to play freely when everybody wanted me to play another way? In all honesty, I was in some way jealous of you. You didn’t change, and if someone pressured you, you would tell them to fuck off or wouldn’t listen to them. What really grounded me was that I could come back home to you, and everything was normal and good. You gave me stability in my hectic life. And when we got the kids, I-“

“So now it’s the kids’ fault? Don’t blame it on them or me, okay?” You say a little defensively. “I gave you a choice and gave you an out many times, and you signed the fucking custody papers with me, so don’t tell me that you weren’t given any choice or some other excuse.” You cross your arms, waiting for her to speak up, while she sighs defeated.

“It’s not that, Y/n; I always wanted to have kids, you know that. I always knew that I wanted kids with you, and I don’t blame it on the kids or you. I only blame it on myself. Okay? I feel like shit; I swore to you that I would never leave you.”

“No, you don’t get it, you made me feel like I was back again with my parents, and they told me to fuck off and to never show up again and gave me no explanation. I felt like I did something wrong. I have been dying inside since you left me, trying to understand why. It felt like you took me for granted.” You say vulnerably, trying to keep your emotions at bay, something the person in front of you was failing.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so selfish. I-I didn’t think about that.” She says now, wiping her tears away from her eyes. You always hated it when she cried. “I’m such an idiot. I know I fucked up Y/n. I was trying to say that I realized that my family is the only people I have to care about and be accountable for my actions. And you are my family. You and the kids. And I’m really sorry that I haven’t figured it out sooner. But I’ll do whatever it takes to make you believe that and trust me again.”

“Took you long enough.” You chuckle wetly, her little speech making you emotional; nobody has ever told you that you were their family or part of one.

“Please tell me that is not too late.” She asks pleading.

“That is up to you.” You say earnestly. “My priority now is the kids. And I need you to show me that I will be one of your priorities and that I’m not taken for granted, and what you did won’t happen again because I don’t think I could survive that.”

“I’ll do anything. I’ll leave football if you want me to. You are too important and the only thing that matters.” She says desperately, but you could see that she wasn’t lying, and that was all that you needed to hear. 

“Okay, maybe nothing that extreme. But you’ll have to make it up to me properly.” You give her a playful smirk. “You can start by taking me on a date. I want to be wooed and be given flowers. If you want me, you’ll have to start again from the beginning. Clean slate. And this doesn’t mean that everything is forgotten.”

She smiled shyly, nodding, but you could see she was happy you had given her a second chance. “Let’s see if you still have some game after nearly four years.” You tease her, winking.

“Oh, I definitely do.” She says confidently, making you shake your head in awe.

“Now, come here. I missed you, Amorcito.” You say not containing yourself anymore. You were glad that you managed to clear the air with Alexia. Even though you knew that it wouldn’t be like before, you were taking those steps in the right direction. “You made me worry so much during the match.” You say while she rounds the table and sits on your lap. You hug her sides and put your head on her chest. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am.” She kisses you on the top of your head, bringing you closer.

“Are you sure?” You whisper.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” 

“Let’s get on the couch first.” She stands up, takes your hand, and leads you to the living room. She sat between your legs and began telling you what happened during the World Cup. How Jorge was always trying to blame the team if his ideas weren’t working, and how he would always target Alexia, making little comments about how since she broke her ACL, she wasn’t playing the same, and that if it weren’t for her popularity, he wouldn’t have even put her on the roster. To ‘punish’ her, he stripped her of her role as team captain, stating that her leadership wasn’t needed.

“I totally disagree with that,” you say, getting angrier as she continues talking.

“I didn’t know what to think anymore, and I started believing in what he was saying. We were underperforming, and for him, I was the one to blame, even though we were in eleven to play in a match.”

Then she explained to you what happened in the match against the USA. The morale in the squad was already low, and in all that, he began guilt-tripping the players.

“As soon as the final whistle blew, everyone was sad, but I felt relieved; I finally didn’t have to endure that anymore. I went to drink some water, and he snatched the bottle from me; I think he told me I didn’t deserve to drink because I disappointed the whole nation, and I laughed at his face. He grabbed my arm, and he began insulting me and telling me every little thing I did wrong. Then Ona and Aitana approached us and tried to understand what was happening. I didn’t want them to be involved or that Jorge would begin releasing his anger on them, so I tried to push them away, but they wouldn’t budge.”

“They tried to protect you.” You explain, stating the obvious.

“I know, but unintentionally, they made it worse. He started getting personal, telling me nobody cared about me and that if you cared about me, you would’ve been here. And that nobody gives a shit about me, if not for my status. I laughed at him and walked out.” She says without displaying any emotions whatsoever.

“He’s such an asshole. You don’t have to believe him a bit. You are a great player and a great person. Nobody should ever doubt that, okay?”

She nods, still with some uncertainty in her eyes. You take her face in your hands and make her look at you. “Okay?” You say emphatically.

“Okay.” She smiles at you, then sinks into your embrace, trying to find comfort.

“So, how are the kids?” You smile at her question and begin to tell her everything that happened. How they met some of your teammates, Mapi, and especially what Lucia had told everybody.

“And then she told Paños, Patri, and Claudia that I was a better mom this month than her real mother had been in sixteen years. And I don’t know Alexia, but I felt like what I did, what we did for them, was worth all of it, from the social workers to building a bedroom from our closet. I felt so happy. And you know, it gave me the hope that maybe I can be a good mom for them.” You say hopefully, feeling a little embarrassed. You hide your face in the crook of her neck.

“Of course, you are a great mom and don’t have to be ashamed. Carry it with pride.” She says to you proudly, caressing your cheek. “I hope that someday I could be that for them too.”

“You will. Kids love you.” You say earnestly. “Oh, and by the way, I think Lucia might have a secret boyfriend.”

“Wait, what?” She removes herself from your embrace and sits with her legs crossed on the couch before you, grinning curiously.

“She always goes to bed early, never wants me to train with her at the pitch, always hides her phone notifications from me, even though I never look at her phone screen, and she seems happier.”

“But how?”

“I genuinely don’t know. Or maybe she’s tired of me and doesn’t want me around for training. Those are the two options. I genuinely don’t know which one to hope for.” She chuckles.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad. You were sixteen too once.”

“Oh, shut up; you know I didn’t do relationships when I was younger. If it’s actually true, though, I think I will have a mental breakdown.”

“You are so dramatic. By the way, I love this worried mom look that you have on right now.” She pokes your sides while you blush.

“You’ll have to deal with him.” You say, pointing your finger at her.

“Okay, I will, just for you.” She chuckles. “I really missed this. It’s good to be home.” She says seriously, taking your hands.

“Take me on a date first, woman!” You give a gentle slap to her hands and put them on your sides.

“I will. I will pull all of my tricks. Open the car door for you, get you flowers, and walk you to your door.”

“So cliché.” You roll your eyes.

“Don’t act as if you don’t like it.” She teases you. 

You talked until it was time to get the girls home. It was good to finally have her back. You missed talking and laughing with her so much. You finally felt normal, full. And even though you both knew that there was still some making up to do and that it was best not to go back immediately to your old relationship, this start made you hopeful.

“Ale, I have to go now.” You say, smiling, while she tightens your embrace around your sides, not making you leave.

“No! I just have you back! I don’t want you to leave.” She says pouting.

“You are talking like you haven’t seen me in ten years.” You chuckle. “It has only been a month!”

“But it has been a very long month!” She says pouting.

“You have to go to your mom and sister; they were worried sick about you. And I have to pick up the kids.”

“Okay, but tomorrow I’ll pick you up for our date.”

“Oh wow, aren’t we confident?” “What if I am not available tomorrow? I might have something else to do.” You tease her.

“Like what?” She grins.

“I might have another date to go to. You know, I am a very highly wanted woman.�� You joke.

She frowns, looking at you, crossing her arms. “No, you don’t! Right?” She asks you insecurely. 

“No, I don’t.” You chuckle while standing up from the couch, wanting to get ready.

“When will I see the kids?” She asks shyly.

“Whenever you want to. But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to wait after our date.”

“I’m okay with whatever you want.”

“I have to go now.” You say, walking to her and stopping a meter away from her.

“So tomorrow?”

“I’ll let you know.” You give her a wink. “Goodbye Ale. You can go whenever you are ready. I’ll see you soon.”

When both the girls are in the car, you explain to them that Alexia will be back. She won’t live in the same house as you now, but she’ll still come around. Ava was thrilled to hear that; you knew she missed Ale a lot, whereas Lucia would scoff or roll her eyes whenever you talked about Alexia. You first noticed this at the beginning of the World Cup, and you didn’t know whether to confront her about it or ignore it. 

After you told Mapi about everything with Alexia the next day, she offered to stay over to watch Ava, as Lucia didn’t need much to be taken care of.

It was 5pm, and you were a little nervous. She didn’t tell you where you would go, so you didn’t know how to dress or what to expect.Thankfully she sent you a text.

‘We are going somewhere to eat. I know that you are probably freaking out because you don’t know where we are going or how to dress. Dress comfy and casual. I know that you hate dressing up.’

You chuckled at the fact that she seemed to be reading your thoughts. 

You decided to go for some shorts and a top, and in the meantime, while you waited, you went downstairs. You had the house all by yourself, which meant that you could do anything you wanted, with nobody judging, that is, working on the 1000-piece puzzle that you and the girls decided to start three days ago.

You were shit at puzzling. You knew that. The girls knew that. Everybody knew that. But stubborn as you are, you decided to prove everyone wrong.

Thank god that your attempt to puzzle was stopped by a car parking and your doorbell. You open the door and find Alexia with flowers hiding her smile.

“Hello.” She says shyly, giving you the flowers; you find her so adorable that you almost cannot keep yourself from kissing her. She gives you the flowers.

“Thank you.” You make her come inside your home and put them in a vase with water, not wanting to ruin them. “So where are we going?”

“Patience.” She chuckles at your excitement.

“Ugh. I hate surprises.”

“No, you love them, but you hate being at the center of the attention or not being in control.”

“Stop it. I hate that you know me too well.” 

“After three years of relationship, it would be weird if I didn’t.”

You smile, agreeing, then ask her, “Do you want to take Nala?”

“It’s better if we don’t; we are going in an indoor place. We can leave her to my mom’s house.” 

As you left your house, you went to Alexia’s car; she opened the door for you and closed it, then hopped in and began driving.

She had both hands on the steering wheel, which was something new, as she would always take your hand or put it on your thigh. She watched the road when you took her hand, making her snap out of her trance and look at you. You put both hands on your thigh, making her smile at your action, then resuming looking at the road. Her hand never left yours, and you got it back when the night ended.

As you saw the car turning right to a pub, you squealed happily. “No, you didn’t!”

“I did.” She replies, wearing a proud smile.

“We haven’t been here in so long!” You add, hugging her arm.

“I know! We should’ve come here more often. That is why I decided to bring you here. This place means so much to us.”

You remember going to this pub for the first time after your first date with Alexia. It was a beach day trip; you had brought food, playing cards, and books. It was a beautiful date; you loved going to the beach and going together made it a plus. What you didn’t expect was the rain. You had planned to stay there also for dinner, but the weather made other plans, so you both ran to your car laughing, and after a while of wandering around the streets, you found this pub. It was old and broke many hygiene standards, but you didn’t care. You were hungry and wanted a place to stay for when the rain would stop. What actually made you fall in love with the place wasn’t the fact that the owners were crazy as fuck or that there was a pool table available. It was their impromptu karaoke/stand-up comedy nights.

The first time you went there, there was this guy you didn’t even know the name of who would sing or tell jokes while nobody was listening. He was bad. Like really bad. He would sing the most complicated songs: Amy Winehouse, Beyoncé, Celine Dion, all of them. On your date with Alexia, as soon as you heard him sing for the first time, your hope for a nice, quiet evening was thrown away. His bad singing skills caught you so off guard that you nearly spit all your drink on Alexia, choking on your drink, throwing a fit of coughs, making you go to the bathroom. Thank god he didn’t see you. 

As soon as you got back to the table, you both burst out laughing and decided to invent a story around his persona: he had a really weird 80s-style haircut, so you named him John Travolta, but since he was Spanish, his name was Juan Travolta. He was a very important accountant for many big companies but burnt out all his money on pony races and dog beauty contests. Leaving him with crushing debts, he decided to live off his wild passion: entertain others. After his fantastic performance of ‘My Heart Will Go On’, he began ‘the second part of the night’, as he claimed. Which was stand-up comedy/improv. For the few people in the pub, you and Alexia were the only ones listening, too curious not to do that. It was your second drink, and you found it hard to not stop yourself from laughing at the absurdity of all of it; while Alexia was giving you kicks under the table, trying to make you stop, it only made it worse.

Somehow, his comedy was even worse than his singing. He would try to make some jokes, but they never landed. Once, he even tried to memorize the monologue of a famous comedian, but that still didn’t do the trick. You figured he wasn’t cut out to be a comedian or a singer, but you appreciated his resilience and confidence. You wish that you had his confidence.

Since that first time at the pub, it had become yours and Alexia’s place. You would go there for date nights, when you wanted to have a laugh or when you wanted to be left alone. And even though the entertainment was shitty, the food was borderline poisonous, and the drinks were questionable, it had become a tradition for the both of you to go there whenever you went on a beach trip. It wasn’t the greatest place, but it was your place, and the memories you made there were ones you would cherish for the rest of your life. There, Alexia asked you to be her girlfriend, and you asked her to move in with you. It was a special place for your relationship with her, so Alexia knew what she did when she brought you there for your date. 

“Wait. Do you know if Juan Travolta still performs here?” You grin excitedly.

“I guess we’ll find out.” 

Alexia parks the car, and you don’t even wait for her to open the door for you, so you exit the car almost immediately. You quickly took her hand and dragged her inside. The place was exactly the same as it was the last time. Squicky floor, the same weird old owner behind the bar, and there he was. Juan. You smile excitedly, turning to Alexia, who rolls her eyes happily. Then you both sit at your usual table. You ordered some drinks and something to eat. While you waited for your order, you listened to Juan, who you thought was improving, shocking the both of you. Still, then he tried to make a high-pitched voice for a part of a song, and you realized that he was just as bad as you remembered him to be.

“I want him to sing at my wedding.” You say, clearly forgetting you were talking to the person you probably would marry.

“We are not making him perform at our wedding.” She says sternly.

“Our wedding?” You tease her, making her slightly blush.

“Yes, our wedding.” She says confidently.

“Where’s the ring, then?” You chuckle.

“Patience.” She remarks, making your heart flutter.

“If it’s not Juan, you would probably want Rosalia at our wedding; you are obsessed with her.”

“I am not.”

“Oh, you do. And what is more concerning is that she would probably say yes, she loves you.” You add. “But Juan Travolta, for me, is still my first choice.” 

It was good to be back with Alexia; you hadn’t had a date night in so long, and you finally felt normal again with her by your side. There were just some people that whenever you are with them, it just feels right. Like they are a small part of you. And even when you want to be alone with your thoughts, you don’t care if they are there because they belong with you. And that person was for you, Alexia. And in the same place you were in that very moment, a year before you realized that she was the only one it was worth spending your life with, and after that, you continuously left a piece of your heart for her to encompass and make it hers.

As soon as you finished eating, you both decided to have a shot at the pool table. Juan had just finished singing and now told some really bad and pathetic jokes. 

“So, are we placing any bets?” You grin competitively.

“We can do that if you want.” She says, rounding the pool table and putting all the balls in the triangle.

“If I win, which I will, I want you to make me coffee for two weeks.”

“I can bring you coffee every day, but if I win, which I will, you’ll have to give me a back massage.”

“I can be okay with that. You know that I’m low-key obsessed with your back and all of your tattoos. It won’t be a problem.”

“And dye your hair purple.” She chuckles.

“Oh hell nah.”

“So you are walking out on the bet?” She asks competitively.

“Never. You’ll just have to lose. Simple as that.” 

The competition was on. The pool table was isolated from the rest of the pub, meaning you could cheat a little. Your plan was to distract Alexia. A very challenging plan. Your captain had a mind and focus of steel.

It was your turn now, and Alexia was wearing her usual cocky smirk that would infuriate you at how good-looking it was. Fortunately for you, you were able to make two balls enter the hole, but then you missed. It was Alexia’s turn now. You were down one ball, but not for long. You casually walked towards her and saw her bend on the pool table, trying to take aim. You took your chance. You put your hand on her lower back under her shirt, and then you lean in, whispering in her ear. “If I remember correctly, you always loved bending like this for me, but you always had fewer clothes on than now.” You smirk, leaving a kiss behind her ear.

“Y/n.” She cautioned you reprimanding.

“What? I am just stating a fact. Come on, do your shot.” You smirk, leaving her a little flustered. She takes in a deep breath, but then you put your hand on her side, slowly going down. She took aim again, but she missed the shot, making you give her a mischievous smirk. Both of your competitive natures were about to arise, and that meant that Alexia would be playing dirty, too.

“I thought you had a nerve of steel, capitana.” You remark, making her look at you slightly annoyed.

“You started something, Y/n; I’m going to end it.” 

It was your turn now, and you were hoping that Alexia wouldn’t be doing something that would make you not focus. You were ready to take aim when she basically put her whole front to your back, putting her hands inside your t-shirt and slowly massaging right under your breasts, “You are wearing this little top; that is making me crazy. So much skin to touch, I don’t know where to put my hands.”

She whispers, making your brain completely numb and very hazy. She smirked at your reaction, then quickly moved away from you, leaning on the pool table to your left, “Now, come on. Do your shot.” She repeats the same thing that you said before. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, trying to take her out of your mind, but it is too late; the 8 ball goes in, and you lose the game. She wins. 

“Fuck.” She chuckles, making a little bow and making you roll your eyes. 

“You’ll get ’em next time.” She teases.

“I can’t even say that you cheated because I did it before you.” You hunch your back, defeated. “So purple?” you add.

“Yep. And a back massage.”

“No coffee?”

“Since I am a wonderful person and I am the bigger person, I can still bring you coffee. I would hate to see you sad that you lost your bet.” She says, trying to conceal a smile, “You poor loser.” She says while caressing your head, giving you some comfort. You slap her hand away from you, “I might be a sore loser, but you, Alexia Putellas, you are an asshole.”

“Well, this asshole is better than you at pool.”

“I want a rematch.”

“Maybe next time. It’s getting late.” The night was going so well that you totally forgot about the time. It was 10pm, and you promised Ava to be there for bedtime.

-

So you quickly exited the pub and went in the car. Without hesitation, Alexia put her hand on your thigh and drove. In the car, you began reminiscing about the places you went together and gossiped about your neighbors. 

As soon as you got home, she walked you to the door and waited hesitatingly. “So you want to come in to say hi to the kids? They’ll love to see you.” You offer.

“Are you sure?” She smiles, hoping for a positive response.

“Come inside.” You take her by the hand and go inside your house with her. In the living room, you saw Mapi exhausted on the couch while Ava was sleeping with her head on her lap, and Lucia was nowhere to be found.

As soon as you went inside the living room, Mapi turned to see you, then she gently moved Ava and went to greet you. You went into the kitchen to not make noise. There, Mapi slaps Alexia on the shoulder, making her recoil.

“What was this for?” She whispers, annoyed.

Your best friend points the finger at her. “This. It’s for going MIA for two days without saying anything AND leaving Y/n. What were you thinking?” She pushes Alexia’s head with her fingers.

“Maria.” You look at her sternly.

“I’m sorry, Mapi, for everything. I was in a really weird place mentally, but now I’m good.” You could see that she was a little more convinced. “Can I have a hug? I haven’t seen you in a while now!” The two friends hugged and then began to catch up. After a while, your friend said goodbye and left, not without thanking her for what she did. 

“I’m taking Ava to bed. Do you want to come with me?”

She slowly nods at your offer, and you both go to your living room. Lucia was still outside, which made you and Alexia share puzzled looks with each other.

You wake up Ava and tell her it’s time to bed. She slowly opened her eyelids and looked around, blinking twice when she saw Alexia.

“Alexia!” She says excitedly, still very sleepy.

“Hi, mi nena, let’s go to bed, it’s very late.” She says, smiling, caressing her cheek. She makes grabby hands for the older woman to pick her up, which she gladly does, always wearing her biggest smile; she probably missed the girls very much. 

She picks her up and takes her to her bed. She then tucks the bed sheets, and you hear them converse.

“Go to sleep, Ava.” She says, looking at her like she is the world’s most precious thing.

“Will you come tomorrow?”

“Yes, I will. I’ll come whenever you want me to. Now go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

She exits her room and closes it, walking towards you.

“She really missed you.” You say to her while she hugs you on the side.

“I missed her too. But where is the other one? Is she still on the phone?” 

“No, she just ended it; I’ll go to her.” You go outside, and you call out her name. 

“Lucia?” You ask while she is still looking at her phone. 

She jumps at your voice, nearly throwing her phone.

“Oh hey, Y/n!” She says as if she were caught red-handed.

“Do you want to come in inside? It’s getting cold.” You offer her. 

“Okay.” She comes inside, gives an awkward wave at Alexia, and then goes to her room, saying goodnight to you before closing the door.

You turn around to Alexia, “She is definitely hiding something.”

“So for tomorrow.” She had her hands behind her back. She had this cute little habit when she was shying away from asking permission for something. You took her hands from behind her back and laced them with yours. 

“Why are you getting so shy all of a sudden?” You chuckle, making her blush.

“I told Ava that I would be coming over tomorrow morning because she wouldn’t sleep if not. So, I was trying to ask you if I could come over?”

“Of course you can. You have to make me coffee.” You remark as if it was the most obvious thing. 

“Then I should get going.” She says awkwardly, clearly not wanting to leave.

“You can always stay over for the night.” You push her more towards you, leaving only a few centimeters. “I really enjoyed the date. We went to our place, we played pool, and tomorrow morning, you have to be here, so why not?” You offer. She begins giving you kisses all over your face, minus the lips, on the cheeks, forehead, chin, and jawline. You really missed her kisses.

“No.” She looks at you, making you give her a puzzled look. “I want to do things the right way, and I don’t want to rush anything.” She gives you a kiss on the nose. “Plus, on a first date, you never ask someone to stay the night!” Making you chuckle. “You wait at least for the third date. On the first date, you only ask for one thing…” 

You knew where this was going; she was going to ask you for a kiss. “What do you ask for?”

“For a kiss.” She states, getting all shy again. Then, her gaze softens, and her voice becomes serious. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, you can.” You take your hands and put them on her neck, slightly playing with the hair on the back of her head, while she takes your sides and gently leans in for a peck. 

“Just that?” You chuckle. “You have to give me more than that. I haven’t kissed you in more than a month.”

Without asking twice, she pulls you closer to her for a more passionate kiss that takes your breath away. It was needy, and it was full of passion. You both haven’t kissed each other in so long, and the constant teasing of the whole night made the both of you react in a desperate way for each other. You were slowly going forward in your new relationship with each other, but that didn’t mean you didn’t miss the small or big actions one did with the other’s body. You knew each other’s body perfectly, and frankly, you missed how much perfectly her lips would encapsulate yours or how she knew how much to push or how much you needed from her.

She pushes you to the wall and slowly traces her tongue on your lips, asking you for permission. You absolutely granted her that. Your mind was hazy, and you weren’t functioning properly. The both of you forgot that you were in a freaking house with kids that could walk in on you at any moment, but you didn’t care; you finally had your girl back. Both hands were roaming everywhere, clearly not containing your excitement. You always loved it when Alexia took control, and after a month of not feeling her body, hands, and lips on you, it made it all worse. After a period of time that was not enough for you, she put her forehead on yours, with the both of you panting for air.

She then begins giving you small pecks on the lips, “I.” Another peck, “Missed.” Another one. “This.” And finally, placing the last kiss on your lips, lingering a little.

“Wait, sorry. What did you miss? I didn’t quite understand. Can you show me again?” You tease her. She turns you around and then brings you even closer, lifting you in the air and kissing you again.

She then puts you on the ground and looks at you, giving you the smile that was only reserved for you. The real one showed all 32 teeth, but what made it special were her eyes. Whenever she smiled like that, her eyes would narrow, and her whole face would light up.

“I love you.” Before you can reply, she gives you another peck. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, mi amor.” And before you could reply to anything, she left the house, leaving you frozen in the spot. After two good minutes to compose yourself, you go upstairs to get ready for bed.

You were reading some book to get yourself tired and ready to sleep when you heard your phone buzz.

‘I just got home :)’

‘I really had fun today. I’m so glad you had given me a second chance.’

‘I’m glad too. But maybe next time, don’t run away like that.’

‘I won’t, I promise. Good night’

‘Goodnight.’

You put your phone away and go to sleep.

-

The next day was the last day before you, Alexia and Lucia would begin preseason. You were excited, but at the same time, you were a little worried about leaving Ava and sometimes Lucia for work. You hoped that when school for them would start, everything would get easier from there. It was 8 am, and as you got downstairs in your kitchen, you began your morning routine. Scroll through some news and wait for the kids to wake up. As you scroll on your phone, you receive a text from Alexia saying that she will be arriving soon. 

You had to go to the hospital with Ava for some check-ups, and you were really worried. With all your experience with hospitals with Nico, you always hated going inside there for check-ups, especially when one of your loved ones was involved. So you really hoped that the visit would go well. And even though every month, you spent at least three hours in a hospital trying to cheer up children who went through the same condition that your little brother had, you felt that on this occasion, it was different. This time, you went with your child, giving you a different type of fear.

As soon as Alexia arrived, you and the girls had breakfast together; needless to say, it was very awkward. Lucia was still annoyed with Alexia; Ava was really tired because you had to wake her up early. And you were already worried about going back to the hospital, so you were deep in your thoughts, continuously zoning out.

When Alexia noticed it, she put a hand on your thigh to give you some type of comfort; you both shared a look that made you understand how each other was feeling. This is what you loved and missed about your relationship with her, the way that you understood each other in every way, almost as if you both could read each other’s mind.

As soon as you finished breakfast, the girls went to their rooms to get ready, which left you and Alexia alone to do the dishes. You were cleaning them while she was drying the mugs. You were weirdly silent and clearly in your head.

“Y/n, are you okay?”

Alexia’s voice made you snap out of the trance. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. It’s just, today Ava has a visit with the oncologist, and I’m-“

“You are worried.” She finishes the sentence for you to understand how you are feeling.

“You already know that I hate going to the hospital for any medical reason, especially for people I care about. And I know that this is just a formality, but still, it’s making me have flashbacks of Nico.” You say in one breath.

“You don’t have to justify your feelings with me, okay?” She says, turning her head to you and giving you an earnest smile. You slowly nod, and then you finish up cleaning. “Do you want me to come with you?” She says while hugging you from behind, leaving some small kisses on your shoulders, trying to give you some comfort.

“You don’t have to. You might have some other stuff to do.” You say, turning your body around to face her.

“My family is more important.” She gives you a small peck on the lips, making your stomach flip.

“Do you love our little family so much that you would be willing to drive us?” You ask tentatively, with the both of you knowing how much you hated driving.

She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “Okay, I will.”

“So, what are your plans for the day?” You ask Alexia while she is driving you and the girls to the hospital. 

“So you know, what happened at the World Cup?”

You nod.

“Well, my agent wants me to release a video or write a note explaining what happened.”

“Do you already know what you are going to say?”

“I’m retiring from the national team.”

“Wait. Really?” You weren’t that shocked at the news; after what happened with Jorge, you knew that Alexia wouldn’t have returned to play if he was the coach.

“Yeah, and it’s not going to be only me.”

“Who else?”

“For now, Ona and Aitana, they are waiting for me to break the news. But many others will retire, too. I’ll tell you everything later in the afternoon when you’ll dye your hair.” She sends you a wink.

This made both girls turn to look at you.

“Are you dyeing your hair?” Lucia asks.

“I made a stupid bet with Alexia, and I lost it, so I have to dye my hair purple. She’s going to dye it for me, as I hate going to the hairdresser.” You cross your arms while the two young girls chuckle.

“Can I help? Can I help?” Ava asks excitedly.

“You know what? I don’t care anymore. Do whatever you want with my hair.” You say exasperated.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Alexia says, clearly mocking you.

“I’m not being dramatic.” You pout.

“Yes, you are being dramatic.” Lucia interjects, saying the first words since she got in the car. 

“If it turns out bad, I’ll blame it on the three of you.”

-

As you got inside the hospital, you went into the oncology department, where basically everybody knew you from all the visits that you did in the past years with the other players; what they didn’t know was that you had in custody the two girls, making all the nurses from the floor give you a questioning look.

You sensed that Lucia was worried, too, so you nudged Alexia to go with Ava, leaving you with the older sister.

You put your arm on her shoulder and give her a kiss on the temple. “Everything is going to be okay. You have to be strong for her.”

“How do you do it?”

“What?”

“You are not worried. How do you do it?”

“Oh, believe me, I’m super worried, even though it’s just a check-up. I just try to cope with it.”

“How?”

“It’s not very healthy, so you probably shouldn’t do it.” She looks at you blankly. “Just whenever it gets too much, come and talk to me or to anyone. Don’t keep everything in. You are going to explode, believe me.”

She slowly nods and then thanks you. “And now that I have you for the first time alone, stop doing that thing with Alexia, please.”

“What thing?” She asks dumbly.

“Giving her the death stare, or not talking to her, or refusing to sit next to her.”

“I would never do such a thing!” She says defensively, even though you both knew that it wasn’t the case.

“Lucia.” You reprimanded her.

“Okay, she left you, us, without saying a word; you have basically forgiven her right away. I can’t let her just walk into Ava’s life again as if nothing happened. Maybe she’ll leave again, and Ava will be crushed, and I can’t let that happen.”

“Listen, I know that you are hurt, and you are kind of right from a point of view. But you don’t know the whole story. And I have known Alexia for nearly ten years now, and I know for a fact that she won’t abandon her family.”

“But she did.”

“As I told you before, you don’t know the whole story, and frankly, I don’t think you should because it is something between me and her. What I ask you is to give her a second chance. She deserves it. Will you try? Please.”

She nods.

As soon as you get to the waiting room, Lucia reminds you that Ava just changed doctors because her previous doctor had just retired. You hoped that her new doctor would be just as good as her other one.

What you didn’t expect is for you to know her.

As soon as the doctor’s office door opens, you almost immediately recognize her voice, soon after you recognize her.

“Y/n?” She asks, shocked.

“Oh my god! It’s you, then.” You walk to her and hug her.

Making the three other girls confused; you then turn to them and explain. “This is Emma; we were friends a long time ago.” You say happily.

“So, who are those people!” She asks you while resting her arm on your shoulder. She has always been very touchy.

“Well, this is Ava and Lucia; you have a visit with the little one, I guess. And this is-“

“Alexia.” Your girlfriend? You didn’t know what to call her. Walks up to her and shakes her hand.

“Are they yours?” She asks.

“We recently gained custody of them.”

“Oh wow!” She jokes. Then she kneels next to Ava, who was sitting down next to her big sister, “So you must be Ava. I’m Doctor Emma Fernandez. But you can call me Doctor Em.” Then she turns to you. So I know that you are in four, but only one of you can come with her.” You turn to look at Lucia, and you can see her distressed face turn into a defeated look. You knew that she wanted to be there, present for her sister, as protecting her was all she had ever known.

“Can you make an exception? I’m legally her guardian, but I’d rather have her sister come too, just to ease some nervousness.” You try to give her one of your most convincing smiles in the hopes that she will agree to your proposal.

She first looks at you, then the girls, and in the end, Alexia, then back to you. “Okay. Only because it’s her first visit.” She turns around to her office and lets you all in.

Thankfully, the visit went well, and you all returned home happy and grateful. Back home, the girl was minding their own business while you and Alexia were in the kitchen, figuring out her post on the national team.

-

You were sitting on the countertop while Alexia was sitting down on your left, very much focused, writing something on her iPad.

“So, do you know exactly what you are going to say?” Caressing her cheek, trying to make her divert her attention to you, she gives you a smile, leaning in the contact.

“I need to be cautious because I really don’t want to fall into any miscommunication or accidentally blame someone who’s not involved.”

“I really do believe that if you and some other big names put out a statement, things will change. But I know that you are in a very different position than I was when we sent that email. So whatever it happens, I understand, and I will support you.”

She turns her iPad towards you, “Read it.” She hands it to you, and you read what she wrote. It was a short note saying that she would be retiring from the national team because of some issues faced by the federation that put winning and pride over the well-being of the players. And then she added that what happened after the match against the USA with the coach was something inexcusable and unacceptable.

“I know that is very similar to what you said in the letter, so if you want me to change it, I’ll do it.” She says while you are still reading everything.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s similar if you tell the truth. For me, it’s perfect and very ballsy. If you want to post it, I’ll support you. But that’s my opinion. If you want a more objective opinion, I think you should ask Jenni or maybe Aitana to give you their opinion.”

“I already send it to them. I’ll probably post it tomorrow after I call my agent. What about you? I thought your agent told you to clarify about the kids thing.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Have you been ignoring the problem?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yep. I was about to make a post, but then I didn’t.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it didn’t feel right to do it at that moment.” She looks at you, puzzled, “It didn’t feel right because you weren’t there. I was about to do it when you were at the World Cup, and we broke up and were on a break or whatever that was.” She turns her head to the ground, sadly, still a little ashamed and guilty of breaking up with you. “And it didn’t feel right to post about my family when a huge part of it was missing. I was hoping you’d come back to me. And I’m so glad you did.”

She looks at you shyly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So you want to go public?” She smirks at you.

“I mean, we can, If you want that too. Maybe not now, but when things start to settle, we can. Again, if you want to, of course.”

-

As the night progressed, you were dreading the moment in which the girls would dye your hair. It’s not the fact that you didn’t want to dye your hair; what you hated about this was the fact that you would probably have to sit still for at least an hour, fully knowing that you couldn’t move in fear of ruining your clothes, but unfortunately, a bet is a bet and knowing that the girls would be doing that and that you would be having some family time, would make it worth it. 

This left you sitting on a chair in your bedroom, with your head in your hands, while Alexia was trying to dye your hair, and the two girls were fighting for the music to play. After a while of convincing, they opted for a random playlist while Ava turned excitedly to Alexia, asking if she could do it. You genuinely didn’t know why she was that excited, but you didn’t care.

In the end, it didn’t look that bad

-. 

It was mid-August, so this was your last day before you went in preseason, and Lucia would be joining La Masia. Since she lived in Barcelona, she would stay there 5 days a week and return home on the weekends. So you finished the night by helping her pack up, making you, in the process, a little emotional. 

It was 11 pm, and the girls just went to bed. Which left you and Alexia in the living room. You knew that it was late and you had to go to sleep, but both of you had training the following day, early in the morning. But neither of you wanted to leave. 

“I should leave-“

“Do you want to come upstairs?” You both ask at the same time.

You both chuckle. “Are you sure?” She asks you.

“Yes, I’m sure.” You smile, taking her hand and leading her to your bedroom. As you both lay down on your bed, she turns to you, “So, are we back together?” She smiles shyly.

“Are you asking me again to be your girlfriend?” You tease while putting yourself on top of her.

“Yes, I am.” She replies confidently, moving her hands to your waist.

“So ask me.”

“Will you be my girlfriend once again, Y/n?” She grins excitedly in anticipation.

“Yes, I will.” You push yourself down to give her a small peck on the lips.

“I love you so much.” 

“I love you so much, too.” You reply; while she looks at you in a way you always found so cute, you smile dumbly at her.

“What?”

“Oh, just fuck it.” You say as you crash your lips into hers, making her react immediately by lifting herself off the mattress, sitting right up, with you entirely on top of her with both of your fronts touching and ending the night with more than just kissing.

The next day, preseason had started, thus also starting the 23-24 season, one of the busiest and wholesome years of your life. 

#woso x reader #woso imagine #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader

[eatyoursparkout]

hello! this ask is prompted by a recent reblog of yours about rubber preservation. I'd love to hear your thoughts relating to TFs and preservation and plastics. what should folks know? any best practices for storage? do you think there's another way manufacturers could produce them to make them more hardy? etc etc. thanks :)

Sure! I'm not a conservator by trade (and even within conservation plastics are still somewhat of a new and niche thing), but I can offer some general advice.

The tl;dr is that like 90% of other materials your best bet is to keep them clean, out of strong light, in an environment that isn't too hot or too cold, and to avoid temperature/relative humidity (RH) fluctuations as much as possible. And above all, make sure that they're well-ventilated.

The tl;dr tl;dr is that plastics just suck.

More detail under the cut! (...Lots of detail. Sorry.)

There's 2 main problems with plastics.

The first is that a lot of them are just kind of inherently unstable. Unlike a nice chemically stable material like glass, they want to deteriorate when exposed to things like....oxygen. Rip. And once damage has set in, it's basically impossible to reverse/treat.

The second is that there's really no regulations or standards when it comes to the manufacture of plastics. There's a bazillion different types, and even if you're able to identify the specific kind via chemical test (and this often damages the object in question) it's almost impossible to know what other kinds of additives went into the plastic soup that created the thing in front of you. This also makes it really hard to develop a standardized approach to caring for and treating plastics, because two things can react wildly differently even if they appear virtually the same.

That means that when it comes to plastics, preventative conservation is the name of the game. You want to mitigate the effects of the agents of deterioration on the object as much as possible. And in the meantime, make peace with the fact that nothing can be preserved indefinitely :')

TFwiki has an article talking about the common types of plastic used in TF figures, which is neat and useful. Gonna hazard a guess that most figures are predominantly ABS, which is great because it's a fairly sturdy hard plastic that probably won't show effects for a while. I'd be statistically more concerned about figures with squishy, rubbery bits (looking with apprehension at my Kingdom line BW figures).

So! While the ideal environment for plastics is cold, dark, dry and oxygen-free (lol), when it comes to personal collections you can obviously only take reasonable measures. They're in our homes, not a vault. The main things you want to keep in mind:

Light fades and discolours plastic over time, and can eventually cause certain kinds to become brittle. The more lux that your figures are exposed to, the faster that's going to happen. So while it's not reasonable for your house to maintain museum-level lighting or shell out for fancy UV filtered cases, I'd keep your displays out of direct sunlight at minimum.

High temperatures can increase the rate of oxidation, and low ones can encourage shrinkage and brittleness. Either one can do damage over time, but what's worse is fluctuations in temp that force the material to weather one extreme to the other. If you've got your figures in a storage unit or something, a climate controlled one would be ideal, or at least insulating the box so that they're kept at a more stable temp. In the home, I'd keep them away from any vents/heaters.

As far as humidity goes, it's less damaging to plastics than a lot of other materials, but you still want to avoid any large fluctuations that will cause the material to expand and shrink (and eventually crack). Wherever you're storing your figures, try to make sure it's somewhere <65% RH (this is a high cutoff compared to most materials, so your home is probably fine unless you live somewhere humid without A/C).

Pollutants are a big one for plastics. Dust can cause microabrasions and damage over time, so keeping your figures clean is a good idea. I'd use a soft brush to avoid scratching your figures, or a lightly moist swab of some kind. Don't risk any kind of chemical cleaners, bleach, vinegar, etc. and I'd even avoid compressed air to be safe. If you want to be really careful about it, wash your hands before handling your figures. Humans carry all kinds of oil and dirt on their fingers- that's why museum professionals are often wearing gloves.

And then there's the problem of off-gassing...

Plastics can unfortunately give off vapours that can negatively affect other plastics in their vicinity. The especially bad ones are called malignant plastics (evil, scary), but it's hard to ID them until they start falling apart or damaging the things around them. Best course of action is to reduce contact between different figures (pose them together, but maybe don't leave someone's hand on someone else's shoulder for five years), and make sure that there's good ventilation.

If you're going to box up figures, don't be like me and store them in your parents' basement for years in an airtight container :') Go for a more pourous material like archival grade corrugated board, and use something as a buffer between figures like polyethylene bags/sheeting so that they're not touching (there's pros and cons to sealing each individual figure in a polyethylene bag- it'll be trapped with its own gases which could speed up deterioration, but the microclimate will keep it from affecting other figures around it).

And if you have boxed figures.... either commit to leaving them boxed forever or crack those bad boys open. My partner opened up their Pacific Rim figures after several years of them stewing in their own vapours and sadly they ended up falling apart in their hands. Thanks NECA.

As for manufacturing, you'd have to ask a chemist! I'm not sure exactly what it is that turns certain plastics to gunk and causes others to shatter, but I'm sure standardizing the way we make them would go a long way. Unfortunately, the stuff that's going to better for the planet in the long run (biodegradable) is also going to deteriorate quicker by design, so that's a whole other issue.

Anyway! That's a lot of info, but I hope it was an interesting and/or helpful introduction to plastic care lol. If you're interested in more thorough reading, I'll direct you to the CCI's handy dandy free online resource. They're an invaluable resource for all kinds of materials care.

#oh and mechanical wear is obviously also a problem like #if you're constantly transforming your figures or moving their limbs eventually they'll break under the stress. but ymmv #my approach to plastics at work is to pick up the object. sigh deeply. and then put it in a drawer where we can keep an eye on it lmao. so #book.answers

[twisted-sickfics]

Tough Day

a lot of content warnings in this one for angel-typical sexual content and violence so please skip this one if that’s not something you’re comfortable with! this still has lots of caretaking and comfort, there’s just also valentino so please beware!

content warnings: MDNI, emeto, language, valentino, violence and sexual content

~

Angel knew it would be a tough day when he woke up feeling like shit.

Well, to be more specific, his stomach feels like shit and his entire body aches all over. It doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure out that he’s probably coming down with something.

But he doesn’t have time to worry about that. Valentino needs him for a shoot and he’s not exactly going to take “I’m sick” as an excuse. He’s been higher and felt worse than this and completed shoots just fine. If he’s lucky, he doesn’t even remember them when he’s that out of it.

This is just…uncomfortable. Inconvenient. A fucking drag.

Getting to the set isn’t an issue but actually having to film? That’s another beast altogether. Having a bunch of dicks shoved in his mouth isn’t exactly the best idea when he’s already feeling like he could puke at any second. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like that’s the vibe Valentino wants to go for today.

Filming isn’t actually that bad, but it’s during the short break he’s allotted that things start to take a turn for the worse. He takes a drink of water and practically gags, feeling his stomach rebelling against the liquid he tried to introduce into his system.

“Angel, baby, we haven’t even played with your gag reflex today,” Valentino says, obviously having fun reveling in Angel’s misery. He just has to suck it up and take it, trying to fight back now would just be stupid. “Don’t tell me you’re losing your touch.”

“Not at all, Valentino,” Angel swears. “I’m fine.” The last thing he’s going to do is open up to Valentino and admit weakness. If anything, the creep would only want to exploit his misery even more.

Valentino looks at him intensely as though poring over every little detail of Angel’s body. It feels slimy. It feels violating. “Back to filming, then,” he commands and the stagehands and actors get into position. Angel follows suit.

It’s when he has a demon’s cock up his ass and his brain is being pounded out that the nausea gets worse. He lifts a hand to cover his mouth, but Valentino immediately yells, “Cut! Angel, what the Hell are you doing?! We need to hear you loud and clear!”

“Valentino, I—” He isn’t sure how he would have explained himself, but even fumbling over his words would have been better than doubling over and vomiting all over the bed. Which is exactly what happens. He hears the stage crew gasp and shout around him, pictures being snapped, and Valentino yelling at him.

It all gets fuzzy after that. Maybe it’s the fever he’s positive he has at this point or maybe it was all so awful that he blocked it out of his memory, but he doesn’t remember much of Valentino’s wrath, just being thrown out of the studio and yelled at by some stagehand to call a cab because the shoot is over.

That didn’t end very well.

Angel still has the cognizance to do exactly what that stagehand told him to do because he needs to get home now. He’s lucky a driver even lets him in the car with how rough he looks, but he manages not to throw up in the backseat for the entire ride. That’s a win in his book.

This late at night (or early in the morning), not many of the hotel’s employees are still awake. Alastor might be lurking around somewhere but that doesn’t really count. Husk is the only one up at this hour, but that’s about the only person Angel feels comfortable showing himself around while he looks and feels like this.

“Hey,” Angel greets, his tone noticeably less excitable than usual. “‘m not feelin’ great today, you got anythin’ other than booze here?” He hasn’t eaten or drunk anything since the previous day now and he knows he should at least get some non-alcoholic fluids into his system.

That…definitely wasn’t what Husk was expecting. He thought Angel would immediately ask for the strongest drink he could make, but for him to admit that he’s not feeling well? Husk decides to keep a close eye on him out of concern. “I’ve got coffee, milk, tea, and water,” he offers. “Take your pick.”

Angel’s stomach rolls at the thought of drinking anything other than plain water right now, so he opts for that. Husk eyes him for a moment longer than usual before handing him a glass of water. “How was work?”

“Terrible,” Angel admits. “I threw up all over the bed during the shoot and Valentino threw me outta there. Guess I ain’t getting paid this time.” There’s no way Valentino will pay him for screwing up. He’ll have to resort to other means to make ends meet for the month, then.

“What the fuck?!” Husk shouts, and he immediately lowers his voice because of the way Angel flinches. “That bastard did this to you? Because you got sick? The next time I see that guy, I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

“After today, I think I’d like that,” Angel says, taking a swig of his water like it’s alcohol and immediately regretting it. His stomach still isn’t feeling great. “Listen, I’m gonna head to my room now. You have any drugs I can take? Like, the actual medicine kind?”

He must be feeling worse than he’s letting on if he’s actually asking for medicine. Even now, he’s performing. “You head upstairs and I’ll meet you there. I’ll bring you some meds and some water.”

Angel looks like he’s about to say something for a moment, but stops himself. Instead, he nods and heads to his room. Husk knows the bitterness of the tea would probably upset his stomach even more, so he pours him a glass of water instead. He gets some nausea medicine and some fever reducers (just in case, the guy was looking a little worse-for-wear) and heads to Angel’s bedroom where he’s immediately greeted by the sound of retching from the bathroom.

“Angel?” Husk calls out, setting the glass of water and medicine on the nightstand and opening the door to the bathroom only to be greeted with Angel hunched over the toilet, expelling what little is left in his stomach. “Hey, ‘s okay. Just breathe.”

Angel gags, bringing up a small amount of stomach acid. “I feel like shit,” he moans, eyes streaming with tears from the strain of throwing up, his voice hoarse and raw.

“I know,” Husk sympathizes, “but you’re doing great. Just lemme know when you’re done and we can get you cleaned up.” He takes this opportunity to check his forehead for a fever and sure enough, he’s burning up.

It’s tough to see someone who’s usually so strong in Husk’s eyes barely able to keep themselves up in front of a toilet bowl, and he really feels for the guy. If he had any kind of power over Valentino, he would kick his ass into oblivion for working Angel to the bone while sick.

“Think I’m done,” Angel says, looking absolutely miserable. He looks like he might pass out, so Husk wants to get him to bed as soon as possible. Husk rips off a piece of toilet paper and uses that to clean around Angel’s mouth. It might just be the fever, but his face looks really red.

“Think you can stand up?” Husk asks. He’s surprised when Angel nods, attempting to stand up on his own, but he leans on Husk for support as he walks to bed.

For the first time that night, Husk sees Angel visibly relax and close his eyes. “No going to sleep yet, sweetheart,” he says, apologetic since he knows the only thing Angel must want to do right now is go to sleep. “I need you to take these.”

Angel swallows the pills with some water and sighs. “If I have to go into work tomorrow, I think I’ll actually die again. I feel like shit, Whiskers.” How honest. When he’s not feeling well, Angel tends to be a bit more truthful. Interesting.

“I know you do, Legs. Tell you what, you sleep in today and get some rest. If Valentino comes knocking, I’ll set Alastor on him. Sound good?”

“Mhm,” Angel mumbles affirmatively, but he’s already half-asleep and very out of it. He probably doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to, but there’s no way Husk is letting him go to work tomorrow when he’s this sick. He’s already thrown up twice and his fever felt pretty high. Whatever Valentino is going to do to him won’t be good.

Husk turns to leave when he feels a hand grip his wrist. “Wait…please stay…” Angel mumbles. How could Husk say no when he’s asked like that? He isn’t completely heartless. Just mostly heartless.

It doesn’t take long for Angel to fall asleep. He must have been exhausted, because it usually takes him much longer. Husk sits next to him, reading a book he’d been meaning to catch up on.

Husk flips through the pages of his book when Angel begins to stir again. He doesn’t appear to be awake but he looks distressed, as though he’s having a nightmare. Husk doesn’t wake him because he doesn’t want to disorient him even further, but a large small part of him feels badly seeing him like that.

Eventually, Angel wakes up with a gasp. “You’re alright, Legs,” Husk says, a steadying hand on his back. “You just had a nightmare. You’re in your room and you’re fine.”

He doesn’t feel fine, though. His stomach is in knots and he’s starting to sweat but he feels cold. He just dreamt about Valentino and he has to go to work the next day like this. There’s no way he can work like this! He’s going to get in so much trouble.

Husk can see Angel starting to work himself up even more, but he doesn’t know what to say to him to make it better. It’s only when Angel’s breaths start to morph into nauseous hiccups that Husk goes to get a trash can and places it under Angel’s mouth.

Angel starts to gag unproductively, bringing up strings of saliva. It isn’t a pretty sight, but Husk wants to be here for him. He has to. “It’s all right, Angel,” he says, “just let it out if you have to.”

Eventually, Angel finally does bring up a mouthful of bile and Husk winces. He hasn’t seen him this out of sorts in, well, ever. And he’s seen Angel in many different states.

It seems like that’s all he’s going to be able to bring up because the rest of his retches are dry and unproductive. Husk has to help him sit back in bed as he moves the trash can out of the way. “How’re you feeling?” he asks tentatively, though he has a feeling he already knows the answer.

“Like shit,” Angel says, as expected. “I think I threw up the medicine you made me take. Sorry ‘bout that.”

That’s when his phone starts blowing up. Husk is able to see the contact labeled “Valentino” on his phone, followed by several messages with some very aggressive language. He doesn’t miss the way Angel tenses up when a new text comes in.

“I-I should answer that,” he says, reaching for his phone before Husk snatches it out of his grasp.

“No way,” Husk says, “you’re not answering that asshole. I’ll take care of everything, promise. You deserve one day for yourself. Worst case scenario, tell that Valentino to shove a dick up his ass because you’re not going and that’s that.”

He’s worried he crossed some boundaries there, but Angel’s lips turn upward in a small smile. That’s enough to make Husk smile too. “Just get some rest, sweetheart.”

Husk isn’t stupid, he knows that means more work and possibly more punishment for Angel down the road. But for now, he’s in no state to show up for a shoot. Anything that comes later, they can handle. For now, he can just focus on resting and feeling better.

Angel doesn’t have to ask him to stay this time.

#emeto #emeto fic #emeto tw #sickfic

[muse-oleum]

Need – Elijah Mikaelson x Gia

This was first posted over on ao3 but I figured I would bring it over here to help revive the #gilijah tag a little bit.

Beware, below be smut.

He really ought to purchase a bed frame.

Although, in retrospect, it probably wouldn’t last long, between the two of them. He looked at the woman sleeping soundly by his side, her head pillowed on his arm, her cheek pressed against his bicep. There was a vulnerability about her just now that he hadn’t seen since the beginning, back in that bar where he’d told her he would mentor her.

Somehow, he doubted he had ever envisioned it would turn out like this.

Gia murmured something in her sleep, turning further on her side and closer to him. Unwilling to disturb her, he allowed it, running a hand through her hair, waiting for her to settle back down to sleep.

The young vampire was an enigma. He supposed he really should be more worried about how well Marcel had pinpointed this particular weakness of his—this need to fix, to mend the jagged pieces of a broken soul. And, in order to willingly become a vampire, she would have had to be beyond broken, past the point of no return but not so far as to be completely unreachable. At least Marcel had learnt a valuable lesson: only turn those who know it is coming. Exercise caution on all fronts, watch out for them and for them, do not leave them running unchecked.

This was an ideal he had once held onto so strongly he could still feel some echo of it.

Of course, back then, the Strix had been an elite, the vampire sireline, the work of one of his first lifetimes and crushed mercilessly into the dust by his father and his own devotion to his family.

The fact that Gia was not of his own sireline but that of his brother’s should have disconcerted him too. But he was far too consumed by more pressing matters, most concerning of which was his sister’s current predicament. He sighed, running his free hand through his hair. His siblings seemed to find new ways of giving him grey hair every day, metaphorically speaking.

“Stop thinking about it,” came a sleepy voice from somewhere below his chin.

He felt her move, her hair tickling his arm when she propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. At the beginning, her defiance had been nothing short of irritating; then, amusing, and now? Now he had another, much more visceral reaction to the stern look she was giving him.

Her brown eyes studied him under dark lashes minutely narrowed, straight at him.

“We’ll find a way to help your sister, in the meantime, since Marcel is watching over her and there’s no way he’s letting anything happen to her tonight, you should get some sleep before the no doubt batshit insane day tomorrow has in store for us.”

It was so easy, the way she said “us”, as if it cost her nothing to include herself into the equation; she, a young vampire with trust issues, embroiled in their family’s business and still swimming. There was, however, a slight note of regret when she mentioned Marcel. His fingers flexed against her scalp.

He longed to suck it out of her.

Desire, for a vampire, was a powerful feeling, almost impossible to repress once let out, like a wild animal that refused to be caged in again. Over the centuries, he had had countless lovers; some had counted more for him than others, some he had actually loved and others he had taken to bed to satisfy a physical need fueled purely by lust. It had been a long time since someone, somehow, had the potential to encompass all three categories at once.

That scared him more than anything.

Gia was still looking at him, her head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed less in suspicion and more in pleasure as she leaned into his touch. He grasped the back of her head, massaging her neck and relishing in the little sigh she gave him. Slowly, giving her time to back away should she prefer to, he leaned in towards her, angling his body above hers, still covered by the bedsheets he had thrown over them earlier. She held his gaze, hers now sultry, pupils dilated and he knew she wanted him again.

He crashed his lips onto hers with a force that would have made a human bleed, but would only momentarily bruise for her. His tongue caressed hers, chasing away any remnants of her regret over Marcel, pining her down under him as his hands tore away the sheets to grasp her thighs. She gasped when he hooked one over his hip, his mouth moving down her neck to her breast, flattening his tongue against the sensitive skin, growling when she moved to press herself against him, her hands raking through his hair.

He swirled his tongue to the rhythm his fingers beat inside of her, drawing another gasp. She was teasing him, testing him, holding it back.

He wanted it all.

Slowly, he increased the pressure of his fingers, his thumb massaging her in the exact same way his tongue was still latched onto her, and she knew he was doing it on purpose. He nipped at her, none too gently, and she arched her back, helpless against the tingles of pleasure running through her. It was almost painful, his teeth on her breast and his fingers inside her too much, and she cried out his name in agony, the kind only ecstasy could bring.

She knew he wasn’t done with her the moment she felt his mouth leave her breast to travel down her stomach. Her thighs clenched involuntarily, anticipation mounting even as she still vibrated from the high he’d just given her.

He growled when he licked up her folds and she nearly came again, just from the sound, so unlike him and so very… vampiric. And then he dove in and all thoughts flew from her brain as his tongue began a familiar pattern, one the fingers caressing her stomach mimicked, creeping up towards her breasts. She bore down against him, needing to feel more. His other hand kept her hips down on the bed, keeping her from chasing her own pleasure.

She was at his mercy.

She didn’t mind it.

He licked into her slowly, his nose brushing her clit and she moaned, loud enough for all of New Orleans to hear. Elijah smirked, pressing a kiss right where his tongue had been, before sucking, hard. Gia shook under him, completely undone, and he swore under his breath, his erection hard and aching against his thigh. He bit her thigh, letting her catch her breath in a moment of uncanny generosity, before kissing his way back up her body, lingering slightly longer than necessary upon her breasts, desperate to tease another one of those delightful moans out of her.

Her hips crashed against his, a breathy sound that sounded like his name leaving her lips, and he sank into her, the relief so profound that he nearly came. She was perfect, matching the rhythm of his hips seamlessly, her breasts pressed flat against his chest. He snaked a hand under her, bringing her up to straddle him, her neck arching at the change in pressure. He raked his eyes over her, his teeth biting down hard on his lips, watching as she rode him towards another orgasm. Of their own volition, his thumbs caressed up her thighs to play with her nipple again, a fascination with them he couldn’t shake. She ground down on him in retaliation and he could not help but moan at the feeling.

She was lost in her rhythm and he matched it, his own pleasure mounting until he felt as if his groin was going to combust and then she bore down one final time, hand crashing against the wall behind him, and the thought of her leaving a hole in his wall had him choking out her name, hips stuttering against hers, spilling inside her.

Gia’s breathy moans were the only things he could hear in the haze of his own pleasure, only dimly aware of the fact that he was cradling her to him, his hands running down her back soothingly. Her muscles were still grasping at him, overstimulated, and he momentarily marveled at the way she could arouse him again so soon. Gently, he kissed the side of neck, trying to bring his breathing back under control, his hands settling against her hips as he mouthed beneath her ear.

She swiveled her hips and he groaned, raking a hand through her hair, letting her take the lead. He knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it anytime soon, but by the gods did he need it.

He rested his head back against the wall, his eyes catching on the slight dent she had made. Helplessly, he arched his back, thrusting up into her, relishing in the sight of her eyes rolling back, neck arched, chest heaving.

She was delicious, and all his to enjoy.

Flipping them over, he let go, allowing his vampire side to take over, thrusting down into her with such a force her fingers tore through the bedsheets, nails sharp and biting on the flesh of his shoulders before she raked them down his back. Pleasure overtook him so strongly he cried out her name against her neck, her own orgasm washing over him, sharpening his pleasure into something almost unbearable.

And still, the voice in his head would not quiet. He wanted more. More, more, more.

Of her.

#elijah mikaelson #gia #the originals #fanfiction writing #writing #tvd #tvdu #gilijah #elijah mikaelson x gia #elijah x gia #underrated ships #underrated character #the vampire diaries #my writing #elijah mikaelson smut

[rhondafromhr]

Nerds corruption au chapter 5!!

Thank you so much to everyone who’s been reading so far! This is the first thing I’ve written in literal years and all the likes/reblogs/comments have been super encouraging :) Also, quick update: I have an ao3 account now (same username - rhondafromhr), where I’ll be uploading what I’ve written so far. I’m going to adjust the formatting and fix any mistakes I happen to catch but other than that it’ll be identical. After this, I’ll probably just update there and post the link on here whenever there’s a new chapter. Unless anyone strongly prefers to read it in tumblr post format (I can always do both). Hope y’all enjoy!

Previous chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

“We’re Gonna Become The Bullies” - Chapter 5: No Matter The Cost, Idle The Threat

Hey gang, I have another plan <3 Let’s all meet at Beanies when Max is done with football practice and I’ll give you the rundown

Suddenly, Stephanie’s a lot less excited to have her phone back. How did Grace even get her number? More importantly, why is somebody whose last plan almost ended in manslaughter out here cooking up more plans? Stephanie knows she probably shouldn’t encourage this, but her morbid curiosity is just strong enough that she’s compelled to reply: cool, see you guys there. This better not be about Grace’s campaign to cancel the dance. Stephanie may or may not have an itemized list of cute homecoming proposal ideas for Pete and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get to use at least one of them. If only Grace could see that she’s totally wrong about co-ed dances. They’re not just an excuse to dry hump in the gym. It’s heavily in the mix, sure, but it’s not the only thing. There’s also underage drinking and dancing awkwardly. It’s an essential high school experience. Now that she thinks about it, Grace has probably missed out on a lot of dumb teenage shenanigans thanks to her sheltered upbringing. Huh, that’s actually kind of sad. Maybe if Grace is open to it, they can help her catch up.

Before she can ponder that too much, she notices Brad Callahan passing by in the hallway, which obviously means she has to stop what she’s doing to raise her fist at him threateningly and call him a weak ass bitch. He flinches and hurries along. God, she’s been doing that every single time she encounters him and it still hasn’t gotten old. She might feel bad if it was anyone else, but Brad sucks. The best part is knowing he can’t do anything about it. She’s beginning to understand why Max does this sort of thing.

She has a couple of hours to kill before they’re meeting up, so she opts to spend them in the library at least trying to get some homework done. Not her idea of a good time, but she figures she should keep her grades high enough that her dad doesn’t get on her case again. Between the better grasp of the material that she now has courtesy of Peter’s tutoring and once again having access to her favorite chill lo-fi study beats playlist on Spotify, it’s not as painful as usual and she manages to finish most of her math worksheet before heading out.

True to form, Grace is already there waiting for everybody when Stephanie arrives. She has two disposable coffee cups in front of her, at least one of which Stephanie assumes contains hot water (seriously, what is her fixation with drinking plain hot water? Even if she’s anti-caffeine, why not just drink herbal tea or something?). Stephanie orders a hot chocolate for Pete along with an iced americano for herself, then joins Grace at the cozy table in the corner. The dainty little bell attached to the door dings to indicate Ruth’s arrival.

“Hi, Ruth,” Grace greets her, sliding Ruth one of the drinks as she sits down “This is for you. It’s tea with honey, the barista said it would be good for your voice. Gotta make sure it’s rested up for the show!”

“Since when are you in the show?” Stephanie asks Ruth “I thought you were doing the lighting board.”

“As of right now, yes,” Grace answers for her “but if you saw her perform, you’d agree she should be the one up on stage, not Trevor.” She says his name with absolute contempt.

“I still don’t know about this,” says Ruth “What if we get in trouble? I don’t want this to affect my chances of getting into college. Everyone knows that’s where all the really spicy sexual experimentation happens, watch some porn!”

“Oh, that won’t be an issue. Haven’t you heard? I’m the hall monitor,” Grace replies.

“Wow, Chasity, no comment on the porn thing? You must be laser focused on whatever this plan is.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for Ruth to reconsider that vow of chastity later,” Grace says as Ruth emphatically shakes her head no “but right now the most important thing is to make sure that lead role goes to the person who actually deserves it.”

Max and Richie arrive next, barely taking notice of the rest of the group as they sit down. Max’s anxious energy is palpable (even if he’s no longer taking his bad moods out on them, he sure can drag down the energy in a room). Richie seems to be trying to talk him down.

“Max, there’s nothing to be worried about! You guys looked great at practice today. There’s no way we’re losing to Clivesdale tomorrow. This is what you’ve been training for,” Richie says.

Max doesn’t seem convinced. “Yeah, but that’s what I thought before the last game and we got destroyed. I don’t want to sleep outside again, it’s been getting really cold out! I could die from hypothermia and become a ghost. You know how I feel about ghosts, Richie!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Richie asks, racking his brain to try and figure out the connection between losing the big game and becoming a hypothermic ghost.

“When we lost to Sycamore, my dad locked me out of the house and made me sleep outside that night,” Max explains “but this is fuckin’ Clivesdale we’re talking about. If we lose to them, it’ll probably be for a week straight.” Richie, Ruth and Grace stare at him in stunned silence. Stephanie just gives him a sympathetic pat on the arm.

“Max,” Richie says, gentle and reassuring “we’re your sworn friends now, which means we’re not letting you sleep outside even if you single-handedly make us lose to Clivesdale. Just stay over at my place.”

“But doesn’t Paul, like, hate me?”

“Oh, he does not hate you. He’s just a little weary of you on account of the years of relentlessly bullying me. He’s going to be out of town, anyway.”

“Ooh, we should all have a sleepover, then!” Ruth says excitedly “That’s where sexy pillow fights happen!”

Stephanie shrugs. “Sure. Beats going home.”

“Oh, that actually does sound fun! My parents would never let me go to a co-ed sleepover, though,” Grace says wistfully.

“Just tell them it’s an overnight bible study and maybe conveniently forget to mention that the boys’ll be there,” Stephanie suggests “if it makes you feel better, I’ll even let you read, like, one passage to me so you’re not technically lying.” This elicits the brightest, most genuine smile she’s ever seen from Grace. Stephanie hopes the passage is at least one of the cool, violent ones and not something basic like “Love is patient, love is kind.” With Grace, it could go either way.

Richie doesn’t comment on everyone essentially inviting themselves over to his house. He simply leaves the table and returns with two mint teas, one of which he hands to Max.

“Here. This always makes me feel a little better when I’m anxious.”

“What? Thanks, bro. That’s so sweet.” Max can’t remember the last time he felt so loved. He never thought he’d have friends who care enough about him to bring him tea when he’s stressed and not let him freeze in the Michigan winter all night just because he loses a game.

All this talk about freezing to death reminds Stephanie that Pete’s hot chocolate is getting cold. Beverages at Beanie’s are best consumed piping hot - the spit is less noticeable that way. Hatchetfield has its fair share of strange, unexplainable phenomena, but why the health department has yet to crack down on this place might be the biggest mystery of all. Why people still come here fully knowing about the spit thing is a close second. Peter finally arrives and gratefully accepts what is now essentially gross, lukewarm chocolate milk.

“Alright, now that everybody’s here we can get started,” Grace begins “As you all know, the theater department cast Trevor in the lead for The Barbecue Monologues. Trevor!” Once again, she utters his name with vitriolic hatred. “Obviously, this is an absolute travesty and it’s our responsibility to fix it. I watched the rest of that rehearsal and he completely phoned in ‘Just For Once’. He can’t even get his lines right, let alone understand the emotional gravity of that song like Ruth does. You can’t tell me it’s God’s will to have Trevor up on that stage instead of her!”

“So, how are we getting Trevor off the stage, then? I need to know how deeply I should regret getting involved in this,” Peter quips. To his surprise, he doesn’t actually feel all that apprehensive. If anything, he’s kind of intrigued, wondering how they’re going to pull this off.

“Well, tomorrow morning I’m going to arrive at school for my usual morning duties and discover a heinous act of vandalism. I guess Trevor and his understudy decided to pull a little senior prank.”

“Wait, we’re framing Rudolph, too? Isn’t it way too convenient that the lead and his understudy both get in trouble this close to opening night? It’s going to look suspicious,” Richie replies.

“Well, those two do everything together! It’d be weirder if they weren’t both in on it. In fact, they’re so close they have these adorable matching friendship bracelets that they never take off. Except during dress rehearsals, that is. You got them, right, Ruth?” Ruth produces two thin, handmade woven bracelets from her backpack. “And at the scene of the crime, apparently, because that’s where they’re going to be found.”

“The scene of the crime?” Peter echoes back.

“The gym. They had the audacity to spray paint…” Grace lowers her voice to a whisper so the rest of the café patrons don’t hear the absolutely vile phrase leave her mouth “…‘Go Clivesdale’ on the wall right before the big game!” The rest of the group audibly gasps. Richie chokes on his tea.

“Go Clivesdale?” he sputters, “isn’t that taking it a little far? Maybe we should just write some swears or something.”

“Or anatomically correct nude drawings!” Ruth chimes in “I have a ton of pictures on my phone we can use for references.”

“Ruth, no. And Richie, the whole point is that it’s too far! We need to do something severe enough for them to actually get in serious trouble. Do you want Ruth to get her moment in the spotlight or not?”

Of course he does. Ruth has been by his side for years and helped him through some of the worst times of his life. He knows how much performing means to her. How she’s been missing out on it for years not for lack of talent or passion, but simply because her anxiety holds her back. If she finally feels confident enough to get up on stage, he decides, he’ll do anything to make that happen. Besides, Grace’s last plan worked out pretty well in the end.

“Okay, I’m in,” Richie says.

“For Ruth,” Pete agrees.

“I still don’t know her super well, but sure, for Ruth,” says Stephanie.

“See, this is why I love you guys! This plan is so smart and sneaky. I’d usually just beat him up and scare him into quitting, but this is way more fun!” Max adds.

“There’s a thought. That might actually be less effort than breaking and entering,” Stephanie muses. She is, of course, purely concerned with efficiency and is not at all thinking about the adrenaline rush she got from beating up Brad and itching to feel it again.

“We’re not breaking and entering. I’ve been a little preoccupied lately and I just might have forgotten to lock the side door to the gym this morning. We’ll just walk right in,” Grace responds with a wicked smile “speaking of which, we should head over. All the staff should be gone for the day. Steph, you’re our getaway driver!” They all follow Grace out of the café, blissfully unaware that they lingered for twenty minutes past closing time.

While her coworkers grumble about entitled customers ignoring their posted hours of operation, Zoe smiles to herself. She caught most of that conversation and can’t help but root for those kids. Committing sabotage to steal the lead role like that? Iconic. They’ve also stolen her heart. She wishes she was half as bold at their age. Their drinks will be on the house next time they come in. Maybe she won’t even spit in them.

The next morning, principal Blim arrives at work feeling less than his best, to say the least. He kicks himself for agreeing to attend “Thirsty Thursday” on a work night - he’s in his forties, who is he kidding? He really needs to stop hanging out with his cousin Barry. That guy was sure “in a hurry” to slam as many consecutive tequila shots as possible last night. He really didn’t care for Barry’s sketchy friend that joined them, either. He got way too drunk and made some comment about locking his kid out of the house whenever his football team loses. The dirtbag seemed completely serious about it, too. He knows Barry’s been going through it with the divorce, but he’s going to have a serious talk with him about how he’s been coping and the company he keeps. He drags himself to the teacher’s lounge for the coffee he desperately needs, trying to ignore the obnoxious fluorescent lights boring into his eyes and making the pounding in his head exponentially worse. As he makes his way to his office, he begs whatever higher power might be listening for a calm, uneventful day. Said higher power must be feeling vindictive, because he’s immediately greeted by a crying, frantic Grace Chasity.

“Principal Blim, thank goodness you’re here! I was doing my morning rounds a-and I stopped in the gym and somebody wrote-“ she sobs “it’s so awful, I can’t even say it!”

“It’ll be okay, Grace. Let’s head over there together and you can show me.”

There’s no need to panic yet. Knowing Grace, this could easily be her reaction to something that’s mildly crude at worst. At least that’s what he thinks until they enter the gymnasium and he realizes she’s absolutely right to be so worked up. See, there’s a beautiful, haunting, hyper-realistic mural of a nighthawk flying over the Hatchetfield Witchwood on the wall opposite the bleachers. It’s been there for about fifteen years now, painted by a former student who was slated to go to a prestigious art school, but sadly went out into that very Witchwood one day and did not make it to the end of her senior year. Now that mural has been desecrated in a manner absolutely unforgivable. As he gazes upon with horror, he drops his mug and the sound of glass shattering on the linoleum floor echoes through the empty gymnasium. This is the foulest, most offensive thing he’s ever seen in his life. He can’t even begin to imagine what type of disgusting human being would do something like this. “Go Clivesdale!” Somebody had the nerve to write “Go Clivesdale!” over the Nighthawk mural! Right before the big game, no less! He’ll catch the perpetrator and make them pay if it’s the last thing he does.

#nerdy prudes must die #npmd #npmd corruption au #max jagerman #peter spankoffski #ruth fleming #stephanie lauter #grace chasity #hatchetfield #richie lipschitz #barry swift #man in a hurry #cw child abuse mention #max jagermans shitty dad #lautski #cw alcohol #corruption arc

[jinxquickfoot]

@badthingshappenbingo Prompt: No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Find the fic on Ao3

Sam would like to go on the record that he is not on board with this plan, thank you very much.

He’s always been more of a soldier than a spy, and these days he’s not sure he’s even decent at the former. He’d had to learn fast during his time chasing Bucky and the years after the Accords, taking his lead from Natasha, but the sneaking around has never come naturally to him.

“Maybe because you call spy work sneaking around,” Natasha had teased him. He misses Natasha. If she were here, she’d probably have a much better plan. Or at least the ability to convince Bucky and Zemo that this one sucks.

Sam’s also not above admitting that watching Bucky cozy up to the man who brain-washed him when he hasn’t replied to Sam’s texts for months is a gut punch. Breaking Zemo out of prison was one thing. Having private conversations when Sam is in an airplane bathroom is quite another.

He’d emerged back into the plane cabin to a hastily ended discussion between the two of them. “What?” Sam had demanded. “Swapping more music recommendations?”

“It’s nothing,” Bucky had muttered. “Don’t worry about it.”

Which of course, had made Sam very much worry about it.

Ever since it’s become public knowledge that Steve left him the shield, everyone has had an opinion about it. The US government apparently thinks it should be with some blond-haired blue-eyed golden boy. Zemo thinks it should be destroyed. Bucky thinks it should be protected. And Sam…

Sam doesn’t really know what to think at all. Which is perhaps the least Captain America perspective he could have.

“I’m not saying Steve was always right,” he’d said to Sarah after he’d been mulling over what to do with the shield for a week. “But he at least knew what he stood for. That never wavered.”

Sarah had watched him closely over their kitchen table. “Things were always a lot less complicated for Steve Rogers than they will be for us,” she reminded him. “You were gone for five years. The world’s different, Sam. There’s no harm in putting off that decision while you wait for the dust to settle.”

Sam’s not sure that’s right, but he knows better than to correct his little sister. “And what do you think I should do?”

Sarah weighs her next words carefully. “Steve did a lot of good, but every time he won as Captain America he lost someone as Steve Rogers. And I think that if I could have my brother home instead of off playing hero, I wouldn’t hate that.”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t take up the shield.”

“I’m saying,” Sarah emphasizes. “Even if you did, maybe it’s not about trying to be Steve.”

Steve wouldn’t have hesitated. He wouldn’t have waited to make a decision this important. And he certainly would have figured out how to get Bucky to talk to him without donating the one thing Steve left him to a museum. Or at least, he’d meant to donate it to a museum. Now Walker has it. The person his country apparently wants Captain America to be.

To be fair, considering that Sam is now arriving in the criminal capital of the world with the man who almost succeeded in ruining the Avengers for good, maybe the Powers That Be hadn’t made the worst call in the world. Not to mention that he’s doing so with a plan he would just like to remind everyone, again, that he is not on board with.

Not on board with breaking Zemo out of prison (Thanks for the heads-up, Buck), not on board with playing dress-up with someone named after a big cat, and certainly not on board with Bucky pretending to be the Winter Soldier.

“It’s fine, Sam,” Bucky reminds him for the hundredth time. A (very small) part of Sam doesn’t even mind, at least Bucky’s talking to him. “It will work.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. Well, it’s not not what I’m worried about.” He jerks a finger at Zemo as he disembarks his jet. “We’re really following the orders of the same man who tried to have Steve and Tony kill each other?”

“An event that occurred well in the past,” Zemo reminds them, adjusting his coat as he approaches them. “The appearance of the Winter Soldier is guaranteed to attract Selby’s attention. Once we secure a meeting with her, she will tell us where Karli is sourcing her super-soldier serum.”

“Yeah?” Sam challenges him. “And how are you planning on getting her to tell you that?”

Zemo shrugs, unbothered. “I will be offering her something of great value. She will not be able to resist.”

“You plan on telling us what that is?”

“Sam,” Bucky cuts him off. “We need to find the serum before Karli hurts more people. This is the best way.”

“The best way, or can you just not think of a better plan?”

Bucky glowers at him. “Can you?”

And, since Sam apparently can’t, he’s forced to pull on his heels and set off to Low Town.

It’s cold where they are, his bright costume doing little to keep the chill out. He fiddles with the many layers, trying to become the man who would choose something so damn loud, the way he’d seen Natasha slip into character so easily. Well, he’s no Black Widow, and it’s not happening.

He gives up trying to fix the suit. “We have to do something about this. I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

Zemo huffs beside him. “Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp.” He pulls out his phone, bringing up a photograph. “You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mac, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname.” It comes out more sour than he’s anticipating. He knows he’s not really bothered about the impractical shoes and the too-thin suit, though. No, it’s more that he’s all too aware of Bucky walking on Zemo’s other side, staring straight ahead without a word as they walk. Sam takes the phone, peering at the image. “Hell, he does look like me, though.”

Okay, so maybe Zemo does know what he’s doing. Still doesn’t make Sam feel any better about bringing the fugitive who blew up the UN along on the Sam & Bucky Adventure Hour.

“You smell this?” Zemo nods to the multi-colored lights of the city.

Sam has been smelling it for a while now. “Yeah, what is that, acid?”

“Madripoor,” Zemo corrects him. Their hired car is driving towards them up the bridge, sleek and black with tinted windows. Must be nice to have enough money to not beg for bank loans. “No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There’s no margin for error.”

A fleet of armed motorcyclists flanks them into Low Town. Sam eyes them warily, weighing if he and Bucky would be enough to take them on if Zemo decides he’s not on their side after all. Sam’s not exactly used to fighting in such close quarters, but he could probably make do. Not to mention that he’s got the former Fist of HYDRA watching his six. At least, he hopes so. He’s very much regretting words about going on very long vacations and never seeing each other again right now.

“You good, man?” he asks, voice low. Bucky is still doing his staring thing, not so much watching out the window as looking blankly into the distance. Getting into character, maybe. Sam’s not sure that’s a good thing.

Bucky cuts his eyes sideways, but he doesn’t look annoyed (for once). “I can do this.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Before he can get a proper answer, however, they’re pulling into Low Town, and it’s show time.

Sam can hear the music well before they get out of the car. It’s a pumping, relentless beat that vibrates the ground as he steps into the purple and blue neon lights. The colors wash away the features on the partygoers’ faces, leaving them expressionless silhouettes. Money and drugs change hands, automatic weapons always on display without a hint of law enforcement. Sam follows Zemo’s lead, Bucky watching their back as they traverse the acid-smelling streets until they arrive at their destination.

Zemo speaks then, and Sam’s Russian has never been stellar, but he knows exactly what words are coming out of Zemo’s mouth. “Ready to comply, Winter Soldier?”

Sam wants to punch him. Bucky is free, he shouldn’t have to hear those words ever again. But when Bucky replies, his voice is void of emotion. “Ready to comply.”

The intention of the exchange becomes apparent seconds later, as the people around them begin to whisper and stare. Great. Sam remembers he’s also undercover, scrambling to fix his face. He pretending to be someone who is used to places like this, he can't be caught gawking like a tourist.

Zemo takes point, arranging their meeting with Selby through the bartender, and Sam is (for the first time) happy to let him lead. When the bartender asks if he wants his usual, he has a moment of internal panic because what the hell does a dude called the Smiling Tiger sound like before deciding a curt nod would be the safest bet.

That sentiment is immediately corrected as the bartender retrieves a snake and starts cutting it open.

“Ah, Smiling Tiger.” Zemo gestures to the snake innards as though they’ve just been offered an ice cream sundae. “Your favorite.”

Bastard, he knew. Sam is going to get him for this later. After he gets him for mind-controlling Bucky, manipulating one of Steve’s closest friends into attacking him, and killing eleven people by bombing the United Nations.

Zemo clinks classes with him. “Cheers, comrade.”

Steve would have never done this.

That thought is slimier than whatever the hell ends up in his shot glass. He gets it down—No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it—and tries to suppress the urge to puke all over the bar top. He manages a strangled sound instead he hopes he turns into a sound of satisfaction and then, for reasons only God understands, his body decides to throw the bartender a thumbs up.

However, none of that makes him as sick as watching Zemo order the Winter Soldier to attack like a dog, or by the blank look on Bucky’s face as he complies.

Zemo leans back against the bar, looking completely unbothered as Bucky slams a guy into the floor. “Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.”

Sam’s going to murder him. That is, if the multitude of people cocking guns in this bar doesn’t shoot them all first.

He grabs Bucky’s arm—to pull him off the guy he’s going pinned against the bar, to grab him and run for an exit, to just offer some goddamn comfort to wipe that awful, expressionless mask off his face, he’s not sure—but Zemo leans over to whisper in his ear. “Stay in character, or the whole bar turns on us.”

It’s at that moment he’s sure this was a mistake, and it’s a moment that’s far, far too late. No turning back now, not unless he wants to take half a dozen bullets home with him. And as much as he wants to pull Bucky out of the nightmare of having Zemo control him again, even if it is only pretend (he hopes), he doesn’t want to leave Sarah without a brother for the second time either.

Zemo says something else in Russian, enough for Bucky to release the throat of the guy he’s holding, and the room seems to breathe as one. The bartender nods at them, as though they’ve just answered a question correctly. “Selby will see you now.”

With the attention off of them, Sam takes the opportunity to drop his voice low and ask, “You good?”

Something Sam can’t interpret flashes across Bucky’s face, before the mask is put carefully back into place. He doesn’t answer him, either. Sam really hopes that’s just because Bucky’s much better at keeping his cover. Either way, they’re having a long talk after this, one he’s not going to let Bucky run away from.

They’re led into the backrooms, Sam bringing up the rear this time as Bucky keeps a close watch on Zemo’s back. They pass stacks of cash and guns prepped for shipping, and Sam gets the ridiculous urge to grab the 260-pound super-soldier he’s tailing and throw him behind him. Or maybe just grab his fancy Wakandan arm and run after all.

He does neither. He trails obediently behind, following this plan he didn’t make and didn’t agree to, that places a friend (yes they’re friends, Bucky, admit it) in a position Sam had promised their mutual friend he would never be in again.

The voice reaches him before Sam can see who it belongs to. “You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo sits, as comfortable here as he was in his own private jet sipping champagne. Bucky lines himself up behind him, ever the faithful bodyguard, which leaves Sam to enter last. He takes in the armed man twice his size guarding the door, before his gaze falls on the woman who had spoken.

She looks to be somewhere in her sixties, hair chopped short and styled, her clothing clearly more expensive than her employees’. “A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby takes them all in, eyes lingering for a moment too long on Bucky before she returns her attention to Zemo. “By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

The question is loaded, but Zemo steps elegantly out of the blast range. “People like us always find a way, don’t we? I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”

People like us. An arms dealer and a terrorist. The kind of people Sam works with now, apparently.

Selby raises a finger, still looking at Zemo, so Sam jumps a little when the next question is directed at him. “You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.”

She flicks her head towards him, and Sam decides a stoic nod is probably better than trying to speak right now. She stares him down, and for a moment Sam is sure he’s messed this up—surely Zemo would have told him if the Smiling Tiger was chatty?—before Selby smirks and makes a purring noise at him. Ew.

She snorts, turning back to Zemo with a broad smile like she’s just told a joke. “What’s the offer?”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum.” Zemo stands, and Sam’s heart rate picks up as he crosses the room to Bucky. “And I give you him.”

It takes everything in Sam not to react. Or at least, react strongly. He’s sure the expression his face just made has given them away—soldier, not a spy—because this was not the plan he was informed about. If he didn’t agree to any of this to begin with, he doubly didn’t agree to using Bucky as a bartering chip.

Zemo’s hands are on Bucky’s shoulders, tracing a line across his spine, and Sam has to remind himself that launching across the room to break his fingers would probably get all of them shot.

“Along with the code words to control him, of course,” Zemo adds. “He will do anything you want.”

Those fingers Sam so desperately wants to break climb higher, grabbing Bucky by the chin. Sam can’t decide what horrifies him more—the delighted, almost hungry look on Selby’s face, or the resigned one on Bucky’s. No surprise. No reaction.

He’d known this was coming.

Sam’s memory jumps back to exiting the plane bathroom, sure he’d just witnessed the shutting down of a conversation he wasn’t privy to. They’d gone behind his back. Bucky Barnes, Steve’s best friend, had decided to make a pact with the man who’d used him as a chess piece to topple the Avengers over the one who had searched for him for two years.

He clamps down on the rising anger, he cannot break character, not here. He’ll give Bucky a piece or ten of his mind later. It horribly occurs to him then that he does not know when later is. Surely to make this bluff work, Bucky has to stay behind? And then, what, break out of Low Town by himself?

Yeah, Sam is going to murder him right after Zemo, the idiot.

Selby leans forward on the couch, significantly more on board with the situation than when they’d walked in. “Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. But I’m sure you’ll understand that I’ll need to test your generous offer.”

Zemo does that stupid head tilt thing, feigning confusion. “Please, elaborate.”

Selby sticks her finger in Bucky’s direction. “All sorts of rumors about that one. That he’s been rehabilitated.” She spits out the word like it’s garbage. “The States pardoned him and everything.”

“American propaganda,” Zemo answers smoothly. “You know how attached they are to their war heroes. They could not have Captain America’s closest ally being branded a serial killer.”

Selby isn’t convinced. “If you want the location of the super-soldier serum, I’m going to need some proof you’re not selling me a faulty product.”

Zemo acknowledges her words with a nod. “Fair enough.” He switches to Russian. “Soldat na koleni.”

Thank god no one is paying attention to Sam anymore because he full-on flinches when Bucky’s knees hit the floor. He doesn’t use his hands to reduce the impact either, that must have hurt, but Bucky doesn’t even blink. With a sick feeling in his stomach that has nothing to do with the snake guts residing there, it hits Sam that Bucky is far too well-practiced in this. Don’t show pain, don’t show humiliation, don’t show anger. Just complete the mission.

“Cute,” Selby remarks. “But party tricks aren’t worth much when you're the one holding his leash.”

Zemo tuts her. “Ah, now you know I cannot hand over the code words without something in exchange.”

Selby sits on that for a few moments, gaze focusing on Bucky. There's hunger written all over her face, and what Sam wouldn’t give for the ability to Doctor Strange them a portal out of there. “The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor,” she says finally. “Dr Wilfred Nagel is the man you want to thank. Or condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum but things didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo presses.

“Oh, the breadcrumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is going to cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” She cocks her head (way too much head tilting going on tonight for Sam’s tastes) and considers Bucky. “Tell him to come over here.”

Zemo barks another order, and Sam waits for Bucky to stand. He doesn’t. Without even being prompted, he fucking crawls over to Selby’s feet.

Steve is going to clamber out of the 1940s just to slug Sam in the face. Sam had promised that yes, Steve could go live the life he never got to, Sam would keep an eye on Bucky and make sure he was safe. So how the hell did Sam let them get here?

Selby takes her turn grabbing Bucky by the chin, way tighter and rougher than Zemo had done. He lets her wrench his head up, eyes focused somewhere around her knees, and Sam has the awful thought that the Soldier probably wasn’t allowed to make eye contact with his handlers.

“The Fist of HYDRA,” Selby muses. Her other hand runs through Bucky’s hair, tugging on it. He doesn’t wince. “I liked the long hair better.”

“It was impractical for battle,” Zemo answers. If any part of him is bothered by this, he isn’t showing it. Sam wonders just how far Bucky had agreed they could go while Sam was out of earshot in that damn bathroom. If he’d even set a limit. Again—idiot.

Idiot or… just someone who doesn’t believe they deserve better.

Selby stands abruptly, and Bucky’s abused chin drops back to his chest. “Russia’s bogeyman,” she continues as she makes her way over to one of the back shelves, retrieving a long, flat box there. It clinks and clatters as she tugs it towards her. “Known to complete any mission, under any conditions.” She flips the lid open, considering the contents. “If I’m going to trade Nagel’s location, I’m not doing it for a broken toy.”

And she brings out a pair of brass knuckles.

Oh, hell no. They’re not doing this. Sam isn’t watching this. He starts forward, only for Zemo to cut him a sharp look. It lasts a fraction of a second, too quick for Selby or her men to notice, but it’s enough to freeze Sam in his tracks. Right. Stay in character or they all die. Both of them are so getting an earful about letting their Captain in on their little plans after this.

But you’re not their Captain, are you? a nasty voice whispers in his head. You turned that title down. Maybe that’s for the best.

Yeah, Sam doesn’t really think letting your friend get beaten right in front of you in an arms dealer’s lair is Captain America-approved behavior.

Selby slips the brass knuckles over her fingers with practiced grace, looking far too excited for Sam’s comfort level. He tries to swallow the rising nausea. Bucky can take a few hits. He shouldn’t have to, but he can. Then they’ll get Nagel’s location. They’ll find out where the Flagsmashers are sourcing the serum. They’ll (hopefully) save a lot of lives.

It’s that last thought he clings to as Selby smashes her fist into Bucky’s jaw.

Sam is going to be thinking of that crack of metal on bone until he’s in his grave. For his part, Bucky barely blinks. He absorbs the blow without even a sound, before returning his head to his original deferent position. Then Selby swings at his other cheek.

To save lives, Sam thinks desperately. Bucky signed up for this because he knew it would save lives. If Sam interferes now, all of this was for nothing, and they’re probably all going to get shot.

For a petite older woman, Selby must be hitting the gym between weapons deals, because she continues to pummel Bucky’s body without mercy. Arms, lower back, ribs. And every time, Bucky takes it, expressionless, and then places himself right back in her line of fire.

Sam never thought he’d be relieved to hear Zemo talk, but it’s music to his ears when he finally steps in. “As you can see,” he says. “His programming is perfectly maintained. I am not so foolish to try and trick one of the most influential names in Madripoor.”

Selby grins, clearly enjoying herself. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Baron. But I’m not quite satisfied yet.” And she returns to her little box of tricks.

Sam uses her momentary distraction to lock eyes with Zemo. Enough, he tries to communicate.

Stay. In. Character, Zemo radiates back and, great, Sam and Zemo are on can communicate with just a look terms now.

Sam takes a deep breath, trying to maintain his I am a stoic criminal persona. A little bit more. Bucky volunteered for this. Sam didn’t, but there’s not much he can do about that now. He can play the long game, endure some pain in service of the greater good. It’s what Doctor Strange pulled on Titan, and it inevitably saved half of the universe.

And lost Sarah her brother for five years.

That greater good mindset is immediately tested when Selby raises a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire out of that box.

For the first time, Bucky reacts. It’s so subtle that Sam’s sure everyone else misses the tiny flinch. Everyone else except Zemo, that is, who is still staring at Sam, commanding him not to mess this up. Well, Sam’s never particularly enjoyed taking orders.

Selby takes her sweet time making her way back to where Bucky’s kneeling, the colored lights glinting off the razor-sharp barbs. Sam forces himself to still, reminding himself of all the logic that’s been keeping him rooted in this spot. If he breaks character, they don’t get information on the serum. If he breaks character, Karli continues to make super-soldiers. If he breaks character, all three of them are going to get shot at.

Selby raises the bat, preparing to take her first swing, and it happens.

This time, even Zemo seems to miss it. It’s so quick, Sam would have been sure he was seeing things if he wasn’t watching Bucky’s every tiny move. Bucky’s eyes dart to the side, looking right up at Sam, and Sam sees it. Not resolve. Not a warning for Sam to stay out of the way. A plea.

Help.

He’s moving before he’s even registered how dangerous this is. All he knows is that he can’t be a spectator anymore.

He goes for the man on his right first, lunging for the automatic rifle. He has surprise on his side, the man yelling out in shock as Sam wrestles him for his weapon. The room explodes around him, yelling and gunfire, as Bucky launches upright, smashing his fist into the bottom of Selby’s jaw. Good.

What’s not so good is the armed man on the other side of the room turning his gun on Sam.

There’s no time to get out of the way. Sam’s body freezes, tensing for the hit. Bucky’s seen it too. He lunges towards the gunman, but Sam can already tell he’s not going to make it in time. Hopefully, he’ll get out of here alive. Maybe even tell Sarah that Sam died being a hero and not an idiot.

A shot rings out and he flinches, but the pain doesn’t come. The gunman’s chest bursts in a spray of red, collapsing to the ground, and then there are hands tugging him to the exit. “Come, Sam. We cannot linger.”

Sam wrenches himself out of Zemo’s grasp. “Bucky! Let’s move!”

More shots are fired by the mysterious sniper, giving them an opening to run to the exit. Bucky’s managed to acquire a gun of his own, covering them as they run for the door. He looks like hell, blood and bruises covering his face. No doubt there are more injuries too, buried below the surface.

Bucky notices him looking. “I’m fine, Sam.”

Sam can’t quite read his tone—if he’s exasperated or straight-up furious with Sam for ruining the plan—but he has bigger fish to fry. “That other shooter.” He turns on Zemo. “Another plan you didn’t let me in on?”

“Not mine.” He sounds distinctly put out by the thought as he pulls out his phone. “But we have a real problem now, so leave any weapons and follow my lead.”

After what he just tried to pull with Selby and Bucky, Sam wants to do anything but, but Bucky almost immediately lowers his pilfered gun to the floor. “Zemo knows Madripoor,” he reminds Sam. The words reveal his bloody teeth. “If we’re getting out of this, it’s his way.”

Getting out of this turns out to be getting shot at as they sprint through the rain-slicked, neon-lit streets, and Sam’s footwear is not designed for dodging bullets. Bucky’s not doing much better, his myriad of injuries slowing him down even with the serum.

“Come here.” Sam dives sideways, throwing his arm under Bucky’s and half-hauling him onto his shoulder.

“I’m fine—”

“If you tell me you’re fine one more time I’m telling Dr Raynor on you. You’re slow, this’ll help, let’s move.”

They stumble into a side alley, the roar of motorbikes hot on their heels. Two behind them, one approaching. They’re being hemmed in.

Another figure approaches—Zemo, gun out, ready to take out one of their enemies. But before he can fire, a crack of a bullet erupts from one of the upper-floor windows. Another two cracks, and the pursuers behind them also fall.

Zemo approaches them, gun lowered, looking as confused as Sam feels. “Seems you have a guardian angel.”

“Well, this is too perfect.”

They all spin towards the new voice. A figure in a hood with her gun raised stalks towards them, slightly out of breath but determined as she points her weapon at them.

“Drop it, Zemo,” Sharon Carter says. “You cost me everything.”

.

An hour later, he’s showered and perched on a couch that feels like it costs more than his and Sarah’s house. The Smiling Tiger clothes are gone, and he’s swaddled instead in a soft turtleneck pilfered from Sharon’s closet. Bucky’s vanished elsewhere in the apartment, and the only reason Sam hasn’t chased him down yet is because he saw him scoop up Sharon’s offered first-aid kit before he ditched them.

Sam takes in the fancy apartment, the stolen art, the brisk and icy way Sharon carries herself. Not exactly what he pictured from the woman who once helped Captain America on a noble quest. “What’s going on, Sharon? You don’t ever want to come back home?”

Sharon offers him a drink. Sam knows he shouldn’t, but he takes it anyway. Anything to soften the images of Bucky passively kneeling at Selby’s feet. “They’ll lock me up if I ever step foot back in the States,” she explains, her tone resigned. “Madripoor doesn’t allow extradition.”

Sam exhales, a fresh wave of guilt rising to the surface. First, he lets Bucky get the shit beaten out of him, and now he’s being confronted with a reminder of another one of Steve’s friends he let down. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call, but after the Blip and the chaos I just—”

Sharon cuts him off. “You know the whole hero thing is a joke, right?”

He freezes with his hands clutched around his drink, the chill from the ice cubes seeping into his fingers.

She makes one herself, double the size of his. “I mean, the way you gave up that shield, deep down you must know it’s all hypocrisy.”

“He knows. And not so deep down.” Both of them turn to see that Zemo has appeared in the doorway, looking entirely unruffled by that night’s escapades.

Sam turns on him. “You planned to trade Bucky to Selby and, what, didn’t think to give me a head’s up?”

Zemo shrugs, unbothered. “You would not have agreed and we would have wasted time arguing. James was more than willing to acquiesce and it would have worked had you not interfered.” He fixes Sam with a long look. It’s not angry. If anything, it’s curious. “Tell me, what did you hope to gain from stepping in? We do not have Nagel’s location. Your friend suffered pain for no reason. A strong leader cannot end up in such middle ground and hope to live a long life.”

A sharp laugh makes them both look at Sharon. “The entire world’s a middle ground,” she argues. “You know that more than anything, Zemo.” She cocks her head to Sam. “Looks like our new Cap is still learning, though.”

“I’m not Cap,” Sam mutters. “I gave up the shield, remember?” And after tonight, he’s seriously questioning Steve’s judgment in giving it to him in the first place. “And tonight wasn’t a waste, we got a name. Wilfred Nagel.”

Sharon’s cold smile slips away. “Nagel works for the Power Broker.” She says that as though it’s the end of an argument.

Sam disagrees. “We need your help, Sharon. I can get your name cleared. I’m sorry I didn’t try earlier, really, I should have—”

“You haggling with my life?”

“Not like that.”

“I don’t buy it. You pretending you can clear my name. What, because I made out with your bestie once upon a time, you think it's your job to rescue me?”

“Steve has nothing to do with it. I want us to help each other because I consider you a friend.”

Sharon stands, pouring herself another drink, and Sam is all too aware of Zemo listening to their every word. No doubt looking for more holes in Sam’s armor to use against him later. “Funny,” Sharon comments. “How I’m only your friend when you need something from me, and not when I’m being exiled by my own country for helping save your ass.”

“That’s… not an unfair comment,” Sam admits. He stands, setting his own drink down. “Okay, maybe it is hypocrisy. But I’m willing to try if you are.”

“I don’t trust charity.”

“It’s not—” Sam cuts off, frustrated. What is it with the people from Steve’s life not being willing to accept his help?

“She wants a deal,” Zemo offers from behind them. “Not pretty words, Cap.”

Sam jabs a finger in his direction. “You don’t get to call me that. And stay out of this, you’ve done enough damage for one night.”

“I’ve done damage?” Zemo lounges against the couch, totally at home amongst the opulence. “Need I remind you why we need to strike a deal to find Nagel in the first place.”

“We are not doing anything,” Sam snaps at him. He turns back to Sharon. “I don’t make deals with friends. We help each other out.”

Sharon snorts. “Well, thanks for all your help the past year, Sam.” She takes a long sip. “How’s this? I’ll throw out a few hooks, see what tips I catch on Nagel’s location. You take him in, you weaken the Power Broker, and that strengthens my position. How does that sound?”

“Cold,” Sam replies.

“It’s a cold world.” Sharon finishes her drink. “I have a meeting with clients in an hour. You’re welcome to crash here to let Bucky recover.” Her eyes slide over to Zemo. “Although that one is being locked in his room.”

Zemo shrugs, nonplussed. “Fair enough.”

All Sam wants is to collapse into one of Sharon’s super-soft beds and sleep, praying that he doesn’t dream of brass knuckles and friends he’s let down. But he still has work to do, and rest can wait. He makes his way to Bucky’s room.

He doesn’t get a reply when he knocks on the door. “Buck,” he calls out. “It’s me. Can I come in?” No response. “I’m going to take silence as a yes. Three… two…” Nothing. As quietly as he can in case by some miracle Bucky’s asleep, Sam eases the door open.

He’s not asleep. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, shirt long since discarded, and Sam winces as he sees the bruises blossoming on his pale skin. “They’ll heal,” Bucky says before Sam can comment. “Barely be there by tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t mean they don’t hurt now.” Sam pads his way over to the bed, gently shutting the door behind him. For the first time in a while, they’re alone. No Zemo, no Sharon, no Dr Raynor. Just the two of them. “Did you at least use the icepacks?”

Bucky doesn’t reply, which is an answer in itself.

“Come on, man.” Sam reaches for the first aid kit, only for Bucky to shake his head. “It’ll help. You’re allowed to get help, Buck.”

Bucky is quiet for a long moment before he murmurs, “Don’t like ice.”

Oh, shit. Sam replaces the ice packs. “Right. Makes sense.” He rakes his eyes over Bucky’s various injuries again, and takes the plunge. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky shrugs it off. “You’re just trying to help. Even when it’s annoying.”

“Not sorry about the ice.” Bucky’s jaw is a mess of black and purple. “About what happened with Selby. That… that shouldn’t have happened.”

Bucky looks as though he’s tasted something sour. “We could have gotten the serum location.”

“I don’t care.”

“I care.” Bucky twists his fingers together, turning the knuckles white. “Could have done some good, for once.”

Sam frowns at that. “What do you think we crossed the pond into Asia for? We’re here to stop Karli.”

Bucky shrugs that off. “Just one more on the list.”

“List?” Sam looks around the room, and spots Steve’s notebook on the bedside table. “The names.”

Bucky shrugs again.

Pieces are starting to come together. “Buck, come on, you know all that talk about making reparations is just government bullshit. You have nothing to make up for. You didn’t have a choice.” Unlike Sam. He had a choice to step in earlier, with Bucky tonight, with Sharon a year ago. He hadn’t. “You know it’s bullshit, right?”

The next words are almost a whisper. “I don’t know, Sam.”

Sam forces himself to take a couple of breaths so he doesn’t take his frustration on Sharon’s luxury bedding. “This is why you should have texted me back.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

The ghost of a smile appears on Bucky’s face. It would put Sam at ease if it didn’t stretch and contort the bruising there. “Makes me miss the forties. Easier to avoid people.”

“Hey.” Sam turns serious again. “You going to tell me why you sided with Zemo over me?”

Bucky shifts, uncomfortable. “That’s not what happened.”

“No? Dreaming up schemes with your new bestie and not letting me in isn’t what happened?”

“You wouldn’t have gone along with it.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t. So instead you dropped me into a plan I had no idea was happening when we were already in the lion’s den.”

Bucky considers that. “Okay, maybe keeping you in the dark wasn’t a good idea.”

“Maybe?”

“But we needed Nagel’s location. It would have worked, Sam.”

“And how would it have worked? We leave you behind with Selby? So she could do even worse to you? No, no way.”

“Sam—”

“I should have stepped in before she hit you even once, Buck. That’s on me.” He feels the fresh sting of Sharon’s words. You know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? “Alright, maybe it blew our cover. I don’t care. I couldn’t watch anymore.”

The words seem to slam into Bucky like a train. He blinks rapidly, as though trying to translate them into English. “Sam…” The word is a croak.

“I mean it. We’re never doing that again. I’m not watching something like that again.”

Sam’s not sure what he’s expecting. A brush-off, probably. For Bucky to dig his heels in, growl out one of his classic I’m fines, to be hurried out of the room so Bucky can mope in peace. The last thing he expects is for Bucky’s eyes to go shiny.

He goes very still, as though trying not to startle a stray cat. He can almost hold the window of opportunity for them to actually talk in his hands, so delicate that one wrong word is going to shatter it. So he doesn’t risk saying anything. Some of his most productive meetings at the VA have been when he hasn’t said a word, and just gave the vets space to speak.

“When I was with HYDRA…” Bucky swallows, darting a nervous look at Sam as though he’s worried he’s going to bolt from the room. No way. Sam’s going to put down roots in this very nice carpet until Bucky’s finished talking. “They, um… they did a lot of bad stuff to me. Really, really bad.”

Sam’s all too aware. He’s seen the files. Even then, he’s sure the worst of it was never recorded.

“And there was always someone…” Bucky swallows again, gripping the bedsheets in an iron fist. So much for protecting Sharon’s bedding. “There was always someone in charge. A scientist or a handler, it didn’t matter. There was always someone to deal out pain.”

Sam forces himself to take a deep breath. And Bucky has spent the past few months being told he has to make reparations for this.

“But that was okay,” Bucky continues. He’s picked a spot somewhere near Sam’s socked foot to stare at. “Well, not okay, but there was a part of me that could understand it. Especially early on, before I was all…” He waves a vague hand around his head. “Before they figured out the Chair, and I was still me. Whoever was working on me that day, it was easy to label them as evil.”

They were, Sam thinks, but he doesn’t dare break his silence. He knows Bucky doesn’t talk to his therapist, not really. He’s not sure how much he told Steve. But this story feels fresh, raw, as though it’s the first time Bucky’s said it out loud.

“They weren’t even what broke me, in the end.” Bucky’s voice is hoarse. “Because it was easy to label them as bullies. Steve’s word.” A beat of grief crosses his face. “They couldn’t get to me, because it was just pain. I could take pain.”

Sam takes in Bucky’s injuries anew. Just because he can take pain, doesn’t mean he should. Still, Sam decides to save that lesson for another day.

“No, what actually got to me was…” Bucky chokes up on the words, and still Sam doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. “There were always other people. Not the people doing the torture or the surgery. Other people just… just watching.”

Sam’s almost afraid to breathe now in case he causes Bucky to shut back down again. The man’s gone back to clutching the sheets, a haunted look on his face that’s definitely going to enter Sam’s nightmares along with those brass knuckles.

“They didn’t care.” The words are so low they’re almost inaudible. “They’d just be observing, making notes or comments, while I was screaming two feet from them. Or, sometimes, they wouldn’t be paying attention at all, and that was even worse. I’d be bleeding on their shoes and they’d be talking about the weather.”

A chill penetrates Sam’s core. Turns out he’d been right about the worst parts of Bucky’s imprisonment not being in the files.

“So, with Selby…” Bucky bites his lip, finally managing to look in Sam’s direction, even if he’s not able to meet his eye. “Thank you. For not just watching. Even if it did really screw up a perfectly good plan that would have—”

Sam’s composure finally breaks. Careful not to jostle any still-mending bones, he slides across the bed to throw his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky goes rigid, and for one terrifying moment Sam’s sure he’s messed this up after all, before all the air seems to drain out of Bucky at once and he slumps against Sam’s chest.

“I’m sorry I watched for as long as I did,” Sam murmurs in his ear. He recalls the look Bucky had thrown him as Selby had brought out the bat. Help. How many times had he looked at his captors that way, praying for someone to step in, for just one person to say stop, this isn’t right, to end it? “She shouldn’t have hurt you. It wasn’t right.”

His response is the tiniest hitch in Bucky’s breath.

“It wasn’t right,” Sam repeats, willing those words to soak into Bucky’s skin. “I should have stepped in sooner. Steve wouldn’t have even let her throw the first punch.”

Bucky leans away from him then. “No, he wouldn’t have,” he agrees after a beat, and Sam feels his heart sink. I mean, the way you gave up that shield, deep down you must know it’s all hypocrisy. Sam doesn’t know, deep down or not. He just knows that if he’s trying to be Steve’s replacement, he’s failing miserably.

Then Bucky continues. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing, though.” He seems to gather himself. “The moment there was trouble, Steve would be there throwing punches. And that includes before the serum. Punk.” Bucky scrapes a hand across his furrowed brow. “The whole incident with Stark and the Accords happened because he jumped in without considering other options. We had a chance for the plan to work, with Selby.”

“We still ended up getting shot at."

“We got a name,” Bucky reminds him. He stares straight ahead, apparently searching for the right words. “I’m just saying… maybe it’s not a terrible thing. That you’re willing to look at all the options. Steve’s sense of justice was one of his greatest strengths, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t bite him the ass too.”

“Maybe,” Sam allows. “Seems everyone has an opinion on who Captain America should be except me. I know you’re mad at me for giving up the shield, but I just… it’s complicated. Trying to follow in Steve’s footsteps.”

Bucky picks at his pants leg. “I don’t think he meant you to,” he says finally. “He gave you the shield because you’re you. Not because he thought you were going to be just like him.”

Sam sits with that. “Me taking up the shield would still be insanely complicated.”

“I know,” Bucky says softly. “And we should have thought of why. Steve always had a habit of seeing the world as how he thought it should be, not how it actually was.” He glances at Sam. “Maybe someone who’s more of a realist is an advantage.”

“Careful, Buck, you’re getting awfully close to a compliment there.”

Bucky lets out a low laugh, before his brow furrows again. “It’s your choice whether you want to take up the mantle or not,” he says finally. “And I know everyone is telling you what you should and shouldn’t do.”

“You about to be one of them?”

Bucky shrugs. “All I know is, after nearly a century of this,” he gestures at his body, “exactly two people have stepped in instead of just watching. Steve. You.”

Something swells in Sam’s chest. Not pride, and not confidence, but he feels a little more like he’s on stable ground than before. “I’m not promising I’m going to take up the shield.”

Bucky draws in a shuddering breath. “I know. I’m just saying… I don’t think Steve was wrong about you.”

Sam reaches out to gently take his wrist. “Maybe. He wasn’t wrong about you either. But also…” Words are rising to the surface that taste a little of rebellion, but something in Sam tells him they’re right. “Who cares what Steve thinks? He’s not here anymore.”

Bucky starts, as though he’s never considered that idea before. Sam’s right there with him—this is new to him too. It lifts a little of the weight that’s been hanging around his neck since he’d first told Steve the shield felt like it belonged to someone else. Steve had an idea of who the next Captain America would be. And so apparently did the US government, Sarah, Karli, Walker, Zemo, Sharon, everyone. Sam could take on their perspectives, he could listen to what they had to say, but at the end of the day, he could choose what kind of hero he decided to be. Not a joke, not a hypocrite, and certainly not a bystander when someone he cared about was getting hurt.

“We’re a mess,” Sam says out loud, and Bucky lets out a surprised laugh. Sam squeezes his wrist, standing. “Sharon’s hunting down Nagel’s location. When she gets it, let’s make a plan to get him together, okay? I can’t be your partner if you keep things from me.”

“Who says we’re partners?” Bucky flops back on the bed, looking like he’s laid down a little of the weight he’s hauling around too.

“No one,” Sam fires back. “That’s an impossible idea.”

“I agree.”

“Ah, so you can agree with me.” Sam stands, hovering in the doorway. “Can I get you anything?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Just need to sleep it off.”

“Alright. See you soon, Buck.”

Sam steps out of the bedroom. He still doesn’t feel like Captain America. But maybe he feels slightly more in control of things than he did a few hours ago. And if Bucky’s finally opening up to him, and he can get Sharon’s name cleared, and stop Karli from hurting anyone else…

It’s a long road ahead of him. But at least he knows he doesn’t have to walk it alone.

#bad things happen bingo #bthb card #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #helmut zemo #selby #sharon carter #whump #whump writing #bucky barnes whump #sam & bucky #marvel #mcu #no holds barred beatdown

[browniefox]

Alright, more Crisis Core, let's go! This one ended up being REALLY long (we got through two chapters), so I'm putting a read more some ways down so it doesn't kill people's dashes.

The boy said the line!

Yay, Cloud is finally here! He still clearly has the basic infantry model other than the head, but it does mean he stands in the casual almost sassy way they all do haha. In general, it's so weird but cute to see him smiling and laughing. Aw, he's not traumatized yet!

I knew what was coming, but my friend I'm playing with didn't, so it was fun to see her reaction (tho i totally still got so excited anyway haha).

This is just here bc I love them so <3 And then Tseng is also here being a third wheel. The sneaking portion that is right after this I sucked ass at. I couldn't make it five feet without being seen and tossed out, and I just had to wait until the game took pity on me and took the guards away.

Genesis, please I'm begging you just kill Hollander. I do love seeing his hair, once so bright red, getting grayer and darker, how his nice leather jacket is getting all broken, giving a sense that he's not taking care of himself and his things as much as he should be.

My sister has tried to stay more-or-less blind to what happens in Crisis Core (she knows some stuff, I know a little more) but all fics tend to use the same Loveless lines (which makes sense, of course) but I did end up reciting this quote with him bc it's one of my favorites, much to the shock of my sister.

I can't believe Zack really thinks Genesis died tho. Like, the guy has a wing, he can fly, falling is not gonna kill him. I'm still not totally clear what Genesis is trying to achieve, but I've been watching some of ButterBuns CCR videos and she's kind of given me a better sense of Genesis. He's just flailing around, trying to get something, anything, to work. He's a dying man who is desperate and doesn't even know himself exactly what he wants.

HELL YEAH! If the creators weren't cowards they would have let your models touch. Our new thing while playing is being proud of Zack for having two boyfriends and one girlfriend. The boy can get it.

As per usual, my biggest problem with this game is the writing - especially with Angeal, tbh. I guess Angeal is just like Genesis in that he's desperately trying to figure out who he is, monster or man. But every time he talks about being a monster I kind of roll my eyes. He's like an emo teenager. Last chapter I felt like it was getting a better grip and liking for him, but I'm kind of back to just being like 'what's your deal man'.

That being said, I kind of dig his weird monster form! It's a mishmash but super cool, and I love how his arms are folded in front of him. My friend and sister I don't think liked it as much and mostly made fun of it which, fair.

Mostly unrelated, but i really got myself into a big of predicament in that I'm super overpowered, which means I get through battles so quick, which also means I don't get to show off all the limit breaks and summons and such when we're playing ;-; but then I turn it to hard mode and die instantly.

I'm always a sucker for sad sunsets. I might not get Angeal or his deal, but I do at least buy that Zack cares about Angeal. It's kind of like Angeal was too set in his ways of monster vs heroes, and that a monster needs to be killed by a hero. That Zack is the only hero left to kill a monster like him, or that by doing so Zack proves he's a hero. But really all it's done is given Zack trauma and made him more uncertain than ever who he is and what he stands for.

(It kind of reminds me of near the end of Homestuck, when Dave and Dirk are talking, and Dave admits it's possible that Bro was trying to train him, but all it did was make him scared.)

I wish we got to spend more time in the game with Aerith, but at least you get the sense that they do spend more time with each other, especially with Aerith being there for Zack after this.

MY BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL BOY! I wish your limit break looked cooler tho :P

Wait, so are Angeal and Genesis brothers then?? I knew they were connected through Gillian, but I guess how connected never hit me. I mean, Angeal defo has her hair while Genesis has her face, but also I've been imagining and seeing them as boyfriends this whole time???

So many mixed feelings about Zack right now. The first thing is yay, new hair cut! My sister absolutely hated his bangs, so big win for her. I do like that you get to see that, as one of the last remaining Firsts, Zack has started to take on more of a leadership and mentor role for the other SOLDIERs. However, him telling them to protect their SOLDIER honor is weird when Zack doesn't know what that is either. I've felt it, but I am glad Zack himself has acknowledged that he doesn't know what that honor is or what it means. I hope we get to see Zack figure it out. I also like that Zack is kind of unmoored and uncertain now. Puts him in an interesting place for whatever's next.

Beach episode! It is FUCKING INSANE to me that Cissnei just... tells Zack that Aerith is an Ancient. Why? What was the point of that? Cissnei, you can't just say that! I guess it could be seen as her trusting Zack and demonstrating she wants to help him, but it's still so weird. It's nice Zack has been said to be hanging with the turks more, but I wish we could have gotten more of that in game. I don't think he even knows Reno and Rude's names.

BOOO TSENG SHOULD BE IN A SWIMSUIT TOO BOO!

So I know Genesis is still alive, but interesting that this is beign considered since it's Sephiroth's whole deal. Tbh, tho, I'm not sure how I feel about Tseng openly acknowledging that Mako is life. How much is that recognized in general, actually? I mean, people do fade into mako when they die... hm, much to think about.

The chase through the city was so dumb, I've had it with Hollander, how hard can it be to catch and/or kill one guy for real. That being said, I do like how cool the buster sword is, and at the end is Sephiroth :D I'm glad that Zack seems a little bitter towards Sephiroth; they're both mourning in different ways, and it's driven a rift between both of them. But at the same time, they're the closest thing they both have to someone who can understand what they're going through.

Shoutout to Zack's little fidgets :D He's still a restless little puppy, despite it all. Sephiroth and Zack's relationship is just so good and interesting, I need them to hang out more so I can see more of it.

God Genesis is so pretty. Both him and Angeal have fucked up looking wings - which adds to what they're going through - but I actually love it for Genesis. Again, what is this dude's goal? He'll probably tell you once he figured it out himself. I love the reveal that he was also at Junon this whole time. Interesting parallel to how the Firsts fought 'at Junon' altogether and now they can't be further apart.

I need to pet that dog! Is Angeal still alive?? I totally thought he died, he has to be dead, right? Just living on in his copies? Anyway, the dog should be a character who manages to live forever because I love him. Also, laughed so hard when the little Shinra robots came into the church oh my god, it's not supposed to be funny I think but it's hilarious how non-threatening they look.

Wow Kunsel, jealous much?? Also, a little creepy? Is my boyfriend stalking me? If I trusted Kunsel, at this point I'd think he was going to betray me at some point, but I trust him too much for that. It seems more like Kunsel just doesn't know how to say 'I'm worried about you and you should talk to me about what you're going through'. I love Kunsel <3

As usual, this game feels like it goes too fucking fast. It's always one thing after another, nobody's talking or explaining things. Maybe it's because you're expected to do side missions every so often? That would probably break things up a bit more. God, there's such an interesting story here! I just wish it was told better.

Also I've been playing so much of this game and only just learned you can sprint :P

#browniefox speaks #ffvii #ff7 #crisis core #ffviicc #brownie plays ccr

[misslavenderlady]

Paul's Turn 💙

Paul/Female!Reader

Summary: After learning that you had a night of passion with his friend, Paul jumps at the chance to get the same experience. Based on how eager he is with you, it's clear he's wanted this for a very long time~

This is in the universe of the fic "It's Just a Movie" by @theyreonlynoodlesmike, so you should definitely read that first (this takes place around chapter 13)! Please read that fic first and then my first gift fic ("He's Just an Actor") before reading this.

WARNINGS: Nsfw/Smut/18+ Readers Only, Making Out, Neck Kissing, Flirting, Pet Names, Griding, Up against the wall, Dirty Talk, Groping, Sharing Fantasies, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Doggystyle, Slight Possessiveness, Held By Wrists, Light Dom/Sub, Spanking, Creampie, Aftercare, Snuggling

"Paul, can you walk me to my room?"

Those were the magic words that had reawakened the wild-haired blond from his drowsy state. There was a little less than an hour left of darkness outside, but if you wanted to play with him, then he was going to make the most of the limited time before he had to hide away in the shadows of the cave. 

You both giggled as he dragged you from the lobby to your room. He had been so clingy and affectionate with you after you made up with him and the others earlier tonight. Not to mention learning that you had sex with Dwayne the other night had made him a bit more eager to get your attention. 

It wasn't necessarily out of jealousy, as the four of them were more than willing to share you. He was just anxious to give you some lovin' too. 

That was made abundantly clear when he pinned you to the cave wall and started passionately kissing you. 

"Goddamn I've been wanting to do this for so long~" he growled playfully. His lips had moved to your neck, already sucking hickeys against your skin. It made your body shiver as you tugged your fingers through his hair. 

"Mmmmm…because you saw Dwayne covered in my pretty lipstick marks~"? you teased him. Your playful banter was cut when he bit a little harder on your neck, making you moan louder. Figures that a vampire would love doing this kind of thing. 

"Heh…Nah, I've wanted this since the night we met you" he said, his breathy laugh in your ear. A shiver traveled up your spine as you remembered how hungry he looked when you were lost and confused in this new world. You thought he had wanted to make you his dinner, but it was exciting to know he had other things in mind.

"But I gotta say, I did envy the guy. Got to have a pretty lady like you on his dick first...lucky bastard" 

Paul's hands were traveling lower now. One held onto your hip while the other slipped behind your back, reaching down to grab at your ass. You squealed in surprise. He was moving a lot faster than Dwayne did. 

"Y'know, he told me about the other movies his actor was in. Damn shame I wasn't there to hear you share all the dirty details~"

Of course, Dwayne had told him. Should have known better than to think they all would keep such lewd secrets from each other. At least you were in on the fun too. 

"Mmh yeah…I know you love watching me squirm~" you teased. You pulled his chin upward to kiss his lips again. The way he smiled into each kiss made your heart flutter. He was so happy and excited all the time, and the positive energy was infectious. You were giggling in delight with each smooch. 

"Damn right I do, sugar~" he said. "You're so fuckin' sexy. God, knowing you like watching that kinda stuff is really turning me on. Makes me wish my actor had been in more movies for you to enjoy" 

"I mean he did look pretty hot in that skateboarding movie I told you about~" you said with a smirk. Even with your eyes closed while kissing you could practically feel his eyes rolling. 

"Yeah, still not my thing. But at least I can have fun with you just being myself~"

At that point, he had spread your legs open wider and pushed himself against your lower body. You could feel his erection grinding into you through his tight pants. Turns out your suspicions about him being as big as Dwayne were true.

"P-Paul..~" you sighed out, eyes fluttering shut as you moved your body with his. The hand on your hip was now traveling up your figure and under your shirt. He growled low as he squeezed at your breast under the bra you were wearing. It felt so deliciously hot getting felt up by the wild boy in your room. All you could think about was how much you wanted more. 

"Fuck, you make my dick fuckin' twitch when you say my name, sugar~" he moaned, moving his groin even harder against you. Surely he could feel the heat coming from your lower body, only driving up his lust for more. 

"Tell me one thing, babe," the blond whispered in your ear. Paul had slowed down his movements a bit as he spoke. "Was I right when I asked if you've thought about us? That our movie made you…feel a little dirty~?"

He had reluctantly let go of your breast in order to slide his long, thin fingers down your body and end just above the top of your pants. You whimpered as he only slipped a fingertip past the hemline of your panties, stuck with waiting before he moved any lower. 

You couldn't possibly wait another second for him so you let the confession come spilling out.

"Y-Yes, you were r-right.." you stuttered, anxious as ever with Paul finally slipping his fingers in your underwear, albeit at a snail's pace. He was such a goddamn tease.

"Mmmh…go on. What part got my girl excited the most~?" 

The fact that you had an answer already was almost embarrassing. But with his fingertips now right above your pussy, it was the least of your worries. 

"W-Well….that scene wh-where…you guys finish that attack…o-on the beach…was pretty…hot" 

Paul was done teasing. His fingers found your clit, swollen and eager for his touch. Your voice immediately kicked up in volume and you found yourself pawing at him more, desperate to hold on as he began to circle your sweet spot. 

"Holy shit, really?" He chuckled, clearly turned on even more by your answer. He felt so good touching you like this. Each swipe of his fingers added to how dripping wet your pussy was getting. If he kept this up your panties were going to be completely flooded by the end of the night. 

"Yes" You whined, both as an answer and a reaction to his skilled touch. "The red light…o-of the bonfire...th-the ripped cl-clothing…oooh~...your messed up h-hair…mmn!...the confidence in y-your strut…"

Your legs were shaking like crazy underneath you. If you hadn't kept a tight grip on Paul's jacket then you would have surely fallen to the ground. Every jolt of pleasure surging through your body was more powerful than the last. You didn't even think before adding one other important detail to your confession.

"The bloodstains on your lips~" 

Oooh boy, that REALLY did it for him.

The hand that wasn't currently fingering you was brought up to your chin, forcing you to look in Paul's baby blues. Your own eyes were nice and wide, eagerly watching him and the expression on his face. He was looking ravenous~

"Turn around and bend over. Now." 

You did NOT have to be asked twice. 

With Paul's help, your body turned over and your torso moved downward. With your hands now pressed up against the walls of the cave and your ass stuck out and presented for him, you were ready for the vampire to use your body as he pleased. You felt like a present for him to unwrap and play with. 

"I never ever thought a human would think our feedings were hot," Paul groaned, roughly grabbing your ass. "Everyone gets so scared of us, but you're fuckin' SOAKED because of what we are. God, I must have been a saint in another life~" 

In between the moments of his dirty talk, you made a mental note to yourself to tell him later about how popular "monster fucker" stuff was back in your world. That would certainly be fun to share.

He swiftly yanked down your pants and underwear, not even bothering to take them off completely. He must have really liked what he saw because he practically tore his own clothes off to free his throbbing, hard cock. Even before you turned your head to look back at him, you could hear how fast he was stroking himself to prepare for you. 

When your eyes locked, he stared hungrily at you, desperate for you to grant him permission to fuck you. You were more than happy to oblige.

"Fuck me, Paulie. Please" 

He didn't wait for even half a second after your answer. You cried out in pleasure as he slipped all of his throbbing cock inside of you. Growls vibrated in his throat and his fingers gripped your hip tightly from the overwhelming warmth that greeted him. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," he groaned out. Still eager to move fast with you, Paul immediately began thrusting in and out of you, hips hitting against your ass each time. This may have been your first time with him but he wanted to fuck you like it would be the last.

"Oooh fuck! YES!" you cried out, head thrown back in ecstasy and hands tightly holding onto the edges of the cave wall. 

He filled you up so easily and each time he moved deeper inside your cunt you felt absolutely stuffed. It was making your brain cloudy, unable to form a single comprehensive thought. Not that you cared, of course.

"Fuck yeah, scream for me, sugar. Sing your pretty little heart out~" he said with a breathy laugh. You did just that when he brought a hand up and struck it against your bare ass, adding some pain to your pleasure. 

"Paul! Oh God, please do that again!" you begged, eager for more. More than happy to please you, the blond spanked you again, striking your ass over and over with the same power and speed as his thrusting. You would be sore as hell after this but that was the last thing on your mind. 

When he moved his hand away from your ass, you felt the urge to whine, not wanting him to stop. But it didn't take long to figure out why he did that. Two hands with long, thin fingers wrapped around your wrists, roughly tugging them backward and holding you in place.

Now he could really fuck the hell out of you.

"AaAahh! Ooh fuck! FUCK!!" you moaned louder than ever. Your voice would definitely be heard by the other three vampires hanging out in the cave, but the only one you cared about right now was Paul. He was fast and wild and so fucking excited to play with you. That was made abundantly clear when he picked up his already speedy pace. 

"That's a good girl. MY good girl~" Paul grunted out, still chatty as ever, even with the distraction of your pussy soaking the length of his cock. "You're mine now, sugar. I'll happily share you with the others, but when you're on this dick, you're my little human. Goddamn, I just want you so bad" 

You expected this kind of possessiveness from David, but not Paul, of all people. Still, it turned you on seeing this boy with the personality of a golden retriever turn aggressive and territorial when he was inside you. His words made you shake and shiver with excitement, building up the pleasure even more. 

The pace of his hips moving forward and back never slowed or lost their rhythm for even a moment. God help you if you ever tried getting laid whenever you got back home. Nobody would ever be able to match the kind of stamina and power of a vampire. Paul fucked you as a man possessed, and it pushed you closer and closer over the edge. 

"P-Paul…I'm cl-close…ooh fuck, I'm so close!" you managed to whimper out. Your pussy was clenching his cock so tight now. Each thrust of it inside you sent jolts of pleasure throughout your entire body. You could only take so much more before you came.

"Oh fuck, me too, sugar~" he sighed, tightening his grip on your wrists. You could feel his hands shaking. "Say my name when you finish. Nothing else, got that? Just my name" 

If his rapid fucking didn't finally make you cum, then his orders for you certainly did. Your fingers dug into your palms, your back arched lower and your eyes shut as you braced for the massive wave of pleasure hitting your body. It all happened so fast, and you were so eager to scream your lover's name the whole time.

"Paul! Mmh! P-PAUL!!" 

The second his name flowed from your mouth the blond rushed into his own orgasm. He pushed in as deep as he could possibly go, releasing your wrists in order to hold onto your hips instead. You could feel him shaking even harder as his warm cum filled your cunt to the brim. Poor thing had been so pent up.

It took a moment, but when you both finally finished, the relaxation hit you like a freight train. Your legs wobbled underneath you and your lungs fought to catch whatever breath you had left. Even with his supernatural power, Paul was breathing heavily too, no doubt he was overcome by his own pleasure. 

"Wow~" was all he managed to say at that moment. It made you giggle hearing him be reduced to just one word. You looked back at him as he reluctantly pulled out. His hair was even messier than usual, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes glazed over. It was truly an amazing sight.

"C'mere, sugar," he cooed, helping move you since you couldn't do so on your own. He guided you away from the wall and onto your bed in the center of your room. 

You sighed in delight as you nuzzled against a nearby pillow while Paul helped clean you up. Your pants were slipped all the way off but your underwear was moved back upward. When his own pants were back on and his belt adjusted, the vampire joined you on the bed. He wrapped an arm around your body and pulled you close to his chest before giving your forehead a kiss. 

"Told ya I'd rock your world~" Paul said with a cocky tone. You chuckled softly, amused by how right he was. 

"That you did, Paulie," you agreed, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. The chest hairs peeking out of his mesh shirt tickled your cheek. "Mmm..gonna go with the others? The sun's coming soon…"

"It's all good. I've got a little more time. Wanna spend it with you"

He slipped one of his hands away from your body in order to take your own, entwining your fingers together. God, your heart was practically melting. Paul really could be a sweetheart sometimes. It brought a smile to your face as he held you close.

"Hey, babe?" He asked.

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure there aren't any other movies my actor was in that you liked? Trust me, I'm really good at roleplaying~"

You snickered against his chest, amused by how pouty he still was that Brooke McCarter had so few acting credits compared to the other actors. Why he was so profoundly against the idea of the movie Thrashin' and the skateboarding in it, you had no idea. 

"Well…there was this one cringy movie about a gory game show. But that would require you dressing in a blue plaid suit and a bad wig" 

Paul was silent for a minute, pondering over your response. And then-

"Fuck it. I'll ask Dwayne if he can teach me some skateboarding tricks"

Tag List: @britany1997 @6lostgirl6 @american-idiot-jpg @herthinkersmanana @checkitoutmikey @riz-coolgirl @luv4fandoms @scarlet-fangs

#the lost boys #tlb #paul the lost boys #paul x reader #nsft #smut #ao3 fic #my fic

[salembutnotthecat]

More Yulya/Novak and him being an absolute idiot eating gluten? Maybe in an important date, so he decides to just Suck It Up?

novak being an absolute idiot is my favorite flavor of request/fic, so i deeply appreciate this

also i've been missing these two so i'm so excited to write this

some background info: most figure skating competitions (international level) have banquets and stuff after the event itself. so i decided what better way for novak to be an absolute moron who thinks he's invincible. also wanted to introduce some more characters.

tw emeto, food intolerance, stomach pain (the obligitory 'novak is an idiot and won't tell his fiancée girlfriend' warning as well)

Novak can't say he dislikes the fact that even though he came with her, he can't spend most nights with Yuliya.

Sure, Yuliya might have been able to spend those nights in his hotel room, but neither of them really wanted to test that theory. Not right now, not when Yuliya is only in her second season back into competition.

Novak also can't say he's happy things turned out the way they did with the Mavericks. He really isn't happy that he had to step away from playing, and he's even less happy about the fact that the Mavericks lost their conference game and were done for the season. Novak is sure he's taking to it harder because he was there, on the sideline, he should have been able to play. But he can't play, he knows he can't. And it kills him.

But what he is happy about is being able to travel with Yuliya. Being able to go with her to Sheffield for the European Championships. Marina was more than happy to take Elya for the week. Novak would have brought her, but she was nine now. She was in school, more important schooling than had this happened when he was still playing.

Novak tried to think of the bright side. He tried to think of the positive things that went in with all of this mess. And that made it so much better.

Yuliya qualified to compete at the European Championships. Truth be told, Novak was incredibly impressed. Not that he didn't have the highest level of faith he could possibly have in the woman he asked to marry him, but he also knew from her that qualification was no easy task.

He was ecstatic she invited him to come with. Sure, having separate hotel rooms wasn't ideal, but he still saw her doing what she loved, and he still spent time with her.

"Do you want to come with me?" She had asked that evening, as she got ready in his hotel room.

Novak had shut his laptop, abandoning the thesis paper he was working on. It wasn't due for weeks and he was far enough ahead.n That was another thing he was thankful for, no longer playing meant he could finish his master's degree. Not that it mattered now, but it would be useful. If he ever needed it anyway.

"Come with you where?" Novak asked.

"To the banquet?" Yuliya said, "It's honestly pretty fun. Hey, can you fix this?"

She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her hair away, Novak went to fix the collar of her dress. Or, whatever it was.

"Am I allowed to?" Novak asked, "I don't want you to-"

"Trust me, they don't care," Yuliya said, "At least, they never had before. Kirill's going to be there, Zalatoi said he might as well. He's not feeling so hot after his program which is to be expected. Wyatt too, I'm sure Wyatt will ask you all about Jayden but-"

"Yeah, I can go," Novak said, "You're lucky my mom convinced me to pack something nice."

That was how he ended up here. Sitting at a table with Yuliya. With Yuliya's friends. Other European skaters. It felt like another gala dinner, or a wedding reception. But it also didn't.

There was a lot of conversation. And Novak was pleasantly surprised how many people wanted to talk to him. He would never tell Yuliya, but he had been incredibly worried that everyone would either ignore him or not want him there. Novak wasn't much of an extrovert, but it was nice to just have people around who at least seemed tolerant of him being here.

He hadn't even realized dinner came, hadn't realized he's eaten either. But before he knew it, the staff was taking plates away. Including from him.

Yuliya was engrossed in a conversation with a girl from Bulgaria. Melina, Novak thought Yuliya had introduced her. Novak was more than happy to sit back and just listen to the conversations around him.

Kirill was talking to Yuliya and Melina. Something about World Championships, something about a place he went, they were talking vacations and sights before Novak knew it.

As time slipped away, Novak found it harder and harder to keep up with the conversation around him. He checked his watch, but forgot the time almost as soon as he looked away. It didn't matter, really.

Novak felt... weird. He didn't know how to explain it. Not immediately.

"Hey, I'll be right back," He whispered in Yuliya's ear, kissing her cheek lightly.

Novak excused himself from the table with a casual smile, excusing it as needing a quick bathroom break. He made his way through the lively crowd, the sounds of clinking glasses and laughter fading as he stepped into the quiet of the restroom.

Leaning against the cool marble sink, Novak took a moment to collect himself. His stomach churned uncomfortably, and he realized with a pang of regret that he must have eaten something that didn't agree with him. That was the only thing he could think of. After all, it was possible. He hadn't really been paying attention to what he was eating, and he definitely didn't want to make a deal out of it by saying anything. Unless this was something else, but it didn't feel like anything else. Really, it didn't feel like much of anything.

Splashing some water on his face, Novak tried to push the discomfort aside.

As Novak stood in front of the mirror in the restroom, took a few breaths, he couldn't shake off the sense of unease that had settled over him like a heavy fog.

Physically, he felt a knot of discomfort coiling in his stomach, a nagging sensation that something wasn't right. It was like a subtle but persistent ache, a dull throb that intensified with every passing minute. His mouth felt dry, he tasted the faintest trace of blood, he'd been biting his cheek of a little bit, he assumed. Maybe, then, it was anxiety. Being in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people. Sure he knew Yuliya's friends by legal definition, but they were her friends. Not his.

Despite these unsettling sensations, Novak tried to muster a sense of determination. He couldn't let this ruin Yuliya's night, not when she was so excited about the event. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his posture and splashed some water on his face, hoping to wash away both the physical discomfort and the mental fog.

As he returned to the banquet hall, the sights and sounds of the lively gathering seemed to come into sharper focus, though the knot in his stomach persisted. Novak resolved to push through, putting on a brave smile for Yuliya's sake. She wanted him here, he knew she did. He wasn't going to let her down.

Novak returned to the table with a practiced smile, hoping to blend back into the lively conversations seamlessly. Yuliya, ever perceptive, glanced at him with a gentle concern in her eyes.

"Everything okay? You were gone for a bit," she asked softly, her concern laced with a touch of worry.

Novak waved off her concern with a casual shrug. "Just needed a breather, all good," he reassured her. Yuliya nodded understandingly and turned back to her conversation with Melina, the topic shifting to upcoming competitions and training routines.

As the evening progressed, Novak's condition worsened despite his attempts to hide it. The knot in his stomach tightened, and waves of nausea washed over him with increasing frequency. At one point, he tied back his hair without thinking about it. The vibrant conversations around him blurred into an indescernable mix of voices, making it difficult for him to focus.

As he sat there, he only felt worse. As quickly as he realized something wasn't right, things took a turn for a worst. The need to be sick was urgent now, a desperate plea from his body to rid itself of whatever had caused this turmoil.

Yuliya was engrossed in a discussion with another skater, unaware of Novak's sudden departure. However, Kirill, who sat nearby, noticed Novak's hurried exit and the strained expression on his face.

Concerned, Kirill excused himself from the conversation and discreetly followed Novak to the restroom.

As Novak leaned heavily against the bathroom sink, his hands trembling slightly, he was hit with a wave of intense nausea that seemed to consume him from the inside out. The once-faint discomfort had escalated into a full-blown ordeal, his stomach twisting and churning as if in protest against whatever had triggered this sudden sickness.

Before he could register the severity of his condition, he turned quicker than he thought he could, dashing for one of the stalls, completely forgetting to shut the door, heaving uncontrollably. The taste of bile and the acrid scent filled the small restroom, adding to his misery. Each retch was accompanied by a sharp pang of pain, his body convulsing with the effort to expel whatever had upset his stomach so drastically.

Just as he struggled to catch his breath between bouts of vomiting, the bathroom door creaked open, and Kirill's concerned face appeared in the mirror's reflection. Kirill didn't hesitate, immediately taking action to check on Novak.

"Hey, easy there," Kirill said softly, placing a hand on Novak's back in a comforting gesture.

Novak spit, coughed, tried to catch his breath. Before getting so sick he fell to his knees.

"Ah shit, one of those," he hears Kirill say behind him.

Yuliya told him something about Kirill. But Novak couldn;t remember what it was. It was enough for Novak to know Kirill wasn't mad, at least.

Novak's face was pale, sweat beading on his forehead despite the coolness of the restroom. His whole body trembled with exhaustion and the exertion of being violently ill. He felt weak and drained, his muscles protesting with every movement.

"Here," Kirill reached around, loosening a few buttons on Novak's chest without thinking.

"I-I don't know what happened," Novak managed to gasp out between breaths, his voice hoarse and strained. The sudden onset of sickness had caught him completely off guard, leaving him entirely shaken.

"It's okay, sometimes these things happen," Kirill reassured him, patting his back gently. "Just focus on breathing for now. Take small sips of water when you can."

Novak moved over. He didn’t want to tell Kirill to get his hands off him, but the touch was an annoyance at best. So, he simply moved over. He leaned against the stall wall, trying to steady his ragged breathing. The taste of bile lingered in his mouth, a bitter reminder of his body's revolt.

“This just happened?” Kirill asked.

Novak nodded, “I don’t… know why. Please don’t tell Yuliya.”

Kirill nodded in understanding, "I won't say anything if you don't want me to," he assured Novak, “But maybe you should consider telling her. She'd want to know you're not feeling well."

Novak hesitated, torn between wanting to keep Yuliya in the dark to avoid ruining her night and the practicality of getting some rest. "I... I'll think about it," he replied vaguely, not wanting to commit to either course of action just yet.

Kirill gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping back slightly, giving Novak some space. "Take it easy. If you need anything, just let me know. And here, take this so you don’t exactly smell like you just puked up your dinner when you talk to Yuliya.”

Kirill grabbed a pack of gum from his pocket and handed it over. before leaving the restroom to give Novak some privacy.

Alone in the restroom, Novak took a few moments to compose himself. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts, trying to come up with a plausible excuse to leave the banquet without causing undue concern. Finally, he decided on a simple explanation that wouldn't raise too many questions.

When Novak returned to the table, Yuliya immediately noticed the tired lines etched on his face. "Everything alright?" she asked, her concern evident in her voice.

Novak managed a weak smile, trying to appear nonchalant. "Yeah, mom’s just trying to call.”

Yuliya nodded understandingly, her expression softening with concern. "Do you need to go?" she asked, ready to accommodate his needs.

"I think I should," Novak replied, relieved that his excuse seemed to work. "Sorry to cut out early."

Yuliya shook her head, her concern evident. "Don't apologize, your mom comes first. Take care of whatever it is, okay? I’ll come up in a bit anyway.”

Novak nodded gratefully, excusing himself from the table and making his way back to his hotel room.

-

Novak was exhausted. He wasn't sure how he ended up so terribly spent, but here he was.

He intended to put on something more comfortable and lay down. By now, his stomach was killing him and he was unbearably nauseous. A million things ran through his head as to why he was so sick. It was so sudden. He felt fine earlier, really he did. He felt fine until after dinner.

At some point, Novak dozed off. It didn't last long. Before Novak knew it, he stumbled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, his body heaving with the familiar sensation of sickness. He barely made it to the toilet in time, the sound of retching echoing in the confined space. Each wave of nausea was accompanied by a rush of adrenaline, his heart racing with the intensity of the sickness that seemed to have no end.

Meanwhile, Yuliya had returned to the hotel room, her footsteps quiet as she entered. Concern etched her features as she noticed Novak's absence from the room. His phone was on the nightstand. She walked over and plugged it in for him.

"Novak?" she called out softly, her voice tinged with worry.

The sound of vomiting from the bathroom answered her question before Novak could. With a sinking feeling in her chest, Yuliya hurried to the bathroom door, pushing it open to find Novak hunched over the toilet, his face pale and beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.

"Novak, what's wrong?" Yuliya's concern was evident as she knelt down beside him, one hand pushing back some hair that got in the way. The sight of him in such distress tugged at her heart, her worry for his well-being overriding any inconvenience or plans for the evening.

Novak glanced up at her, his eyes filled with a mix of embarrassment and discomfort.

"I... I don't know," he admitted hoarsely, the truth of his situation laid bare in front of Yuliya. "I've been feeling off since the banquet, and it just keeps getting worse."

Yuliya's gentle touch and comforting presence offered some solace to Novak as he struggled through another bout of sickness. Yuliya hated to leave him, but knew he hated her being so close when he wasn't feeling well. She stepped out, she changed out of her nice dress. She came back with a water bottle, just as Novak coughed up one last mouthful of whatever was making his stomach so pissed off.

Once the episode passed and Novak sat back, his breathing still ragged.

"Kirill was worried about you," Yuliya said, standing to grab a cup from the sink, pouring some water in the cup.

"Yeah, he followed me, for some reason," Novak said.

"Kirill has a chronic vomiting condition," Yuliya said, "It's like a sixth sense, he knows when someone is going to throw up."

"Wait how did-"

"I texted Marina," Yuliya said, "Asked her if she and Elya were okay after what you told me."

"Fuck, why?" Novak sighed.

"Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well, you didn't have to come to the banquet if-"

"I was feeling fine earlier," Novak said, "Genuinely, I don't know what happened. I ate dinner with you guys and just started feeling shitty."

Yuliya sighed, sitting next to Novak without a word. Novak looked to her, confused by her sudden silence.

Yuliya lightly faceplanted into his shoulder. Novak would have been worried, more worried about her than how terrible he felt. But Yuliya started laughing.

"You are so stupid," she scolded gently, her tone laced with exasperation but also a deep caring for his well-being.

Novak winced slightly at her words, knowing she was right but not wanting to admit it fully.

"You had what I did, didn;t you?" Yuliya asked, "What… most of us had."

"I did but I mean," Novak said, "I didn't think about it and even if I had I didn't want the trouble of-"

"Zalatoi is complicated, he has to eat both gluten free and vegetarian or else he ends up like you," Yuliya said, "Kirill always substitutes the actual meal for a few sporadic rounds of lighter things, like a soup or salad or whatever they have. They are used to it, babe."

"I know, I know," he muttered, his gaze downcast as he felt a pang of guilt for causing such a scene.

Yuliya sighed, reaching for a towel to dampen with cool water and handing it to Novak. "Here, wipe your face. Then we can lay down and cuddle to make up for you giving me a heart attack and a half.," she said, her voice softening as she resumed her comforting gestures.

As Novak cleaned himself up, Yuliya couldn't help but feel a mixture of frustration and fondness towards him. His tendency to downplay things and brush off concerns had always been a source of mild irritation, but she knew it came from a place of not wanting to make a fuss or draw attention to himself.

"We'll make sure you're okay before anything else," Yuliya assured him, her hand resting on his shoulder in a reassuring gesture. It would have been nice to stay that way.

But it was Yuliya. Yuliya lightly smacked the back of Novak's head. "For fucks sake, next time pay more attention to what you eat."

"Oh," Novak said, "Well, if I do that, then I get to miss out on your excellent bedside manner and caregiving."

Yuliya smiled, "Keep talking and I'll drag you to bed, literally. Across the floor."

"You're hot when you're annoyed," Novak told her, smirking slightly.

Yuliya went to speak, but as always such a gesture left her speechless for a moment. She smiled again.

"Yeah, I know," Yuliya teased, "You're ugly when you aren't sending me into cardiac arrest."

"I'm what now?"

"Jokes on you," Yuliya interrupted, "You practically always send me into cardiac arrest."

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #emetophilia #the chronicles of novak daskalov being a fucking idiot #food intolerance tw

[owlpellet]

What's something Niram is really bad at? What would he say his best trait is and what is it actually? How do his health complications impact his day-to-day? What would you say his most striking feature is? (Other than not having hands anymore) What subjects does he most like to paint?

Oh man oh man.

-So he's obviously really bad at anything that involves physical activity. He's an emaciated little shrimp with the core strength of a bean burrito who doesn't have any hands and is slowly making his own legs atrophy by choosing to levitate everywhere instead of walk like a normal person. His STR is 7. His magehand weight limit is probably higher than what he could have comfortably carried around before.

But no, his actual weak point that causes Real Problems is he sucks at lying. He sucks at it so bad. Whether it's some deep ancient fae ancestry nonsense or horrible contingency spiraling about having to maintain the lie like he claims isn't really clear, but he will avoid having to lie at all costs. He cannot force his way through one. He would rather be truthful and face the consequences of this than have to keep track of falsehoods and who knows them, although sometimes this also just means he has a big mouth about stuff he doesn't think matters.

This doesn't mean he's *compelled* to truth, though. He can simply stay quiet about a subject, or give only partial information, and he can lie for the sake of a brief joke or surprise, but if forced into a "yes or no?" type of situation his honesty is almost guaranteed.

-The biggest complication when it comes to his health is definitely his diet, at least when off campus. Turns out a lot of people take it as an insult when you won't eat their food, even when you explain why, and people can also be really weird about abstinence from drinking! His teammate Sayid graciously assists Niram in purging what his body can't filter by taking on some of the malaise for him and going through bathroom hell (just Ilmaterite things, we call it the holy dialysis), and it's one of the few things in life he grapples with guilt about.

I do also acknowledge in games the frequent toilet trips he needs, though don't derail RP for them unless they're narratively relevant or funny.

While not directly related to his internal health, he also encounters a lot of accessibility issues now that he doesn't have hands. The magehands allow for him to manipulate objects, but the disconnect from his actual body still presents a lot of challenges-- the session before last they actually had to work with Yuri's dad (an artificer) to modify special slot-style handlebars for him to attach to his magic broom that he had previously just been wrapping his elbows around for dear life.

Also sometimes he just... forgets they're not there anymore. It's been such a short while compared to a whole life of having them. He's had a few bodily collisions with things where a well-placed hand should have stopped that. Like... leaning against a wall.

-His most striking feature is probably that receding hairline and extreme widow's peak. Content-aware scaled, color-inverted Vegeta lookin mf. He would probably agree.

-He loves doing portraits/figures of all kinds but I think after a lot of practice and honing his skills he'll find he likes dragons, dragonborn, lizardfolk, aarakocra, and other scaled or feathered individuals because he finds the patterns/color variety soothing rather than tedious.

This differs from his sketching in his journal, which is a less time-consuming process in which he doesn't try to get so lost. His favorite things to sketch/ink are bones. Of course.

#niram #making me THINK??? #about my BOY??? #delicious thank u

[heytherejulia]

Matchmakers ~ Harry Holland

pairing: harry holland x reader, tom holland x zendaya

warning: minor injury, swearing

summary: Tom, Sam and Harrison play matchmakers

word count: 1,9k

Harry was sitting on the couch smiling at his phone. For the past few days he had been texting with this cute girl he ran into at the club. During this time, he got to know her quite well and began to discover that he might have some feelings for her.

But Harry didn't have as much confidence as Tom, as much charm as Sam, he wasn’t as good looking as Harrison (in his opinion) or had as much charisma as Paddy. He just wasn't them and he just wasn’t the best when it came to girls. He needed some advice, but he knew asking his brothers or Harrison would definitely not be that much of a help. The guys may have been good with the opposite sex, but they weren't shitty advisers on this field. 

On the other hand, Tom, Sam and Haz did notice a change in Harry's behavior and figured that something serious was bothering their friend, but they wouldn't be themselves if they hadn't teased him before trying to help. Harry was too focused on replying to your message to notice that Tom was standing behind him reading all the messages on the screen.

‘So who is Y/N with a heart emoji, bro?’ The younger Holland jumped as usual in fear. Habit. 

‘None of your business.’ He smirked sarcastically and locked the screen of his phone.

‘Hey Harry, come on, I told you about my current girlfriend.’ 

‘Yeah, you did. Two years ago, when I caught you with her on foreplay in our kitchen. I don't think I've heard of Zendaya as your official girlfriend before, and you've been shooting with her a lot longer.’ 

‘You should ask her out sometimes, you know? Maybe this is your chance, man.’ He knew Tom was right, but he would never admit it for his life.

‘Yeah yeah. I'm going to my room.’ Harry was halfway up the stairs when he heard Tom scream.

‘Just ask her on a date already!’ The words automatically made both Harrison, Sam and Daya run out of their rooms.

‘Who's asking whom on a date?’ 

Harry felt his cheeks turning red, and the urge to stick Tom's mouth shut or to kill him was growing with every second. Tom, on the other hand, couldn't care less about his lil bro’s death stares and pleading glances. Maybe he felt a little sorry for him, but at the same time, he knew it would be better for Harry if he shared it with his loved ones. As an older brother and a friend, he knew that this particular twin was not the smoothest with the girls and their help would certainly be needed.   

‘Nobody, not now at least, but Harry's been hanging out with some girl named Y/N and he should definitely take her on a date.’ 

‘Leave me alone, I'm going to my room.’

When Harry disappeared behind the door to his room, it was Tom who spoke first.

‘We have to help him somehow. He will never go out with her without us.’ 

‘Ooh, man. Do we play matchmakers? I'm in it.’ The enthusiasm that gushed out of Harrison and Tom was worrisome to Zendaya, and she genuinely felt sorry for Harry, but she doubted her intervention in this endeavor would help anyone.

‘Sam, you’re in, right?’ Daya really hoped Sam would be smarter than her boyfriend and his best mate, but, oh boy, she was so wrong. The younger Holland joined this plan as eagerly as the previous two.

‘Z, are you with us?’

‘No, definitely not. Guys, you should let Harry make his own decision and you definitely shouldn't be playing matchmakers. Especially when you suck at it.’ 

‘Oi! But you know him. He won't do anything until someone pushes him to do it.’ 

‘It's still his life, Tom. Anyway, I'm going to the store, do you guys want something?’ The boys shook their heads. ‘See you later then.’ 

‘Hey, Z’ The girl turned. Tom walked over to her and placed a kiss on her forehead. ‘Now you can go.’ 

After Zendaya left, the boys began to create a brilliant plan to get Harry to ask you on a date. They forced him to listen to their advice, on the condition that they would leave him alone afterwards. 

Harry had two options here: listen to these idiots and maybe take advantage of it, or ignore them and deal with their complaints for the next few days. The second option definitely suited him better (excluding brothers and a friend sticking their noses into his love life), but the first option was a win-win for everyone. After all, he did not have to take their advice, and listening to them would not hurt him.

‘Okay, Harry. We have three ideas, three great ideas for your date with Y/N. And before you get out of the way, everything is already set up with your cute girlfriend.’

‘How the hell did you do that?!’

‘We hacked your account, man, and you’re meeting with her this Friday. This is where my wonderful plan comes in.’ Tom began. ‘Well, you’ll take her to the cinema for the horror movie, and then …’ 

As it turned out later, Tom's plan sucked so bad. Not only was the movie boring, but not scary at all, not least in Harry’s and yours opinion, but Tom, Sam and Haz, who went to the same screening to follow their brother's progress, screamed like little girls on every jumpscare that appeared on the screen. At the end, you and Harry spent some time in the café talking about the shitty movie and your hobbies, but to the boys' displeasure, there was no open flirting or kissing between you, you just acted like friends. 

***

‘Okay, now that we know Spider-boy's plan sucks, we're going with mine. You’ll take her to paintball and then perhaps with a bit of luck you can kiss her. You know, someone will shoot her and you will take care of her.’ 

This date turned out to be an even greater failure than the previous one. You went on paintball (matchmakers along to spy on you), but as soon as you started the game, you were shot down by a player from another team in the face and ended up with a big bruise under your eye and visited an emergency room because of the paint in your eye. In fact, Harrison's plan probably worked slightly too well. 

You didn't blame Harry for the whole incident and even said that it was your craziest stay in the hospital and that you had a lot of fun in the waiting room, while waiting for some ophthalmologist to remove the green paint from your eye. Fortunately, the paint was non-toxic and you were able to return to work after a few days, but Harry was still furious with his friends who came up with silly ideas like hiring a guy to shoot his date friend.

‘Well, Batman fucked up too.’ 

‘Hey! Not at all! The plan was good, it wasn't my fault some idiot shot her in the face!’ 

‘You hired this idiot.’ 

But Tom and Harrison didn't hear Harry’s words because they were too busy with their own problems. They started arguing over whose plan was better, and went on to arguing about who would win a fight: Spider-man or Batman.

‘Batman.’

‘Spider-man.’

‘Batman!’ 

‘Spider-man!’ 

‘Batman!!’

‘Spider-man!! Do you know how I know it? Because I'm Spider-man.’ 

‘Shut up, you twats. Harry, just take her for a walk in the park, you both have dogs, so take them and go for a romantic walk. It can't go wrong.’ 

Contrary to Sam's assurances, it could. 

Your doggie was still a puppy and was afraid of practically every bigger noise, so when you walked into Richmond Park and saw how many people had taken their dogs out just like you two, Harry knew that a third date in a row would be a total failure. 

And that's exactly what happened, because the little french bulldog ran away from you as soon as a few larger dogs ran up and started barking at Tessa and Muffin, inviting them to play, and you both spent the whole afternoon looking for your dog. He eventually was found two days later when a woman came with him to the vet and called you after she saw your poster about a lost puppy. 

However before your dog got lost, Haz, Tom and Sam decided to take Monty for a walk to spy on Harry and you. They turned out to be even worse spies than dating advisers. The three of them wore hoodies and sunglasses and sat on the bench directly opposite the one that you were sitting on. Harry recognized them right away, but not wanting to start a fight, he just offered you a walk in another part of the park. 

But you did not live under a rock, and you recognized the boys, not only from the internet but also from Harry's stories. So when he grabbed your hand and started leading you to the west side of the park, you smiled awkwardly and waved at the young men sitting on the bench. 

By that point, Harry was already so furious with the three of them that he gave them silent treatment and only spoke to Zendaya, who lived with them. He knew it was childish behavior, and in fact some of the events were downright bad luck and coincidence, but he was furious nonetheless, perhaps more at himself than at the boys. 

Harry was sitting in the kitchen, editing photos from the last photoshoot he had taken and drinking his very milk tea when Z entered the room.

‘How's your dating going, Harry?’ The boy scowled at her and rolled his eyes. 

‘Terriously, but I'm quitting making another attempt, maybe we just shouldn't be together.’

‘Or maybe you should just stop listening to those idiots you call friends? Two-thirds of them have no girlfriends, and your idiot of a brother is mostly with me because I took all the first steps. Harry, try something simple that both of you will be comfortable with. For example, invite her to your place for a movie marathon and just have a good time. If it doesn't spark between you guys, she’s not the one, but please don't do anything Sam, Harrison or Tom suggest you do.’ 

As it turned out later, Zendaya’s advice was the best of all. Harry really invited you to a Netflix marathon, and you watched “Brooklyn 9-9” cuddled up for the whole night. Perhaps you even shared a few kisses during one or the other episode, and then you perhaps even stayed overnight. 

At a time when Harry was finally having his dream date with his perfect girl, Zendaya was lecturing the boys about their irrational behavior. 

‘I told you all it is his life and to not interfere. I told you that Harry had to take the first step himself and your advice would not help him. Didn’t I?’ 

‘Darling, we just wanted to help.’

‘You should have helped him by simply supporting him, not by arranging shitty dates for him. Therefore, all three of you will apologize to Harry and Y/N for your behavior.’ 

‘But, Daya.’ The girl interrupted Harrison's statement. ‘End of discussion, boys. You know I'm right.’ 

She was, but neither of them was going to admit it. Maybe that was just the trait of all Hollands. And the Osterfields.

#tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield fluff #sam holland x reader #harry holland fluff #harry holland smut #harry holland imagine #harry holland x reader #harry holland angst #harry holland fic #harry holland blurb #harry holland one shot #harry holland x y/n

[howaboutcastiel]

Here I Go Again

Summary: Guess who’s back from Egypt? Spoiler Alert: It’s Layla El-Faouly, and she’s pissed. 

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: none that I know of?? Vague mentions of food, relationship talk. Not totally proofread. This is the third part of Fire Within My Soul

Layla was going to be there in less than an hour. 

About half of Steven’s wardrobe was strewn about the bedroom, ranging from his most formal suit to his favorite Hawaiian shirt. The boys simply could not decide how to dress for her. Marc insisted they wear something casual—nothing too forward in case she resented the idea of appearing to be on a date with them. After all, it wasn’t a date. It was an “I’m begging for your forgiveness, please tolerate me for this next hour” kind of dinner. There was no point at all in keeping up appearances, Marc thought. Steven vehemently disagreed. 

“Don’t you think we should at least look like we care about being there?” He nervously picked at the top button of his shirt, contemplating whether he should leave it undone or not. “She needs to know that we care about her feelings. We can’t explain ourselves to her dressed like we just crawled out of bed. She’ll bloody leave us at the restaurant.”

“She’s gonna do that anyway,” Marc grumbled. Under his cynicism was enough nervous energy to power a tank, but he tried his best to suppress it. He couldn’t deny how much he cared about Layla—how much he longed for her approval and affection. Marc figured his chance with her was long gone, though, so he did everything in his power to replace the yearning with stoicism. 

“Not if I can help it.” Steven, obviously, was holding out much more hope. 

They had decided to have dinner at a local cafe. Meeting at their flat, or at Layla’s for that matter, would tug at too many unhappy memories. A neutral space would be their best chance at talking things over. Layla had agreed to listen to their explanation—of the secrets, the divorce, the lot of it—and take things from there. If she thought that there was a chance to mend things, she would say so. If not, she would throw the divorce papers in Marc’s face, walk out on the check (for dramatic effect, Marc had already agreed to pay for dinner), and block both of their numbers before disappearing to some country halfway around the world. It was a fair deal, they had all agreed. 

And the boys were absolutely terrified to see her again. 

“Steven, stop messing with your collar. You look fine.” Marc snatched the body irritably, beginning to pick up all of the shirts off the floor and bed and shoving them back in the wardrobe. 

“Can you calm down?” Steven didn’t take kindly to being shoved backward like that. “You’re married to the woman, for God’s sake. You’re acting like… well, like I should be acting right now. She can’t be that hard to talk to.”

“You have no idea,” Marc countered. 

He guessed that was fair, considering Steven’s only interactions with Layla spanned about a week in total, and she had believed he was Marc for half of them. It was nearing seven o’clock now, meaning they would be late if they didn’t start their walk to the cafe soon. Steven ran his hands through his hair one last time before closing the desk mirror. He grabbed his keys, sucked in a deep breath and huffed it out, and walked out the door of the flat. 

It was only a short walk to the cafe from their apartment building—they wouldn’t even need to catch the bus. The sun had just fallen below the horizon, scattering dim light along the streets as the last remnants of day faded away. Most of the crowd on the sidewalk would be dying down now. Even if it wasn’t late at all, people didn’t like being out after dark. Marc turned the corner nearest the cafe, and was pleased to see that the building was almost empty of people. At least the constant chattering of other customers wouldn’t make the night even more difficult. 

The hostess led him toward a table for two by the window. 

“I don’t know how we’re supposed to explain all of this,” Marc admitted. He picked at his nails as he watched intently for any sign of Layla on the street outside. “I mean—I don’t even know where to start.”

“I’ll help you. It’ll be fine.” Steven attempted to hide the fact that he was just as anxious as Marc. To be fair, Steven had found that he was always a little bit anxious. “And Layla will ask about what she wants to know.”

He spotted the familiar head of curls rounding the corner. Marc’s tension turned to panic as he watched Layla approach the cafe’s entrance. His arms suddenly felt weak. 

“I can’t do this.”

Steven took hold of the body just in time to greet Layla. She was wearing her biker vest and jeans, contrasting Steven’s attempt at business attire. He nearly knocked over his chair as he stood up, the back legs knocking obnoxiously to re-steady themselves. He gritted his teeth and smiled. “Thank you so much for coming, Layla. It’s so good to see you.”

She stared quietly at him as she took her seat. His smile faltered and he sat as well. The waiter came to take their orders, and then left them in awkward silence. 

“Well?” Layla raised her eyebrow at Steven, who hadn’t gotten a word out. “Get on with it, then.”

“S-sorry?”

She didn’t seem in a patient mood. “You’re supposed to be explaining things to me. Isn’t that why we’re here? So I can learn just how much of your life Marc lied to me about? Let’s hear it.”

“Oh. Right. Well…” Steven chewed the inside of his cheek, avoiding her gaze. Layla may as well have been staring a hole right through him. He chuckled nervously. “I’m not quite sure where to begin.”

“I guess you wouldn’t be. It isn’t you that kept all of the secrets.”

Layla couldn’t be more clear in her hint that she wanted Marc to front, but he just wouldn’t come out, and Steven was not going to make him. In fact, Steven felt a bit defensive about Layla’s refusal to talk to him. He was just as much a part of this as either of them, wasn’t he? If not in the past, then at least from now on. 

“Layla, listen to me,” Steven started. He felt the words threatening to bubble out of his mouth faster than he could think of them. “You have to understand that Marc’s been through a lot. And I do mean a lot. Much more than he’s told you, I’m sure, and honestly more than he’s even told me. He doesn’t go about life the way that normal people do.”

“That’s not an excuse for what he’s done to me.” Layla interjected, which startled him. She still looked guarded and impatient, but she couldn’t hide the way that her voice wavered around the jab. 

He swallowed thickly, choosing his words more carefully. “I didn’t mean to say that it was. I just mean… he wasn’t trying to hurt you. He thought that what he was doing was the best for you. And he was wrong. You know that, and I know that, and he knows that. But in the moment, he didn’t understand. He thought that he was protecting you.”

Layla was quiet for a little while, long enough for their food to come. Neither of them was particularly hungry, though, so it just sat steaming in front of them. Steven decided to get another word in. He didn’t like the silence and, for some odd reason, he felt a visceral need to defend his alter. To make Layla understand. 

“Things are different now, Layla. In fact, I would say nearly everything is different. Khonshu’s gone, right? Marc has no reason to push you away anymore. And I’m here now. Marc and I are… we’re building our life back. Together. And we don’t want to lose you.

I don’t want to lose you.”

The look that Layla gave him was something he’d never seen before in her. It was a look of pure shock. Whatever Layla had been expecting Steven to say, it surely wasn’t that. He didn’t exactly know what he’d said that set her off, but he knew that he’d gotten through to her. 

“Yes. Things are different.” She looked up at his face, wide-eyed and charged. By the looks of it, Layla’s mind was running a mile a minute. Steven felt his chest tighten in response to her gaze. She stabbed her fork into her entree and brought it up to her mouth. “I’d like to talk with Marc now.”

“I—oh, well… I’m not sure that’s how it works.” Steven searched for Marc in their mind. He was close by, for sure, but he wasn’t budging. “I think he can hear you, but I’m not sure I can just make him take the body. He has to do it.”

“He can hear me?” She raised her brows and took another bite of food. 

“I’m pretty sure that he can.”

Layla swallowed hard and her eyes were on fire. Steven recoiled in his chair as she leaned forward against the table. “If you won’t talk to me, then, at least you can listen. Because I have a lot to say to you, Marc Spector, and I’ve been waiting to say it since the moment you left. Do you have any idea what you did to me, Marc? I thought you were dead. I grieved over you. I panicked for weeks searching for you. And then, instead of an ‘I’m okay’ or ‘I’m sorry,’ you send me divorce papers? You don’t sign them, you don’t answer the phone, and you leave me like that for months, until Steven is the one to reach out to me?

“I don’t think you understand what you did. You could have just let me think you were dead. You could have let me grieve, let me move on. But those papers… I couldn’t let you go even if I tried. You told me to move forward, but you couldn’t even give me a proper goodbye? A good reason for leaving me? You couldn’t even sign the fucking papers?

“Marc, I don’t know what on Earth you could say to make any of that okay. There’s nothing I can think of that would justify what you did, not even your piss-poor excuse about Khonshu. I can’t think of a good reason to forgive you for that, and I certainly can��t imagine a way for us to move forward from there. So, your explanation better be good. It better be the most convincing speech you’ve ever given in your goddamn life. And I do mean your explanation. Yours. Not Steven’s.

You’re my husband. You owe me that.” 

You are my husband. Not ‘were,’ are. That was the icing on the cake to draw Marc to the front. His throat started to burn the second that he did, and he blinked back tears while Steven struggled to balance on the edge of consciousness. Marc owed everything to Layla. Everything. He was her husband. She was his wife. 

“You’re right.” Her eyes widened at the distinct American accent. Marc looked up at her through his brows, his whole body shaking for composure. “Nothing that I did was okay. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to explain all of this to you—I don’t know what will help you understand. I don’t even know if I understand some of it. But I do know that there’s no excuse for leaving like that. And God, I never should’ve sent those papers. I never should have done that.”

“Then why did you do it?” Her expression was gentle now, like she was truly curious about his answer. Layla tried to hang onto all of the anger she had walked in with, but so much of it faded the second her gaze fell on him. Much of it, not all of it. Marc scrambled for a response to her, appearing as though he was nearly choking on the words themselves. 

He tried to form an eloquent answer—something poetic and justified that would be just what Layla wanted to hear. Nothing came to mind. Instead, only the raw truth of the matter echoed in his brain, and every other thought disappeared. He swallowed. Suddenly, he couldn’t look her in the eye. 

“Because you’re better off without me.” 

You can’t really believe that. Steven’s voice rang in his ears, utterly defeated. Marc didn’t have to respond—they both knew that he did, in fact, believe it. 

“I’m so much more trouble than I’m worth, Layla. I tried to hide all of it from you, so I didn’t drag you through all of this with me. You don’t deserve any of it—I mean, you already had to deal with marrying an avatar. I couldn’t put anything else on you. And when I tried to fix it—when I tried to make Khonshu leave, I understood the danger I was putting you in. I couldn’t let him take you. I couldn’t be the reason he got to you.”

“So you left… to what? Make Khonshu too distracted to come for me? To do everything for him so he wouldn’t leave? Was your union with him more important than our marriage?”

She doesn’t understand. “No, Layla—”

“You know that he couldn’t just ‘take me,’ Marc. I can make decisions for myself. Did you really think that I would choose him? That I’d let him drag me around the world the way he did with you? Was that really what you were so afraid of? Hmm?” Her face turned sour.

“Or were you jealous that he wanted me more?” 

Something snapped inside his head. It wasn’t anger—God no. He felt so many things for Layla, so many intense and wild things, but anger wasn’t one of them. Marc felt something desperate, pleading. He felt something scared, and his terror demanded to be heard by her. 

“Of course he wanted you more! He’d be fucking insane to pick me over you. I don’t care about that! He doesn’t just ask people, Layla. He doesn’t give you a choice, not in the way that you think. He waits until you have nothing left. Nothing at all, not even life itself. He makes sure he’s the only source of hope that you have, and he threatens to leave you for dead if you say no to him. He wasn’t just going to ‘take you,’ honey. He was going to use you. Khonshu will use you up until everything is gone. Until there’s nothing left of you. 

If I was gonna lose you anyway, I’d rather it be me that got used up. I left so that he would be satisfied, so that I could do whatever he needed, and so you could keep living your life.”

“But I couldn’t keep living it, Marc.” She was pleading. “Not without you. Not the way that you left me.”

He shook his head. “You were fine before I showed up. You would have found somebody else, someone better than me. You would have found someone deserving of you.”

Silent tears were streaming down her face now. Marc was crying, too, but he couldn’t really pinpoint when he’d started. Layla cleared her throat. “That’s not what I wanted.”

Her gaze fell to her lap. “You never asked me what I wanted.”

The food was getting cold now. They began to pick at their dishes, not bothering to look up at each other as they ate. Marc was sure now that he’d screwed up his chance to mend things. She was right—he didn’t have a good excuse for anything he had done to her. Layla had no reason to forgive him, and he couldn’t begin to ask or expect her to. He wouldn’t blame her if she got up and left right then. Marc knew that he deserved it. 

Layla had almost finished her plate when she decided to speak up again. Her voice startled Marc, who had fully expected the cold silence to persist until they were done with the meal, and then for the rest of his life. But Layla’s voice was clear as day, loud and decisive. He didn’t dare look anywhere but right at her face as she spoke. He took in each word carefully. 

“Do you think things would have been different if you were honest with me from the start? Not just about Steven, but about everything. I feel like our whole relationship was just built on some… image of you. Like none of it was real. I didn’t even marry Marc Spector, I just married the version of him that you wanted me to see. How am I supposed to know what was really you and what was some lie you made up to comfort me? How am I supposed to trust anything that you’ve ever said to me, or anything you say to me now? How can we start to repair our relationship when its whole foundation is just… fabricated?”

He didn’t say anything, instead only staring at her with wide, startled eyes. Marc wouldn’t dare beg for her forgiveness, he wouldn’t ask her to spend her time and energy trying to love him when he could barely even tolerate himself. But he couldn’t be okay with letting her go, either. He couldn’t imagine a world where he never saw her again. A world where he never held her again. So he said nothing. 

“What about Steven? How would our marriage work now, with him around just as much as you? It’s like we would have to start from scratch. Like we would have to add a whole other person into our life, and that’s after rebuilding what we had to start. How do we even do that? I don’t know how to do this, Marc. I don’t know what the right answer is. Steven is right, everything is different now. If we’re gonna move forward, however we move forward, I need to know that you’re going to try harder this time. I need to know that it’s real. The good and the bad, that it’s all real. I need to know that you’re with me, Marc.” 

Layla’s mouth turned down into a patronizing smile. “You still haven’t asked me what I want. I really think you should ask.”

Marc sucked in a breath. It had just occurred to him that he’d forgotten to breathe. “What do you want from me, Layla?”

“I want to spend my life with you, Marc. I want to shred those divorce papers into a thousand pieces, and set them on fire for good measure. I want this to work.”

“Really?” Marc’s voice cracked around the word and he realized he was crying again. 

Layla grimaced and fell back in her seat. “When we found Ammit’s tomb, when Harrow’s men cornered us and—when I thought I had lost you… I don’t know how to explain it. Marc, you took a bullet for me. Two bullets. Of all the things that you’ve done, of all the time that we’ve spent together…

“I know that was real. That’s the only thing I know was real. And I can’t walk away from that.”

Marc was holding his breath again. Layla lifted her head.

“But it has to be different this time. We have to do better. If we’re going to start over, I have to know that you’ll try, Marc. You have to promise me.”

“Yes, anything.” It only occurred to him after the words had spilled from his mouth that he may be able to do what she’d ask. He would be damned if he didn’t try his best, though. He didn’t have anything stopping him now. “What do you need me to do?”

“For one, I need you to be honest with me. About everything. If I’m going to build my life with you, I want it to be built on the truth. It doesn’t have to be right now, but I want to know about all of those cryptic things you’ve been hiding from me. And I don’t want to hear everything from Steven, either. I want you to share yourself with me. Okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded feverishly. “Okay”

She went on, “and I want to start at the beginning. I don’t want us to act like an old married couple. I want to go back to dating. To courting. Especially now that Steven is here. We need to start over. We take everything slow, one step at a time.”

Marc bit the inside of his cheek. “I can do that.”

“And I also don’t want you to keep doing this alone. You’re obviously going through a lot, and I know that you have Steven, but…” Layla hesitated, sparking an unsettling feeling in Marc’s gut. 

“What? What do you want?” 

“I want you to see a doctor.”

That, Marc knew he couldn’t promise. He had a long history with psychiatrists, one that was complex at best. Though Marc’s choice of words would be terrifying, excruciating, and suffocating. Not to mention the recent visits with Dr. Harrow that still had him questioning his grip on reality. 

“I can’t do that,” he practically whimpered. Layla began to roll her eyes. “You gotta ask for somethin’ else. Anything else. But not that.”

“Why?” Her question bordered on accusatory, but she flattened her tone to make the word more gentle. 

Marc searched for a good answer. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Well, we can work something out. But you have to do something. I looked up your… condition. You know, to figure out why Steven is here, and what it means for you. And all I could gather from the internet is that you have a lot to work through. You need help, Marc. More than I can give you, and I’m sure more than Steven can give you, too.”

He nodded, stoic. “I will. Just—not a doctor. Not right now, at least. I just can’t.”

“Okay, baby.” Layla caught herself on the pet name, but tried not to linger on it. “We’ll find something else. Until then, maybe start with opening up to me? I mean, I’m not going to lock you in a padded room or anything. And spouses are supposed to talk about these kinds of things.”

“Yeah, okay.” Marc didn’t know how to open up. Not even a little. The only time he’d been able to do that was in death, and even then, it was only because the threat of the world ending pushed him to it. 

But again, he would certainly try with everything he had. 

“And we don’t have to start right now, Marc, but…” Layla straightened in her chair and glared at him decisively. He fought the urge to curl in on himself. “I just need to know this. You said that you had Steven ‘under control’ until recently, but you wouldn’t tell me what happened. Tell me now.”

“Layla…”

 “If you really want to start over, then tell me the truth. The whole truth. What changed things?”

He swallowed hard. The fight or flight response beat against his chest as he attempted to make himself say the words. The urge to dissociate was almost impossible to resist, but he knew that this question wouldn’t be any less painful for Steven to answer. Marc took a long, deep breath. He recalled the moment that it started. If he was going to explain, he wasn’t going to miss a single detail. He prepared for the inevitable wave of tears that would start the moment he opened his mouth. But he had to start somewhere. 

“Two months ago, my dad called me.”

~~~

@n1ght5h4d3-24 @magicwithaknife @rmoonstoner @nervouslaught3r @unavoidabledirewolf @kbakery @mccn-bcys @gingermous @avatarofseshat @damreonsgirl @dragons-are-my-favorite @k8esilver @competentpotato @theconsultingdoctor10 @rayrlupin @moony-artemis @nerdory10 @valkyrieace

@ahookedheroespureheart @mt2sssss @loki-hargreeves @starfirette @celeste412 @avengersinitiative2012 @sifinskies @unspokenmoon @maplemind @mainstreambitchlife @hot-mess-express1 @toracainz @zarahbronstein @daughterofthequeen @am-3-thyst @romanarose @moonmoonboys @wand-erer5 @jake-g-lockley @alexismm

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #layla moon knight #layla el faouly #marclayla #moon boys #fire within my soul #Masterlist

[mimikoflamemaker]

Faerunian Writing Challenge - Day 8

8. “It will be okay as long as we are together.” 1 of NSFW? list: First Time

(it's not that NSFW I suppose... more of a character study, and I really wanted a take on this scene. Becasue they are both more than a little fucked up at this point)

Neve was ready to admit that it has been a while since she had felt so much like a prey while making her way through the woods. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel the tell-tale pull low in her abdomen – she wasn’t going to deny that she was attracted to Astarion. Her track record in regards of partners was not exactly stellar and being pulled in by a man who held a knife to her throat the first time they laid eyes on each other felt like something right out of her repertoire. And he certainly was the sight to be admired – and she wasn’t good enough of a person to not act on the simple desire of flesh. It didn’t have to be anything more than that, after all.

It wasn’t even the fact that he was a vampire spawn. She could appreciate, in a way, her blood being sucked literally rather than figuratively. And for a handful of times he did it so far, Astarion always stopped when she told him to. Which was more than she could say about some other people she met in her life.

No, none of that was what made the tiny hairs on her neck prickle in something decidedly less pleasant than anticipation.

She knew fairy early on that Astarion was playing pretend. That, save for the rare glimpses, like the night when he showed her his true nature, nothing he said was sincere. Not one of the lines he threw at her, the ones with which he offered to spend the night with her not an exception. It touched upon a lot of memories she would rather keep buried or throw out of her mind completely and should, if she was a normal person, send her pelting for the hills.

And yet she didn’t.

Because this time, the roles were reversed. Despite the words that left his mouth, it was Astarion who sought to gain something from her. And it was a decent angle to try – intimacy bound people after all, one way or the other. It certainly bound her to Alven all those years ago.

Whatever her companion wanted, she should have refused to meet him tonight. Tell him there are other ways to gain trust and appreciation. That would be the good thing to do. But she relished in the feeling of – regardless of how fleeting it might prove to be – control.

She never claimed she was a good person.

The clearing was a small spot by the river, a good distance away from the camp. Neve approached cautiously, like she was always taught, not surprised in the least be the silence that greeted her. Whichever creatures might have been in the area before had cleared off, well aware of the predator on the prowl.

This is very much how Astarion looked like when he came out from between the trees as she popped the last button of her shirt open and slid the fabric of her shoulders. His shirt was already gone and as much as Neve was never going to say this out loud, the pride the elf took in his looks was more than warranted. She had met and laid with her fair share of people over the years, some undeniably attractive ones, but it was a while since she felt such pull on her own desires.

‘Eager, are we?’ he asked, his lips pulled into a charming smirk as he drew closer, his eyes tracing the line of her bare shoulders. ‘Good to know I’m not the only one. I was waiting to have you since I first laid eyes on you…’

Right. She could applaud the delivery, but it was long since she outgrew being affected by such words.

‘I will grant you that threatening each other with steel can be a promising introduction’ she replied, matching his attitude. ‘You do not have me, however. Not yet.’

‘Don’t I?’ his eyes narrowed briefly, but his tone remained playful. ‘Why else would you come here then? Except for the pleasure of being tasted? Being known? The possibility of losing yourself in me tonight?’

Shortly after they’ve met Neve decided that she took much more pleasure in pulling Astarion’s act apart than being subjected to it. It was a well ingrained habit – to watch people as she interacted with them, trying to decipher their true motives and intentions. To understand what laid deep beneath the appearances. And she prided herself with doing so rather well. It was quite unfortunate when she learned, rather quickly that her  companions were either an open books or actually willing to blurt out their lives’ secrets at the slightest coaxing.

Astarion was the only one who provided her with a challenge. Even more so, it seemed that the harder she tried to peel of the layers of flair and the theatrics the more he was leaning into them. What he didn’t seem to realize however was that, while he strived to dissuade her, she only wanted to crack this puzzle more.

‘And what do you want?’ felt like an innocuous enough question. A question that should be asked given what they were about to do.

A question she would have liked to hear much more often.

She didn’t expect to see a crack in the façade in response. A slight pinch between his eyebrows, his lips drawing into a thin line, the moment of - surprise? uncertainty? - flashing behind his eyes. It took her by surprise, much like the fear that poured over her the first time their minds touched and it was gone before she could fully decipher it.

‘And what do any of us want?’ the playful tone was back as he tossed the question back at her, his fingers ghosting over the exposed skin of her forearm. ‘Pleasure. Yours. Mine… our collective ecstasy. That’s what you want isn’t it?’

Neve closed the remaining distance and kissed him, wrapping her hands around his neck. The sliver of doubt locked in the back of her mind was only growing bigger and if she was to spare it any more thought, she would have likely pulled from this tryst completely.

And gods, she really didn’t want to. It didn’t have to mean anything after all. More than a little bit of fun that is.

Astarion chuckled as he returned the kiss, his hand moving to rest against her hips, before his fingers skimmed along the waistband of her trousers. His touch was unhurried, but certain. Gentle where it needed to be and less so when he realized what caused her to stiffen in a sudden surge of pleasure.

His lips moved from her mouth, travelling along her jaw and ghosted along the shell of her ear, before dipping lower, nipping lightly at the spot where he had bitten her for the first time. Neve wasn’t really opposed to the idea of him getting a little bit more out of this than just sex. The bite itself wasn’t even that uncomfortable.

The elleth scraped her nails along his scalp, raking her fingers through Astarion’s hair and down his neck. She could return the ministrations with, she hoped, equal focus and dedication.

When her fingers traced the first ridges of scarring, she couldn’t help but hesitate for a brief moment. Scars didn’t faze her, not in the slightest, but she knew first hand that people could be self-conscious about their perceived imperfections. And that her hesitation was much more likely to be read as disgust than consideration, given that they couldn’t really see each other’s faces. She could tell his lips had stopped moving against the hollow of her shoulder – he noticed and was waiting what her reaction would be.

The elleth ran her hands down his back – gentler than she had initially wanted to, but with no less intent. She really couldn’t care less about a few scars and she didn’t want him to think otherwise for a second.

Besides, he was bound to find his own surprise soon enough.

Even though he seemed more intent on releasing her from the reminder of her clothes. She figured she’d join in – and it was an awkward few moments, punctuated by kissing and an half-chuckle that escaped her as she was forced to fight with a buckle on her boot. It was when Astarion held her forearm while she tossed the offending shoe off, that he had noticed her own scars. She knew, when his fingers flexed briefly against her flesh and the expected quip about ruining the moment did not come.

Neve straightened, intent on catching his gaze and reading it again. She found no judgement there as a quiet understanding passed between them. There won’t be any unnecessary curiosity tonight. The elleth smiled and captured his mouth again, gently nipping his bottom lip before they parted.

His eyes darkened, the same hunger she saw when he first told her what he was peering at her from beneath a half-lidded stare. The elleth smiled, tossing her hair over one shoulder and presenting the length of her neck to him.

The smile he had given her in response was one of the few honest ones she had seen so far.

Astarion took her hand and guided her to the ground with him until he was leaning backwards and she straddled his hips, kissing him, her fingers yet again playing with his hair. His thumb rested against her pulse-point the entire time, feeling her heartbeat.

Next thing she knew were fingers gripping her tight and a swift motion that had her landing on her back. Neve didn’t stop the amused sound that escaped her, as Astarion’s lips traced the spot on her neck again. One of his hands cradled her head, while the other travelled down, through the valley of her breasts, across the planes of her stomach that tightened under the feather-like touch. Until it rested on the mound between her thighs. Briefly, only enough to add to the anticipation, before his fingers found their way inside.

A sight that escaped her sounded suspiciously like his name.

She could have sworn she heard him chuckle, right before the pain of the bite was drowned by bliss.

(…the morning after)

The first reaction to waking up was surprise. By the fact that she was away from the camp, before consciousness really settled in. Then because she had actually fallen asleep – no matter how strenuous their activities were, she had never planned to finish the night by dozing off. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him – well she didn’t, not completely anyway, but Astarion proved himself enough to expect that he would behave, at least as long as it suited him.

It was the kind of vulnerability that she wasn’t willing to offer yet. And she did it anyway.

Lastly, though it didn’t faze her as much, she was alone.

Astarion wasn’t too far away though, standing at the edge of the river, bathing in the early morning light. Neve sat up, but did not move otherwise, choosing to watch him. Because it was a rather pleasant view. Obvious attractiveness aside, the elf seemed uncharacteristically relaxed, the golden sunlight almost giving his pale skin its own glow. She wouldn’t be opposed to waking up to such a view more often.

And then she remembered what he told her when she first asked about his vampric nature. That he didn’t see the sun since the day he was turned, two hundred years ago. That explained the fear she felt when they met and their tadpoles jumped into introductions.

Something clenched in her abdomen. Not that he would accept it, but she felt sorry for him. She knew a thing or two about being held on a thigh leash, even if their… other experiences hardly compared.

A small voice at the back of her mind whispered that last night she did exactly what Alven would do – Astarion wanted something from her and she used that for her own gain, even though it was only a pleasure of flesh. She pushed the thought away – he wouldn’t have proposed if he didn’t want it after all.

Yet, the doubt was still there. And something that tasted vaguely like guilt.

Trying to steer her mind elsewhere she focuses on the array of scars she felt beneath her fingers last night. Hers were only as deliberate as lashes could be, a crisscrossing net of silvery lines that healed fairly flat, except of spots where her skin was opened one too many times.

His were deliberate. Someone had cut into his skin, repeatedly, creating an intricate pattern and her own back burned with the memory of an old pain. She couldn’t imagine being able to hold one’s screams for long when being subjected to such torment.

It wasn’t difficult to guess, whose hand had placed the scars upon his back. The sheer disgust in Astarion’s voice when he spat Cazador’s name was all she needed to hear, to know it couldn’t be anybody else; regardless of a fragmented information he had offered her so far.

The more she focused on the scars however, the more familiar the pattern looked – as if she had seen the jagged shapes before.

‘I’m all for being quietly admired darling’ Astarion broke the silence without really turning to look at her. ‘But I doubt that our… activities have worn you out too much to speak…’ he stilled as he felt the ranger’s presence behind him, not even a single crunching leaf announcing that she moved from her previous spot.

She stood close enough for him to feel her breath fanning across his exposed back.

‘Why did he do this to you?’ she asked and there was something he couldn’t quite place in her tone. When he turned to face her, her expression was similarly unreadable, her lips drawn into a thin line and her eyes trained on his face as they tended to be every time they spoke.

It wasn’t pity though and he could appreciate that, even if it likely stemmed from the fact that she too had a memory of something branded into her flesh.

‘Cazador considered himself quite the artist you see’ he said, his tone aiming to dissipate the heaviness left by her question and failing miserably when her brows creased even further. Yet the next word left his mouth anyway. ‘His slaves tended to be his favorite canvas. He cut this poem over the course of one night… he made a lot of revisions as he went.’

She made a move as if she wanted to reach out and touch him, but aborted it half way, choosing to cross her arms over her breast instead in an obvious attempt to make it less awkward.

He was glad that she didn’t.

‘Why did he wrote it in infernal though?’ she mused, eyeing him carefully.

‘Infernal?’ well that was new. Then again he didn’t even know how the bloody thing looked like. ‘Ugh… I don’t know. The bastard was crazy. He might have done so on a whim…’

She clearly didn’t believe him. No wonder – he didn’t really believe himself either. But he had to mull over that revelation by himself, before he could think about entertaining anybody else.

‘That’s quite enough of pillow-talk for one morning. Shall we go? There is no knowing what the rest is up to while the parents are away…’

She laughed. And it wasn’t as surprising as the fact that it was probably the first laugh he heard from her that was more than a chuckle while not being mocking or a derisive snort.

‘Parents?’ she asked, looking at him with a smile that was strangely fond.

‘Well…figuratively speaking, of course. We are after all, the most reasonable members of this little entourage…’

‘Right…’

‘What was that supposed to mean?’

‘Oh nothing’ her smile turned coy. ‘I’m just suddenly glad I am not more of a child -rearing material.’

If it was a deflection it was a poor one, but she had already turned away from him, walking towards the spot where they left her pants and boots and preventing him from reading anything else from her expression.

#bg3ficfeb #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #tav #tav x astarion

[olderthannetfic]

Do you have any advice for people who want to try and become a filmmaker/screenwriter/novelist? What are some of the best and worst aspects of those things, do you think?

--

Oh man...

Well... I have very different advice for filmmaker vs. novelist.

If you want to be anybody in Hollywood, you need to live in L.A. I loathed L.A.'s weather and wanted to have a baby (something I'm still working on before people ask), so I moved back where my support network is. I'm currently trying to find a way to move somewhere grayer and rainier because I hate the weather here too, just less than I hated L.A.

L.A. is very expensive, though better than San Francisco or New York City. It's not always a good life choice to move to these $$$$$ places, especially to work in a permalance career like film. You have to be looking for jobs all the time rather than getting hired and then focusing on work for years. The more you make it, the more the jobs come to you, but it's still a stressful and bad lifestyle for most people.

The old studio system sucked in many ways, but the way it had people in a regular job they kept long term was better. Most creatives don't do well with permalance.

Anyway, for film, if you want to be paid big money to make things that are famous, you need to be in L.A., networking with people there.

If you want to make things that are filmed, you should acquire knowledge, move somewhere as cheap as possible, and become a Youtuber.

As for how you acquire knowledge, that's another story. There are some free resources online. The big areas you want to go after hard are the neglected ones: production design, editing aesthetics, and cinematography storytelling.

You'll find editing and cinematography technical info easily, but the aesthetic/storytelling part is what's lacking in most student film. Production design is a hot mess in everything amateur and indie, and most film students are morons who disrespect this subfield.

The Visual Story by Bruce Block is an excellent book on the visual language of cinematography. It's highly relevant to editing as well.

Everybody thinks they can be a screenwriter. It's the area I know least about from a making money perspective. The best thing is to figure out what kind of screenwriter you want to be. If you're aiming to be in a writers' room for mainstream TV, you need to be in L.A. networking. If you want to be the writer for an indie film... become a director. Sad but true, nobody is going to direct your script but you in a lot of cases.

--

If you want to be a novelist, move somewhere cheap. Above and beyond anything else, move somewhere cheap.

You can write from anywhere, or at least anywhere you actually enjoy being that does not sap your energy and creativity, so the worst thing you can do is think you need to be in some trendy city where everything is obnoxiously expensive.

The big career consideration is whether you want to go the traditional publishing route or the selfpub route. I chose selfpub for a number of reasons:

I like to write novels that are 50-60k. This may sound short, but it's the length of Agatha Christie's novels and other things of that era. It used to be a very common book length. I think it's more suited to hard boiled detective stories, classic cozy mysteries, fast action-adventure stories, and many other things. The 100k that's more typical now makes for a baggy, flabby version of those and is more suited to the kind of quest fantasy with a lot of plot tokens to collect or political thrillers with seriously complicated conspiracies to unravel.

My inspiration really only comes in series form, and I'd like to stick with my characters even if the series isn't mega-successful. I'm not saying I'd never drop a series, but I'd like a chance to at least wrap it up properly without somebody else deciding when it's canceled.

I wanted to be able to include the number and type of sex scenes I prefer without it having to be the exact same number per book or being restricted from including certain things.

I wanted to write for a BL and/or fandomy audience. Despite some gains in pro publishing, the US is still very clueless about this market and tends to assume cis m/m is for a cis male audience, is intended as Representation, and should conform to gay lit standards instead of BL standards.

Big publishing can get books in Target, where Americans actually buy their books these days, but overall, they aren't holding up their end of things for most books. They don't send you on a book tour. They don't spend much on marketing for you. They provide only minimal editing. In the 90s and before, yes, I think they did a lot of the heavy lifting and more than earned their share of your sales money. It's less clear that that's true today. I also didn't want to be trapped in a contract that would force me onto twitter. Writers should get the fuck off of twitter.

As a selfpub author, you have to do a lot of the work of a publisher, but in exchange, you have a lot more control and keep more of the money. You also get somewhat better access to sales figures, so you know if your advertising is working.

More than anything, I wanted to get started right away. I know my writing is good and has some audience out there. It might take me a while to find them, but I would rather put out books that don't sell at first and find my people as I go than submit and submit and submit and finally get accepted by a big publisher a decade from now.

Can you pay your rent as a selfpub author? Some do, yes. I don't yet. It's down to being able to write fairly fast and researching how other people market and find a fan base. If I could get 600 super fans to pay me $5/month on Patreon, that would really be all I'd need. I think that's within the realm of possibility for a lot of people.

[dimensionten]

Employers Be Like

Listen up you young kids, for I, an Old Millennial (TM), have now been around long enough to Actually Try To Hire People, so now I can send you some advice on why they should invent jobs you actually like and why applying to a job posting is like sending your resume into a black hole.

1. Applying to a job posting

As soon as you apply to a job posting online, you have to automatically assume that you are competing against at least 100 other people.  I, the sad sack who put up a job posting, now have to spend two hours of my already overloaded work schedule (thanks for nothing, boss man) to actually read all of these resumes and pick a handful of the ones I think match our needs the best.  I know it’s discouraging, but I don’t have time to write 97 rejection emails telling you why you, specifically, didn’t make the cut.

If you’re going to spam your resume at literally every job posting that is even vaguely related to your degree just to try to get something, ANYTHING, fine, but expect a whole lot of rejection before you get any results.  Applying to online job postings is a numbers game.  The spray and pray method has a success rate of about 1% for actually getting invited to an interview.  You may be a little more successful if you take the time to actually read the full job description, filter out the jobs you feel pretty meh about, and only apply to the ones where you feel like you meet more than half of the basic qualifications that they listed in the job posting.

2. Carving out a customized niche for yourself

Tired of not even receiving a rejection letter?  Does the job you are looking for not actually seem to exist among the fifty billion job postings you just numbed your brain trying to search through?  Then it’s time to create your own job.

And I don’t necessarily mean starting your own business or side hustle, although that can be an option if you have the means to start small.

First you have to decide what your dream job is - somewhere your skills and your interests intersect.  Trying to decide what you actually want to do and what you might be good at can often be the hardest part.

Then you have to tailor your resume and LinkedIn profile accordingly, as much as you can.  Showcase whatever education, volunteer opportunities, or past projects you worked on match your dream job the best.

I found that it works for me to create a marketing letter, which is like a cover letter for your dream job at your dream company, then send it to your dream company by snail mail, where it won’t fall to the bottom of your would be boss’s inbox and be forgotten a week later.

Here’s what needs to be in a marketing letter:

- Name of a specific person you think will probably be your boss or would at least be in your immediate team.  You can find out about people working at your company of choice by spying on their LinkedIn or reading their About Us page on their website.

- Why should I hire you?  Include a paragraph of your past successes and what you bring to the table.  Embellish a little if you have to.  If you need help figuring out how to market yourself, you can ask people who have worked with you before (even if it’s only on a school project) to describe what they liked about working with you, for example if they knew they could depend on you to get your share of the report done on time.

- Why are you interested in our company, specifically?  Include a paragraph of all the stuff you researched on the company’s website.  What on their website made you decide you want to work there?

Keep the whole thing to maximum one page.

I find that marketing letters have about a 10% success rate in getting an interview.  It takes a lot more work than spamming your resume at a job posting, but it feels like less of a time sucking black hole.

Unless you are very lucky, you will need to send your letters to multiple companies that more or less match your idea of a dream company.  Try to find lists of them, such as the members of a certain group or organization.

3. Got a job interview?

- DO NOT show up an hour and a half early - this is disrespectful of your would be employer’s time.  I am in meetings all day and it’s super awkward having to invite you into the office and leave you sitting there by yourself while I try to get some other work done.

- Do your research about the company who invited you for an interview before you show up.  You have to at least pretend you’re interested in the actual company.  Flatter the boss and tell them which of the company’s projects you’re excited about.  Lie if you have to.  The fastest way to fail an interview is to show up without even bothering to look at the company’s website, and telling the recruiters “you should hire me because I need a job”.

- That, and getting your interviewer’s name wrong.  Twice.  *squints*

(Can you tell I am ranting about one interviewee in particular?  Don’t be that guy.)

#life advice #psa