#also i am absolutely never at any point ever doing an au that spans the full timeline of the series - fuck. that.

[memequeen92]

how do i break the news to this person who commented on this fic saying they can’t wait for Springtrap to meet michael... that the series doesn’t go that far... because it’s... over...

[jadequeen88]

RED AND THE WOLF

I’m a little late to the game, BUT here is my contribution the the Citrus Dome’s BNHA Fairytale!AU collab! Check out the other works here.

A/N: this was completed and uploaded on mobile, so please let me know of any typos! It’s also not beta read and I’m a little self conscious of the ending. But regardless, I hope you guys enjoy!

Half Giant!Kirishima x Wolf!Bakugo x fem!reader

2.3k words

TW: threesome, kidnapping, tied up, size kink, a tad bit of breeding kink.

ALL FICS I WROTE ARE 18+. MINORS DNI

You scoffed at the warnings from the villagers and your family. You put as much stock in them as you did all the other old wives’ tales you’d been fed growing up (read, not fuckin much). You’d never seen any giants or knew anyone who did. Neither did you know anyone who could say they encountered a fierce man who shifts into the form of a golden wolf… So, you concluded, there was absolutely no reason to pay attention to the ramblings of the old assholes grumbling out tall tales into their fourth or fifth mug of ale…. or to the old washerwomen by the stream angrily beating their undergarments on the flat stones, yelling out as you entered the dark canopy of the forest.

********

“Ei!”

“Hmmmmgghhnn, what? Why do you wake me this early?” The massive man rolled to the other side of their shared bed, trying to ignore the loud, booming voice of his partner, and failing.

“I found one. It’s gotta be her…” he shivered, the long, golden tail he kept even in his human form bristled out, “Just wait until you smell her, Ei.”

The half-giant sprung up from the soft pillows and warm furs of the bed. He knew that not many things got his wolf this worked up so he had no choice but to believe him. Grabbing a small, leather band, he tied back his long, vibrant red mane of hair and threw on his tall, worn leather boots.

“Lead me to her, Katsuki.”

********

You didn’t even hear a rustle of leaves to warn you of the massive man approaching you from behind. Two arms the size of tree trunks latched around your waist and your back was pulled against a fleshy, warm wall of pure muscle. When a golden wolf that looked more like a lion jumped out into the path ahead of you, licking his muzzle with a long, red tongue, your brain refused to process exactly what was happening.

A scream was caught in your throat as a cloth was pressed to your mouth. The hand that held it could easily cover your entire face and you shuddered at the thought of who could possibly have hands that large.

“Shh, my sweet,” you could feel the deep rumble of his voice as his chest pressed even harder into your back, “Sleep now…”

********

The sounds of a crackling fire and the feeling of warm, sweet-smelling furs surrounding you lull you back into a peaceful sleep… until you try to turn over and realize a silk band has your wrists tied to one of the massive posts of the bed you’re sleeping on. Panic quickly takes over when you remember the events that lead up to you being here.

Before you can do more than thrash a bit and whimper, a large presence looms over you blocking out the glow of the fireplace. You think you must be dreaming because no man could ever actually be this large.

He had to be a full seven feet tall and four feet wide across his muscled shoulders. Long, crimson hair like a lion’s mane surrounded his chiseled jawline and fell down his back. You noticed the sweet, spicy smell that enveloped you when buried in the furs was coming from him…

You know you should be more frightened than you were, but you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was. His deep red eyes were kind and his pointed canines that peeked out from his plush lips as he smiled sent a thrill down your spine instead of scaring you (like they should have).

“O-oh… umm,” your gaze faltered under his intense scrutiny, “Where am I?” you hesitated a moment, “Sir?”

Kirishima wanted to pounce on you right then… so small and soft and pretty… You were going to look so good round with his child… but he knew to be careful with you for now. This would be so, so much sweeter if he didn’t have to force you.

“You’re home now, little one,” he said confidently as if you should have already known that.

“B-but, I was… I was supposed to be selling-”

You were cut off as Kirishima knelt beside you and bent forward to stroke your cheek with one of his massive hands, “My precious one,” he hummed and you couldn’t help but feel safe, “Your life has much more purpose now. You’re ours.”

Wait…

Before you could finish the question, another body lept onto the bed, causing the mattress to shift under you violently. A warm face was buried into your neck, then, and the scratchy stubble along with wild sniffing from the person’s nose sent full-body chills all over you.

“Kats!” the man in front of you barked out, “Down! Now!”

The person assaulting your neck (Kats?) huffed in annoyance and pulled away from you to sit back on folded legs, glaring into the other man’s eyes.

“I’ve been waiting all fuckin day, Shitty Hair!” you noticed his canines were even longer and sharper than the other man’s, “How long r’we just gonna watch her sleep? I can smell her! She’s fertile NOW!”

Now you were thoroughly confused and panic crossed your features.

Kirishima sighed and drug a hand down his face as he groaned in frustration. So much for easing you into things…

“Hey,” the familiar hand that was stroking your face brushed your hair back from your forehead, “Let’s start with names. I’m Eijiro, but you can call me Ei or Red.”

“Or Shitty Hair,” the blonde snickered, pleased with himself for getting a jab in on his companion.

“No,” Eijiro growled, momentarily meeting the other man’s gaze with clear irritation, “Don’t listen to the overgrown puppy.”

Said “puppy” stiffened beside you and was about to lunge over you to tackle Kirishima when you reached out and put a hand on his bare chest. He gave you a confused look and cocked his head to the side. You had no clue what compelled you to touch him, but you know that your hand moved before your brain could stop it.

“Please,” you whispered, “D-don’t fight…”

Both of them visibly relaxed. A light thump-thump-thump was heard on the bed and you noticed not only did he have a tail, but you caused it to wag happily. This caused you to giggle lightly and raise your hand to scratch his unruly, blonde spikes. A small voice in the back of your head was telling you that you should NOT be this relaxed and you should NOT be okay with what was happening, but the sighs and whimpers you were pulling from his gorgeous throat dulled any sense of fear you’d had.

Kirishima cleared his throat and you stopped your scratching to give him your attention (much to Katsuki’s annoyance). “This,” he said, pushing the blonde back from your body slightly and moving closer to your side, “is Katsuki. Or Kats.”

“But you can just call me Daddy if ya want,” he whispered in your ear and you felt a long (a slightly too long) tongue trail up from your collarbone to your ear. You couldn’t stop the little whimper that left your lips.

Eijiro outright growled at that and stood up, grabbing Katsuki by the hair and lifting him to eye level. Both of them were staring daggers at each other, so wound up and jealous they couldn’t see straight.

“No, please!” you thrashed against your restraints, not wanting to be underneath the two giants if they clashed, “I-I don’t want you to fight!” large tears reached the surface of your glassy eyes and both men instantly started fawning over you. Kirishima unfastened your wrists and pulled you into his large lap. He cradled you into his chest as Katsuki nuzzled his cheek into your plush thigh. It wasn’t until then that you realized that you were in your thin underclothes, the sheer material exposing your thighs and barely covering your pebbling nipples. Being so exposed pressed between the two men made your heart flutter and caused a heat to bloom in your stomach that spread all over your body.

You shifted slightly, feeling awkward and unsure of how to deal with the new sensations coursing through your body… and they seemed to pick up on it. Katsuki brushed his mouth along the skin of your thigh, not quite kissing and not quite licking, just gentle, feather-light drags of his lips. Eijiro’s large, calloused fingers traced circles into the skin of your stomach, slowly pulling your thin undergarment up, giving Katsuki more skin to indulge in.

Your head rolled back onto Ejiro’s chest and he looked at you adoringly. “Have you ever lain with a man before, sweet lamb?” his hand spanned your entire midsection as he slid the thin fabric up to sit below your breasts. Katsuki growled and nipped at the exposed skin of your tender belly, soothing it over quickly with his warm tongue. When his eager mouth trailed below your belly button, Eijiro’s other hand grabbed a fist full of blonde hair for the second time. Katsuki looked murderous but didn’t say a word. He knew if he didn’t play nice, he’d end up having to watch his mate fuck you into their mattress as he stroked his cock.

“No… no, sir. I haven’t…”

He seemed to hum in approval at your response and you noticed a very large, very HARD bulge forming underneath you. You stiffened and for a moment, wondered if it would even be possible for that THING to fit inside your virgin cunt. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Don’t worry. We will prepare you so that it doesn’t hurt too badly.” as if on cue, Katsuki grabbed your thighs and slid you down the bed so his face was at your core. With very little warning, his tongue was eagerly lapping at your clothed slit. It felt nothing like the tentative swirls of your fingertips you’d indulge in occasionally in the dead of night tucked safely under your covers. This was foreign, electrifying, and slightly terrifying. Eijiro caressed your hardened nipples, circling your areolas gently, still not making direct contact with your skin. You were being shoved over the edge of an intense orgasm before you’d even been undressed. A tiny whimper was all the warning you gave before spilling over Katsuki’s tongue, the thin material of your panties doing nothing to hold back the copious amounts of come.

“Good, sweet girl,” Kirishima brushed the hair off your sweaty forehead. Katsuki whimpered into your throbbing core causing you to jerk involuntarily. He pulled your soaked underwear to the side, ripping it in the process. Your scolding was swallowed up by Kirishima’s hot tongue dancing against your parted lips.

“Don’t worry,” his gentle grip kept your chin turned toward his fiery gaze, “These won’t be needed for now.”

“Ei,” Katsuki whined and you could feel the thump thump thump of his tail thrashing against the bed, “C-can I please?” You noticed he had been dragging his leaking cock along the mattress and soaked through the linen trousers he wore.

“You’ve been greedy, hmm?” KIrishima wound his fingers into messy blonde tresses, “I haven’t even had a taste of our little plaything yet.”

Your stomach did flips as you watched Kirishima devour Katsuki’s lips. His tongue explored every inch of his lover’s mouth, savoring the taste of your release that coated the bottom half of Katsuki’s face.

Watching the two men get lost in each other’s touches reignited the fire in your core, your thighs clenching at the new feeling blossoming inside your body. They must have noticed your reaction, because with a side glance and a chuckle, Ejiro pulled you towards them without breaking the kiss he shared with Katsuki.

Without speaking, you seemed to know what was needed, your body moving on its own. You unfastened Eijiro’s trousers and gasped at just how massive he really was. You gulped before leaning down to gently kiss the angry, leaking head of his cock. You were rewarded with a sweet moan that Katsuki greedily swallowed up. You licked up and down, kissing every inch, getting drunk off the sweet sounds you pulled from the giant man.

Feeling left out, Katsuki quickly got your attention by grabbing your hand and stuffing it down his unfastened pants. You moaned around Eijiro’s member causing him to growl. His patience growing thin, he hauled you up to straddle his lap. His thick fingers dug into the meat of your ass and you felt a warm chest press against your back.

“Now,” the half-giant whispered into your ear, red locks falling around your neck, “Be our good pet and let us fill you up.” You whimpered, head rolling back onto Katsuki’s shoulder as a finger found your tender clit, pulling the hood back gently.

You were passed back and forth for what felt like hours. Katsuki mounting you from behind while you sucked Eijiro’s cock… Eijiro pressing you into the mattress, knees folded up by your ears… Katsuki between the two of you, Eijiro plowing into him and in turn making him fuck you twice as hard…

The three of you were utterly spent as you lay in the hot spring not far from your new home. You lay back on Kirishima’s large chest as Katsuki nuzzled into your soft cleavage. You took turns gently washing and praising each other. You’d never once felt this loved and cherished before.

As your hair was being braided by your crimson haired giant and your face peppered in kisses from your adoring lycanthrope lover… you thanked yourself for choosing to take the path less traveled.

[adorethedistance]

9 P.M. - Alive!Luke Patterson x Reader Modern Day!AU

JATP masterlist

Warnings: swearing, mentions of suicide, painful breakup, and angst.

Words: 1991

Summary: Luke breaking up with you made your world stop turning, and when it finally starts moving again after four long months, Luke is back in typical agitator fashion.

A/N: Not requested, and I wrote this in about two hours so bear that in mind. I’ve been toying with an angst idea for a little bit now, and because all of my requests rn are fluff, I decided why not give Luke a little love since it’s been a minute since my last Luke fic. This isn’t proofread so proceed with caution.

“What are you doing here, Luke?” Dana’s voice cuts clear over the mindless chatter in the busy diner. She tucks a stack of menus under her arm to brush a loose strand of sandy blonde hair out of her face.

“I’m here to talk to Y/n. She isn’t returning my calls and she only has her phone on silent when she’s working.”

A solid four months ago, Luke Patterson had broken Y/n Y/l/n’s heart into a couple billion pieces in this very diner. After Luke requested to meet up as soon as possible, Y/n told him she’d be clocking out for the night around 9 PM, and true to his previous request Luke had arrived at 9 on the dot. He considered taking her to his car for more privacy but in fear of forgetting his long, crafted speech, he opted for a secluded booth in the very back corner of her diner.

He still remembers the evening, clear as day. They sat down across from one another on the red vinyl seats with nervous tension exponentially rising between them. He remembers the way she ruffled her loose hair after having it pulled back for an 8-hour shift. He remembers the way she rested her right ankle on her left knee to massage away the calf pain from 8 hours of waiting tables. And he remembers the way her warm smile disappeared after he uttered the words “I think we should break up.”

Y/n was so shocked she couldn’t respond. Everything seemed to be going well between them. They had said their first ‘I love you’s and she had even opened up to the possibility of giving him her virginity. And here he was, a mere week later, claiming that he had fallen out of love with her over the span of a month.

Tears clouded her vision. She was quick to wipe them away before they fell, something Luke noticed that she only did when she was crying out of anger. With her normal sadness or even stress she just lets her emotions run their course. But the anger swelling inside of her at that moment, she so desperately wanted to hide. As a result, she brushed them away. She bit her tongue. She saved face, not wanting to let Luke know just how much he had hurt her.

Luke expected a full-on interrogation. He knew Y/n’s mind was one of insatiable curiosity and she had to have at least a million questions. However, if she did, she didn’t show it. The only question she asked, “Is this really what you want?” Her voice was steady, but Luke knew how badly she wanted to tear him apart, to ravage him right then and there. But after losing such a huge part of herself, Luke, she held onto her dignity so tight it nearly crumbled into dust and blew out of her clenched fingers. Without asking for any more information, she slipped out of the booth and hurried to her car as fast as her walk could take her.

At the time, Luke felt guilty for making her cry. Now he feels guilty for ever having let her believe she wasn’t good enough for him. The only problem is she wouldn’t give him the chance. And her best friend, Dana, didn’t seem like she would give him one either.

“Well, she’s not here. Have you ever considered she’s not returning your calls when she’s off of work, too?”

“Dana, I need to talk to her-”

“What could you possibly have left to say, Luke? Whatever you said to her that night broke her, it absolutely destroyed her. She hasn’t been the same since.” Luke had no trouble believing that was true, which is why it hurt so bad to hear, granted it didn’t hurt as bad as how Y/n felt that night.

“What? No- I-I really need to talk to her.”

“You really don’t.”

“I have to get her back, Dana!” A tornado of shock and anger consumes Dana to the point where all she can do is let out a bitter laugh. The look in Luke’s eyes indicates how hurt he is by her laughter, and Dana’s desire for vengeance has never been so strong. So, she continues to tell the truth. The ferocious, unabridged, hurtful truth,

“You don’t deserve a second chance. You don’t even deserve an attempt at a second chance. Knowing her, Y/n would never tell you this, but I will: you fucked up so bad, you made her almost make the biggest mistake of her life.”

“What?” Luke almost hesitates to ask, knowing he won’t like the answer.

“That night, she came to my place and cried so hard for three hours before she could even get a coherent word out. She stayed with me for three days and, had my shift not ended early that Tuesday, she wouldn’t be alive today.” The dumbstruck look on Luke’s face is only more motivation for Dana to twist the knife, “She almost didn’t survive losing you, Luke. And god forbid she gives you a second chance because she won’t survive losing you again.”

The diner is just crowded enough that no one is paying the two of them any mind as they faceoff by the hostess stand. Dana spent four long months consoling her best friend back to life, and she was not about to let Luke destroy all the hard work Y/n had put into healing.

“I can make this right.”

“How could you possibly make this right?”

“I know more now than I did before. I’ve changed!”

“So has she.” Dana’s biting words render Luke speechless. Once she realizes her work here is done, she continues setting up tables as they’re disinfected.

__________________________

Luke’s conversation with Dana in the diner left him shellshocked, but it also lit a fire under his ass that he needed to move forward. Rather than discouraging him, Dana’s words gave him a greater incentive to win her back: proof that he was willing to do what he said he would. At least, that’s what Luke told himself. Rather than stepping into the future with greater clarity, Luke went into the world with confidence so large and blinding, his actions may sabotage his true intentions.

That’s how he found himself so determined to win Y/n back. And that’s how he found himself face to face with the front door of her home. It’s 9 PM, just early enough to where she’d be home for the day, just early enough to where she wouldn’t be asleep, and hauntingly just the exact time he had broken her heart all those months ago. Before giving his conviction a chance to back out, he was raising a steady hand to ring the doorbell of her residence.

Y/n opened the door without much thought, expecting a food delivery; she was drastically off-put by Luke’s presence at her doorstep this late.

“Oh.” Was the only response manageable for the tired waitress.

“Hi. Can we talk?”

There it was. The phrase that was a paradoxical toss-up regarding her emotional state. Half of her has been waiting for this day for so long, dreaming of the boyfriend she once knew to come genuinely heartbroken and remorseful to win her back. The other half was terrified of this impending day as she realized she wasn’t nearly as emotionally strong enough to handle the situation as she thought. 

‘Oh’ was the only response manageable for the tired waitress.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please just give me five minutes and if you never want to hear from me for the rest of your life, I’ll never bother you again,” he rushes out, knowing his time is finite. For what short period of time he thought it over, Luke always imagined pouring his heart out on her front doorstep. That’s why her silent sidestep and opening of the door caught him so off guard. He hadn’t anticipated her to actually give him a decent chance. Why would she? He broke up with her in the very diner she works in full time and crushed her heart so completely, the only things left behind had to be contempt and resentment.

Luke crossed the threshold of her small, cramped LA home with his heart on his sleeve. Reluctantly closing the door behind him, Y/n walks to her living room and sits on the couch amidst a mess of popcorn, her favorite chocolates, used tissues, and a bottle of Advil. The night Luke broke up with Y/n was four months ago and she’s still spending her Friday nights alone crying on her couch with a rom-com on the tv. A sharp pang of guilt cuts through Luke’s chest like a machete and his previous confidence completely dissipates into sadness. Though, he can’t tell if it’s actually remorse or just general pity.

“What did you want to talk about?” Y/n asks as if she doesn’t know what conversation they’re about to have. Luke takes a deep breath to prepare himself as best as he can before explaining what’s been on his mind.

“I am so sorry, Y/n.” His hopes for any sort of reaction are crushed once her blank stare doesn’t waver. In spite of everything that’s happened thus far, this is the moment Luke realizes this would be a lot more difficult than he anticipated. “That night, you asked if taking a break from… us was what I really wanted.”

“I remember.”

“I said yes and you left right after that. I know you’ve blocked my socials, but you haven’t blocked my calls, you just don’t answer. I’m sure you’ve got to be interested in why, you’re a very curious person.”

Luke wasn’t wrong there, Y/n had been wondering why. She had been wondering why since the words left his mouth that night, but she repressed that curiosity. She repressed it because she knew that whatever the answer was, it didn’t make any difference. Luke wasn’t hers to have anymore and that was what really mattered.

“I did it because I thought I was falling out of love with you.”

“You thought?”

“I wasn’t actually falling out of love with you.”

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

“Then why’d you break it off?”

“I thought I was falling out of love with you but really my attraction was just changing. Instead of just spontaneous and passionate and exciting, I began to see our relationship as comforting and secure as well as those other things. I thought my comfortability was falling out of love, but really, I was falling in love. I was no longer just super infatuated with you, I was in love with you. Genuine love.”

“Luke…” Y/n trails off. She has no real idea of what it is she’s thinking so she opts to let Luke continue until she can figure it out.

“I love you, Y/n. And I broke things off because, before you, I didn’t understand love. Hell, with you I didn’t understand it was love, but now I do! I love you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“So, what does this all mean?” Luke draws in a nervous breath, identical to the one he used to soothe his nerves as he stepped into the all-too-familiar house.

“I know I don’t deserve it because of what I put you through… but all I’m asking is for a chance to prove that I really do love you.” The looking shimmering across Y/n’s eyes tells Luke how her thoughts are running wild. She’s experiencing a new train of thought at a mile a minute and it terrifies both of them.

“You hurt me, Luke. And I want to hate you so much for everything that you put me through, but I don’t, and I hate myself for that. But, I’m sorry. I can’t give you a second chance.”

***

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13​ @kaitlyn2907​ @itz-jas​ @crybabyddl​ @kcd15​ @kinda-really-lost​ @calamitykaty​ @morganayennefertyrell @n0wornever​ @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ @mrstodorooki @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys​ @amazinggracy​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @asdfghjkl-fanfics​ @ghostlygreenbean​ @juliefromaustralia @merceret​ @jemimah-b99​ @ifilwtmfc​ @thesweetestsinner​ @imsydneywalker​ @lovesanimals​ @thebloodthirstyvampress​ @bumbleberry-pie​ @losers-club6​ @tefilovesreading​ @dmcfarland1​@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz​ @talk-on-the-street​ @phantompogues​ @konciousdreamer​ @sunsetcurvej​ @warmnesss0ul​

[godzillerd]

Resident Evil 8 AU Pt 2: Parenthood Boogaloo??

Former Post Here

To summarize: Ethan takes deal. Miranda goes boom. Village goes boom. Chris is like this is serious. Heisenberg is like no baby for me pls. Ethan is like yeah no absolutely no baby for him pls. Chris is like sorry but baby for him. Didn’t even get a baby shower. Fucking brutal. Hate this place.

RIP pls forgive this obnoxiously long post that will never become a cohesive fic.

Why am I like this. 

My life is a sea of regrets.

Seriously though forgive how all over the place this is - it is literally me vomiting thoughts for sport.

Immediately after leaving the village (what was left of it) Heisenberg headed west with Rose. 

As expected, it took a matter of hours for the Duke to show up bearing gifts. Not much, mind you, but enough. 

He even allowed Heisenberg to start running a tab, despite quibbling that it was a bad business practice. 

For the first year, they were completely off the grid with zero contact with the rest of the world, usually living in ramshackle hunting cabins in the forests of whatever country they happened to be in at the time. Hungary, Austria, Slovenia, and eventually Switzerland. 

Not requiring food or water himself, caring for Rose was relatively easy with some help from Duke. Heisenberg became an old hand at building fires out of nothing.

The whole baby thing did not come naturally to him. In fact, it took over six months for Heisenberg to have any kind of clue as to why the potato might be screaming this time. 

He came very close to just killing it and fending for himself, but after seeing what Rose did to Miranda... it was enough to make anyone hesitant. 

Around eight months in, Duke showed up with a new present: A cell phone. And a secure number. And a delicate observation that Ethan Winters might actually kill Heisenberg if he didn’t call soon. 

Calls with Ethan were an infrequent thing. Ethan passed along pertinent information, but being under heavy monitoring, he didn’t have a lot of private time. 

Heisenberg had less of an excuse, and just genuinely didn’t like Ethan. 

Despite being told about it specifically, Heisenberg missed Rose’s first and second birthdays. She didn’t seem to mind. Ethan did.

Around then, it became obvious that living in the woods, completely cut off from humanity, wasn’t going to work out well for a growing child. 

Did you know electromagnetic energy can really fuck up a bank machine? 

Heisenberg (well, Duke) found a reasonable, small cottage on the outskirts of a village in the south of France. He put together a decent little business selling metalwork crafts that were simple (for him) to build, but could sell for high profit. Horses were a bit of a specialty.

Became the local backwoods crazy rural uncle who can fix anything using anything. 

Ethan managed to pull enough strings to buy himself a four hour window while in France for unrelated business to visit Rose for the first time just before she turned three. 

They agreed to meet in a town about an hour south as Ethan had ‘security concerns’. 

ie. He and Chris both doubted Heisenberg’s ability to blend into a crowd. 

To prove a point because he’s a petty bitch, Heisenberg walked Rose past Ethan five times while Ethan was waiting around for them. Ethan only noticed them when Heisenberg said his name. 

Shaving, showering, a haircut, and new clothes can do a lot for a man. 

Rose did not recognize Ethan and was extremely reluctant to speak to him at all. Eventually, she was coaxed into introducing herself as “Rosalie-Elise”. For reasons beyond Heisenberg’s comprehension, this seemed to have a profound emotional effect on Ethan. 

Aside from occasional visits from Ethan (usually every year or two) it was mostly Heisenberg and Rose against the world. 

Duke did roll through, though less frequently than when they were actively fleeing the village. He was incredibly fond of Rose, after all.

Until Rose turned three, Heisenberg largely saw her as a nuisance - something he was obligated to keep alive for his own sake. 

When she was three, and shortly after they settled in the French House, Rose began picking up on Heisenberg’s mannerisms. Speaking like him, sitting like him, trying to mimic everything he did on a smaller scale...

Overnight she went from a nuisance to the apple of his goddamn eye. 

Heisenberg rarely called Rose by her name unless it was serious. More often than not, she’s ‘Kid’ or ‘Blondie’

By the time she started school, Rose could dismantle, repair, and reassemble most standard engines (with a bit of help). She was also shaping up to be a mean little welder.

She also picked up a bad habit of swearing (fortunately, only in English)

Rose was raised speaking French almost exclusively, and her English was heavily accented. Heisenberg learned it with great difficulty, but became fluent by speaking only French for years.

Despite being happier by himself, cut off from other people, Heisenberg deliberately put in the effort to appear as ‘normal’ as possible. 

He never claimed to be Rose’s father - to her or to anyone else. Instead, he called himself her crazy uncle and left the gossip-mongers to come up with a story about her parents. 

Ethan was mockingly referred to as ‘Brother’ every time he called or visited, though. 

When Rose was six, Heisenberg gave her a watered-down version of what happened in the village. 

Watered down for him, at least. 

Rose had nightmares for six months. 

In the midst of that fun time, Ethan gave them a warning that the BSAA was starting to suspect something, so they up and disappeared in one night. 

This pattern continued for years, destroying any chance of Rose having a ‘normal’ childhood. 

Despite that, she developed a startlingly good mindset about things. Influenced by Heisenberg, Rose grew up with a tendency towards independence and isolation, with a hell of a lot of self-confidence and pride to boot. She never particularly enjoyed being around other children, even when she had the opportunity. She preferred staying close to Heisenberg whether it was necessary or not. 

Being an obnoxiously touch-motivated brat, Rose spent most of her childhood hanging off his neck, or flopped over his shoulders, or literally hugging him while he was juggling hot metal. Heisenberg gave up caring when she was about four and by the time she was five he didn’t really notice it at all. He often sprawled on the couch just so the kid could nap on him and catch up on sleep. 

After learning the truth about the village, Rose never did sleep particularly well at night - especially not alone in her room. Most nights, Heisenberg would sit next to her bed until she fell asleep. Sometimes even all night. 

Again, likely influenced by Heisenberg, Rose grew to dislike Ethan as time wore on. Despite her solid relationship with Heisenberg, most of their arguments were about Rose seeing Ethan. 

Heisenberg understood that their safety relied on Ethan being on good terms with both of them. Rose “didn’t give a fuck”

They reached a compromise eventually that Ethan was only ever promised one hour with Rose. If she wanted to leave after that, it was her choice. Similarly, Heisenberg let her set the boundaries about hugs and calling Ethan her father. 

Needless to say, Ethan stopped getting hugs by the time Rose was ten, and he was never called her dad. 

On the other side of things, Rose adored the Duke just as much as he adored her. Whenever Duke was in their neck of the woods, he made a special point to track them down in order to give Rose extravagant gifts. 

Puberty was a hell of a time.

A hell of a time

Rose manifested a massive amount of power in the span of six months when she was thirteen. Around the same time she discovered her love of girls, teenage rebellion, and sticking it to the man.

During one rip-roaring fight when she was fourteen, Rose sent Heisenberg through not one, nor two, nor even three walls. She sent him through five.

Somehow, that incident was enough to curb the rising tide of teenage hormones and got them both back on track.

Heisenberg always struggled with knowing how much or how little to tell Rose about their predicament. On one hand, Ethan hated the idea and thought it would destroy her entire childhood. On the other hand, Heisenberg disliked the idea of lying to the kid. 

Eventually, circumstances were such that there was no choice but to tell Rose everything in order to stay safe. By the time she was twelve, she had a pretty good idea about everything that had happened in the past. 

Mostly because Ethan assumed he wouldn’t do it, Heisenberg also told her all about himself.

Surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly, after so many years) it didn’t change much. She tried to use it as ammunition during a few teenage tantrums, but when she realized it didn’t phase him, it was never really brought up again. 

[f0rever15elf]

Twin Souls

Summary: Soulmates. Twin souls. They’re the stuff of legends, right? They aren’t real...Or are they? And if they are...can they really span universes? 

Pairing: Pero/Whiskey/Oberyn/Din/Max/Maxwell/Dave/Catfish/Marcus/Ezra x fem!Reader  (yes, ALL of those Pedro boys are in this fic at some point. I’m overly indulgent)  Rating: M  Warning: Harsh language, sexual innuendo, death mentions, violence, injured reader, a little bit of angst (for the spice), way too many pedro characters in one fic, no beta reading. Soulmates!AU Word count: 9,649 (lord help me) 

a/n: This was inspired by a post that literally just mentioned our favorite soulmate trope that through any universe, two souls will find one another and I just think that’s really beautiful and NEEDED TO GET IT OUT OF MY BRAIN. So I hope you enjoy this! 

Masterlist |  Ao3

Twin Souls. Mirror souls. Soulmates. Twin flames. Almost every culture has their own rendition of this idea that each of us has another half that we are created with and separated from before we come into this life. Someone we are destined to find as surely as the river finds the sea. Some legends claim it was that we all originate with four arms, four legs, two heads, and one soul that shone brighter than the brightest of stars in the sky, and this drew jealousy from the gods who then wrent us in two. For others, it is destiny calling two individuals together, the universe declaring that two must become one. And even simpler still, some believe that it is no more than a chemical attraction. Something purely physical, biological, and nothing more. A perfect mate.

But what if? 

What if it was more than that. So much more. What if two souls were always destined to find one another? Across time and space and universes? What if...

Lightning cracks the sky, momentarily illuminating the face of the man on horseback. His scowl, as always, is firmly in place, his brow creased in a mix of irritation and exasperation. The rain has his dark, curled hair slicked down against his skull and his tunic under his armor is soaked through, drawing the warmth rapidly from his skin. He had told William they should make camp, that the smell of rain on the wind meant for foul weather, and soon, but William had ignored the grumpy Spaniard, electing to press on. Not twenty minutes later, the heavens opened, drenching the small caravan as they continued on. William rode silently in front of Pero, and he could feel the glare from his companion boring holes into the back of his head. If looks could kill, he would be dead several times over. 

"I see lights ahead!" Calls the lookout from up ahead, and a satisfied chatter rolls through the group of sellswords. Pero lifts his chin only slightly to look ahead, jaw clenched, eyes alert. He had seen enough in his days selling his sword to know what to look for, and a small village in the middle of nowhere was always a gamble. 

As the small group rides up to the edge of the village, a few of the village's men wait to greet them, lanterns out to welcome them to the town. The group of sellswords dismount as William goes to speak with the man Pero can only assume is the village leader. After a few words, William turns with a smile, moving through the group to tell them they would be making camp here tonight, bunking with members of the small community. The welcoming committee leads each man off to a different house, and had it not been for the rain still steadily downpouring, a dull chatter would have filled the air as the guests were welcomed with more hospitality than many of them were used to. 

"And you, my friend, will be staying with us!" The village leader approaches Pero with a smile. "Come, my daughter will help to get you dry. This cold will seep to your bones and you will fall ill. Come. Come." The friendly elder makes his way to a small, comfortable hut, a warm fire blazing in the center. The crackling of the logs is a welcome sound to Pero's ears, and the smell of something savory fills his nostrils. The men had been living on rations for days, and Pero Tovar was sick of the hardtack and salt pork he carried with him. The elder introduces him to his family; a wife, a young son, and you, his only daughter. As soon as his eyes land on you, Pero feels a warm sensation spread through his stomach, one he had never felt before, and he finds it difficult to tear his eyes from yours as the man of the house begins speaking again, telling him that their house is his for the night. He manages to utter out a word of gratitude before you approach him, taking his hand to lead him to get cleaned up. 

"It is not often our village has visitors," you murmur softly as you help him to doff his armor. "Most pass us by without so much as a second glance." Your smile causes that heat in his stomach to spread upwards through his chest, and up his neck. Such a foreign feeling... "Perhaps it is fate that brought you here, to us. I must thank fate, if that is the case, for bringing such a handsome man to my home." You laugh softly and it is a sweeter sound than any music the Spaniard has ever heard, light and gentle as the bluebird's song on the spring breeze. Pero's heart throbs in his chest at the sound. 

"Sí, señorita. A thanks to fate for bringing me here." His eyes never leave your face and the tips of your ears turn red from the attention. His gaze was steady, with a hard edge of a man who had seen too much. After finishing doffing his armor, you help to ease him out of his wet tunic, and your heart stutters in your chest. Your gaze drifts from his torso back to his face, and your hand moves as if with a mind of its own, lifting to rest on his face. The soft pads of your fingers gently trace the scar over his eye. There was...something so familiar about him, but you had no idea what it was.  Like you had seen this man before, someone who was him...yet not him. The thought confused you and you shook it from your head. That was impossible. 

---

Your eyes snap open from the strange dream and you sit up in bed, rubbing your face. A man who looked so much like your Jack had been haunting your dreams for days now, and you had absolutely no idea what it could mean. Jack stirs beside you, letting out a soft groan as he stretches. 

"Darlin'? You alright? It's awful early for you to be up." He glances over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:30 am, early was an understatement. His hand finds the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles against the skin there. You hum and nod your head. 

"Just...weird dreams Jack. That's all." You turn your head and smile down at him and he makes a concerned sound at the back of his throat. 

"Wanna talk about it, sweetheart?" Your heart melted at the concern, and you ease yourself back down, laying in his arms. 

"It doesn't make much sense, really. You'll probably think I'm crazy." His arm holds you a little closer to him and he chuckles. 

"Try me." A smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you take a deep breath. 

"Well...if you say so. I've been dreaming of a person. It's...this guy. He looks so much like you, and he has a scar right here." You delicately trace the line of the scar from the mystery man in your dreams. "And his face is weathered and serious. He's always scowling. I have no idea but it's like it's you but it isn't you. But it's more like... a faded memory than a dream. It's crazy, I know." Jack is quiet as he listens to you, his fingers still tracing delicate patterns on your skin. 

"I...don't think you're crazy, sweetheart." You blink, honestly shocked as you look up at him. He's staring up at the ceiling, a contemplative look on his face. "I've had dreams like that too. Ones of you. Or, well, a girl who looks almost exactly like you." Propping yourself up on your elbow, you look down at him, that handsome, lopsided smile on his face.

"You're not pulling my leg to appease me, are you?" 

"Now darlin', when have I ever done that to you?" He had a point. His silver tongue worked magic in many ways, but spinning lies to appease you was not one of those ways. Your brow creases as you lose yourself in your thoughts of what this could mean until a whip-calloused finger smooths the lines between your brows. "You ever heard 'a soulmates, sweetness?" The question strikes you as rather odd, something out of a fairy tale, but you nod. "I'm thinkin' that may be our answer." His arm wraps around you and he pulls you back against him. "Lovers truly meant to be." Gentle lips press light kisses to your forehead, his moustache tickling the skin and drawing a giggle from you. 

"Do you really think that, Jack? That we've met before?" 

"Well it would explain how we fell in with one another quicker than a jackrabbit with a fox on its tail. Now, I know my charm is absolutely irresistible, but I don't think I can take all the credit here." He grins and you can't help the laugh that bubbles from your throat, smacking his chest lightly. You had to admit...it made sense. In some weird, metaphysical sense that you weren't quite sure you completely believed. But Jack believed it, and that was enough for you. It also meant you could stop feeling guilty about these dreams of this mysterious Spaniard. 

"So this dream girl. What's she like?" You ask, snuggling into Jack's embrace. He shakes his head and laughs. 

"What, you jealous of yourself, gorgeous? C'mon now, you get to ride this cowboy any time you like, ain't no need to be jealous of a dream of you." You gasp and smack his chest, cheeks flushing red as you hide against his chest. He chuckles and lavishes a few gentle kisses to the top of your head, snuggling down in bed with you. 

"Jack?" 

"Hmm?" 

"I love you." 

"I love you too, doll. Now close those pretty eyes of yours and get some sleep." 

And you did just that, slowly drifting off to dreamland. 

--- 

"Hellloooooo!" Cara snapped her fingers in front of your face and you jumped, coming back to reality. "You know, you really freak me out when you do that." She leans back in her chair, a cup of spotchka in one hand, her lopsided smirk on her face. You cough, and scratch at the back of your neck. 

"Yeah...sorry about that." She just shakes her head.

"Where do you go when you zone out like that? Takes me forever to bring you back around."  You just shrug, staring down at your bowl of soup. 

"Day dreams, I guess. I can't really describe them. I see faces though. Well, a couple of faces anyways. Two men who look shockingly similar and-" Cara cuts you off with a wave of her hand. 

"Sweets, I don't need to hear about your depraved day dreams." Her coy grin in your direction causes your face to flush a bright red at the insinuation and you make a move to reply when she goes rigid in her chair, setting her cup down with a little more force than necessary. Your brow creases in confusion, even more so when she stands and grabs your hand, quickly and quietly leading you out back. "Stay here," she hisses, moving slowly around front, leaving you confused and alone. And hungry. You had been so busy day dreaming you didn't even get the chance to finish your soup. A frown pulls at the corners of your lips as you hop up on a box out back, kicking your legs as you wait for your friend. 

The sounds of fighting reach your ears a few minutes later and you jump up, running towards the sound, skidding to a halt when you round the corner to see Cara fighting with a person decked out in some of the shiniest armor you had ever seen. You open your mouth to say something when a small green creature walks out of the cantina, a bowl of soup in his tiny hands. He looks up at you and tilts his head before turning to walk a little closer to your skirmishing friend. You follow as both the armored figure and Cara end up on the ground, a blaster pointed at Cara's head. You're about to run forward to try and yank the blaster away when the sound of slurping distracts you. Looking down, you see the little green thing slurping up his soup, watching with a borderline uninterested look. The helmeted figure and Cara turn to look at you both before looking back at each other. 

"...Want some soup?" The helmeted man says through what was clearly a modulator. 

That was your first encounter with Din Dajrin, and you had no clue that that one day would lead to you aboard the Razor Crest, babysitting the little green creature he had taken in, and fixing things around the ship as they broke. You had never seen his face, nor much of his skin save for when you were patching him up from a particularly rough hunt, but that was okay. Life on the Crest was comfortable, and even in the silence that Din preferred to keep, you felt at home. His presence was enough to calm you on your more anxious days. The two of you grew close quickly. Quicker than you or he had expected, and it wasn't long before he was gracing you with idle affections. Light caresses as he passes you, his hand lingering on yours for longer than necessary, gently tucking stray hairs back behind your ear as you talk to him. Each little thing never failed to bring heat to your cheeks. 

It was at the anniversary of your first cycle together that Din asked you to marry him. He had taken the three of you to a peaceful, lush planet to ask you. Some place safe and reclusive, a place where neither of you had to worry about anything. He wanted you as a part of his little clan, and your heart nearly burst with affection as you rapidly shook your head, wiping away the tears. The tradition was simple, a marriage a sacred vow between the Mandolorian and their spouse. It was a promise to bind the two as one. A few simple words was all it took, and he was yours. He brought your hands to his helmet to let you lift it off, the moment unable to be any more perfect than this. 

And that's when the blaster sounded. You freeze as your eyes go wide, slowly looking down to your chest where bright crimson starts to bleed through the material of your tunic. You look back up at him with glassy eyes and stumble forward into his grasp, only vaguely aware of more blaster fire, then total silence. Din lays you down on the soft grass, yanking his helmet off, and oh how you wish you could see his face clearly. You make out dark curls atop tan skin, dark eyes looking at you with such concern and fear, desperation...a look you couldn’t bring your eyes to focus enough to make out. Everything is fading so quickly. You can't hear his voice, only ringing. You were so sure he had a beautiful voice, it's a shame you wouldn't get to hear it free of modulation. Lifting your hand, you place it weakly against his cheek, sputtering out "I love you...find me in the next..." With that, the last of your strength leaves you, your hand dropping from his face as your head lolls to the side, eyes staring blankly off into the distance. 

Din lets out a cry of anguish as he pulls your lifeless form against him, sobbing into your hair. How could fate be so cruel? 

--

Ezra shoots up ramrod straight in bed, gasping for air like a man drowning. A cold sweat clings to his skin, an afterthought of the nightmare that disturbed his sleep once more. He rubs his face, taking a deep breath before looking over at his time keeper. Two standard hours before his alarm... The sigh that leaves his lips is deep and heavy as he swings his legs over the side of his cot. Might as well get an early start on the day. There was no going back after that awful dream, and he could use the couple extra hours anyways. Mining with only one hand, everything took twice as long and was done half as well, so the extra time would give him a little leg-up on the day. Heavens above, he could use another set of hands around here. With Cee off at school, he was all on his own, and it was getting damn lonely. Working his way into his suit with a little bit of difficulty, he made the resolution to put out an ad for help the next time he went to the Depot to drop off a shipment. 

And so he spent the day, mining and singing and talking to himself. Anyone else who saw him would surely think this one-armed man was crazy, but little did they know that talking to himself is exactly what kept him sane. He could move up the Depot visit. Yeah, that's what he would do. He'd need to go in the next week anyways, so why not just do it now? He resolved to head on the next day to the Depot, and he'd put out that add for some help. 

The next day's trek was blessedly uneventful. The cash-in post scoffed at what little aurelac he had accrued so far, and the tips of his ears turned pink in embarrassment. He mutters a thank you for the credits exchange, and makes his way to the bulletin board to put in his ad. A single figure is standing in front of the board, a pack slung over their shoulder, miner's tools hanging off their belt. 

"Pardon me," he says softly, scooting by them without looking at their face to pin up his ad. He turns to head back to his buggy to return to work, hopeful he would hear something over his coms soon. 

"Sir?" A gentle voice calls from behind him and he freezes in place, his heartbeat suddenly incredibly loud in his ears. He knew that voice. That was the voice that had been in his nightmares over and over again. Find me in the next... He slowly turns to look at who had called him to see you standing there, looking exactly as you did in his dreams. But alive...so much more alive.  You smile up at him, gentle and warm, with a light of concern in your eyes, and he has to resist the urge to run to you and pull you into his arms. "I say...you look like you've seen a ghost! Are you alright?" Ezra's mouth opens and closes a few times, not unlike a fish before he's able to find his words again. 

"Y..Yes, I'm alright. Not to worry, gem, it's just been a rather arduous day is all, and I'm beginning to feel the effects taking hold. Pardon my rudeness." A gentlemanly smile graces his lips as he extends his hand to you. "The name is Ezra. How might you be doing this fine day?" You chuckle and take his hand, shaking it firmly. What an odd fellow this was. 

"It's a pleasure, Ezra. And the answer to this next question will set my mood for the day, I'm sure. You're in need of a helper at your dig site?" He nods enthusiastically. 

"I most certainly am! What a matter of fortune that I happen to stumble upon someone ready and willing to assist me the very day I come to place my ad!" 

"Ready and willing is right! I just arrived on the surface. Took a gamble someone would be needing my help, and it appears I've come out on top!" Your smile is infectious, and Ezra returns it, just as brilliantly. It lights up his eyes, you notice. Warm, chocolate brown eyes that glimmer with a playfulness that excites you. 

"Perhaps you can impart some of that luck on to me as we begin this partnership." He leads you back to his buggy to take you back to camp, loading up on some extra supplies as well with his meager earnings that would be needed with an extra mouth to feed. "Might you be the lucky star that this poor man has been waiting for!" You can't help but chuckle at the eccentric miner. His manner of speaking was so strikingly different from anyone you had met before. Words rolled off his lips sweet as nectar, and the sound of his voice bordered on intoxicating. 

"Make a wish, and we'll see." You laugh, flashing him a wink. The two of you spend the rest of the ride talking, swapping stories of your previous adventures. Ezra's charm has you instantly at ease. It felt comfortable and familiar to be near him, and you couldn't quite explain it. 

As you return to his camp and make your way inside, helping to unload, you do your best to help ease some of Ezra's burden. It was clear he was trying to show that his lack of an arm was no deterrent for him, but you worried he would hurt himself in the process. 

"Here, I've got it," You say softly, taking an oxygen tank from him as he stumbled a bit, nearly dropping the canister. He looks up at you with those soulful brown eyes and your heart stutters in your chest. He nods and lets you take it inside as he grabs the last few small things from the buggy, following you in. His helmet hisses as he takes it off, slowly peeling himself out of his suit, and you do the same, folding yours up in the corner before standing awkwardly in the center of the hab until he's done. Dropping the offending article in the middle of the tent, he sighs and plops down on his cot, patting next to him for you to join. Happily, you do so, crossing your legs under you. 

"Forgive me, lucky star, for my lacking capabilities. I am not the man I once was..." He gestures to the stump of his right arm, a pained look in his eyes. You place your hand on his thigh and flash a reassuring smile. 

"Ezra, there is nothing to forgive. I'm here to help in whatever way you may need me to. We're partners, and partners help each other." He glances at you sideways, a smile gracing his lips at the pain fades in his eyes. 

"Lucky star, I feel you may be imparting some of your luck on to me already. What plans the universe may have for us is an adventure I'm eager to embark on." You laugh and nod, squeezing his thigh once before getting up to start making your side of the hab. 

And so the days go on. Long days spent mining as much aurelac as possible while the light provided, before getting cleaned up for the night. Evenings were usually spent listening to one of Ezra's fantastic tales, or listening to him read a book from his small collection. More and more you found yourself leaning against him, your eyelids heavy with sleep as his honey rich voice drawled on. It reverberated in his chest in a way that soothed you more than anything else had in the galaxy. But the good days were over too soon as mining season came to a close on the Green, and you found yourself facing Ezra in the Depot, the two of you ready to depart for your next jobs. The ache in your heart was unlike anything you had ever felt, having grown so fond of the loquacious miner. 

You opened your mouth to say goodbye, to just rip the band-aid off, when he spoke over you. 

"Come with me." The sentence was near a plea as he reached out to take your hand. Your eyes opened wide at his words, your mouth falling slightly open.

"W..what?" 

"Come with my, my lucky little star... I can't imagine a life without you at this point, the comfort you bring me is beyond anything even the most luxurious of lifestyles could bring me." He squeezes your hand again. "Come with me...please..." You knew you couldn't, you knew you needed to head to your next journey, but the thought of doing so felt so wrong, as though your heart might explode if you tried...so you nod, and Ezra's eyes light up with a joy the likes of which you had never seen. He tugs your hand and pulls you to him, embracing you as best he can with his one arm, and nuzzles into your hair. You wrap your own arms around him to return the hug, sinking into the embrace that could only be described as feeling...right. You almost missed it as he whispered against your hair, "I found you..." You lean back, confusion in your eyes as you look up at him. 

"...Found me?" You whisper and he smiles, dropping the embrace to take your hand and lead you toward his shuttle. 

"If you would indulge me in some time to tell you a story, I can explain everything, lucky little star." 

---

Your bare feet hit the pavement with loud slaps, legs propelling you forwards as fast as you could. Your lungs burned in your chest as you panted for air, not daring to look back over your shoulder for who you knew was following you. How had you managed to be so stupid, so careless? How could you have managed to get yourself involved in this? 

"Get back here!" He yelled, his deep voice causing another shot of adrenaline to course through your bloodstream. He was going to kill you. Oh God, he was going to kill you! Tears stream down your face as you run, ducking into every alleyway you could, trying to elude him, but he had been doing this too long. He was good at covering his tracks, and you were a loose end he couldn't afford. You being alive jeopardized his life with his family. 

You turn down another alley and your heart plummets when you are met with a stone wall, skidding to a halt in front of it. You hear his heavy footfalls behind you and you turn, falling to your knees. Maybe...maybe if you beg, he'll spare you? 

Dave rounds the corner, and you hear the soft click of the safety of his silenced handgun. He stalks forward like a lion stalks an antelope and you have never in your life felt so small. 

"You're a fast little she-devil, I'll give you that. It was a good chase." He stands in front of you as you begin to beg, pleading for your life. You'd move away, you'd forget everything. You'd change your name and cut contact with everyone, please just don't pull the trigger. "No can do, sweetheart. Can't risk it." He brings the gun up level with your forehead as you look up into his eyes, begging still, trembling with terror. For a moment, you see a light of recognition in his eyes, a light that looks so familiar it makes your heart ache. Visions of a space suit, an angry scar, a metal suit, and a cowboy hat all flash through your mind in rapid succession as the light registered somewhere deep in your subconscious. 

Then, with the sound of a gunshot, everything vanishes. 

--- 

"NO PLEASE STOP!" You shriek in your sleep, thrashing around in your shared bed, waking the man beside you. He startles, sitting up and pulling you upright, shaking you gently to try and wake you from your night terror. You had been having them more  and more recently, and he was starting to get really concerned. Terrified eyes snap open, tears starting to streak down your face as you caught his eyes and immediately begin trying to get away from him, your body still full of adrenaline. "Let me go!" You screamed, fighting to get away from those eyes. Those damn eyes were exactly the same. 

"Shhh shhh, cariña, calm down it was just a night terror, you're safe." That voice...that voice wasn't the same. That voice was so much kinder and softer than the one in your dream and you grow still in his arms, nervously looking back at the one holding you. Your terrified stare was met with the warmest chocolate eyes you had ever seen, full of nothing but love and concern for you as he held you. 

"F-Frankie...?" you ask, barely above a whisper, and he nods. You tremble in his hold as you choke out a sob, falling into his embrace. "I-I'm s-s-sorry Frank-kie! I-It was s-so b-bad this t-time," you managed to choke out between sobs. Frankie’s gentle fingers run through your hair in an attempt to soothe you as he coos gently to you, swaying back and forth with you. His sleep shirt was clutched in your fists as you sobbed against him. 

"It's alright cariña, I'm here, I've got you and you're safe. Nothing is going to get you, I promise." His voice is deep and rich, sleep still painting the edges of it as he holds you and whispers soothing words to you. How lucky could you be to have a man like Francisco Morales to call your own? He was so patient with you, even when these night terrors plagued you seemingly non-stop. 

As your sobs turn to sniffles, he carefully looks down at you. "Was it the same dream, amor?" he asks softly, nervous to startle you, and you nod weakly. 

"Being chased and cornered by a man with a gun...who looked like a sleazy businessman version of you... But his eyes were hard and angry and his voice was so cold." You look up at him with still watery eyes and he delicately wipes your cheek of any errant tears. "I hate this." 

"I know, sweetheart, I know. I'm sorry, I would do anything to help those dreams stop." His hold tightens around you. He was angry. Angry he couldn't protect you from this. Angry that for some reason your mind was using his face to torture you. Angry that you could get no respite from these horrible visions in your mind. With closed eyes, he nuzzles into your hair, placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. Your eyes slip closed as you slowly relax into Frankie's hold, your heart rate slowing to a more normal rate as the flood of adrenaline clears your bloodstream, leaving exhaustion in its wake. Frankie coaxes you to bed again, holding you as close to him as he can, hoping his presence will somehow help to deter the nightmares. 

In the morning, you wake to the smell of bacon and the feeling of an empty bed. You sit up and stretch before rubbing your eyes and yawning. Damn, your head and eyes hurt from the crying last night. Stupid nightmare... With a shake of your head, you move to get up to go get some medicine when you notice two Tylenol and a glass of water sitting on the nightstand. A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, knowing Frankie had left them out for you, and you take them, deciding to stay in bed a few more minutes and wait for Frankie. Your decision pays off when the door opens and Frankie walks in, a bed tray with pancakes, bacon, and a tall glass of chocolate milk in his hands. 

"Morning amor. How are you feeling? I made your favorite blueberry pancakes." The smile that graces your lips he returns as he sets the tray across your lap before tucking a loose strand of hair back in place behind your ear, joining you on the bed. 

"I'm alright as I can be. Tired of these stupid night terrors...I feel like I haven't slept in days." Leaning over, you press a quick kiss to his cheek before picking up a fork, digging in. The moan that leaves your lips borders on sinful as you taste the pancakes. Frankie's cooking always did amaze you. He chuckles as he leans back against the headboard, watching you. 

"I'm glad you like the food." You nod with a smile and continue eating, content with the silence for now. That is, until a burning question bubbles to the forefront of your thoughts. "Frankie...have...have you ever had a dream...about a girl who looked like me?" The question comes softly from your lips, as if you are nervous to even ask it. It seemed so silly hearing it out loud. 

"No, I can't say I have...but the day I met you, I could have sworn I had met you before. But there was no possible way that could have been." His voice is contemplative, and when you turn to look at him He's looking off to nowhere, lost in thought. 

"What do you mean you could have sworn you've met me before?" He blinks a few times and looks back at you, shrugging. 

"Everything about you was familiar. Your eyes, your laugh, your smile. Hell, even the way you stood, one hip cocked and your hand resting on it...It was all just so familiar, like I had met you a long time ago. Weird, I know." 

"I'm the one having dreams about a guy who looks like a douche bag version of you trying to kill me, and you think familiarity is weird?" A pink tint creeps up his cheeks as he sputters out a reply. 

"W-well when you put it that way..." You chuckle and shake your head, chasing a blueberry around your plate with your fork. 

"Maybe...we have met before...just not...here." If he didn't think you were crazy before, he certainly would now. 

"What, like a soulmate? A past life?" You nod, not looking up. You didn't want to see him looking at you like you were crazy. "Now that's an idea...it would explain a lot, wouldn't it?" Another nod, and his hand reaches around to lift your chin, turning your face to him. A gentle smile graces his beautiful face and you can't help but return it. "If that's the case, then I'm glad I found you again, soulmate." The giggle that escapes your lips only helps to widen his smile before he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. 

==

You had heard great things of the Prince of Dorne. The Red Viper, Oberyn Martell. He was as fearsome as he was gentle. Ruthless as he was loving. His skills with poisons and fighting spears were unmatched, as was his sexual appetite. Or so you had heard. King's Landing was always full of whispers and rumors, so much so that it was hard to know just what was fact, and what was fiction. Not that it mattered, the rumors never affected you. You kept your head down, and did as you were told, assisting the Lanisters whenever need be. It was the best way to stay out of trouble, and to ensure your head stayed rightfully upon your shoulders. 

But why all of the hubbub about Prince Oberyn all of a sudden? Have you missed an announcement? Cersei would have your head on a pike before the candles melted through if you embarrassed her by forgetting to outfit a chamber. A cold sweat breaks out over your skin and your heart races in your chest at the thought, your feet carrying you swiftly down the halls in search of Tyrion. He would know what was going on. 

You find the man talking with his guard, and clear your throat softly as you approach, hands folded respectfully in front of you. Their conversation drops as Tyrion looks to you with a smile. 

"Forgive my interruption, but I have heard many more whispers today than usual of The Red Viper of Dorne... Have...Have I missed a notice to prepare an extra chamber...?" Tyrion shakes his head and comes over to place a hand over your folded ones. 

"Fear not, you've missed nothing. The chambers were already prepared for his visit." The tension melts from your shoulders and you nod, bowing your head before standing upright again. 

"Thank you for informing me. I shall return to my duties then. Good day." You turn quickly as Tyrion bids you farewell, resuming your duties as needed.

The fight was the only thing anyone in the halls discussed. Oberyn was to champion for Tyrion in trial by combat with The Mountain. The whole of King's Landing was to attend to spectate, including the workers through the castle. It had been a long time since the walls buzzed with such energy, and you followed along quietly to the viewing stand reserved for the chambermaids. Perhaps you would now see if the words of the great Red Viper of Dorne were true. You watch with baited breath as he strides into the arena, his armor light, a fighting spear in his grip that he twirls with such grace it takes your breath away. His smile is confident, bordering on cocky, and you feel a twinge of fear for him. He was so small...The Mountain would crush him.

The fight was certainly something to behold, and for a moment, it seemed as though Oberyn's dexterity would win him the match. Till the tables turned... It was a gruesome sight, The Mountain was known well for his utter brutality. The cries of pain from the prince under his grip tore at your heart, and when his skull finally gave, painting the arena red, something inside you broke. Tears streamed down your cheeks, your hand covering your gaping mouth as your heart ached in your chest. 

You had never met this man, and yet at the witnessing of his death, it felt as if you had lost a part of yourself.

--

"An intern? A FUCKING intern? What the fuck do I need with an intern?!" Maxwell stood from his desk, pacing behind it, a hand in his pocket while the other rubbed at his face. "I’m so close, SO CLOSE, to having the world in the palm of my hand, and you want me to take on AN INTERN?!" He snapped at the poor secretary who stood in the center of the room, trembling in her high heels. 

"M-Mr. Lord...A-appearances are everything, sir, and I believe taking on an intern would brighten your appearance in the public eye even more so. She would be none the wiser, and you could use her to take care of your less important operations, sir." The secretary quivered under Maxwell's gaze as he stopped to stare at her, eyes hard as flint. Slowly, so slowly, a predatory smile works its way across his face, and he stalks forward, lifting the secretary's chin. 

"You are an absolute genius, where would I be without you?" He shoves her head away and she stumbles back a step before catching herself. "Bring her on. Get her set up on payroll, benefits, whatever she needs, then send her here to talk with me." The secretary nods, scribbling down notes on a piece of paper before looking back up to her boss who has taken to looking out the window of his high rise office. "Well don't just stand there, chop chop!" She shoos her from the room and she leaves in a rush, heels clicking down the hall as she goes to find you.

The lobby of the Lord building was absolutely massive, and appropriately ornate for what you knew of Maxwell's image. Nervous fingers played across your pencil skirt, smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles in the material as you waited for the secretary you had met to return with her answer. The sound of heels clicking down the hallway draws your attention and a cordial smile graces your lips as the secretary returns. 

"Good news!" she claims in an overly excited tone. "Welcome to the company! Mr. Lord has agreed to take you on as his intern. I'll take your information and get you set up with payroll while you come to meet the man behind it all." You nod, fishing a manila envelope of all of your information out of your shoulder bag, handing it over. "Excellent. Now, follow me. A few pointers," she says matter of factly. "Speak only when spoken to and NEVER interrupt. Mr. Lord hates being interrupted. You'll refer to him as Mr. Lord or Sir unless instructed otherwise. Keep your answer short and to the point. Are we clear?" You swallow thickly, suddenly astronomically more nervous than you were just a moment ago. 

"Crystal." 

"Excellent." She takes you to a large set of double wooden doors, knocking with three quick raps before opening the door. "Mr. Lord, here she is." The secretary ushers you in, placing you in the center where she stood trembling only minutes before, stepping off to the side as Maxwell strides up to you, circling around you as he sizes you up. 

"Not bad," he muses. "Not bad at all." His gaze was searing, causing your blood to race in your veins. You were pretty, he had to admit, and that would definitely be a bonus if you were going to be around him every damn day. Something familiar tugged at the back of his mind. Your eyes or your jawline, maybe, but he quickly chased that thought away. "So, you're going to be my new intern!" He claps his hands together. "Your work starts now. Follow me." He places a hand on your shoulder, leading you to what you assumed was where you were going to be sitting for the rest of this internship.

--

You blink and stumble for a moment, a firm yet chilling grip catching you to right you. 

"Careful there doll. Can't have you ruining that pretty face of yours cause you tried to kiss the carpet." Max laughed that ultra-fake, condescending laugh he had, letting you go as you righted yourself. Adjusting your pencil skirt, you nod and take a deep breath. This was all way too familiar. The outfit, the internship, the guide through the office to a desk by your boss'. It was hands down the worst case of deja vu you have EVER had. 

"Mr. Phillips-"

"Call me Max, doll. You're my new intern, and I'd like to think of you and I more as friends than as boss and employee." He grins at you and you shiver at the sight of his fangs. 

"...Max. Uhm...does...does any of this seem a little too familiar to you? Like you've been here before?" His look back at you with a look that makes you wish you could just melt into the carpet and disappear. 

"I'm here every day, what are you talking about?" 

"N-no I mean like, do you ever get deja vu? Because I'm having it bad right now." That trademark grin spreads across Max's face again as he seats you at your desk, perching himself up on the front of it so he's looking down at you. 

"My whole unlife is deja vu, dollface. It's round two for me." That damn smile never leaves his lips as he watches you put your papers in the drawers of your desk. "Any other silly little questions, or should I just let you get started on your first day?" The tips of your ears were on fire and you shook your head. 

"Nothing else, Max. Thank you, I'll get to work." He claps and nods, hopping off your desk. 

"Alright, doll. You'll have a set of reports for editing in your inbox. Have them formatted, printed, and on my desk before you head out today." You nod, starting up your desktop as he makes his way from your now shared office. This...was going to be a long internship. 

Max makes his way down the hall, that fake, used car salesman smile falling from his lips as soon as he is out of eye-shot. He stalks down the hall to his own personal bathroom, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary. 

"Fuck!" The acoustics of the tiled room cause his voice to reverberate, sharp in his ears. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He white knuckles the edge of the sink, the porcelain cracking under his hands. It was her. It was FUCKING her! Of all the people who could come to intern at this company, it had to be his soulmate. Because of course it did! Why would the universe decide anything else?! The frustrated vampire closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. She didn't know, everything was going to be fine. Can't have a soulmate when you don't have a soul. Checkmate, universe. Yeah, that was what he would do, he’d ignore it. Problems always went away when you ignored them, right? 

Wrong.

--

"I need to stop watching vamp movies before bed," Javier Peña groans, sitting up from his bed. "Fucking dreaming about them now.." He continues to grumble to himself as he gets ready for the day. It was going to be a long one. The DEA had caught a lead on Escobar, and were running a raid this afternoon. He needed to be on his game today, this could be the chance they needed to finally get that bastard. He slips his gun into the waistband of his jeans, grabs his leather jacket, and heads to work. 

Hostages. Of course they had fucking hostages. 

"This complicates things," Steve whispers from behind him. 

"No shit," the exasperated DEA agent snaps back, eyes scanning the entrance to the building. They had no idea how many Escobar's men had in there, and they needed to get them all out. Javier was tired of seeing innocents die, caught up in something because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. "I'm going around back," Javi hisses, ducking around Steve to find the back entrance. "You stay here with the team. First gunshot, you move. Be smart, clear every room, move fast." Steve nods, taking Javi’s place as Javi slinks along the back perimeter. 

He was right, there was a back entrance. He presses his ear to the door, trying to make out any sound and was met with only silence. Gun ready in one hand, he slowly opens the door, thanking whatever god existed that most of Escobar's men were idiots. They had forgotten to arm the back door. He moves along the wall to the hallway, noting two doors on the left, one on the right on the way to the main lobby. His heart pounds in his ears as he moves as quickly and quietly as possible, choosing the one door on the right first, seeing it open. He ducks in, gun sweeping over the room, but all he sees is you there, bound and gagged with duct tape. Your face was a mess, one eye blackened and dried blood from your nose crusted on the tape. Weary, broken eyes meet Javi's and his heart stutters. He had to get you out of here, and he was going to. 

As you look at him, your eyes widened at the shadow moving down the hall. Noticing, Javi presses himself just to the side of the doorway, waiting for the man to make his way into the room before firing off two quick shots to his head. The man slumped to the ground, lifeless as the house descended into chaos. Javi grabs you, dragging you gracelessly to the corner where he can better protect you. The action draws a soft whimper from you, fresh tears running down your cheeks.

Gunfire, screaming in both Spanish and English, crashing and banging...it was all too much for you and you began sobbing, quaking in absolute terror. Javier held you to him gently, his large hand holding your head against his chest. 

"Calma, calma. Estás segura. Soy aquí," he whispers softly against your hair, eyes trained on the door still. 

"Peña! It's clear! We got them all, where are you?" Steve. Thank god. 

"First room on your left. Bring me the first aid kit!" You look up at agent Peña with glassy eyes, bloodshot from crying and he starts to peel the duct tape away from your mouth as gently as he can. "It's alright, you're safe now." His voice is gruff, but he speaks so gently to you.  You can't stop the trembling in your limbs, the adrenaline running its course. 

"I got the ki- holy shit what did they do to her?!" Steve joins Javi by your side, helping to undo the tape binding your arms and legs.

"Beat the shit out of her it looks like," Javi pulls an alcohol swab from the kit, tearing it open to wipe off a nasty looking cut along your brow and you hiss, pulling back at the sting. "Easy, chica. I know it hurts, I'm sorry." The whimper that leaves your lips has Javi nearly seeing red. Those bastards...

"Let's get her out of here. We need to get her to a hospital." Steve is already standing up, pulling out his phone. 

"No! No, please no hospitals!" The words come out as a rasp, your throat feeling like sandpaper. 

"Lady, you're beat to hell, we need to get you some medical attention." He argues, but the look in your eyes is desperate as you turn your gaze back to the DEA agent who saved you. 

"Please, please no hospitals...I can't do it." 

"Peña..." Javier cuts him off with a shake of his head. 

"I'll take her back to my place and take care of her. She can stay there for now. Her place probably isn't safe right now anyways if they managed to get her." No hospitals...they weren't going to take you to the hospital. Relief washes over you and your limbs suddenly felt so heavy. 

"Thank you..." You barely make out before your body gives out and you slump against Javi. His arms wrap around you after checking for a pulse, and he stands, scooping you up bridal style in his arm. He carries you out to his car, sitting you in the front seat and strapping you in, Steve arguing the whole way. 

"Look, she said no hospitals, so we aren't going to the hospital. If things get worse, I'll take her, but for now, I'm taking her back to mine. You stay here and get the paperwork done. I'll call if anything changes." Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Javi was already in the truck, taking you to his little apartment on the quiet side of town. 

It was surely a strange sight, the DEA agent carrying in your battered body to his apartment, and it raises the eyebrow of Old Woman Angela who gracefully still decides to mind her own business. Safe within the confines of his home, Javi carries you to his bed, laying you down gently before ridding you of your shoes in an attempt to grant you at least a little comfort. 

"Let's get you cleaned up, querida." His words are soft and gentle, more so than he's used with anyone in a long time. Delicately, he wipes your face with a clean, damp cloth to rid you of the grime and blood that had built up, using caution around your deeply blackened eye. The sight of you so battered made his heart ache. He was used to violence, he was used to death. It followed him everywhere in this line of work. So why, then, was this hitting him so much harder than any of the others. Why did he feel this overwhelming need to protect you, to keep you safe from all the world's atrocities? He shakes his head and mutters to himself in Spanish as he moves to sanitizing and dressing your wounds. Once you were as cared for as he could make you, he sits, watching your sleeping form. The subtle rise and fall of your chest as you sleep gives him at least a little comfort. His hand moves as if of its own will, taking yours gently. They're so soft, and they fit so perfectly in his, almost like your hands were made to be held in his. It felt so right, so natural. And that was something Javier Peña had never felt before, not like this. In your sleep, so gently he almost thinks he imagined it, you squeeze his hand tighter.

Javier Peña didn't even know your name, but in his heart he knew one thing. 

You were home.

--

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" you call from your place on the couch, head dangling off, your feet where your head should be. 

"Absolutely," came the gentle voice from the kitchen. 

"And what about soulmates?" 

"Those too. Why do you ask?" Marcus peeks his head out and chuckles when he sees you once again refusing to use furniture correctly. 

"I dunno, just a thought I've been having recently. Like, how do people know when they've found their soulmate? It's not like we have a countdown timer that tells us." 

"Well," your boyfriend comes to join you on the couch and you immediately right yourself to lay with your head in his lap, his fingers moving to play with your hair. "It's one of those things you just know. Like, they walk into the room and all you can see is them. Their voice and laugh makes you feel like you're floating, and every time you see them a warmth spreads through you from the tip of your head all the way to your toes. And the feel of their skin is the most right thing in the world, like anywhere you go, so long as you're with them, you're home." His gentle smile down at you does just that, filling you with that warmth it always does. "Some people even say they have dreams of past lives where they've met their soulmates before." 

"Have you?" 

"I have." His voice is so assured, it takes you by surprise, and you must have worn that look on your face because Marcus laughs before tapping your nose. 

"...Tell me about her. Or him, I guess." Curiosity was eating you alive. Who was Marcus' soulmate? Were you keeping him from them? Your heart sank at the thought that maybe...maybe he belonged to someone else through some greater proclaimed destiny.

"She's been so many things and been on so many adventures, love. She's flown through the expanses of space so many times, fought monsters and mined for rare jewels. She's aided weary warriors who were passing through her tiny village. She's survived terrifying experiences with drug lords and she's worked as a top agent in intelligence organizations. She's wept for a lover she never knew, and she's been mourned by more than she will ever know." You watch his face with a child-like wonder, and when he finishes he looks at you, that glimmer you love so much still present in his eyes. "Have you ever had similar dreams?" 

The question catches you by surprise and you find yourself contemplating. You had never really remembered dreams, but a few did stick out to you. "I remember...space. And the man I was with was cold and metal, but his voice was gentle. And I remember...I remember working in offices with men in suits I could never afford, but who bought me nice things to say the words they could never get to come out. And...a scar. I remember a scar." Wandering fingers reach up to trace over Marcus' eye. "I remember my first thought when I saw you was 'Didn't he have a scar?' But the thought was so out of place, I had no idea what to do with it. I had never met you before! So I...forgot it." All through your talking, Marcus' smile has just grown wider, as if he's waiting for you to catch one of his jokes. 

When it all clicks into place, you sit up, your mouth slightly open as memories flood your mind's eyes. A wet and weary warrior, a charming cowboy, a fearsome hunter covered in metal, a talkative gentleman whose every sentence was poetry, a ruthless killer, a soft pilot with a heat of gold, a grand prince gone too soon, a pompous billionaire, a sarcastic frat boy, and a gentle DEA agent all flashing through your mind in rapid succession. Your eyes tear up with the memories that are yours but at the same time aren't, and you reach up to cup his face. Words die on the tip of your tongue as you struggle to force them out. 

Marcus takes the burden from you, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It's heavy, full of so many memories, so many moments, so many lifetimes. It's so magnificent it sucks the air from your lungs and you break away to gasp for breath as Marcus presses his forehead to yours. 

"Y...You're my...soulmate..." The words are barely a breath, but he hears them all the same and nods, pecking your lips once more as he gathers you into his arms. You melt into the grasp, more comfortable here than anywhere else on earth. 

"Yes, my love. And no matter the lifetime, no matter the universe, no matter the struggle...The forces that be will always bring me to you. Always wait for me." 

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

Tag list is open!

Requests are Open!

[strayfreckles]

all on you.

☕︎︎ hwang hyunjin x reader (ft. ryujin, felix, & yeji); highschool au, friends-to-lovers au, barista au, bulletpoint fic.

maybe you would’ve gotten out of highschool with your emotions (and pride) unscathed if it weren’t for hwang hyunjin and his so-called romantic, obnoxious—and, in your case, unfortunately effective—antics.

includes: fluff, angst (especially in the middle), mutual pining, somewhat slow burn (?), gn!reader, barista!reader, a hefty amount of swearing, the only consistent thing you’ll see here is how utterly terrible this is, fluctuating humor

notes: this was requested by a wonderful anon! before you dive in, i’d like to inform you that this is my first fic of any kind, so please tread gently 😔✋ though constructive criticism is appreciated !! hope you enjoy (and hopefully not cringe too much sdkdnkdks) <33

wordcount: 2.8k

let me be the first to say that you absolutely abhor romance films with every existing fiber and cell in your body.

like, you cannot physically withstand the atrocity that is occurring right before your very eyes and you have to tear your gaze away before you bash your head to the nearest table.

and though you do admit that you’re overreacting sometimes

you also admit that you’re a massive dumbass for falling prey to one of the most common—and one of the most infuriating tropes—that is falling for your best friend.

yeah, hwang hyunjin? that boy holds your heart between his palms and with every smile you fall deeper and deeper

you’ve known that kid since you started eating crayons in elementary, and since then you’d been attached at the hip, clung to each other through all the clownery of middle school

finding each other in places is like a sixth sense; it only takes you both less than a minute to find the other before startling them with a quiet “hey, you”

but time is impatient, and that timid, starry-eyed boy you knew became the dimpled heartthrob come highschool—geared with the smarts and the talents and love-laced words that sent boys and girls running after him

but to you he was always just that kid who nearly consumed clay cakes because “it looked so real!”

until he wasn’t

it just came to you like a blow to the face, in the middle of sophomore year, sitting on hyunjin’s bedroom floor on a weekend trying to cram revise for your upcoming exams

you decided to take a quick break, and made the mistake of looking at hyunjin

and my oh my was he stunning

every laugh that tumbled from his lips sounded like a fucking symphony

and the bastard was just playing with kkami !!

he looked so damn soft as he planted kisses on his coat

every single constellation you knew was embedded in his irises

haha heartbeat go brrrrrrr

and maybe all you wanted was for him to never stop smiling, because he looked the most beautiful when he did, and maybe you wanted to brush his hair away from his face because you couldn’t see his eyes all that well and what the fuck—

you just malfunctioned

because that was your best friend

he noticed you staring, of course, and had the audacity to smirk, and in a second you wanted to set yourself on fire

“y/n, i know i look good, but at least try to be subtle.”

“you look like a low-budget minion, hyunjin.”

“i’d rather be a minion than a shabbier version of gru, thank you.”

(many fists were thrown that day, and hyunjin learned not to pick fun at your clothing lest that he face humiliation)

for the first few months you were in constant denial, even going so far as to blame hyunjin himself for forcing you to watch countless romcoms on your weekly sleepovers

but once you catch hyunjin staring at you with that fond look in his eyes, one he’s carried since childhood, your heart finally has the courage to murmur into the concaves of your chest, i am in love

it gets worse around senior year

the summer after junior year you land yourself a job at miroh café, a coffee shop at the heart of the town bc you’re broke as fuck and you need the cash

and, as expected, hyunjin becomes a frequent patron

he’s armed with a pickup line every single time he orders

and every single time you have to tell your heart to calm the fuck down he’s always been like this c’mon gimme a break

it’s even gone to the point where the regulars mistake him as your boyfriend

and as if your conscience nagging you 24/7 wasn’t enough mental baggage, your coworkers and fellow seniors, felix and ryujin, decided to weigh in

“if that isn’t the look of someone who’s simping over you then i don’t know what is,” ryujin nudges you, and from the repetitive force you’ve sustained from the past week you’re surprised your ribs aren’t bruised yet.

“you act like you’re not in the same dance crew,” you scoff, “ryujin, he flirts with everyone—he even had the balls to hit on chan!”

“let me remind you that denial is always the first stage of falling in love,” felix chirps, cheerful as he replenishes the pain au chocolat in the display.

“and let me remind you that i’m holding a very hot cup of coffee straight out of the machine; ‘accidents’ can happen, felix.”

of course, you weren’t in denial—you’d been past that stage long ago

it’s just that you didn’t wanna give yourself false hope

you didn’t want to lose this beautiful thing with him that’s lasted for nearly a decade because of your stupid emotions

so you’ve trained yourself to remain indifferent to the many compliments and lines he sent your way, hoping that if you could fool the others into thinking he didn’t affect you, maybe you could fool yourself, too

but oh ho ho, do i have some news for you (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

you don’t know how hyunjin’s pulse speeds up whenever he sees a handwritten note on his coffee wishing him good luck

you don’t know how often he forces himself to stop staring at you whenever you’re not looking

you don’t know how stupidly happy it makes him when he sees you smile

especially when he’s the reason why.

maybe everything about you makes hwang hyunjin happy

and maybe if you weren’t so kind and gentle and considerate during the times he lost a competition then maybe he wouldn’t have fallen this hard

but you were (and still are)

during the times you cried from laughter at all his antics

or cracked a smile at one of his pickup lines

he’d think that maybe—just maybe—he could stand a chance

but every time he did, he’d spiral into self-doubt

because there’s no way you would ever fall for him

you’re the kindest, most talented person hyunjin has ever known who deserves the universe

and he’s just… him

even if he did plan to confess, he’d be putting everything at stake; you’re too important to him, losing you would be a loss too heavy for him to bear

so he’s content with playing this role

even if the idea of you being with someone else hurts him so much

he’s content with reminding you everyday—even if it isn’t direct—that your mind is like no other, and that anybody would be blessed to have you

you both think it's always going to be like this

with you struggling to keep your feelings from showing

and hyunjin battling his inner demons

and those left to perceive the “discreet” ogling across the room and the hidden yearning in your voices are none other than (you guessed it!) felix and ryujin 🤩

it was funny the first few months

but now it’s just plain frustrating and they want nothing more than to bash your two oblivious heads together because y’all !! are !! idiots !!

no matter how much they persist, they’re always met with either a sad, gentle smile with a shake of the head or a monotonous “ha. you’re really funny.”

both have considered dropping your asses but they can’t because they love y’all too much

so all they can do is hope for a change

and change does indeed arrive when september rolls around

dance practice has just ended and hyunjin feels hyped because it’s movie night and he can’t wait to cry to kimi no na wa again

and lowkey stare at you for the entirety of the film

he exits his dance crew’s studio and is about to go straight to 7/11 for snacks when he spots the team’s newest recruit by the road, waiting for a ride home

hwang yeji’s only moved here two months ago and in a short span of time she’s already become one of the well-liked kids at school

but she’s a kind & humble sweetheart who deserves all the love & attention !!

so being the good sport he is, hyunjin approaches yeji with the brightest grin, having only talked to her a few times prior

“hey, there! yeji!” when the girl turns to him, her smile looks and feels like liquid sunshine. “waiting for your date?”

yeji turns rosy when he asks, like she does when everyone teases her about her special someone, who she’s been crushing on for weeks and who she finally had the courage to ask out. “c’mon, stop that. i don’t even know if they like me like that—they probably think it’s just another friendly date.”

“they’re a fool if they don’t end up liking you after, then,” hyunjin quips, hoping the bitterness doesn’t seep into his tone and wishing he has half the luck and strength yeji has, and she laughs.

“you know them, actually.”

“oh?”

“yeah! y/n l/n?”

oh.

o h

hyunjin can only blink at her dumbly, feeling like a thousand arrows are digging into his skin

you… with hwang yeji?

is that why you asked about her the other day? because you like her back? and that her feelings are far from being one-sided?

watching a dark cloud loom over his features, yeji thinks about asking if he’s okay when he blurts out an inaudible excuse as he walks away, zooming past the convenience store when he does

when he heads off he doesn’t even look at where he’s going, relying solely on muscle memory

he feels like he wants to grow smaller, biting his lower lip and clenching his hands into fists

he doesn’t even know why he’s upset

you were never his to lose

why would he regret what couldn’t be in the first place?

when his feet instinctively halt in front of miroh café, all he can do is stare blankly at the glass doors, at your figure behind the counter

but he wills himself to move away again, and when he does he clashes with another body

“hey, watch where you’re... hyunjin?”

ryujin stares at him with her mouth half agape, and she flinches when she sees his eyes glistening, his face flushed with the shade of pure heartbreak

“did you know about them?” he’s afraid to raise his voice, because doing so would mean there’s no stopping his emotions, “about… y/n and yeji?”

the lack of response provides the answer, and hyunjin walks away from the block

that afternoon, a cup of coffee with his name scrawled on the front went forgotten on the countertop

that evening, hyunjin doesn’t show for your monthly tradition for the first time in five years

you spend the rest of your evening obsessively checking your phone for text from him, wracking your brain for reasons he couldn’t come

of course, there are multiple reasons: like schoolwork (you are seniors, after all) and the upcoming dance competition

but you know he would text you over the slightest inconvenience, so why isn’t he saying a thing?

you rack your brain for anything you might’ve done, and your chest tightens when you think that maybe—just maybe—he’s finally caught on to you

you try to distract yourself with other thoughts as you lie wide awake in your bed: like your midterm exams, the nearing debate tournament… your date with yeji

bright, splendid hwang yeji who shares the wittiest jokes in biology and has the most colorful personality around

the first time you spent time with her she made you smile so wide it made your cheeks hurt

her laugh is the loveliest one you’ve ever heard; like dewy lavender fields beneath the spring sunshine

but every time you hear it you’re reminded that it isn’t hyunjin’s laugh, that you aren’t with him and every time you realize it you wanna cry

bc yeji’s been nothing but sweet and considerate this whole time and you’re more than guilty at the fact that all her attentions will be wasted because of you and your stupidity

you barely escape the wrath of crying yourself to sleep when you finally doze off when the clock hit two am

the next day at school, you both barely even make eye-contact

even the underclassmen who’ve heard the frequent calls of your names feel uneasy when they don’t hear hyunjin’s high-pitched voice or your shrill tones

felix especially, who’s experienced the trauma of sitting in between you two at history and feeling the tension that nearly chokes him

you’re more than terrified to look at him at him in the eye, terrified that once you do you’ll realize he doesn’t gaze at you the same way anymore

something inside hyunjin aches every time he spares you a glance, because every time he does it’s painfully obvious that he’s always been hopeless

in all honesty, hyunjin wouldn’t have shown his face at all if it weren’t for the tiny thread of patience inside ryujin snapping

so here he is, inside miroh a quarter before closing time

felix’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he sees him, so he sends a pointed look to his coworker,

“what did you do?” he murmurs. ryujin’s eyes are sharp when she looks at him, and he feels his blood run cold.

“what i needed to.”

no, she didn’t threaten to kill his entire family, if that’s what you’re wondering

she merely gave him… a warning

so one can imagine the surprise you feel when you emerge from the staff room, and felix drags ryujin outside to give you privacy

you both remain silent once they’re gone, neither one of you moving in place

until quiet words escape your mouth, and the familiar greeting makes hyunjin’s heart clench:

“hey, you.”

he doesn’t make a sound, so you continue, the tension heavy

“you owe me three dollars, by the way. i just wasted a perfectly good iced latte with the other day when you didn’t…”

when you trail off, hyunjin opens his mouth to let out an apology, and he realizes with a start that the words tumbling out are completely different:

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“what?”

“why didn’t you tell me about yeji?” hyunjin’s eyes begin to quiver when they meet yours, “we’re best friends, aren’t we?”

your jaw tightens, i told you. best friends. nothing more. “because you worry too much about everything; if i’d told you about us then you’d—”

“y/n, we’ve been together for a decade!” hyunjin intervenes, “we’re always going to worry about each other, whether you like it or not. and this— this is… i…”

every coherent thought vanishes as hyunjin grapples for more things to say. he knows he’s being selfish, undoubtedly so, but he wants you. he wants you so, so bad. the fight in him leaves until, eventually, all that’s left to say is the truth: “please, don’t go. don’t go… with her.”

your heart is close to breaking your ribcage when you stare at his face, you wait for him to say anything, to justify why he’s said it, but when the quiet settles, all you can see is red

“this is why i don’t tell you about these things,” you grit, trembling violently. “when i do, you say— say stuff that make me believe that you feel the same way i do when you actually don’t.

“and i hate you so much but in the end it’s all my fault because i’m the idiot who caught feelings for their best friend and—”

hyunjin doesn’t let you add anything else, because his lips are on yours and you’re overwhelmed with the feeling of him, him, him

the kiss doesn’t leave any room for doubt; he’s shaking, and his legs might give out, but he wants you to know that everything he feels is real

you’re both gasping for air when you pull away, but his hands still linger on your face and he traces the edge of your mouth, and you can do nothing but pull him closer by the waist

“still hate me now?” he asks, and you chuckle breathlessly, putting your forehead on his.

“yes, very much so,” you look at him tenderly, and he yelps when you pinch him gently, “this is all on you, y’know. if it weren’t for your godforsaken romcoms, we wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

“but if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have ended up with a boyfriend, amirite? ow, shit— i’m kidding!”

bonus!

“oh, thank fuck,” felix exhales, looking through the windows one more time before ambling beside ryujin, who looks pleased with herself as she places her apron on the crook of her elbow. “so, spill: what did you tell hyunjin?”

she smiles, “i told him not to give up before he’s even tried anything; sometimes, there are people who are worth taking that risk for.”

just as felix is about to commend her for sounding the most wholesome he’s heard her, she adds: “and i threatened to revoke my tutelage—his ass is failing calculus so hard.”

[marvellouslymadmim]

Hey! Aspiring fanfic writer here; I was wondering if you could talk a bit about your writing/editing process and how long it all takes.

Thanks!

Welp, roughly the same extremely long amount of time it takes to actually answer an ask, tbh 🙃

So...I only know how my brain works, and I can only tell you what works for me might not work for you, and that's OK. I'm breaking into two separate bits, because I almost never do writing and editing at the same time.

And as far as a timeline, honestly it just depends. On life factors, what my hormones are doing at the time (jfc like the week before my period, I have zero creativity, motivation, or attention span), if I'm having trouble with a particular scene, if I'm getting consistent positive feedback (yes, I can totally admit that I write faster when I know a particular reviewer is following along with every update), etc.

WRITING:

First, you gotta just...be fixated, I guess. Particularly if it's an AU, I sit with it for a long time before I ever write a word. I go over scenes, think about how the world changes, what stays the same, what *has* to stay the same to keep the characters true to their canon personalities. I sit with the characters for a long time, too--not just the main characters, but the supporting cast, too. In order to predict someone's future, you have to know their past. Most of our present actions are actually reactions to past events, when you think about it. The better you know your version of the character, the easier every other aspect of writing will be. I don't know how it is for other people, but I don't ever "feel" like I'm writing. I feel like I'm "witnessing", and the characters are simply doing whatever they wish. (***this is gonna be a thing during the editing process, too, so hang on to that)

Then once I have a general idea, I choose a title. Generally, I do not even start a word document until I have a proper title to put on it. The title is part of the theme and aesthetic to me, and it grounds me in the overall arc.

Once that's done, it's time for outlining. I generally wait until I feel this weird almost tingling in my left arm (weirder still bc I'm right handed) and I'm practically vibrating with a need to WRITE THIS STORY NOW. Then I put on some Bear McCreary (honestly, any videogame soundtrack will do, as they are literally designed to help you maintain focus and keep pace) and fucking go to town. For me, it helps to do this with pen and paper, so that I can go back up and squiggle little notes in the margin, rearrange the order, etc, far faster than I could on a computer.

Important note: the outline is not the end-all be-all. Some things don't make it to the final print. Some minor storylines get tossed or characters simply...take a different path than I expect. I will continue re-writing and updating the outline as I go along. On average, I usually have 5-8 outlines per story, and they're often 3-10 pages long. I also have a posted outline, which is a log of all the scenes that did make it to the final product. 

Then, it's the actual writing, at long last. I have found that I write best at the start of my day, before the noise and static of daily life comes in. So I wake up around 5am and spend 90minutes writing before beginning my workday routine. I have the Word app on my phone and may continue adding bits in throughout the day at work, if I get a moment. However, after 5pm my brain is usually fried and no more creativity happens. On weekends, I try to have one morning where I "sleep in" til 6am, and then write until at least 10am, sometimes 2pm, if I can get away with it.

The hardest part still is knowing when to transition and when to skip to the next chapter/scene/whatever. This is like...zero percent helpful, but I liken it to Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart's definition of pornography: "I know it when I see it." It may seem like a scene is circling, and sometimes it means you gotta leave the room a bit earlier bc the scene has already served its purpose. Other times, it means ya gotta stay with it a bit longer, because there's something the character is trying to say. Give them patience, and give yourself patience, too. Explore the scene and its dynamics. You won't know til you know and even then, sometimes you won't be entirely sure. That's ok, too. Part of the process. Remember editing will happen and you can decide then (hell, you can literally re-edit after it's been published, I've done that before too and added a note on the next chapter for any readers who might have read the first version 🤷🏻‍♀️ not ideal but still functional).

EDITING:

I do simple edits (spelling, grammar, etc) just about every morning as I reread what I wrote the day before, which is a refresher course for the day's writing session. But big "real" editing generally doesn't happen until right before posting.

Now, here's the ***issue from writing: sometimes, something just "doesn't work" in a scene. Again, you'll know it when you see it. The words a character is saying feels clunky. The pacing feels off. Something just...ain't right. More often than not, it means either I haven't truly sat with a character long enough to know their true motivations/backstory, or I am not giving characters the proper time/space/impediment to make the actions or say the things they're currently making/saying. I'm trying to force the flow, rather than letting it ebb and breathe when it needs to.

Absolute ProTip: You spent HOURS writing this scene. It's got some REALLY GOOD moments and lines in it. It doesn't work but you can't just delete it. It's your LIFE. I struggle with this A LOT, and I have found a solution: create a second "outtakes" document to cut and paste those scenes into. Sometimes I still keep moments or bits of dialog. Sometimes I later use bits in a later scene. Sometimes I never look at it again but I still feel secure in knowing that if I wanted to go back and use the original scene instead, I totally can. I don't think I've actually ever gone back to the original, tbh, but it reduced my anxiety about deleting the scene and starting over.

So back to the scene that doesn't work. I take it apart, figure out *at what exact point* it stops working, then work back up a few lines to see where the shift actually begins. More often than not, it's because I'm having characters express their feelings in ways they actually wouldn't. (people very very very rarely actually say what they're thinking/feeling, and you have to relay it in other ways). So I have to keep the internal monologue of what they're actually feeling/thinking, while figuring out how that actually translates via tone, body language, and what they do and don't say.

The "something ain't working stage" can take LITERAL WEEKS. I sometimes have to walk away for awhile, or tackle it only on days when I know I have hours upon hours to truly work on it. I keep circling back around, and eventually, the knot works itself out. Persistence, and insistence that "good enough" isn't actually good enough, are key. (this is why you have to fixated on the story you want to tell--because some days, it's going to take every ounce of that obsession to keep you going and keep you on the track of telling the story you wanted to tell, rather than settling or switching to an easier tack)

Sometimes, editing is a breeze. I don't change much, I may go a little more into the character's inner world here or there. Once you've been doing this for awhile, you'll just know when a story hits all its marks--and you'll also know when it's not, when it could be more or do more, and you can figure out how to get it there. There isn't a precise formula for it, it's more like cooking without an actual recipe to follow--a dash here, a bit there, you'll know it when you taste it.

And I'll leave you with this unsolicited bit: just write. Write often, write about everything, write what makes YOU passionate and happy, and absolutely write for yourself. Edit the fuck out of it, if you need to. Get a beta reader, if you need to. Get someone to just bounce ideas off, if you need to. And don't post it until you're truly ready and it's something you genuinely want to share. If someone gives constructive criticism, take in on the chin and move on (keep the notes, if you think they're valid, and toss em if you don't--you'll never be everyone's style of writer, so know that sometimes, people just won't be the target audience). Know that you'll grow and you'll learn and you'll find your own voice and like any skill, you'll develop a second nature about it--all those parts where I say "you'll know it when you see it" or "you'll feel it" absolutely come from spending a literal lifetime (28 years) writing stories, and thirteen years of writing fanfic in particular. It's ok if you don't see it or feel it right away. It takes practice. And you will have an audience at every skill level, no matter what (finding that audience? different story altogether...).

All totaled, this process can take anywhere from 3months to over a year. Stories are like children, I've found: they each develop at their own pace, and some may need more time and assistance than others. But they're still pretty wonderful. (except the bratty stories. they're the worst 🙄)

[1zashreena1]

No Shame

Pairing: M/F, nebulously OC/Priest!Diego Jimenez [Starz Power] AU IMAGINE

Rating: LITERAL FILTH

Warnings: Power imbalance, astronomical blasphemy, Diego's pornographic mouth, old timey woman related bullshit, set some time before 1900 in what will be present day Mexico

A/N:  I am an atheist so please keep that in mind as I unintentionally mangle Christianity in general and Catholicism in particular. This was prompted by an ask, you know who you are >.>.

Tag a friend! @girlpornparadise @nicke0115 @fleurfatale89 @mandoplease @heresathreebee @chensingmachinee​

Photo credit to @girlpornparadise​

I just woke up.

I have lost my last shred of sanity.

I must reevaluate all of my life choices.

I need guidance, discipline, a strong hand.

I am lost.

Perhaps mother was right. I will at least give her suggestion a chance. Father never forced us to obey her last wishes, but even if I never become a believer there must be some lesson I can learn from the experience. The only christian church in this new locale is catholic, that alone will be a new experience. I will walk there either early this morning or in the evening after the heat has dissipated. Mexico is a strange and wondrous place, but this heat is not conducive to proper corsets. Or really any underthings, for that matter.

-----------------

The walk to the church is long. You go slowly in the evening heat, unwilling to become any more disgusting with perspiration than you already are. You had forgone petticoats, crinoline, or even bloomers, but found the bounce of your chest too much and so had opted for the cropped corset. You are beginning to understand the local women's choice of garments.

The church is stone, backed up to the cliffside, dark and cool on the inside. It is also echoingly empty. You wander about, touching pews, taking in murals, and dipping the tip of a finger into what you assume must be holy water. 

"Are you lost, little girl?"

With a small shriek, you whip around to locate the owner of that rasping voice. It is a priest, It is a damn shame, is what it is. He is tall, broad, strikingly broad, eyes and hair dark, and he has just enough of an accent that you know English is not his native tongue. You gawk at the nearly perfect features; a long, straight nose, high cheekbones, thick brows, a cutting jawline, and sinful lips.

"I- I am sorry. There was no one about so I was simply looking. I did not mean to intrude." You stutter out. It should be a crime of nature to take a man like that to the celibacy of the church.

"Of course you are not intruding. But, if I may, you do seem… lost. And alone." His words are solicitous but his eyes glitter in the low light. Absolutely massive hands emerge from the sleeves of the cassock and you have to remind yourself that it is rude to stare. He stalks over to you, there is no other word for such a predatory gait, and you stumble back a step. He is not as tall as his hulking presence seemed, but he still towers over your frame.

"I am. Lost, that is. I did come here alone, but I live with my father. We only recently moved here." Why are you telling him so much? Is it the collar? Or his hungry expression? 

No one has ever looked at you thus, as though you were some delicacy to be savored. It confuses you greatly and you feel quite flustered. It evokes feelings that were stirred the few times you snuck out at night, slinking through the streets of Philadelphia to peer into a foreign world of nightlife and debauchery. You had seen the opium dens, the women walking the streets, people enjoying themselves and each other in ways you so desperately wanted for yourself. Mother always did curse me as a hedonist. 

"Would you like to confess? Have you been sinful?" He holds out one wide hand in gesture to the confessional.

"Oh, I am quite certain that would not help." You laugh bitterly. "I am not Catholic, in fact, I am not even a Christian. I imagine I must be brimming to overflow with your 'sins'." The sarcasm of your tone is unmistakable. 

He looks you up and down leisurely, you feel very hot very suddenly. "Perhaps not yet." You blink, but he continues, "Come. Sit with me and tell me why you are here then, little girl." Sitting in a pew, he motions to the small gap between himself and the arm. It does not seem like nearly enough space for your wide hips. That large hand pats his own leg gently and you find yourself stepping forward as though hypnotized. 

You were right, it is not enough space, you are practically in his lap. He is hot and solid against you, his body has no give and you can't help but compare it to the only other time you felt anything remotely so hard. The wedding night had not been nearly so attractive. Your chest is heaving above the corset as you fail to subdue yourself.

A long arm rests along the back of the pew, you can feel solid muscle under your shoulders. Unsure of what to do with your hands, you fold them in your lap but this only results in a more spectacular display of cleavage. You steel yourself and turn to look at him…

The priest is staring at your breasts. 

I thought they could not… am I wrong?

His eyes snap up to your own and you feel faint. They are the deepest, darkest brown you have ever seen. He is stunning and you are enthralled.

"I have never been to a church service, my father despises the institution, but my mother passed away a few years back, and one of her last wishes was for me to explore the church." You confess in a rush only to wince at the choice of wording. Your eyes drop to his chest with your mortification, it is not a wise decision on your part.

The sheer breadth of him is boggling. You can see muscle flexing under the black garment and all you can think about is how it must feel. Your palms itch to touch and you fidget minutely until something makes contact with your skin. Glancing down, you see that he has deposited his rosary in your shaking hands. Slowly, but not hesitantly, he closes your fingers around the smooth wood by engulfing both of your smaller hands in one of his larger extremities. 

His skin is like fire and you feel the same crackling energy that fills the air prior to a strike of lightning. Trapped by his presence, you gulp.

"Tell me." He breathes into your hair, "You know nothing of the faith? None of the rituals or traditions? No rules or obligations? Do you even know to which sins you might confess?" It seems that it should be saddening to him, but his purring tone is almost gleeful.

"C-correct. I do not." You stutter. Your eyes remain focused on his single hand overlapping both of yours in your lap. He is so close to your center that it makes you ache. Are there levels of sin? Am I committing a more serious offense right now? A higher sin, if you will? Perhaps you really are hysterical. 

"Oh, little girl, what I could teach you of sin would certainly fill you to overflowing."

You shudder violently and break out into goosebumps. The feel of your hardened nipples trapped inside the corset is maddening. Your former husband had never incited such a severe reaction, then again, he did not look like this man. 

"Married!" You blurt out in a panic. He freezes but does not back away. "Was. I was married. He, he returned me to my parents when I failed to produce an heir. Like a faulty broodmare. Is, is that a sin?" The babbling string of bitter words reveals far more fear and humiliation than you had planned. "It was an annulment. He was Protestant. I was deemed frigid." 

You gawk in shock as that gargantuan hand lifts to trace a single finger along the neckline of the corset peeking out of your blouse. Your pebbled nipples are visible through both soft layers of fabric and he brushes over them fleetingly. Your entire body jerks and you gasp. 

"To be barren is not a sin, however the Church does not recognize an annulment after the marriage has been consummated. In the view of Catholicism you are still married. Have you known any other men than your husband? Biblically, of course." He rumbles into your ear as his hand flattens over your collarbone. The span of it encompasses you from shoulder to shoulder. You feel dwarfed and vaguely threatened. 

"No… But I have wanted. To, to know. Another." Your breathing fails as the hand slides down your front to press your own fists into your crotch firmly.

"Now that is a sin. You are lustful, are you not?" His hopeful tone rips a whine from you. You somewhat enjoyed relations with your husband, it was vaguely pleasant sometimes despite your general overall distaste for the man, but this feels much more similar to when you touch yourself.

"I," you squirm, consumed with a heretofore unknown feeling of guilt, but he presses down harder on your lap and your legs spasm as they try to spread of their own volition. 

"Go on," He orders quietly. "Your lust led you astray, did it not?" The arm around your shoulders has constricted, his other hand snakes inward to stroke over your throat and it's hammering pulse point. You whimper as your belly liquefies and you want … something.

"I, I t-touched." Oh, this is beyond mortifying. Women are not supposed to want, much less touch, and certainly not enjoy as you have. You know what is respectfully acceptable in polite society and you know that the things you have done to yourself fall very neatly and precisely outside of those parameters. 

"You touched another man?" You shake your head tightly. 

"You touched a woman?" Again, a negative response, and again, a strangely gleeful question.

"You touched yourself." He purrs triumphantly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. The feel of his beard lowers your inhibitions. You had always wondered how a beard would feel on your chin, your neck, between your thighs…

"I cannot judge the severity of the infraction without witnessing the full extent of your wrongdoing." What does that mean? "You must show me, little girl." 

Your jaw drops and you turn to him in shock. He is so close that your noses touch and all you can think about are his lips framed so perfectly in that closely cropped graying beard. The hand on your neck creeps downward to flatten your left breast.

"Like this?" He questions softly, brown eyes blazing. Despite his best attempt, he cannot completely engulf your breast in his hand. Rather, he squeezes gently and massages. You are struck speechless, the touches are instigating a new and terrifying response lower in your body. Your breasts have been handled before, but you have never felt anything like this. 

"Not, um, not especially. I do not, I did not--" you choke off as he locates your nipple and pinches softly. Your hips buck of their own will and deep inside you can feel tension winding tighter. This has never happened before and you aren't entirely sure that you like it. "I never really touched, there. It, it's l-lower." You did not mean to say that.

He releases your hands only to slip between them and your body. Belatedly, you remember that you wore nothing under your skirt. You try to squeeze your legs together, it does not stop his progression. 

"Tell me to stop. Tell me you do not want to do this, and I will add lying to your list of transgressions." His voice is dark, dangerous. You relax into his hold and his fingers press the fabric deep between your thighs. The wetness soaks through, you have never been in such a state. "It seems that in spite of your reluctance, you are quite ready to show me."

"Here?!?" You yelp. The cry echoes along the high ceilings and he chuckles at your outrage. 

"Perhaps you would prefer the confessional?" He grins at you with a dazzling array of teeth. It is more threat than anything else.

"I thought, ohh, I thought priests could not. Not. You know." Flapping your hand about seems to convey your message sufficiently. 

"My vows are no concern of yours, little girl." He growls into your ear and you squeak helplessly under the assault.

You push to your feet with a hand on his thigh, but it gives you pause. He is solid under your touch, nothing but the bulk of muscle. What does a priest do to attain this level of, of, well, muscle? You glance down and your legs wobble. His interest is prominent. You have never seen anything that large.

"Do not worry about that. Show me how you worry about yourself. It is your soul at risk here, after all."  He ushers you to the little booth with his looming presence and a large hand on your lower back. You suppose he must either know what to do about himself or you are wrong about all that the priestly vows entail. How would I know?

The confessional is just big enough to fit you both. You spin around only to find yourself face to chest with him. He smells purely and indefinably male. Your hands come up to steady yourself on his chest and you give in to the temptation to feel. His rippling muscles make your legs give out and you collapse gracelessly onto the bench.

He kneels to the floor in one fluid motion. Those very large hands gather up your skirt but he catches your eye.

"Now you will show me how bad you have been and I will mete out your punishment."

--------------------

Am I truly going to debase myself in this manner? With a priest? In a confessional? I am very certain that this is not what Mother meant. You always were too contrary.

Your hands shake as you reach out to slap the skirt down tight to your knees. 

"Wait!" You plead urgently. No man has ever made you pant like this. His huge hands grip your knees through the skirt, he looks up to drown you in those bottomless eyes. "I… how do I, what should I call you? I do not even know your name."

"My name is Diego, but priests are referred to as 'Father', little girl." He smiles widely, it transforms his face into something softer, younger and freer. He does not ask for your name and you do not offer it.

"Now," he murmurs, "Show me how you sin."

A full body shudder shakes your form and you take a deep breath. Your hands release the skirt and you close your eyes in embarrassment. Painfully slowly, he rucks the skirt up to your lap, dragging his hot hands up your thighs as he progresses. 

"My, my. You are very bad, are you not? Nothing under your skirt?" He tsks, but his voice is warm with pleasure. His hot breath washes over your center obscenely, "And so very pretty."

Slapping a hand over your mouth does not muffle your whimper. He keeps one hand on your skirt, but reaches up to wrap the other around your forearm. Pulling your hand to yourself, he stares at you meaningfully. 

With great trepidation, you bring your fingers to your pulsing point of pleasure. The priest moans quietly, his dark eyes fixed on your most forbidden place. You jolt with the initial contact, then press down firmly. It feels just as good as always, but the addition of a ravenous man watching makes you clench tight far sooner than normal.

"Does it feel good?" He rasps quietly. You nod deliriously. 

"Do you enjoy being observed?" His lips curl up at the corners with deviousness.

"I- apparently? Never. I have never, ohh." Your voice is unrecognizable. 

"Your husband never looked upon you thus?" He arches a brow. You shake your head in horror. 

"N-no! He never touched or, or, oh, put his mouth on me." Your admission is a fearful whisper. "I had heard talk, filthy gossip, of men doing such things but..." You trail off with wide eyes as he licks those sinful lips very deliberately. 

"Yes, terrible rumors. That would be rather shameful." Those long fingers creep ever higher and your eyes must be ridiculously large. The pressure in your belly is crushing, you can feel everything tightening by the moment. 

"But." You gulp. His eyes gleam with anticipation. "I have. Thought. About it. Being touched so… pervertedly. Is, is that a sin?" Your breathy voice is tremulous with wary hope.

"No, little girl." The dark rumble so close to your most private parts vibrates decadently, the sensation is so strong that your eyes roll back momentarily. "No worse than the sins you are already committing."

"Oh. W-well, in that case, perhaps I should have asked for it specifically." You tease. The look in his eyes is not teasing. You lick your lips and nearly beg, "Will you t-touch me? Please, Father."

His pupils grow wide as you look on in wonder. His hands spasm, his expression crumples as if in pain, and he groans lowly, "I will touch you, bonita. I will touch you until you are sorry for your sins and beg me to stop."

Shaking like a leaf, you hold your breath in anticipation as his hands climb ever higher until they hover above your folds. "Please." You breathe.

One finger strokes along the edge of your lower lips, gliding in more wetness than you knew you could produce. It dips between to part you open, a sob escapes your gritted teeth, then he touches your entrance gently. You watch, bespelled, as he tests for give. I want it, you realize. Then, he finds the correct angle, and sinks the entirety of his long digit inside you.

"Ohhhh!" You wail as your body collapses in on itself, ecstatic paroxysms shaking you apart in waves. Your fingers press down harshly to draw it out.

"Yes, little girl. Let me see. Very good." He coos quietly. Your mind stalls in confusion, but then he moves. 

"Oh, oh, what. I do not understand. Please, I. I. What. What are you doing?" You whisper brokenly. 

"In order to fully understand the sin, you must fully explore it. Do you want me to teach you?" The question is dripping with wickedness. His expression is frightful, covetous and foreboding.

You nod, then shake your head as the finger retreats, only to nod again as two fingers return.

"It has been some time, has it not? Since a man filled you?" Your discomfiture grows, but it feels too good to stop him. 

"Y-yes. He was, your fingers are the s-same size." The confession is wrung out of you. Your mind flashes back to the sight of his bulging interest and you cannot help but wonder just how big he is. 

"That would explain why you are so tight. Do not fret, I can offer you a solution to that as well." Teeth gleam in the low light and you shiver. He shuffles closer on his knees and your brow furrows in concern. He smiles warmly, "Go on, continue."

"I do not. Know. Are there other, more things?" You feel foolish, but he clearly knows more than you do about this. 

"So much more, little girl. Does a sinful little creature such as yourself like this? Are you enjoying the fingers of a holy man in your most filthy of places?" Said fingers brush deep, he touches places that have never been reached before. His wide shoulders keep your legs spread far to give him room. 

"Y-yes? I think? It. It feels, strange. I feel full, but yet I want more. I--" you choke as he thrusts his fingers into you, pulls out, and then sinks deep again. Oh. Ohhhh. This feels better than anything you have experienced yet and tears roll down your cheeks. You beg shamelessly, "Please, oh please. Do not. Do not stop."

The deep bark of laughter is humiliating but it feels too wonderful for you to care. You are tightening again, bearing down around him steadily. He commands you confidently, "Again, little girl. Show me again."

Your inner muscles flutter wildly and then compress decisively. It is different than your self-induced sensations, but just as good. Your head falls back against the wall as your hips roll offensively. You are making noises that sound demonic in their own right, high pitched screeches and sobbing wails.

"You are a quick study. Have a third." Diego growls and you feel stronger pressure as he pushes three fingers into you. It stretches you uncomfortably for a moment and your hands fly down to his wrist.

"Wait." You gasp and squirm. He adjusts his hand to a new angle and the pain subsides to only aching fullness. "What. What are you doing?"

Your jaw hangs open limply as you watch him leaning ever closer to your privates. You remember your own admission clearly He never touched me or put his mouth on me.

The priest continues downward until you can only see the top of his head, covered in thick, lustrous hair. His breath ghosts over the little ball of nerves before you feel something completely foreign. Hot, soft, wet pressure where your fingers had been earlier. His tongue. You realize with a shock. He is licking me!

The first pass is too new, the second is long and slow so you have time to process this terrifyingly delicious sensation. Your back bows, your head cracks backwards against the wall, and you scream. You want more, you want to run, you sink down onto him and jerk away spastically. He is relentless, you are not entirely sure what he is doing besides using his tongue on you, and you do not possess the mental wherewithal to find out. Your hands flit about violently until one lands in his hair.

He groans against the center of your pleasure.

You shriek and hang on tightly as your body seizes up with another climax. Your vision wobbles and you gasp for air. 

As things come back into focus he stands over you, untying the sash to part his robes. Your eyes immediately drop to the bulge of his manhood being freed by hands slick with your juices. You recoil in fear at the sight.

He is positively massive. Longer than you thought possible but even thicker around. His own hand barely circles the girth. The tip is dripping steadily and you can smell the sharp tang of his desire.

He reaches forward in a flash of movement and yanks open your blouse and corset deftly. Your chest bounces free and you shrink into the wall at your back 

"Now," he eyes you intently, "You are prepared to receive your punishment."

"Will you hurt me?" Your tiny voice gives him pause as he registers your fear. His eyes soften and he reaches out to brush your wild hair back gently. He cups your jaw and leans close to your trembling body.

"What is a punishment that does not hurt just a little?"

Before you can answer his lips are on your own. He fits his mouth to yours, the beard burns wonderfully, and when you gasp he slips his tongue inside to attack your own. He takes and takes, leaving no inch untouched, just as you assume he will do below. His broad body arches over you and he steps between your legs. One hand cups a breast and he uses it to pin your shoulders, the other drops lower to position his length at your entrance. You shake violently, the memory of your wedding night clouds you with apprehension.

The pressure is immense, you sob into his mouth as he pushes into you. It pinches sharply at first when the head breaches, but then eases and the majority of him sinks deeply into you. He pulls back from your mouth to look at your tear stained face. 

"Breathe. Relax. You can take this, can you not? You are a good little girl, yes?" The soft rumble brings you back to the present. You are stretched to the limit, but he is not hurting you. Diego stays still long enough for you to soften around him, your tense muscles ease and you understand that it feels good. Very, very, very good. "There. How perfectly you take this. You were made for this, to writhe on my cock. So sinfully tight."

You open your eyes to find him huddled close, both big hands petting over your hair, down your cheeks to cup your breasts. His face is tense, he is holding himself back for you to adjust. It is more thoughtful than your previous proceedings. You reach up to touch his beard in wonder, it is wet with your arousal. Hands wandering, you stroke down his torso until reaching where you are joined together. He hisses above you as you feel the base of him, still unable to fit all of it inside you. Hands climbing, you slide up under his shirt to encounter a wall of muscle under soft skin. The feel of him makes you whine with want.

"Oh, you are indeed ready to atone." He sighs happily. Leaning down, he buries his face in your bosom and you jump with the textures of smooth skin, soft hair, and ticklingly abrasive beard. Wet heat envelopes a nipple and your chin crashes into your collarbone as you try to see what he is doing. He laves your nipple with the flat of his tongue, long and decadent passes that have you gasping and quivering. 

"A loving doe, a graceful deer—

 may her breasts satisfy you always,

 may you ever be intoxicated with her love."

He murmurs what you assume must be a proverb directly into your chest as he uses you wickedly.

Your hands settle on his broad shoulders, he is warm and solid all around you, you are soft and pliant beneath him. Narrow hips hitch and you cry out at the aborted thrust. He is so deep inside you that he must be able to touch your heart. Your heat clenches around his length and you both moan.

But then, Oh good lord, he moves. The long drag of his retreat pulls unknown sensitivity from you and the newfound discovery spills from your lips.

"Oh. Ohhhhh. This is. This is what. I, I never knew-" You babble mindlessly until he snaps back into you. Here you shriek. Words fail you entirely as he takes you more thoroughly and enthusiastically than you have ever been had before.

"Yes, little girl. Take the punishment you deserve, that you require. Take it all." He growls harshly, his hips smack your buttocks and the sound of it is obscenely blasphemous in this building. Your fingers dig into him as the tension builds. You are familiar with this, it feels much the same as it does when you bring yourself to fits, but it continues to mount. Previous experiences had ended at this point so you assumed achieving the same outcome was simply not possible by this method of stimulation. It feels like you might be wrong.

"I can tell that this pleases you. Wicked little thing, greedy on my cock. You want more, yes?" His dark words should make you feel shame, but he sounds inordinately pleased with your proclivities. He bites your neck and you bawl as your body contracts on him blissfully. His elated groan sears you with pride, "Yessss, good girl."

He rips himself away, drawing a soft protest from you at the loss of his body. His eyes are wild, chest heaving as he announces, "Now you may repent, little girl. On your knees."

You thrill at his command. This you have seen just once in your naughty wanderings, a woman on her knees and a man using her mouth as he would her nethers. 

You drop to the floor, hands landing on his bare thighs, and gawk at his impressive manhood on full display. He is perfectly formed, long and curved just slightly at the end, thicker around than you could have ever imagined. His cock, you rather enjoy the illicit word, shines with your wetness. 

"Open wide and do not bite. You would not want to err further than you already have, yes?" He instructs softly, but his hand on your head is like steel as he urges you forward. You nod nervously and lick your lips, then glance up at him.

His eyes are black, huge and starving, his mouth hangs open as he breathes harshly, and he actually whines at the sight of your tongue. A curl of power glows inside you. Leaning forward, you touch the leaking tip in a fleeting kiss while watching him closely. His expression melts in agony, "Yesss, take it. Ohh, perfect little girl."

The praise emboldens you enough to open wide and lick him as he did you. It is wet, salty and slipperier than his tongue, firm and hot. You taste again and his shaking hands pull you forward. Your jaw relaxes instinctively and he bumps the back of your throat. You cough, but his ragged moan is too sumptuous, you need more. Keeping him held firmly, you press your tongue to the underside to trap him against the roof of your mouth. With chagrin, you feel yourself drooling, but when you go to slurp it back into your mouth it creates suction around his length. He howls above you.

"Ahhh, yes. Yesyesyes. Sí, perfecto. Taste me. Take my cock deep." You pull again and both of his massive hands squeeze your shoulders tightly. What if it is like the other actions? The thrusting? You bob your head experimentally, taking ever more of his length with each round. 

"Yes, yes, little girl. That is it. Take. T-take a deep breath!" His instructions are simple enough but you do not understand why until his hands pull your nose deep into the thick thatch of hair at his base. Heat pours into your throat and you understand rather well exceedingly quickly. There is nowhere for his release to go but down, you swallow frantically to avoid choking. It is not enough, the salty liquid cascades down your chin as he pulls back and you struggle to breathe. He collapses back to the door of the confessional, panting harshly.

You cough for a minute, clearing your throat. Your knees ache, the aftertaste is strong, but the absolutely devout way he peers down at you would be worth every sin.

"Am I forgiven, Father?" You murmur demurely.

He hauls you to your feet so quickly that it makes your head spin. His lips are on yours, his tongue delving deep inside as he licks the taste of himself from you. Breaking the kiss, he sets you back on your feet and tweaks your nipples one last time.

"Go home. Go home and get on your knees and remember what you have done, little girl." With that, he opens the door of the confessional and dumps you out into the church proper. The large space is blessedly empty. You relace your corset hurriedly and dart for the door. Stepping outside into the humid night, you turn around for one last look. He is standing there, just outside the booth, clothing mostly righted, staring after you with voracious eyes. As the door closes he dares to wink with no shame.

‐----------------

You run home in the dark, terrified to be caught in your stained skirt and ripped blouse. The winding road that climbs the cliffside to your casita is traversed before you know it and you hesitate outside your own door. The small lamp of the sitting area is visible in the open window, your father is still awake. Creeping in, you hug the edge of the hall and dive into the kitchen. 

"Ah, you're back! How was the church, honey?" Your father calls. 

"Oh. Stuffy. Pretentious. The usual." You holler casually, already mounting the stairs to the loft where you sleep.

"Well, your mother would be happy you tried. Good night!" He responds with amusement. 

"Yes, of course. Good night." Your response is vague and distracted as you round the corner at the top of the stairs and close the door. Finally alone, you collapse to your knees on your pallet and laughingly cry yourself to sleep.

------------------

When you wake the next morning it is already light out. You can hear the crashing waves far below your open window and you sit up slowly. Your languorous stretch is cut short by the ache between your legs. My jaw hurts, too.

Voices outside catch your attention. Slinking to the window, you peer over the sill to receive a surprise. Your father is standing outside under a palm tree speaking to another man. You would know those broad shoulders anywhere.

The priest! Your panic is drowned by confusion, He is wearing regular attire, no cassock. Why is he here? Why is he dressed so? What is he saying to your father? You are rooted to the spot as he mounts his horse, a very fine horse, you note, and then glances up. He spots you failing to hide and has the absolute gall to wink before riding away. No shame.

Tearing down the stairs, you meet your father in the kitchen. Barking cheerfully, you greet him with a chirpy, “Good morning!”

"Good morning, honey. You did not tell me that you met the Don of this town at the church last night. He has been overseeing the repairs to the roof. It seems he donated all the supplies and materials. I have heard the locals say that he expects hard work but is fair." Your father is preoccupied with the process of making coffee, luckily, so he does not see your gawping expression. 

"He, he is what?" You ask. What happened last night?

"The Don. He said the new priest should arrive sometime next week. But, there is more." You sink into a chair, hands shaking. Your father continues obliviously, "He invited us to dinner at his hacienda tonight. Apparently, you made quite an impression." 

Hands land heavily on your shoulders as your father stands behind you. "I am sorry, honey. I had to disclose your past. He seemed undeterred, Don Diego said you seemed a bit of a, a, handful, but he likes that. Maybe this is your second chance. I worry what will happen to you after I've gone. An unmarried woman alone in this world is often preyed upon."

He has no idea how correct he is. The absolute nerve, how dare he, this is despicable, the, the, cad!

Your father leans down to kiss your head, "He asked my permission to court you. I told him he needed to ask you. I will not decide your life for you. Follow your heart this time, honey."

You liked it. You liked him. You want him again. You will wear the scantiest dress you own to dinner. Repay him in kind with damning torture. 

"Oh yes, I remember the exact wording he used to describe you: a hellcat." Your father chuckles fondly.

No shame.

[artificialqueens]

Don't Need a Flight to Get to Paradise (Crystal x Gigi) - A-tresia

Gigi methodically slices the tape open and digs inside. Her eyes widen and her face is suddenly hot and red. And even though there’s an obvious look of embarrassment seen on her face, she’s still thankful that the camera is focused on her and not on the contents of the package.

A/N: Some non-AU smut because (don’t deny it!) we want this and we absolutely deserve this. This is probably the filthiest thing I will ever attempt to put into words. Enjoy!

Gigi sets her phone on the table and presses the button to start her Live. She fixes her hair while she waits. “Hey, everyone!” she says still combing her fingers through her freshly curled hair. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone Live and I thought,” she emphasizes the last syllable with a nod, “since I have a little bit of free time that I could go do an unboxing for you guys.” She squints and reads through the comments as she waits for more people to join.

She picks up her phone and flips the camera to pan across the pile in front of her. “Okay, so, I’ve got quite a  bit to open. There’s a couple of PR boxes and some merch from my season 12 sisters,” she explains, pointing to the boxes.

Struggling to open boxes with one hand, she decides to prop her phone against the wall and sit in front of it as she goes through the rest of the boxes. She’s already opened two make up PR boxes when she sees a familiar name on one of them, deciding this is what she’s opening next.

“Look, you guys! I have a package from my girlfriend,” she says playing up the Crygi clout. No one has to know the real tea, they can guess all they want.

Gigi holds up the box to the camera to point to the Crystal Methyd sticker plastered on the top. The comments are suddenly wild. “I wonder what’s inside,” she says, shaking the box. It sounds solid but it might just be packaging. “It’s probably new merch. Thanks, Crystal!”

Gigi methodically slices the tape open and digs inside. Her eyes widen and her face is suddenly hot and red. And even though there’s an obvious look of embarrassment seen on her face, she’s still thankful that the camera is focused on her and not on the contents of the package.

Fuck.

Fuuuuuuck.

She smiles slyly at the camera and quickly grabs a new box to open, trying to cover up the internal panic she’s currently experiencing. “Sorry, you guys. It looks like it’s unreleased merch. Let’s wait for Crystal to release it before I share. Okay?”

The comments are even crazier than before. Asking what’s inside the box. And why she’s suddenly so red in the face. She knows her socials will be flooded with this.

Gigi ignores the comments and even though she only planned to be on Live to open maybe two boxes, she proceeds to open three more make up boxes and merch packages from Jan and Nicky. She’s hoping people will forget. But who is she kidding? Stans never forget.

“Thanks for keeping me company for the last, uh,” she looks over at her clock, “for the last hour and a half. I’ll catch you guys again soon!” Gigi winks and ends the Live.

Not even five minutes after she ends the Live, she gets a FaceTime call and Crystal’s fully-painted face floods her screen. “Gigi Goode, why are people tagging me in screenshots of your Live and asking me what I sent you?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what you sent me,” Gigi glares.

Crystal raises a brow at her. “You don’t like it?”

“I mean, I haven’t gotten the chance to fully look at it yet.” She reaches into the box to pull out the contents — a bottle of lubricant, and… Gigi holds it up to the camera. “You got me a dildo.” Like it isn’t obvious what’s in her hand.

Crystal leans in closer to the camera. “Not just any dildo,” she smirks like she’s so proud of herself. “It’s a clone-a-willy.”

“A what?”

“A clone-a-willy,” Crystal repeats slowly.

Gigi’s eyes widen in realization. She takes a good look at the dildo in her hand. The length. The girth. The slight curve. The vein underneath. They all feel right. And real. But it’s cold and made of silicone and the person it’s supposed to be attached to is 1,600 miles away. She looks back at Crystal. “So you mean this is —”

“Mmhmm, balls included!” She definitely looks like she’s proud of herself, like she did the most groundbreaking thing on earth. “It’s even really close to my skin tone.”

Gigi laughs. “Were there other options?”

“Oh, I definitely thought of making it in an obnoxious glow-in-the-dark hot pink. I could make you one in pink if you want that, I still have the mold.” Crystal snorts as Gigi proceeds to inspect her new toy. “There’s a suction cup so you could use it on any flat surface,” she says this so very seriously you’d think she’s selling the product.

Gigi finds a button at the bottom. “Oh my god, Crystal. It’s a vibrator too?”

“Only the best for Gigi Goode.” They both snort. But clearly, Crystal is more amused. “Also, Geege, unreleased merch? Should we make a profit out of my dick? Am I a genius or am I a genius?”

“Hey, your dick is awesome. But I’m not sharing. I barely get any of it.” Crystal hasn’t stopped laughing since she suggested making multiple models to sell. Gigi thinks back to the last time they saw each other and realizes how long ago it’s been. With all the touring they’ve been doing, there just hasn’t been time to see each other in between. “Long-distance sucks,” she pouts.

“I know, baby,” Crystal sighs. Underneath her full clown makeup, Gigi knows she’s pouting too. “But we’re seeing each other in like two weeks so that’s something to look forward to, right?”

Gigi whines like a child. “But the last time I saw you was six weeks ago!”

“That’s why I cloned my dick for you. So you can fuck yourself with it and I can watch over FaceTime and you don’t have to miss me as much.”

“That does sound hot,” she considers. Gigi cocks her head to the side and bites her lower lip and looks up at Crystal from underneath her lashes. “Can we use it now?”

Crystal wiggles her brows at Gigi. “Do you want to?”

“I do,” she nods. She takes in Crystal’s face that’s taking up her screen and scrunches her nose. “But your mug really isn’t doing it for me.”

“Later, then?”

“For sure,” Gigi winks. “No, but seriously. I appreciate the sentiment. I just miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Should I send you a replica of my dick too?”

Crystal perks up at the suggestion, deciding then and there that she’ll send Gigi a kit — in maybe neon purple. “But it’s messy to make. It was like a science experiment!”

“Crystal. Elizabeth. Methyd,” she says, feigning shock. “Did you stick your dingaling in any of the science experiments you did in school?” Gigi can’t stop laughing at the mental image of Crystal sticking her erect penis into a model volcano.

“Shut up! It was hard to stay hard.”

—

Gigi couldn’t get anything else done for the rest of the day with the anticipation of what’s to come. Besides, she’s maintained a semi since they hung up and it didn’t really help with her already short attention span. She considered rubbing one out just for a little relief but decided to wait it out. It’s going to be better this way.

She’s already in bed, still semi-hard and freshly showered, with Crystal’s penis replica and a bottle of lube within arms reach when her phone buzzes in her hand.

Crystal: 2 mins. Get your laptop set up.

She doesn’t even bother to reply. She arranges her laptop, puts on her earphones (which, for a bit, she thinks of forgoing since her roommates are sure to hear her anyway), and positions herself on the bed checking to make sure that Crystal will be able to see everything.

In exactly two minutes, Crystal’s smiling face (void of makeup, thank god) fills her laptop screen. “Hey,” they both say at the same time. Gigi feels herself harden further at the look on Crystal’s face as she stares back at her.

“Geege, you shouldn’t have bothered with clothes. I didn’t!” Crystal moves back against her pillows as she pushes her laptop a little bit further from her to give Gigi the full view of her already hard penis. “Come on, I couldn’t be the only one naked here!”

“Sorry.” Gigi shakes herself out of her stupor at seeing Crystal naked, thumbing around the tip of her dick and quickly pulls her tank top over her head. She grips herself through the fabric of her underwear with a groan.

“Gigi,” Crystal breathes.

She slowly pulls her underwear down her legs, watching Crystals breath hitch. It makes her feel flushed and hot all over. “Happy?”

“Very.” She looks straight into Gigi’s eyes and wraps her hand around her cock, slowly stroking herself for Gigi to watch. “You look so good.” There isn’t a need for long introductions, they both know they’re on this call for one thing.

Gigi’s mouth feels dry. So instead of answering, she starts stroking, matching her pace with Crystal. They stroke in tandem for a while, eyes not leaving each other,  before Crystal tells Gigi to get the lube. She watches Gigi squeeze a generous amount onto her fingers. “Ready?”

“Can’t wait,” she says as she shifts to spread her legs wider so Crystal has a better view. “Can’t wait to stretch myself out so I can take your cock.” Gigi fucking hates dirty talk but she just misses Crystal so much she doesn’t even have the energy to cringe at herself; instead, she reaches down to rub her fingers over her hole with warmed up lube.

Crystal stops touching herself. Instead she focuses on Gigi’s movements. She watches Gigi slowly slip a finger in, whimpering quietly at the sensation of a single digit sliding in and out of her.

“Go on,” Crystal urges.

Gigi adds another finger and feels herself stretch and clench around her fingers. “Feels so good,” she breathes out. It’s been three days since she’s masturbated and fucked herself and six weeks since she’s had Crystal’s actual dick. She pulls one knee up for more space and moves her fingers in and out, gradually increasing her pace, going deeper each time. Her other hand wraps around her cock and strokes in time with her fingers.

A third finger slips alongside the first two and Gigi feels fuller. “Crystal,” she moans.

Crystal’s cock jumps at the sound. She’s so painfully hard she firmly wraps her hand around the base of her cock, delaying getting even more worked up until Gigi has her Crystal dildo up in her ass. “You’re doing so well, Geege,” she encourages. “Get yourself nice and stretched.”

Gigi can’t wait to get Crystal’s fake cock inside her. She shudders in anticipation. “C-can — Crys, I need —“ She sounds wrecked. Gigi is easy to work up; so easy to get all wet and open and desperate.

“Fuck, Gigi. You have no idea what you fucking look like.” She watches Gigi’s hips jerk. “Are you ready for my cock, baby?” Gigi couldn’t even form a sentence. Her jaw is slack and she just nods in agreement. “Look at yourself, so slick and open, I could just slide right in.”

“I want you to.”

“Do your fingers feel good?”

“I-I, y-yes, yeah. I like yours better, though.”

Gigi removes her hand from her throbbing cock and pulls her fingers out. She reaches out for her dildo, licks up one side of it and winks at Crystal.

“Torture,” Crystal groans.

“I would much prefer if this were actually you.”

Gigi pulls her laptop closer and rolls over on her stomach, finding a little relief by rubbing herself against her sheets. She tilts her screen down and positions her new toy and herself so Crystal has full view of her mouth.

“You’re gonna want to start touching yourself,” she says before licking the tip of the dildo slowly. Crystal’s mouth hangs open, practically drooling at the sight, and just nods as she tries her best to mimic the movement of Gigi’s mouth and hands with her own hands.

Gigi maintains eye contact with Crystal while she wraps her lips around the toy and starts giving it a very enthusiastic blow job, easing her mouth down and coating it with saliva. She strokes her hand up and down the way she knows Crystal likes as she moves her lips up and down, stopping every so often to lick the shaft and head. At the back of her head, she knows how ridiculous she might look giving a cold silicone toy a blowjob but it feels so much like Crystal she doesn’t even give it another thought.

Crystal is stroking herself with her right hand in a regular fluid motion, matching Gigi’s pace. The fingers on her left hand pinches at her nipple piercing.

“So hot,” Gigi comments.

“Feels good,” Crystal whispers as she watches Gigi take all of it into her mouth, closing her eyes as she relaxes her throat and swallows around it. It’s obscene but Crystal can’t look away. “Fuck, need to be inside you.”

Gigi draws off the dildo with a smirk, pressing a kiss to the tip of the toy. She quickly gets up from the bed, taking the laptop, the bottle of lube, and the very wet toy with her.

“Where are you going?” Crystal asks.

She sets her laptop down. “This will be easier on the floor,” she explains.

Gigi reaches for the dildo and squirts extra lube onto the already saliva-slick surface. She gets on her knees and sticks the suction of the dildo directly on the floor underneath her.

“Wanna ride you,” she says positioning herself. Crystal not able to take her eyes away from Gigi’s hard dick pointing straight at her.

“Yeah, okay.” Crystal leans forward to get a better look at Gigi rising up a little bit on her knees, grabbing the shaft,  and slowly lowering herself down on the silicone cock. “This is so hot, fuck.”

She doesn’t realize that she has her eyes closed until she feels the base of the toy pressed up against her and she slightly stumbles forward at the fullness. Gigi moans at the realization that she’s got it all in; so lewd that Crystal thinks Gigi just came right then.

“You okay, babe?”

“Fucking awesome,” Gigi breathes out. “Feels exactly like you. Not that the dildo is as good as the original, but still.“

Crystal laughs and this sets Gigi’s laughter off too. How very fitting for them to be laughing while doing this.

She waits for Gigi to calm down and adjust to the intrusion and only starts to touch herself again when Gigi starts moving.

Gigi begins to rock herself up and down on the shaft, encouraging Crystal to touch herself. She thinks she could come just like this — not touching herself, just fucking herself on the perfect replica of Crystal’s cock. She lets her own dick bounce against her body as she rides the toy in little short motions.

Gigi moans and whimpers as she watches Crystal languidly work a generously lubed hand over herself.

“I feel like I’m watching a porno,” Crystal comments as her hand starts to work faster on her own cock. Gigi tries to laugh but it quickly turns into an obscene moan. “Touch yourself, Gee,” Crystal encourages.

"Oh, fuck! Baby, I love your dick so much.” Gigi grips her own dick and pumps along with Crystal. She sets a steady pace bouncing on the dildo making her thighs burn. But that’s the least of her concerns. The burn just intensifies everything.

"Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” she answers, biting her lower lip.

Crystal strokes her cock slowly, trying to make the sensation last, but the sight and sounds of Gigi pleasuring herself was just too much.

“G-Gigi,” Crystal stutters, struggling to find words. “I c-can’t —“

“Go on, baby. I want to see you come.” Crystal gasps out a breath and instinctively closes her eyes. “Eyes on me, babe,” Gigi croons, syncing her movement on the toy to Crystal’s hands.

She watches Crystal work herself over the edge, listening to her shaky breaths and pitchy moans. She didn’t know she could feel pleasure just by listening to Crystal moan like this, listening to her cry, and try to hold in her whines.

“Oohhh, fu-fuuuuck me,” Crystal moans. Suddenly her hand is moving so fast, Gigi doesn’t know where to focus her eyes — her face contorting with pleasure, her hand pinching her pierced nipple, her hips jerking upward, or the cum shooting over her spasming abdomen.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Crystal says as she pushes back hair that’s stuck to the sweat on her forehead, still panting. She looks back at Gigi who’s waiting for her to recover, still moving her hands over her still hard and throbbing dick with long strokes. “Your turn.”

Gigi leans back against her calves and bottoms out on the dildo. She wraps her hand firmly around her cock and thrusts up into her fist. “Fuck, it’s really — ah — i-it’s really too much. I’m really so — I can’t —” She’s no longer stroking but thrusting uncontrollably up into her hand. “S-so close,” she moans. “Gonna come. Fuck, I’m gonna —” Gigi cries out, eyes rolling back, as thick ropes of cum splatter all the way up her torso, some reaching all the way up to her chin.

Her orgasm is so intense, there’s a deep sense of calm that spreads throughout her body. She slowly lifts herself from the dildo and collapses on the floor, panting and jerking and not even bothering to clean up. She’ll deal with the sticky mess later.

She opens her eyes to see Crystal staring back at her in a daze. Gigi’s never felt the distance between them as sharply as she does now. All she wants is to hold Crystal and be held.

“Wow,” Crystal whispers. Gigi just nods, still too overwhelmed to speak.

For a moment they just stay there, a moment frozen in time, watching each other and drinking it all in.

“Crystal, I —“

“I know. I feel bad that I’m not there to do anything about it.”

“Two weeks.” Crystal nods in agreement. “I’m sticky,” Gigi points out.

“We should probably both clean up.”

“I’ll call you again in 15, yes?”

“Take your time.” Gigi nods.

They wave and blow kisses at each other before Crystal ends the call with a love you lingering in the air. Gigi sighs, equally satiated and sad. Two weeks.

[melforbes]

8 & 17?

8: share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it

im sharing multiple because im soooo insecure about my dialogue writing skills well like not insecure but i definitely dont have a knack for it which is why mine tends to be really sparse haha. so we are having an unhumble moment over here

teenage bedelia in the stedelia au has been one of my favorite characters to write pretty much ever. teenage girls in general are absolutely the most fun to write because they are naive and insane and that is SO FUN for characterization. i wish i could make "is massachusetts on the west coast" into a meme. this is not something i should be proud of i realize. oh and i have to explain why im proud of it. oh im proud of it simply because i think it's hilarious. none of my reasoning is going to be deep i assure you

we will not be discussing the embarrassingly long time i spent perfecting "if you die it will be my fault" and we will also not talk about how i personally see that as super deep when it totally isnt. also the mortifying ordeal of these all being from the stedelia au. im proud of this one because i spent hours on it and i think it communicates exactly what i wanted it to communicate. why do i get the eebs describing it that way

this makes me cringe to reread lmao but anyway. anywhomst. this is for a video game and it's really hard to turn video game dialogue into written dialogue because the two dont follow the same rules (video game dialogue can be very tongue in cheek and also follows grammar the way spoken language does so then writing it verbatim just doesnt look right, kind of have to find a happy medium, etc) but this was one of the moments when i felt like i actually got it right. not right right but like close enough. but either way. maybe im just gay but i love romance that goes against the established norm so two people lying in the grass beneath the stars and he's like hey will you marry me and she's like sure but they never actually reach those words even a little...i just like the concept!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! these two are very fun to write. no one who follows me here has read this but either way. i loveeeeeee repressed hets

again. teenage girls are thee most fun to write. i dont understand the appeal of mlf at all beyond the fact that it's long and for a semi rarepair (like slim pickings u feel) but alma is worth stanning. sorry not sorry she is my baby and i love her. ignore everything else its not worth it but alma is a queen

i studied anthropology in college so naturally im completely obsessed with humans finding useless meaning in stuff and also yes i realize when i dont know what to do i have the romantic pairing stare at the stars i do this for free fuck off but anyway. these two are also repressed hets and therefore fun to write. is that like going to be my brand. repressed hets and feral teenage girls. could be worse. anyway. these two are fun to write. im not even like proud of this or something i just think it's funny and i think these two are neat

okay thats enough of that haha

17: do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

little bit of both but i tend toward linear. im really bad at nonlinear thinking. i usually go out of order when a particular scene or chapter requires extra attention and i haven't figured it out yet but want to put something down anyway. for any ~niche readers~ i wrote the joel/tess breakup aftermath before writing the breakup itself and then tried to piece things back together which is why the radio interlude chapter is shoved in there, to span the awkward gap i'd created. if i'm doing a slow burn i oftentimes will write a kiss scene or something just because im getting slow burn burnout haha. mlf and seaglass blue were almost aggressively linear. i have a tendency to know beginnings and endings more than i know middles so sometimes i end up on those two extremes and have to backtrack. this whole answer contradicts itself alskdgjasldkgjsalgj like. i think at this point like. not to humble brag or something but one thing writing fic over like five years has taught me is how to understand my own writing and work tendencies with output better so i find it really natural to just pick certain things up Wherever and it just works. like for mlf or something i couldn't write a second scene before a first but in other things i can write whole chapters that are six chapters away and it feels natural as well. does that make any sense. just kind of going with the flow. for original work i am also aggressively linear but i have a gut feeling that's not going to last haha

[haiky-u-lously]

King Kuroo and the Red Knights (1)

Summary: A Camelot AU where King Arthur is Kuroo Tetsuro, and the Knights of the Roundtable of characters from seasons 1-4 of the HQ anime. Eventual Kuroo X Reader. 

Themes: Fluff, Angst, Humor, Eventual Romance

Warnings: Mentions of stalking and abuse of power, Language, Angst in feelings, Eventual gore and fighting

Word Count: For Chapter: ~1800words 

Questions/Comments/Concerns/Ideas welcome as always. Enjoy! --Admin Red

Chapter 1: Preamble

The King sat upon his throne, regal in his attire but the entire kingdom knew by now how much time he spent to make sure his hair looked nice and kept. The crown surrounding the dark locks did not help the material weaved in to hold the hair in place, since the additional weight liked to move even the smallest strand which would of course affect the others.

King Kuroo’s golden eyes roamed over the documents an aide had just given him as he thought about what his next goal should be. 

He had finally managed to unite the territories surrounding Camelot and with his knights assistance, ruling the kingdom had become a breeze. Especially considering how disastrous his first few weeks as King had been. Thinking about that period, he realized that without his wife and best friends he would never have made it to a point where true peace prospered in his kingdom. He smiled to himself as he decided to treat them to a nice banquet to show how much he still appreciated them being in his life.

Finished thinking about his own life and immediate future, Kuroo reread the parchment in his hands, his eyes bulging as the words and their meaning connected in his mind.

Shooting up from his seated position, he threw his arms out and yelled towards the courier, “Does this parchment speak the truth?”

The plain looking man bowed deeply before affirming, explaining that he was told the letter contained urgent business for the King.

Once confirmed, Kuroo jumped in joy. “Futa!” He turned to his right hand man, and excitedly explained, “The Red Knights are coming to Camelot!”

Futakuchi’s eyes bulged in surprise at the King’s announcement. “No way…” He whispered as he recalled the stories of the Red Knights from sneaking around the castle’s library. “But, no one has heard of the Red Knights since they came and rejected your father’s rule 5 years into his term. Are you sure this isn’t some trick by some other nation?”

Kuroo rolled his eyes at Futakuchi’s comment, returning his gaze to the letter and a grin over taking his face once more. “I’m sure. My father had told me all the stories of the red knights, including what his letter said to prove it was them. This one says the same thing.” He jumped and squeezed the parchment between his hands. “Ah! This is so exciting! I actually get to meet the Red Knights! And! If they approve of my rule, we know this peaceful period will last! Don’t you understand how magnificent this is, Futa?”

Still skeptical, the retainer asked to read the letter himself, “My lord, at least let me read the letter myself. To confirm your words and to double check no spells were cast onto the parchment. I mean we wouldn’t want you to be blind sided because you were too busy acting like a drumstick to take necessary precautions with something this...big.”

The look Kuroo sent him caused Futakuchi to bend over in laughter.

“Did you just call me a drumstick?” He asked evenly.

Futakuchi just smiled, “Well I didn’t compliment you, that’s for sure.”

“Why, you little!” Kuroo yelled as he stepped and then chased after his friend. The pair racing around the throne room until the King gave up and popped back into his seat, “Now look what you did. My hair is all messed up again. Yuurei is going to be so upset.”

“Ah, let her.” Futakuchi said without missing a beat, as he walked up to and grabbed the letter from his King. He read over the words scribbled down and smiled to himself, “It seems you aren’t a complete plothole, your highness. The Red Knights really are sending a representative to Camelot.” He continued reading and then his eyes shot out again and his face took on a serious look. “They are going to be here in a week’s time? What the heck! Did they head out the day after sending this letter? That’s so little warning!” He complained, imagining all the work Kuroo was going to make him do.

Kuroo laughed wholeheartedly. “Well, father only got 3 days notice, so we are lucky in that regard. Oh! Futa! We have to recall the knights! Everyone should be here for this momentous occasion.”

As he straightened his posture, he motioned to the courier to give him the next letter.

“Yea sure, let me just track down eleven grown men and figure out how to not only contact them but get them here within the span of a week. That isn’t an impossible task at all.” Futakuchi sassed back.

Kuroo nodded his head absently, not having really listened to his friend, “Great, knew I could count on you. Good luck.”

Futakuchi rolled his eyes for good measure and left the room to get to his new task.

_____________________________________________________

“Oh!” A voice exclaimed with a high pitch. “Futakuchi, I am surprised to see you on this side of the castle. Are you not reviewing letters with Kuroo today?” Lady Yuurei inquired of him.

He smiled back at her, “Actually, his highness is still doing just that. But he sent me on a different task for today. Actually, Yuurei, do you know where I can send a message to any of the other Knights? My current task is to call everyone back to the castle, but as you know, many of the knights like to run off at the worst possible times.”

She laughed at Futakuchi’s assessment of the men tasked with the highest responsibilities in the kingdom, but shook her head in the negative. “Though that makes sense why you would be here. Looking for Sir Bokuto I would assume?”

Futakuchi nodded simply.

“Very well, best of luck meeting his Highness’ standards this time around Futa.”

“Thank you, Lady Yuurei.” As soon as he turned away from her, his smile fell and he mumbled to himself about what a two-faced person she ended up being. She’d been so different when he first met her, so caring...and then she had to go and cheat on his best friend with the man he owed his life to. Futakuchi knew that Kuroo would wilt away into nothing if he found out about Yuurei and Bokuto. Especially in a time when there wasn’t much else to occupy his mind.

He also knew how much Bokuto regretted the affair. And, how many times he’d asked the wizard for potions to make the Queen forget her feelings so he didn’t hurt his best friend. No, Futakuchi didn’t blame Bokuto for the relationship because he had done all within his power to avoid the Queen. Well, all except tell the King himself.

He was still a Knight, Futakuchi reminded himself. He was still liable to following the King and Queen’s orders, no matter how for or against them he was.

Yea, Futakuchi couldn’t hold it against him. Even though he really really wanted to.

Finally in front of the man’s room on the emptiest part of the castle, he knocked twice before letting himself enter. “Sir Bokuto. I need your assistance if you are free.” Looking around the room as soon as he entered, Futakuchi expected to see the Knight. He was surprised to see him climbing out of the dresser after his name had been called. “Sir Bokuto?”

“Thank the gods it was you, Futa.” He sighed in relief, glancing around the wizard’s form still looking scared despite his tone, and shut the room door. He leaned against it as he visibly relaxed. “Seriously, I am glad to see you my friend. Did you finish that new potion yet?”

His voice was hopeful and Futakuchi hated to let him down, but he hadn’t finished it yet. “Sorry, but no. Since she was immune to the others we tried, I’ve had to research a lot more to try and find something new, but haven’t yet felt I’ve stumbled upon something useful.” The brunet patted the shoulders of the salt-and-pepper-haired male before him. “But hang in there! You moved to the other side of the castle, so at the very least it is harder to find excuses to come this far out, right?” He tried to keep the Knight happy.

“Yes, but on days when you and the King are locked away dealing with documents of some sort of other for hours at a time, she loses her guards and comes here anyway. I’m fairly certain she thinks I did this so we could be even more private and that is absolutely terrifying. Because if Kuroo ever finds out, he could have the same idea and—!” He started to ramble before being cut off.

Futakuchi held his hand over Bokuto’s mouth, a deep frown over his face and determination set in his eyes. “I promise to you, on my life, I will make sure that if the King ever finds out the only person that gets blamed is the Queen herself. That all your struggles are known. Understood?”

With nothing left for him to say, Bokuto simply nodded.

The brunet dropped his hand, and grinned. “Now, for what I need help with.” His smile grew as  wide as his level of anticipation at sharing the news with the first Knight of the roundtable. “The Red Knights are coming to Camelot, and the king wants the entire council to be here. So, want to help me contact everyone and get them here in a week's time? It’ll be fun and you’ll have a work excuse to come find me anytime to help escape Yuurei’s clutches.”

Understanding exactly what it meant for the Red Knights to be visiting now, Bokuto was more than excited. “The red Knights are really coming to Camelot?”

Futakuchi just kept his wide grin, and said, “Yes.”

“YES! Yes! Yes!” Bokuto exclaimed so loud it scared the birds hanging out on the trees outside his windows. “Kuroo must be so excited! Of course! I’ll help in any way I can! Futa! The Red Knights are coming to Camelot!!”

Unbeknownst to the two males hidden away in bedchambers, walking the hall at that moment was Prince Daishou, second hair to the throne of Camelot, and dark magic practitioner.

“The Red Knights are coming to Camelot, huh?” He whisper-repeated to himself. Crafting a message to his allies hidden in the forest outside King Kuroo’s ruling hand. ‘Oikawa, the Red Knights are to visit Camelot soon. Perhaps we can use this as a chance to overthrow his idiocracy and take charge of the kingdom that rightfully belongs to us’. Once he finished, the author blew the fire-written message out, causing it to disappear into the air, on its way to the intended target with the breeze.

Table of contents                                                                            Chapter 2

[fanfictionaries]

Love and Academia Ch.9 - Cold Beer and Crossed Lines

Pairing: AU Professor!Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Swearing, smut, NSFW/18+ only, mentions of death/violence/suicide, Angst

Author’s note: A little attraction. A little flirting. A little Clint. A whole lot of Bucky and Emily!

Also: Holy cow! 5.5k words?? Longest Bucky chapter and longest chapter I’ve ever written on anything to be honest. 

And as always, I do not currently have a beta reader so please excuse any larger issues. It’s just little ol’ me!

***

It should be illegal for cookies to taste this delicious. It should be even more illegal for the person who baked them to look so delicious. Bucky watched Emily as she took that Friday afternoon to tidy the lab. A group of visiting middle schoolers had spent the better part of the afternoon with them, learning about science, plants, and ecology and now the room was in shambles. Not that it was very clean to begin with. He had no idea why, but a universal truth existed about ecology labs – they were always a mess. Perhaps it was the lack aseptic technique required for their experiments. It might also have to do with the exorbitant amount of time they spent in the field, their camping materials, hiking boots, and lab equipment almost always coming back caked in mud. Nevertheless, you’d never find yourself in a spic and span ecology lab. The concept was practically an oxymoron.

Still, the mess the middle schoolers left was quite impressive and as his diligent graduate student, Emily had volunteered to clean up and put everything back into place. He watched her through the office window that looked out into the rest of the lab. Her hair was down today the long golden strands cascading down her back in thick waves. If he focused hard enough, he could just remember the silky, soft feel of it threaded through his fingers. She wore the same pair of baggy, paint-covered jeans as the day he walked into his office to find her dancing amongst the piles of Dr. Erskine’s book. They were high-waisted, synched tight at her small waste by a belt, but hanging loose everywhere else. It wasn’t until she bent over to pick something up that he could see the outline of her perky ass and full thighs. Currently, she was on her tiptoes attempting to place a large fluorescent light on top of a cabinet causing the bottom of her shirt to ride up and reveal the creamy skin of her ribcage. God, did she have to wear such little shirts? Not that he thought it would make much of a difference. The girl could probably come to school in a parka and he’d still get an erection watching her.

He didn’t know when the line of propriety in his mind had been crossed, but he was currently miles past it with no intention of turning back. The best he could do at this point, would be to come to a screeching halt and take five where he was. However, that was a little hard to do when everywhere he went, there she was. When he taught his classes, she was there. Sitting in the front row, idly doodling in her notebook, pen flipping in her delicate fingers, long legs crossing and uncrossing over each other. Often times, he found himself losing his concentration mid-sentence, too focused on the way Emily’s lips wrapped around the end of her pen. Even in the seemingly sweet solitude of his lab she was ever present. It didn’t matter what day or what time, she was there. Headphones on, working diligently at her desk. Dr. Erskine hadn’t been kidding when he said she was a hard worker. The amount of time she spent grinding away at her work bordered on unhealthy – bordered on his work ethic.

He had an excuse of course. He was using his work as a distraction. He always had. When Jenny Haver broke up with him his first year of graduate school, he locked himself in his room and didn’t come out until two weeks later, a full PhD proposal written to perfection. Is that what Emily was doing too? Avoiding something? Using her work as a distraction? He couldn’t imagine what it would be. She always seemed so happy and bright. Every morning, she swept into the lab like an early spring breeze, fresh and invigorating. Often times the day didn’t feel like it began until he saw her smile. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone. Even himself. She was his student. What he was experiencing was simply a basic case of carnal attraction. It was biological. Unavoidable.

“Hey, Dr. Barnes.” His wandering mind was brought back by the woman in question, standing in the doorway of his office. Despite their more relaxed relationship, she still kept her distance whenever she could, and she still insisted on calling him by his professional title. Probably for the best.

“Emily, what can I do for you?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light and friendly and free of any hint that he had been ogling her moments before.

“I’m taking off early today. I wanted to let you know, I’ll have the rough draft for my introduction to you by Monday,” she said, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“Yea sounds good. Any fun plans for the weekend?” He wished he could pretend that he’d only asked to be polite, but truthfully, he wanted to know more about her. He needed to.

Emily rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, “Oh yea. Major fun. That is, if working all weekend is considered fun. I’ll be swimming in it.”

“Whoa there, someone better real you in before you get too out of hand,” Bucky said dryly, joining in on the joke.

“I know, an absolute menace to society.”

“The worst.”

They smiled at each other, finding a soft comfort in their banter. It was not the kind of joke that brought you to audible laughter. Instead, it filled you with a warmth and fondness that stuck with you. The thought of it possessing the ability to make you smile for days, months, even years.

“What, um, what about you?” Emily asked, shifting her weight and leaning against the doorframe.

“Oh, well I’ve got midterm grading to do. I might meet up with Steve for a few beers.” Bucky didn’t actually have plans with Steve, but he found himself making up the detail on the spot. The need for his life to seem less boring taking over momentarily.

“Oh fun…so it looks like you liked them.” Emily pointed towards the plate of almost finished cookies on his desk.

“Yea, they’re delicious,” he complimented, watching as Emily chewed her bottom lip as her gaze focused on the plate of snickerdoodles. She appeared to be deep in thought, the contents of it becoming clear when a dusky blush began to spread across her cheeks.

Clearing her throat, she snapped out of her trance and pulled her eyes away from the plate of delicious treats, making an effort to look anywhere but him. Realization flooded through Bucky, his mind wandering back to their texts from the previous night. Apparently, the exchange hadn’t been as one sided as he thought. He hadn’t meant for the text to sound so sexual when he sent it. Truthfully, it was a case of mistype, having forgotten to tack on the ‘s’ at the end of the word cookies. It wasn’t until the text was sent that he realized his mistake and how it might be construed. He thought about sending a follow up text immediately to correct it, but something had stopped him. Some sick, depraved part of himself wanted to know how she’d react. Emily in a whole was an enigma. Ever since their truce, he’d tried to spot any hint of the confident, sexy, bold woman he’d met that night at the bar. Something to prove to himself that it was her raw sexual prowess and the memory of it that weakened his resolve. However, that version of her had since been seen again. Instead, in its place was a sweet, intelligent, and sarcastic woman. A little shy. A little quiet. Funny. He didn’t know how to justify that in his mind. How to justify his attraction to that version of her in his mind.

“Well, have a good weekend,” Emily said softly, disappearing from his doorway before Bucky even had the opportunity to respond.

He sighed, burying his head in his hands and taking a deep breath before raking his palms over the rough stubble on his cheeks. He needed a distraction. Something entirely graduate student free. His thoughts wandered to his lie about hanging out with Steve. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

Picking up his phone, he opened his recent call list. Mom. Mom. Mom. Sister. Steve. Clicking on Steve’s number, the phone rang.

“Hey Buck, what’s up?” Steve’s voice asked from the other end, the screams and shouts of little kids sounding from the background.

“Hey Stevie, I’m not bugging you at work, am I?”

“No, no. We’re on our second recess of the day. I’m monitoring. What’s up?” he asked again.

“Just wanted to see if you were free to grab dinner and a few beers tonight. There’s this place near my house I’ve been wanting to try,” Bucky said, leaning back in his chair.

“Yea—” Steve’s answer was cut short by a loud screech somewhere on his end “—Jackson, stop. Put that down!” Bucky heard Steve scold; his voice more distant as he spoke to the children around him. “Yea. That sounds good. Just text me the place and time and I’ll meet you ther—Martha, that’s not how we talk to our friends.”

Bucky laughed, accustomed to half conversations with Steve when he was at work.

“Alright punk. I’ll see you tonight.” He hung up, not bothering to wait for a response. He knew he wouldn’t get one. When Steve was around his kids, they dominated all of his attention. He lived for those kids, every one of them. Just looking at the impressive cut of Steven Grant Rogers, you’d never think that his life’s calling was wiping snotty noses and teaching the ABCs. But one conversation with the human embodiment of a basket of yarn, you very quickly realized that he wasn’t fit for much else. Allegedly, and while Bucky had seen the pictures he still wasn’t fully convinced, Steve used to be just a sprig of a thing. Barely over five feet tall and a buck twenty soaking wet. He had told Bucky years ago in college that he’d hit a growth spurt halfway through high school and taken up weightlifting to stop getting his ass handed to him every day. But secretly, he believed the real reason behind his impressive growth in mass was to be able to one day lift his entire kindergarten class with one arm. He’d personally seen his best friend hold up ten giggling five year old’s dangling from a single arm like little monkeys.

No, tonight would be good. An extra-large pizza split between them both and one too many beers was just what the doctor ordered. Maybe a game or two of pool if they had a table. If not, he would be perfectly content with bullshitting and talking about the old days. This was just what he needed to clear his mind of Emily.

Four hours later Bucky was walking through the side entrance to Goody’s still reeling from the conversation he’d had with his mother. She wanted him to come home for thanksgiving. He did not. Let the argument commence. He loved his mother. He really did. And he knew she meant well. He really did. But he also hated her inability to respect his boundaries. He really did.

As he entered the small pizza joint and bar, he was pleased to see a few decent and empty pool tables in the far corner. Spotting Steve already sitting down at a table, two beers and giant steaming pizza before him, Bucky headed towards him.

“Got here early so I ordered for you,” said Steve, standing up to pull Bucky into a brief hug. Bucky slapped a hand on his friends back before pulling back and looking down at the pizza. Extra-large meat lovers. Extra cheese.

“Aww darling, my favorite. You remembered,” Bucky teased, sitting down and taking a large sip of the lager. Setting his pint glass down, he reached forward and grabbed a piece of pizza, the cheese stretching with a perfectly melted consistency.

“Well you know, I wanted to try the alfredo pizza they had, but someone refuses to eat anything but the most testosterone filled, artery clogging pizza.”

Bucky shrugged, taking a large bite of his slice and speaking through the pizza as he chewed, “Hey man, why bother with anything but perfection?”

“Well I can’t argue with that logic,” laughed Steve, grabbing a slice himself.

“Oh, my mom wanted me to tell you that she got your card,” Bucky remarked, remembering his mother’s parting request right before he ended their call. Every year Steve sent out a card with a picture of him and his new group of kids to all his family, that list seemed to include his parents.

“Oh great! How is Winni?”

Bucky sighed, “She wants me to come home for thanksgiving. I told her I was spending thanksgiving with your family. By the way, can I come to thanksgiving?”

“Yea, you’re more than welcome Buck,” Steve laughed before taking on a more serious tone, “Are they all still on your case for moving?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He rolled his eyes, taking another swig of his beer. “Mom figures I should have stayed after everything with Diane. But, fuck, the last thing I wanted to do was be closer to her and all those memories. Plus, her and my sister still baby me over the whole thing. I’m a grown man. I don’t need their coddling. It’s been almost a year and a half.”

“I get that. Took nearly two years for Mary and my mom to stop trying to take care of me after Peggy left me. Nearly lost my mind, but they finally got the memo that I was okay. Are you…okay that is?” Steve asked, leaning forward on the table, eyebrows raised in concern.

Bucky had to think for a moment. Was he okay? For months he had felt consumed by the emptiness Diane’s departure from his life had left. The world had felt so bleak. He held so much anger towards her. For leaving. For giving up the way that she did. But now, things felt different. He didn’t know when it had happened but waking up in the morning no longer felt like a chore.

“Yea, I think I am,” he answered truthfully, finding realization and catharsis in the statement.

“Good. Good, man. I’m really happy to hear that Buck.”

They shared a brief smile before Steve’s morphed into a mischievous glint, “So does that mean you’re ready to get back out there?”

Bucky snorted, shaking his head, “Let’s just take this one step at a time, alright pal? But speaking of dating, how are things going with you and Natasha?”

Bucky watched as the smile on Steve’s face widened, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

“You dog. That good?”

“Better. I uh…yea. Definitely better.”

Bucky laughed, taking another bite of pizza. Well, at least one of them was getting laid. He was happy for Steve. Even during his entire relationship with Peggy he’d never seen him so smitten.

“There she is!” A chorus of cheers and greetings flowed through the air from the bar behind him. Bucky didn’t think much of it until he heard the sound of a familiar voice.

“I know. I know. Maria had me in the basement doing inventory.”

Turning in his chair, Bucky was surprised to see Emily, standing behind the bar, chit-chatting with a group of older men and women. So much for a night free of his graduate student.

“Where have you been girl? We haven’t seen you in forever!” asked the patron near the end – an older woman with greying hair and kind eyes.

“I know. I’m sorry! My day job has been kicking my butt lately. But, it will all be worth it once I graduate,” Emily laughed, leaning against the bar top.

Bucky watched her as she interacted with the group. She seemed comfortable. At ease. The group must be regulars.

A throat clearing pulled him away from Emily and back to Steve, who looked at him smugly, “I could use another beer. Why don’t you run up to the bar and grab me one Buck?”

Bucky nodded, downing the rest of his and standing, “I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Uh huh, sure. Take your time man.”

Walking up to the bar, Bucky watched as Emily’s gaze passed over him and then doubled back, a smile spreading across her face.

“I guess you weren’t lying when you told me you were a bartender,” he said, setting his and Steve’s empty glasses down on the bar top. Emily raised an eyebrow, leaning forward on her elbows.

“Half-truth Dr. Barnes. Graduate student most of the time. Bartender sometimes.”

“I don’t suppose the sometimes you’re a bartender, you could call me Bucky?”

Emily breathed deeply, scrutinizing him through squinted eyes, “No, I don’t think I can.”

“Oh, come on. I don’t have any leverage as your advisor for you to change your mind?” Bucky asked mischievously.

“That sounds an awful lot like abuse of power Dr. Barnes—" Emily replied, a similar mischievous glint in her eye “—Now, what can I get you?”

“What do you recommend?”

“Can’t go wrong with a Caribou Slabber,” Emily stated resolutely, grabbing two pint glasses from the shelves behind her.

“Alright, I’ll take your word for it. Two of those and uh, two waters.” Bucky pulled his wallet from his pocket and leaned against the bar, rubbing at the rough stubble on his cheeks as Emily poured his beers. Emily laughed, a small light thing.

“What?” asked Bucky.

“Watta,” Emily repeated, imitating his accent crudely.

“It’s not that thick,” Bucky defended himself good naturedly.

“Whatever you say Brooklyn.”

Bucky laughed, the sound of the nickname rolling off her tongue made something tug in his chest. Shaking it off, he pulled out some cash and placed thirty dollars on the bar top in exchange for their drinks.

“Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” said Emily, “Say hi to Steve for me. Let me know if I can get anything else for you.”

A few hours later Bucky found himself in an aggressive game of one-pocket. Many hours spent in their dorm hall rec room had resulted in their shared skill at pool and they had a bad habit of getting a little competitive.

“Is that the best you can do?” Steve taunted when Bucky made his second scratch of the night.

Bucky sighed, standing up straight and taking a large gulp of Caribou Slabber. She really did have good taste in beer. “Shut up punk. I taught you how to play. Remember?”

“And now, the student has surpassed the teacher—” Steve shrugged, watching as Bucky eyes diverted towards the bar for the hundredth time that night “—okay. What’s going on?”

“What?” Bucky asked, feigning innocence and stupidity.

“Oh please. You can’t stop looking over at her. Is there something going on?”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. She’s not even over there right now!” Bucky scoffed.

Steve rolled his eyes, letting out a curt mhmm. Bucky knew he didn’t believe him. He was no stranger to Steve’s ‘I know best and you know nothing’ look. But he was telling the truth. Nothing was going on between him and Emily.

“Whatever. Believe me. Don’t believe me. I’m going to take a piss—” he propped his pool stick against the side of the table “—and if I come back and you’ve moved any of those balls, I’m coming for you punk. Don’t even try it! I’ve got that table memorized!” Bucky called out behind him and he headed towards the back of the bar where the restrooms were located.

Rounding the corner, he was stopped abruptly by the sight of Emily with some guy. Crowding her space, the man stood only a few inches above her looking frustrated. Emily’s posture was closed off, her arms crossed in front of her looking away from him and at the doors to the restrooms. He should have turned away. It was none of his business. But something kept him planted in the stop, moving forward a few inches to listen in.

“See, this is what I’m talking about Em! You won’t open up to me. You never would! I mean, I mess up once and now you won’t even talk to me.” Interesting.

“Mess up? Mess up? Clint, you did the one thing, the one thing, I explicitly told you not to do!”

“I know. I know. But I promise it will never happen again. Just give me a chance! Couples get past this sort of thing all the time,” Clint pleaded, placing a hand on her arm that Emily promptly shrugged off.

“I can’t Clint. I told you how important faithfulness and honesty were to me. I made that explicitly clear at the beginning of our relationship and you agreed. You agreed and you still slept with Sharon! I mean, how long has it been going on?”

The man was quiet. Bucky’s stomach dropped. He should walk away. He should really walk away.

“How long Clint?” Emily asked again, this time her voice a little weaker.

“A year and a half.” Bucky might not have been sure he had heard the answer correctly if it wasn’t for Emily’s boisterous reaction.

“A year and a half?! Are you kidding me Clint? Almost our entire relationship? God. I can’t even look at you.” Emily turned to walk away, but Clint caught her by her forearm, yanking her back and against the wall. “Ow!”

“Em don’t walk away. Listen to me! I can explain!”

“Let go of me Clint,” Emily said through gritted teeth.

“No, not until you listen to what I have to say,” Clint responded, desperation and anger evident in his voice.

Bucky, no longer able to watch the exchange, stepped forward, “Hey, back the fuck off man. She told you to let go.”

The coupled looked towards him as he stalked down the hallway, anger seething through him. Who the hell did this guy think he was?

“Listen buddy, this isn’t any of your business,” said Clint in annoyance.

“Like hell it is—” Bucky grabbed Clint by the shoulder and pulled him away from Emily, before turning to her “—are you okay Emily?”

“You really don’t have to do this,” Emily said to Bucky. But the way her posture relaxed, and her arms opened from around her body said differently. She was relieved he had stepped in.

“Do you know this guy Em?” Clint asked, stepping forward.

Bucky swept around, placing himself between Emily and Clint. He towered over the man, using both his height and size to intimidate. Though, he reckoned the flaming, red-hot rage in his eyes would be enough to send him running. He was seething. Every ounce of his self-control kept him from absolutely clobbering the douchebag.

“Just go Clint!” Emily called over Bucky’s shoulder.

Clint laughed, no humor found in his expression or tone, “Are you fucking this guy Em? Is that why you won’t talk to me? Already slutting around?”

Bucky wanted to punch him. Bucky almost punched him. But the soft touch of Emily’s hand on his bicep kept him in check. Turning his head, he caught the desperate plea in her eyes and knew that beating this guy to a pile of mush would be the wrong thing to do. So instead, he took slow and calculated steps towards him until Clint was pressed against the wall opposite them. Bucky watched as the cockiness quickly melted from his face and in its place, fear resided. Jabbing a large finger into his chest, Bucky spoke low and menacingly.

“If I ever see you lay another hand on her, I will personally make sure you regret it. I will not hesitate to kick the ever loving shit out of you. Do I make myself clear?”

Clint nodded frantically, eyes shifting from Bucky and the exit.

“Now, I never want to see you around her or this place ever again. Got it?”

“Yea man, I get it! Just let me go,” Clint pleaded.

“Everything alright here?” Steve’s voice sounded from the hallway entrance.

“Yea. Clint here was just leaving. Mind walking him to the door?”

Steve took a moment to assess the situation behind speaking in a casual tone, “Not at all. Come on Clint.”

Clint’s eyes seemed to go wide when he took in the even more massive man. Steve clasped a hand on Clint’s shoulder and guided him out of sight. Letting out a long breath, Bucky closed his eyes and counted to ten, calming himself before turning back to Emily.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked, taking a moment to scan his eyes over her.

Emily nodded, biting her lower lip and leaning against the wall behind her.

“No, you’re not. Do you need me to wait for you to get off and walk you home?” Bucky asked, lifting her right arm up to look at it more closely. No bruises. Yet.

“I’m, uh, I’m actually already off. I was headed out of the bathroom when he cornered me,” Emily said, rubbing at her face.

“Okay, let’s get you home then. Come on.”

Bucky and Emily left Goody’s after he explained everything to Steve. His best friend didn’t seem upset about cutting their night short at all. Instead, he told them to make it home safely and that he also made sure Clint would not be coming around any time soon. They walked in silence, the only thing keeping the darkened street alight, the soft yellow lights of streetlamps and porchlights. The walk was very reminiscent of the last time they had found themselves walking the streets of Pocatello late in the evening. The only thing different this time was the lack of Trixie by their side and Bucky’s arm slung over her shoulders protectively. She needed someone to take care of her in that moment. He knew solely from the fact that instead of shying away from his touch, she leaned into it all the way to her apartment.

She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she lived close to him. Her complex was only about a half mile from his house. The manufactured building held no personality, the white siding and grey trim creating uniform replications of the same apartments. However, Emily knew exactly where she was going, leading him towards her apartment with a practiced ease. When she unlocked her front door, she walked right in, leaving the door open. Bucky took this as an invitation to follow her. When he stepped into her place, he found it to be surprisingly lacking in any sentimentality. In fact, it looked half empty. No pictures hung on the walls. No nick-knacks or keep sakes. Just furniture and the odd piece of decoration. It was messy, but not too messy. The small dining room table was clear, but the coffee table held notebooks, pens, and her laptop. A pile of blankets and pillows sat on the single couch in the living room.

As if sensing where his gaze was focused, Emily spoke over her shoulder as she disappeared into a back hall, “You can have a seat on the couch. Just shove the blankets out of the way. I’ll be right back.”

Bucky made his way to the couch, picking up the patchwork quilt. The fabric was soft in his hand, the cotton material aged in just the right way. The individual squares were neat and colorful and held a warmth that Bucky only felt as a child when he visited his grandparents’ house. The intimacy of the quilt overwhelmed him. It was too personal. The situation felt too personal. He shouldn’t be there.

Just as he made to drop the quilt and walk towards the door, Emily reemerged donning a pair of sweats and fuzzy socks.

“Hi,” Bucky said, his mouth dry. Something about seeing her like this, looking so small and vulnerable, felt both wrong and horribly right.

“Hi,” Emily responded, walking towards him and giving a quizzical look at the quilt and then him.

“Oh, I was just admiring it. It’s really beautiful, the quilt I mean.”

Emily pulled it from his hands, hugging it to her chest as she sat down on the couch, “Thanks. It was my grandma’s.”

There was a long pause, a heavy weight filling the space between them.

“Do you wanna’ talk about it?” he asked.

There was a long pause as Emily tried to decide whether she wanted to discuss the events that had occurred that night. Bucky waited with bated breath. Then, with a deep sigh, Emily began to talk.

“We met the summer before the second year of my PhD. Mutual acquaintances. Department barbeque. He seemed nice. We moved in together after a year. And then a year later, a month and half ago to be exact, I found him in our bed with his lab mate, Sharon.” Emily picked at the quilt in her lap and brought her feet up onto the couch, turning towards him. “I kicked him out the same day. Haven’t spoken to him till tonight.”

Bucky was quiet, opting to simply allow her to tuck her feet below his thigh and listen.

“At first, I was upset, but as time’s gone on, I’m realizing that I probably wasn’t upset for the right reason. I felt hurt. But not because I loved him. I should have loved him. I think. We were together for so long. We lived together. But…” She laughed. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I don’t usually…Nat says I like to bottle things up and make bad jokes at my own expense. I don’t—I don’t usually…”

Bucky found himself reaching out and placing a hand over hers. He had no idea why she felt comfortable enough to open up to him, but he was touched that she did.

“What a dick. Doesn’t matter if you loved him or not. Or if he loved you or not. You made an agreement and he broke that. It’s no one’s fault but his own. You deserve a lot better than that guy, trust me.” The words he spoke were true. She did deserve a lot better.

Emily turned her hand over, her fingertips brushing against the palm of his hands. The touch sent his pulse racing. A burning fire igniting beneath the surface of his skin everywhere her fingers brushed.

“Thank you, Dr. Barnes,” breathed Emily. Her eyes focused on the movement of her hand and Bucky’s in turn as he moved his hand in sync with hers. Fingertips to fingertips. A ghostly touch.

Bucky chuckled lightly, “Are you ever going to call me Bucky?”

“No,” Emily responded, a small smirk on her face.

“So just Dr. Barnes forever?”

She was quiet, a pensive look on her face as she ceased the dance of their hands and threaded her fingers through his.

“How about James?” she asked.

Bucky’s heart clenched. A hand wrapped around it tightly, squeezing and squeezing. The sound of his name, his given name, slipping past her lips and rolling off the tip of her tongue caused a visceral reaction within him. The front of his jeans tightened, and arousal shuddered through his body.

“Say it again,” he commanded, voice gravely with need.

He heard the sound of Emily’s breath catching in her throat before a soft “James” passed her lips. Hand still gripping hers tightly, he used it to pull her forward and onto his lap. Eyes wide with surprise, her chest heaved, and body trembled as she braced her hands on his shoulders.

“Again.”

“James.”

They leaned towards each other, noses touching and lips a whisper apart. The hot, heavy mix of their breaths shared between them. He should stop. He was no longer crossing a line of propriety in mind. He was crossing a real line. Everything told him to stop. The voice in the back of his head was a distant scream that shouted: ‘She’s your student’, ‘You’re her advisor’, ‘It’s inappropriate’, ‘It’s a liability to your position’, ‘What about Diane?’. But with the feel of her hips in his hands and her hair tickling his face as she leaned over him the voice moved farther and farther into the recesses of him mind.

“Again.”

“Ja—”

Emily was cut off by the shrill ring of a phone in the kitchen. They both jumped, pulling away from each other as if the phone itself caught them in the middle of a nefarious act. Bucky released her waist, his hands falling to his sides as Emily stood and ran to the kitchen.

“Hello? Nat, hey. What’s up?” Emily’s voice lilted from the kitchen, breathy with a small hint of panic. “Yea, I’m fine. I just got home a few minutes ago.”

Bucky stood, removing the quilt that had made its way onto his lap and folded it, before gently placing it back on the couch.

“Oh, Steve told you what happened?”

He sighed, looking around the living room and then back towards the kitchen before making his way towards the front door. Quietly, he exited the apartment, closing the door behind him. The chilly bite of the late night air sank through to his bones as he walked home, trying to make sense of what just happened. By the time he made it to his front door he still didn’t know if he should thank Natasha or advise Steve to break up with her. But one thing was definitely clear, he had crossed a line and there was no going back.

Love and Academia Taglist: 

@is-it-madness​

Marvel Taglist: 

@caffiend-queen​

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

i've always been curious after reading the ending of rememberance- have you ever thought about a final endgame for gail and luca? what happens to them significantly after the battle of hogwarts?

Oh I am so, so glad you asked! I debated writing a “Nineteen Years Later” style of epilogue, but since there was already pretty much a “Seven Years Later” time-skip in a similar style, I thought it might be a bit much. I was mostly leaving the ending open, but I will absolutely tell you what I envisioned! (Note: When HPMA comes out, this could all change. I’m fickle.) 

((Obviously, spoilers under the cut for those of you that haven’t read “Remembrance” and want to.))

Luca, Tulip and Merula do indeed adopt Pippa. They bring her back to Snyde manor and give her a loving home. She enrolls at Hogwarts the next year and is sorted into Slytherin. She also eventually rescues a bat from the dungeons before it could be used in a potion, and adopts the critter herself. She gets along the best with Merula, but she loves all her parents equally. 

Rowan, Penny, and Luca all come to work at Hogwarts. I’m not sure if Luca actually would teach D.A.D.A, since I will freely admit, that was mostly me being salty that Harry didn’t get that job. But I can envision Luca becoming Hogwarts first ever Guidance Counselor, influenced by Ben and Badeea’s description of muggle therapy. They might call it something different, but that’s how the job would function. 

Luca visits the Cabal and confronts Gail over Pippa’s parents and what she knows about them. Gail insists that they were looking for Pippa after the battle, and still haven’t found her. When she finds out that the Trouble Trio adopted her, she wants to step in and return Pippa to R’s protection, and Luca, as one can expect, flatly refuses. 

This results in a major argument. See, it’s easy to judge Gail, but the more and more I think about how her story ended, the more I realize how much I utterly screwed her over. She was nominated for Director by Rakepick, a renegade who no one liked, all of five minutes before Rakepick revealed that she never took the Vow and has never been a real member of R’s Inner Circle. Translation: Gail’s appointment was invalidated before she was even officially recognized. And I think she was blindsided by that - yet another person Rakepick betrayed. While no one questioned it, that alone opens the door for Gail to be removed from power with a Challenge down the line. 

But it gets worse. Gail participated in breaking the Invigorium Curse. She aided Jacob and Luca, known traitors to the Cause, in limiting R’s power. She let the treasure of the Sunken Vault slip through her fingers, and be returned to the hands of the very first traitor to the Cause, R’s own founder. She allowed Beatrice, the Slider, to walk away from the Cabal and never return. Hell, even instilling the policy of “Vow-Forgiveness” that Beatrice, Nigel, and Aurelia subscribed to would have been controversial. Essentially, Gail gutted the Cabal’s resources and there’s a very fine case to be made that she sabotaged the Cause. All for the sake of her siblings, and their friends. In the Cabal, they call that being “compromised.” and there’s very little mercy for it. 

So it’s easy to understand why Luca has kept her at arm’s length all these years, but they also really didn’t consider the sacrifices that she made just to protect them. Gail had to face the Inner Circle and tell them that they no longer had access to the Marks of Despair, or the Slider...and she had nothing to show for it. What’s more, Tonks, Merula, and Luca were all outsiders who learned classified information. The policy in those cases is clear - wipe their memories. Gail refused to allow this. She allowed them to walk away, without taking the Vow, or having their memories wiped. Again, anyone could declare a Challenge at this point, and argue that she’s been emotionally compromised. That she was a traitor to the Cause.

But is Gail’s leadership truly that poor? Not in the slightest. Don’t forget, as of Luca’s seventh year, Dumbledore and the Ministry were well aware of the Cabal and their criminal activity. They couldn’t really prove anything but R was under scrutiny. They were being watched at all times. And any failure or exposure would be Gail’s responsibility. She had a loose alliance with Albus Dumbledore through their past connection to Rakepick, and Dumbledore thought highly of Gail. So he was able to persuade the Ministry to leave the Cabal alone. To look the other way, and focus on Voldemort’s inevitable return. Well, until OOTP, anyway. Gail remaining in Dumbledore’s good books was the only thing that allowed the Cabal to even function normally. 

I didn’t explore this very much in the fanfic, because Gail was a late-comer and was often misrepresenting herself around Luca, knowing that Nina was watching...but Gail is extremely anxious. She’s not as emotionally open, or as mentally healthy, as Luca is. Yeah. She’s less stable than the kid who had half a dozen mental breakdowns. So, it should come as no surprise that the job of Directing has her plenty stressed. Like her mother before her, she’s not very popular anymore, and feels (somewhat rightfully so) that no one appreciates all the work she puts into keeping R safe. Gail would eventually vent all of this to Luca, who would, at that point, have a lot of self reflection about how they’ve viewed their twin, and how they’ve treated her. They might write to Jacob about it. They would apologize, and Luca and Gail would grow closer after this emotional breakdown. Luca would steadfastly refuse to allow Pippa to be claimed by the Cabal, but they would accept Gail having a relationship with her and being a kind of aunt figure. 

I think the peak of Gail’s character arc, if she were to have one that spanned across her teenage years and young adult life, would be letting go of her obsessive sense of responsibility and her need to control everything. I think she’d have a lot of self-loathing and break down when she realizes how alike she and Nina actually are. I can almost see her having a Lion King style vision of Jacob, giving her a pep talk. She would learn to let go of her loyalty to the Cabal, and step down. But not before ensuring that someone capable and good was taking her place. And not before approaching new Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt and arranging some kind of deal to protect R for even longer. 

There were two relationships with quasi-romantic subtext that I never fully explored, because they were complicated and definitely problematic paths. Those being - Ben/Gail and Luca/Beatrice. I’ve toyed with the idea, in my head-canons, of Ben and Gail being end-game. But they’re adoptive siblings, and they’ve been estranged for a while. I can see them reuniting and having a lot to work through. But they’d re-establish connection and have a relationship. Whether or not it ever became romantic is something that I’m genuinely not sure about. If it would be healthy or not. But then again, this would after Gail’s glass-breaking moment when she became a much more well-adjusted person and freed herself from the Cabal. Ben still cares about her, and she still cares about him. Hell, I can almost see it as cute if Gail went to live in the muggle world for a while. to spend some time with him. 

Luca and Beatrice were the accidental, could-have-been ship. I never meant for them to have that energy, but by the time I got to their scene in Snyde Manor, I noticed that it was there. Obviously, she had a one-sided crush on them, but I’ll admit, I was slightly tempted to plant the seeds for it being two-sided and having them be further along that path in the Seven-Years-Later portion. What mainly stopped me was my love for the Trouble Trio. Nothing is disrupting that perfect harmony of trouble, peace, and chaos. Nothing short of an AU, that is. 

So, yeah. If I ever write a follow-up to Remembrance, it will most likely star Gail, and tell that story. But I’m so glad you asked me about this because I’ve been dying to talk about it!

[fialleril]

replies to the DAV Mara snippet

Instead of reblogging that post endlessly, thought I’d collect my replies here.

@bookwyrmie said: I remember the ask about including Mara in the DAV AU, looks like that turned into yet another thing that was not going to be written and then happened anyway.

Is there anyone that Anakin hasn’t adopted yet? There is the Free Droid Network with Kaydee and friends, the nicer imperial officers and the OBV-Squad, Leia once she becomes a senator, and he is probably keeping an eye on Pooja as well. Now here is a young force-sensitive child, who desperately needs someone to help her learn how to be a person without alerting the Inquisitors. Guess it’s about time he adopted an actual child as well.

Ha ha yeah, I was just waiting for someone to comment about that lol. It’s true I once said I wasn’t going to write Mara in DAV, but three things happened to change that:

1. I promised @astudyinimagination a pick-me-up fic and I knew Sky really wanted a fic about Mara. So I was damn well gonna write one! (The moral here is that you should always make friends with your writers, because then we will happily write you things by request!)

2. I’d been thinking for a while that I needed to somehow address the question of what happened to a Force sensitive kid who was picked up by the Inquisitors before Anakin became a double agent.

3. I’ve said a couple of times that I’ve always liked the concept of Mara, but I’ve always hesitated to write her because I dislike and discard the vast majority of Expanded Universe material and I didn’t particularly want to deal with the inevitable hate I’d get if I wrote my own version of Mara, since she’d essentially be an OC. But eventually I just decided that I get enough hate for not using EU canon anyway, so I might as well just fully embrace my multiverse theory of Star Wars canon and do what I want.

So there you have it! :)

@aeneasoftroy said:# DAV Anakin is a mix of mysterious old wizard and troll dad humor  # and it suits him so well

This is one of my favorite things about writing OT Anakin. Not that he can’t be a troll in PT AUs, too, but just...there’s a kind of settledness to his character in the OT, partly a result of everything he’s lived through but also partly just because of the fact that he’s older now. Though there’s also a bit of tragedy to the fact that he can and absolutely does carry off the Mysterious Old Wizard trope in a fic in which he is (although Mara doesn’t know it) only 32 years old.

@hyratel said: #I am Nobody is CLASSIC   #and delivered perfectly

It is indeed classical. ;)

@elf-kid2 said: This is beautiful and excellent and fantastic, and I love it. Thank You for writing this. 

Thank you! I’m glad you enjoyed it.

@katharkness said: I like this very much, and would love to see it added to the Double Agent Vader series. I also wouldn’t worry too much about your Mara not fitting with the Legends Mara, because everything the rebooted EU has added, the Inquisitors and such, doesn’t really fit with the original Legends Mara. I suppose this is more like a rebooted Mara.

Thanks! I’m not so much worried about Legends canon, though, since I never am lol. I’m more worried about people who do like and care about Legends being unhappy with the ways I’m...basically beating up the EU in a back alley and rifling through its pockets for loose change. But you make a good point about this take actually kind of working as a rebooted Mara!

I mean, tbqh I actually don’t think the Inquisitors fit in with film canon at all. But I’m working on the multiverse theory here, and they do work really well with the story I’m telling in DAV, so I’ve basically borrowed them from Filoni ‘verse and created my own canon. So I suppose borrowing Mara isn’t a step much further.

@shadaras said: I always forget how much I love Mara as a character  she's the best EU character and so much of that is because her arc is just   'I was brainwashed and then Luke's refusal to believe I wasn't a person made me able to be a person and I chose good once I could'  this AU version is delightful because it stays true to all the essential aspects of her character   it just places them in some new-EU elements (because yes that's what the shows are tbh)  and also within a great AU context that is already all about what Mara's arc always was  it just changes the Skywalker who saves her from the Emperor's brainwashing   and that isn't a big change at all really  anyway the intro implies there will be more of this eventually and that delights me  because that last line is FANTASTIC and so true to the kind of story this is  excellent job perfect story   

Yeah, that bare bones essential aspect of her character arc is why I’ve always really liked the idea of Mara Jade - she basically hits all of my trope buttons. And the themes of her story when distilled like that are a perfect fit with the themes of DAV.

Also I’m delighted that you recognize Filoni ‘verse as EU because it absolutely is!

@figmentera said: I love this fiercely and cannot wait to see the rest! Mara is such a cool character and I love any permutation of her relationship with Vader. I feel like it's barely ever explored but it's such fertile ground. Plus there's some great glimpses at the rest of this universe, I always love that! 

Thank you! I’m having fun exploring their relationship, though because it’s me and this story seems to keep growing, it may be a while before I have it finished. I’m kind of envisioning it as a side story to the main DAV storyline. It’s going to span pretty much the entire timeline, almost from the beginning of Anakin’s double agent career all the way to the death of the Emperor, but Mara’s story line is really running in parallel with the rest, rather than intertwining.

@frostbit-sky said: I still have to catch up, or really I should start again and binge read DAV, but I love 💗  the inclusion of Mara and encourage you to add this to actual fic. 

At this point I’m pretty sure I’ve talked myself into including it, so you will likely get your wish. :)

@clockworktea said: people who care Very Much except they have no idea how to express this even to themselves! finding allies and immediately adopting them as Family! kadee the ex-torture droid turned fiercely overprotective aunt gives me LIFE and ''yes master' she whispered' just OUCH mates the levels of mindscrew (is he her slaveowner or is she his padawan or apprentice) (haha jokes on anakin the answer is up to you as long as it's painful) anyway yes good fia is back MORE ANGSTY GENFIC FOR ME MORE PLATONIC DEEPLY MEANINGFUL RELATIONSHIPS TO ENJOY MORE CHARACTERS WHO ARE TRYING THEIR BEST TO GET HEARTBROKEN OVER ...... hang on a second this was all a trap wasn't it 

*Megamind goattee stroking face* You’ve fallen right into my trap!

In all seriousness, though, I’m delighted to see people getting excited about genfic! I still remember the days in fandom when writing genfic was like releasing words into the void.

Damaged people trapped in horrible circumstances and being insistently human to one another in spite of that is kind of my brand at this point, so I’m glad that’s holding up I guess.

I think basically everything Palpatine does in relation to Vader is a mindscrew on at least one level, but calling him the “Master of the Inquisitors” is definitely a master stroke on his part (if you’ll pardon the pun).

[gyromitra-esculenta]

It’s got a name now~~! ‘Jack the Stag, and Other Works Penned by the Esteemed Songstress Sombra’. It’s an inside joke, probably.

Otherwise: a bad Witcher AU but not because of the TV series (rest is somewhere here either under totally not witcher au or murder-deer tag). Part 2. Unedited, at the moment, but getting close to that since I hit 5k.

Warnings: Violence, giant bugs, idiots, weasels, and flying pigs.

*

"That's why you love me," Jack sing-songs, unsheathing his own sword, twirling it around once in his hand with an added flourish - grinning like a madman with half his face soaked in blood.

"I tolerate you, that's different!"

"And that's why I love you too!"

As always, a discussion best saved for a time they're not having it over two giant insects that had managed to separate one from the other just now, and preferably to be undertaken at some nebulous future moment when Gabriel feels like being philosophical and questioning.

And shitfaced drunk.

"Take the..." Before he can finish, the male centipede hisses and lurches at Jack, probably seeing him as the immediate threat - and Jack dances out of the way, visibly leading it away from the female. "...yeah."

"I'll get the first kill," Jack taunts him.

"As if."

It's on, and regardless of the circumstances Gabriel smiles, moving into the female's field of view, noting how there is a kink where the chitin segments curl around the wound his sword had inflicted, and along with the smell of the carrion wafts acrid aroma of the burn.

With the centipedes, and the majority of other giant insectoids, there were only four strategies viable: wolf pits where it impaled itself under its own weight, severing the nervous cord behind its head, doing enough damage from below, or magic. The fifth method, though...

They were certainly one disposable angry peasant mob short for it to work.

Gabriel keeps from the female's range - circling it as it turns after him, considering his approach, and in the end deciding to utilize the same maneuver as previously, fingers forming the sign again.

Mid-jump, he slips a dagger into his left hand, and wedges it behind a plate without delay to gain support as he lands - a bit too far from the centipede's head. Not a problem as he's still a little out of the reach of its maw but he needs to move further on its back.

He jams the sword sideways under the next plate and shifts, sliding forward - alternates with the dagger until the centipede looks about ready to roll over to get him off its back. The short blade breaks under the pressure the segments he has it forced between put on it.

But Gabriel's already bracing with the sword raised and pushes it down below the edge of the looser plate the female has over its head with all his strength, more feeling than hearing things snapping and crunching under the steel.

Then, he twists the blade from side to side.

The centipede crumples to the ground with the grace of a flying pig that just got disenchanted even though the impetus carries it few meters along its path.

It starts spasming the length of its body erratically as its scant nervous systems tries to make sense of the damage done.

Gabriel repeats the twist and cut again, to be sure, and rips the sword back - now jumping off the centipede and putting some distance between himself and its death throes - to the litany of 'fucks' screamed from the side with the varying volume, the most more muffled than not.

Which is fair because Jack, smeared from head to toe in brownish green blood and some dirty yellow remains of the other insect insides, is just about crawling from under the other centipede successfully. Also, frantically ripping his slowly blackening in places shirt off.

"Do you need any help?"

"Fuck you! There's bug guts all over me!" Jack tosses the smoldering now fabric to the ground. "That was my favorite shirt!"

Gabriel only rolls his eyes withholding any scathing remark and walks to him with a small detour to retrieve the pack on the way.

"Sit, and get at least some of it off," he throws Jack a cloth. "And give me a minute, I need to clean your cheek."

"Needn't bother, little cub."

"It's still open. You're not healing properly, so don't 'little cub' me, you horned dolt, am I clear?"

Jack at first opens his mouth but then there's only an angry snort coming from him, and he dutifully starts to wipe with the provided cloth, letting Gabriel sit in front of him and rummage in the pack for the supplies he needs.

"Okay, but the horned dolt was actually good."

It's Gabriel's turn to snort, and then laugh, as he tries to glare at Jack.

"You are a horned dolt, after all. Get down." He points to the ground. As soon as Jack complies, Gabriel rubs his face with the antiseptic - ignoring the hissing. The wound is still open and bleeding.

"See. It's healing."

"Not as it's supposed to. There should be stitches."

"If I see you with the needle, I'm kicking you in the face!"

"You were thrashing all around then." Gabriel finishes cleaning the cut. "Did you get burned anywhere?"

"I should be asking how's your arm."

"It's fine, don't try to change the subject, turn around," Gabriel orders Jack in spite of the comically annoyed face he pulls as he complies to show the extensive swath of blistered skin below his shoulder. "That's it. You're wearing armor until this thing gets sorted out."

"It's constraining."

Gabriel dabs the wound with more force than necessary, maliciously enjoying the resulting yelp.

"It's keeping you from getting your dumb ass hurt," he punctuates each word with another swab, noting how the destroyed layer of the skin does not peel off. The last time Jack got splashed with a corrosive fluid, the dead skin had been already flaking off by itself in the span of minutes, and the scar tissue had faded after a week or two. "Shut up," Gabriel adds preemptively and shifts to lean his forehead against Jack's shoulder. "I don't... You're in more pain than you should be because something's not right and you're not telling me."

"So you do care," Jack responds with a note of triumph in his voice and Gabriel sighs deeply as he curbs the overwhelming urge to punch him out of sheer frustration.

"Yes. Yes, I do care, you dumb fucking moron, so what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong, little cub. I just need to recuperate, and that takes time."

"What time exactly?"

"I don't know, a few months, maybe a year." Jack shrugs.

"You're not weaseling out of proper armor now."

"I'm not 'weaseling' out of anything, they're damn chirpy murderous anklebiters and I resent the comparison."

"Of course you object to that one, out of everything," Gabriel laughs, patting Jack's other shoulder lightly.

"You know what's in those little heads non-stop? Murder!"

"You made your point."

"It's like they wake up and ask: 'hey, what's for breakfast?', and the answer is always 'bloody murder'."

"I think I get it."

"And then, 'hey, let's do something fun', and other weasels are 'what?', and the answer is 'bloody murder', and they all cheer!"

"Yeah. I see absolutely no similarities, at all. None whatsoever." Gabriel chuckles to himself, still staying with his forehead pressed against the warm shoulder as Jack leans back a bit. "You're still not getting out of properly gearing up."

"Well, fuck."

"We should get to the grove before the morning breaks because you need to wash all this off, you stink worse than the goat now."

Jack sniffs loudly, his whole frame moving with the action.

"I think I've lost my sense of smell. Weird."

"No, that's the antiseptic."

"Really? It can do that?" Jack huffs the air with a renewed interest.

"Because your whole cheek is covered in it. Get used to it until we get you sorted out." Gabriel shifts back with reluctance and climbs to his feet. "C'mon. We should get going."

"Whatever you say, little cub."

"Bug guts. All over you. You hate..." Gabriel loses the line reasoning when Jack, with the cloth thrown over his shoulder and the sword in hand, passes him - stalking towards the corpse of the female centipede. "We can leave that for after we..." And Jack takes a swinging kick that connects with the underside of the insectoid, sending its whole frame wobbling. "Bugs. You hate bugs."

Jack takes to looking attentively at the centipede while pacing down the length of its body, ultimately squatting in a chosen specific spot. He slits the belly and waits as the insides start to spill through the cut, between them fall slightly misshapen spheres, milky, partially translucent.

"They're fertilized, and they usually keep only one adult pair around." Jack brushes his fingertips over the surface of the eggs He pauses only to pick some out and puts them all on the soiled cloth, ready to bundle them up.

"Feeling gracious?" Gabriel muses over the unpacked supplies he's gathering.

"Maybe. Because there will be a gap they won't be able to fill, and that could kill the whole population."

"I didn't think you'd see a problem with this."

"They're controlling the numbers, or at least they were, until those slipped the leash. I find them icky and disagreeable but there's a need for them."

"Ecology at its finest and most murderous." Gabriel shakes his head.

"Oi!" Jack turns and sticks his tongue out at him.

It's easy to forget things Jack is - or isn't, for that matter - but then he slips. He always slips. He is vain and pernicious, but no more than the nature itself is; demanding and unreasonable, yet caring when no-one expects it.

A strange thought it is, this question that nowadays rears its ugly head more than ever, and Gabriel can't help wondering how much of what Jack is, is Gabriel's own doing? Wouldn't he be better off away from here, never having taken pity on a child in the woods?

But then, he is selfish. Even daring to imagine the constant of Jack's presence being gone is something he dreads - and now it's a possibility it may happen not because he's bound to grow bored and leave, but because whatever's wrong with him will kill him.

"What, the bugbear's got your tongue?" Jack looks at him quizzically, the bundled in the cloth eggs held in hand, the sword sheathed already. "I'll toss a coin for your thoughts."

"Nothing." Gabriel shakes his head and shoulders the pack. "Let's get going, you look dreadful."

"I look great, always. Majestic, even."

"Yeah, not right now," Gabriel turns, trying not to dwell on his now foul mood as he marches, Jack fast on his heels keeping quiet - and this again is unsettling because the banter, the jabs and the barbs, leaves an absence of distraction.

And without the distraction, his thoughts run in circles of worry and anger, and something else he cannot put the name to - or the other way around, he knows what it is and still refuses to name it.

"Just fucking say something," he grinds out without looking back.

"So you could be more vexed with me?" The tone is level, and maybe curious.

"Don't..."

"I don't need to be in your head to see it. You're really angry with me, then," Jack continues with a note of dejection in his voice, "if you think I'd seek your thoughts on my own."

"That's not what... I trust you not to." The strangest of it all is, he truly does, but it's something easy to fall back on when angry.

"You're still accusing me of it," Jack points out.

"Because you're fucking lying to me, so maybe you're lying about this too."

"I had never lied to you, why would I start doing it now?"

"Omission is a lie." Gabriel refuses to look at Jack who know keeps to his side, and with no answer incoming he only grows angrier.

"Then you should ask," Jack responds with a click of his tongue as he overtakes him. Gives him a hard lingering look paired with a crooked half-smile, too, before he turns and skips forward. "You wanted to hurry, cub."

"This is not over."

"Of course it is, cub, because you never ask, do you?" The remark itself is full of reproach and disappointment.

[justsomerandomweebo]

An AU I Think (Side Effects)

Alright so I've never done one of these before but this has been haunting me for days now. So here's the thing: what if the ninja (and by extension all elemental masters) suffered side effects from their powers?

Starting with our fire lord Kai:

The drawback for him is that his fire makes him have a short fuse so to speak.

Like it could be something as passive as a leaf falling in his hair just after he did it and he will freaking explode (not literally of course).

"What the hell?! I spent an entire hour doing my hair and this stupid freaking leaf just-" *cue massive flame up* (The Bounty almost gets burnt down a lot)

He hates it though because he knows it's usually nothing big and he shouldn't even be mad in the first place but he can't let things like that go, no matter how much he wants to. Not without throwing a fiery tantrum first that is.

This of course makes it soooo hard for him to even be around the others or anyone for that matter because he lives in constant fear that his explosive and uncontrollable anger towards the simplest of things will result in someone being seriously hurt.

He avoids Zane like the plague outside of missions because of this. (You'll see why)

Speaking of Zane, our beloved snowflake, the boi is as cold as ice. In more ways than one you see.

Not only does he have a hard time connecting with anyone (humane, mechanical and otherwise), but he is plagued with a feeling of deep, freezing cold.

No matter what he does, he can't warm up and because of this, he often wears a lot of layers.

To everyone else though, he's average in temperature.

He gets along well enough with plants and animals since they don't require conversation or too much attention.

The never ending cold really gets to him though. If he isn't monitored, he will do things like sticking a limb in a flaming hot oven or worse- purposefully make Kai flare up.

*pushes Kai* "You should really watch where you're going." *Kai does the big snap*

Jay has to fix and replace parts on his person due to direct exposure to Kai's intense fire while Kai holes himself up, swimming in guilt with Cole trying to make him feel better.

And when that fails, he often lowers the temperature in their entire base so they can feel as cold as he does too. He usually feels a flare of guilt a few minutes in and stops.

Jay, the lovable cinnamon roll cannot. Stop. Talking.

His mind goes a mile a second and he just. Can't. Stop.

He tries to lessen his time with being around the others because he knows he's annoying, jumping from one topic to another in the span of a few seconds to the point where it's impossible to keep up a conversation with him.

Be careful when touching because he's always charged up. He zapped several of the ninja and innocent bystanders on accident.

Sleep is so hard for him because he can't get his mind to shut up long enough to fall asleep.

On bad days, he can be found on the nearest roof, digging into his scalp until it bleeds and muttering to himself. Aside from Lloyd, Nya finds him most of the time and help bring him down enough so he'll stop trying to scratch his brain out.

Dearest Nya. After unlocking her true potential, she becomes so mellow. Absolutely nothing phases her.

Kai's having an explosive episode? That's cool. Zane nearly melts his arm off? Radical. Jay spent three days doing half projects without a lick of sleep? Neat!

She. Freaking. Hates. It.

But like everyone else, she can't do anything to stop it. Deep inside, she just wants to scream because she can't show that she actually cares properly.

Which makes her ideal in getting Jay to calm down because he could talk for days about 100k things and it wouldn't phase her. She would just nod and sometimes interject to show him a cool water trick.

Despite that, she just can't seem to take anything seriously, despite how desperately she wants to. Part of this is the reason Cole tries to keep his distance.

Precious rock boi Cole. Everyone thinks he has it easy. He doesn't have fiery tantrums or can't connect to people or can't stop thinking or can't take things seriously. But that doesn't mean he doesn't suffer still.

His problem is stubbornness. Once he sets his mind to something, that's it.

"What time is it Cole?" "It's 1am." "I think you mean 1pm." "No. AM." "Dude, the sun is out." "Which is exactly why it's AM and not pm!" "No dude. You've got it wrong-" "Think what you want to but it's freaking AM and that's that." *stalks off, ground rumbling with each step* (an actual conversation with Nya)

He knows he's wrong about most things (because first thoughts/impressions stick) but he just can't admit it for the life of him. And what makes it so much worse is that when he gets into one of these arguments with the Ninja and he decides he's going to be mad at them, he can't not be mad at them ever since.

He's reluctantly furious with Nya because she doesn't give in like most of the others do to spare him. She keeps going, proving him wrong when he knows he is but can't utter a word to say he is.

The only ones he can still talk to without being mad is Wu, Jay (he isn't able to stay on topic long enough to prove Cole wrong), Kai (who does everything in his power to avoid arguments) and Lloyd.

LLOYD MY GOLDEN CHILD. Oh boy, he does the big suffer. So, Lloyd's problem is having. Too. Much. Energy!

He feels like he's on a sugar rush 25/8.

He has to keep moving, has to keep burning energy or else his energy will build up and his powers will go haywire. (Last time, his powers blasted the mast clean off the Bounty and it landed a few yards away from the ship. Luckily, they were docked.)

Morning, mid-day and nightly runs are a thing when they're on land.

Insomnia. Panda eyes. Jitters. The big depression he hides from everyone.

He just keeps going until he passes out. All the ninja take turns carrying him to bed when he does. (He once fell asleep half over the railings on the Bounty. While they were flying.

Some flare-ups are the result from his frustration. He can't even play videogames because they aren't engaging enough! He can't do anything that requires staying still for more than two minutes and it makes him so sick and tired he just- may have accidentally destroyed one of Jay's half projects laying around. (Luckily he doesn't mind)

Avoids sweets like the plague, despite his longing to have even one. He doesn't need any more energy. In extension, he sometimes purposely misses meals.

Despite his problems, he tries his best to help the others out. He doesn't talk much around Cole but he listens and while he couldn't go near Kai during his flare-ups, he does invite him to train or go running with him to take his kind off things. He knows Nya really cares and makes sure to let her know he knows that. He brings Zane small cactai and other small plants as well. He also lets Jay talk his ears off and while it does get confusing, the challenge of keeping up with his conversations takes a lot of his focus and energy (which he's grateful for).

He also helps them all pull it together for a mission where they can remind themselves why they go through the things they do instead of passing their powers over to someone else and being free of it all.

In return, they do everything they can for him and while he appreciates it, some things restrict him and cause energy build up. (ie, doing laundry for once puts a huge hole in his messy schedule to keep him moving.) He encourages them not to most times.

Bonus:

Our favorite Sensei. Garmadon (sorry Wu ily2) has to destroy things. Not as often as he needs to with the evil gone from his body but it's still a need to prevent his powers from building up.

To solve this without causing actual damage, he brings bubble wrap everywhere. Everywhere. He stashes them all over his monastery too. There's even some in his staff.

When he runs out (he never does but if he should), he takes to crushing pebbles instead.

Wu can't help but laugh seeing his brother so focused on popping individual plastic bubbles but also makes sure he never runs out as well.

Now our just as favourite Sensei Wu of course has the reverse problem. He needs to keep creating.

This is where the Tea comes in. He creates several different blends done several different ways so he's never drinking the same tea done the exact same way twice.

If he can't do that then his Nin-Jo (his staff) also doubles as a sort of puzzle. (Half of it at least). It has several tiny sections you can twist and turn to create different clicking sounds and combinations. He hasn't run out of combinations yet but he only uses it for emergencies.

As for his students, he has already gotten a gist of what the previous elemental masters went through (getting them all together for the first serpentine war was hell!), so he knows how to avoid certain incidents. Alas, he is only one old man (a very, very old man) and he cannot stop everything. He does have a special tea brew that calms their emotions enough to help prevent a flare up (but they can only have one cup a day else it represses their emotions completely and the effects only lasts about 4-5 hours. He calls it ClariTea) and a reverse version to increase emotions for Nya (He calls it EmotionaliTea). He's still looking into a tea that'll help Zane get warm as he is the only one who he hasn't been able to help (since ClariTea would make him even more distant and EmotionaliTea would most likely fuel the side of him that wants others to feel what he feels and that would be very bad).

He does have difficulty sleeping but not because of his powers. It weighs on his conscious heavily that his students have to suffer for Ninjago to be safe. How can he sleep peacefully while his students suffer after all?

He soon recruits Mistaké's help in curing the side effects of their elemental powers but nothing is forthcoming so far.

That's it for now. It's not the best but if you guys have questions, feel free to let me know and I'll answer as best as I can! If you have additions, I'd love to hear them too!