#for anyone else I might have to skip fics that are side shots of older chapters since I still have Matt POV ideas if I have the time

[pastafossa]

Hi! I was just wondering if you got my other ask about a TRT au that I want to write. I want to get the ok from you before I start anything.

I went digging for your asks and found them!

First off I feel like Deadpool when he's talking about fourth walls. A fanfic about a fanfic??? that's like... DOUBLE FANFICS

Second off I'm absolutely DELIGHTED by the idea and also really honored that someone would want to do TRT fanfic??? Just got me like

I am 100% ok with it! Anything that puts more fanfic into the world makes me happy tbh, AND it feels like a lovely continuation of the cycle that got *me* writing fic plus if i eventually take parts of trt and make it a real book as planned i would love if people ficced that IT'S THE CIIIIIIIIRCLE OF LIFE

There are only only two things I'd ask (applies to anyone else who may want to do TRT fanfic, which I'm fine with).

Proper credit back to TRT. If the fic's on AO3, then the 'This work is a remix, a translation, a podfic, or was inspired by another work' option when posting is what to use, and that'll let it pop up at the bottom of TRT under the 'works inspired by this one'. If it'll be posted on Wattpad or Tumblr, a link to TRT on AO3 and an acknowledgment is all I'd ask!

This one isn't specific to your idea (which I looked over and am totally fine with!). This is more for anyone else: please do not try to finish TRT, in the sense of trying to write the next chapters. AUs are fine, Blip fics are fine (I admittedly have a Blip side fic planned but it'll be outside of the main TRT story), various adventures, Foggy musings on canon, shenanigans, NSFW or SFW scenes, whatever, are all fine! I only draw the line at 'Pasta hasn't updated in a bit so I'm going to write the next chapters and post it'.

Other than that, you are free to move about the cabin with my blessing! I'm super excited to see what you come up with!

[bsaka7]

Pierresteban... mermaid.... au...not!fic. W/ @leclercenjoyer... From these gifs... proof i can be trope-y...in the right mood...

it starts when they're kids. pierre is the fifth son of a family of hardworking fisherman. he knows there will be no inheritance for him. his third brother is joining the church and everyone is hoping pierre can do well enough at school to do that too! because the oldest son will inherit the fishing boat and he already has a girl who he might marry. they live in a little house near the outskirts of town the closest to the sea and when the sea rages they can watch the wall of water crash against the rocks from the back stoop.

of course. this pierre loves the water like everyone in his family, loves to be out at sea. when the tide is out, pierre goes down to the seashore and digs through the tide pools. one day he comes upon a cove that he swears he has never seen before and he has explored this whole shore even though he is only seven. the sun is not yet low in the sky so he ducks in to explore and there splashing in the pool is....baby (well. 6yrs old) este!! who is so scrawny.

este is a mermaid obv there some vague and bastardized mythology behind all of this but we're ignoring that for now. he's the only child of a hardworking mermaid couple etc he loves to dive and race and swim with schools of fish he's also intrigued by land and he's more adventurous than he should be... u guys know the vibe.

pierre spends the whole rest of the spring ducking into the cove and the days are only getting longer. and then summer when hes on the boat with his father and brothers he's always searching and searching for este, thinking he sees him out over the crests of the waves. they are the best of friends and pierre cannot tell anyone except for his best friend charles who lives on the other side of town and his father is...idk?? the pastor??? they aren't catholics he can have kids. and charles understands pierre at school and they compete in every subject but he doesn't understand the sea. anyway. Pierre and esteban can only meet when pierre comes to the sea...seperate worlds so close yet so far. when times are hard times are hard for them both bc they both depend on the sea for their life etc...

[scene where pierre sneaks out in the little rowboat to meet este and gets in trouble]

they grow up and then they DRIFT as you would expect because pierre is getting older and he has to get a scholarship now to the university or else he has to find a girl to marry or smth but he doesnt WANT to because hes too young and anywhere theres always esteban. and esteban is busy with his own life in the sea he's growing up and hoping to fulfill some exploration role but he's a long shot at it... They're starting to resent each other for missing meetings.

pierre goes inland for GOOD to go to school when hes like sixteen and he sees esteban one winter day home for christmas break and the sea is churning and esteban barely even looks at him. and it sucks!!! and no one knows how even felt...

but he comes back for the whole summer when hes older and his parents have passed away. he's back to help his brother put their things in order and because he's the baby and he loved them. and he spends a lot of time looking out at the sea and maybe once has to take the boat out by himself and there's esteban, skipping alongside the boat, who looks like he's finally grown into his skin.

Pierre anchors and climbs out of his boat into the shallow warm water and pierre can swim but not strongly anymore and he's weak from the city air. pierre can feel este's tail against his legs and they're clutching each other and esteban is laughing and its -- its like they're kids again but its BETTER because they know who they are better. esteban is the one to kiss pierre and pierre kisses BACK and then eventually he has to go home and he's so giddy and joyful that his brother and his wife are making faces at each other. pierre just plays with the kids and the dog in front of the fireplace. they're so happy to see him like this. and he goes out and sees esteban again and again that summer, before idk he starts some job at the law firm in the city and learns about estebans life in the sea. when he's in town all he does is miss esteban. there's a girl he's supposed to marry maybe but he never asks for her hand in marriage so she marries someone else and charles settles down in the capital

of COURSE since this is a mock fairytale he has to come back to that town he grew up in. he's not meant to be a fisherman but maybe he takes over the shop after the keeper falls too ill, and he's good at that too. he has money stashed away from his work in the city and he's dressed a little different. maybe he starts donating books to the school. and he goes out to the cove -- their cove -- in the evenings, just to remember.

eventually esteban is there too. and pierre's feet are bare and in the water, and esteban lays up against the rock and listens to pierre read and then tells him his own stories of the sea. its not quite a happy ending because they can never be together and pierre is getting older and getting lonely. and esteban at home in the sea his family has always thought he wanted everything too badly, the exploring job he got and then lost, to know what it's like on land.

after so many years of wondering, and fights back and forth, and missing each other, straddling that space between land and sea, pierre asks if its true. that mermaids can leave the sea but cannot speak until they find their true love (little mermaid #baller). esteban tells him some tale and the answer is: yes.

pierre asks him if he's willing to try it and esteban disappears for months. and the town watches pierre fade away sadder and sadder. his brother tells him they can take on the shop if he wants to go back to the city but pierre just shakes his head. eventually he takes a boat out, a tiny dinghy and goes out to the sea to search for esteban because he can't. leave it like this. again. he can tell esteban they can go back to like it was. they don't have to fight.

but of course theres a STORM the wind whipping and pierre is cold and his mouth is caked with salt, his boat falling apart at the seams. eventually he capsizes and is clinging to whats left of the hull and then a wave sucks him under and he loses it and he's sputtering and he thinks hes going to die. who is there bringing him to the surface but esteban? esteban who heard his cry and swum as fast as he could from his home. esteban who loves him.

pierre is unconcious as esteban swims him back to the cove. and hes like coughing weakly and esteban is wrapped around him because he's not warm and his tail is scaly but hes warmer than the water and that has to be good enough right? and pierre is like. "este?" and esteban is like. "right here." and he's not going to apologize because he never apologizes. but pierre looks at him and it feels like forgiveness. PIERRE apologizes instead right there and says he's sorry for asking and esteban says. i couldn't lose my family forever. i couldn't lose my voice. and pierre is like. okay.

things go back to normal. pierre's shop never runs out of sugar again and his prices are always just a little too low like he's been blessed by something. and he sees esteban in the cove no matter the wind and the weather. And then... I think eventually esteban DOES decide to trust pierre enough to come to land to give it all up even though he shouldn't have to.

Esteban steps out of the water and pierre is mad at him because esteban never said he'd be so tall and then they KISS and esteban can SPEAK because they both wanted each other to be enough but never thought it would be the truth enough to try until now. and of course esteban has to put on pierre's clothes which are all too short and everyone is confused about this new man with a soft voice and a lilting accent. pierre says he's from the city but everyone can tell he's from the sea. he works the boat with pierre's brother and charles comes to visit and teaches him to write in their language, and not the language of the sea.

They're both a kind of happy that can't be explained, moody and changing and sometimes frightening. esteban stays with pierre in the room above the shop even though it's too small for both of them. and no one quite understands but they accept it, even when pierre and esteban fight loud enough that the whole town can hear it, even when esteban disappears for a week and pierre say it's to the city but everyone wonders if the stories are true. and esteban is visiting home.

THE END.

[sukirichi]

sweet lies (m.)

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

cw. oral (f receiving), fingering, slight body worship, public sex, multiple orgasm, orgasm denial, dirty talk, praising, titty sucking, nsfw, toxic megumi, fwb, slight angst, the traditional unedited fic

note. choose your fighter, megumi or sukuna 😈 and thank you to besties nie and ellie for editing this STOP SHOWING YOUR ANKLES CHIRREN

series masterlist | 01 | 02 | 03

Megumi slides your shirt down your shoulder to press kisses on the bare skin. Your head tilted to the side to give him easier access. You hate that you feel so weak around him, your hands gripping his thigh you’re currently straddling, already so breathless from his teasing ministrations. 

“You should move back closer to campus,” he mutters at the juncture of your neck, pulling another soft gasp from you the moment his fingers dip inside your damp underwear. You feel him smile at your skin, using his deft fingers to push two of them inside your sopping hole. He pumps them in slowly, teasingly slow, coaxing your arousal to coat his fingers while you grind against his palm, eyes shut tight from the pulling knot in your stomach.

“It’s hard to fuck you when you’re a half-hour drive away.”

You scoff against him and roll your eyes. “I wonder why I got kicked out from the dorms in the first place.” Exactly two weeks ago, Megumi snuck in drunk and horny into your dorms, shaking you awake to get rid of his boner. 

It was a sloppy quickie, mostly because he’s eaten brownies and got fuck drunk before stumbling beside your bed. The insensitive idiot left his rum bottle under your bed just as he wobbles back to his frat house, and as if things couldn’t get worse, there was a surprise dorm inspection the next day. Not only did they find cum stains all over your sheets, but your bed also reeked of weed and alcohol, resulting in a quick expulsion from the dorms.

If it weren’t for the help of one of your professors, Gojo-sensei, you wouldn’t have been able to find a decent, cheap apartment. It came with the price of rooming with one of his old acquaintances, a muscular, heavily tattooed guy who seemed to be a few years older than you.

He really wasn’t a bad roommate. Other than the fact he seemed really intimidating, the dude mostly kept to himself, either locked in his room or away for work that you don’t really get to see him that much. His place was decent too, your room bigger than the last, so it was a good deal, but as Megumi said, it’s really hard to fuck around when you’re so far away.

“Not my fault, you’re so weak for me, baby,” he taunts as you tighten around him, his pace increasing with his lips sucking love marks on your skin. You can’t help but snicker at his actions; if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was jealous. 

But this was Megumi you were talking about – everyone knew he never got jealous. 

“I don’t like you here.”

“Aw, sucks for you.”

“I��m serious,” he grips your waist tighter, drawing a drawled-out moan from you. Megumi rubs your clit with his thumb and swallows your moans through open-mouthed kisses, your fists balled into his hoodie. Fuck this, you’re completely aware he’ll never like you the way you like him, but it’s so hard to feel sad about that when he’s knuckle deep inside you and playing you like a violin. As much as you hated him and his pretty face, you have to admit his fingers were fucking magical.  

Megumi nips at your lower lip before thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a numbing pace, not taking long until you’re creaming all over his hands. You pant at the orgasm, head falling back into his shoulder. 

He brushes your hair away from your eyes and kisses the side of your head, the gesture way too sweet for someone who insisted on a ‘no-strings attached’ sexual relationship. But you don’t complain – this is like a dream come true for you – allowing him to leave a trail of kisses down your jaw instead, his wet hands squeezing your thighs in a possessive grip.

“You should just live with me. I’m not comfortable with the fact you live with a man.”

There’s a trace of jealousy behind his voice that you’d normally swoon at, but he’s pushing you to the edge and fucking around with your feelings so much that you can’t even enjoy the rare moment. You push yourself off him and reach for your discarded shorts on the floor, sliding the material over your legs while Megumi shamelessly stares at your ass behind you, his head resting on his hands.

“Megs, I barely even talk to the guy; he’s always away at work. You’ve really got nothing to worry about,” you tell him, making quick work of tidying your school packets just to ignore his heated gaze. “Besides, you and I aren’t even dating. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“You never hold back with your words, huh?”

You shot him a look, an angry glare that should be threatening, but the glint in his eyes just tells you he’s enjoying every second of it. “You like it.”

“Hmm, maybe I do,” Megumi tugs you back to the bed, effortlessly, as he flips you under him. In this position, he’s situated right between your bodies, hands clasped against one another. He’s absolutely stunning, bathed in the sliver of the moonlight, in your bed, no less. You’re a flurry of emotions – stuck between wanting to fuck him and kissing him, and then scream at him to let him know he should stop playing with your heart. 

Megumi’s eyes darken as he traces over your silhouette, watching the way your chest falls heavily at his touches. He uses one hand to trace the tip of his finger from your breast down to your clothed core, a smirk painting his lips when you buck your hips up at the contact. 

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. 

“Just promise me you’re not letting others see your pretty pussy okay?” he tugs your shorts to the side, tongue darting out to lick at his lips at the sight of your glistening folds. You’ve lost count of the times he’s made you cum tonight with just his fingers; the raging hard-on hidden behind his sweatpants is proof that he’s quite different today by letting you get fuck-drunk on him first. Perhaps it’s his way of keeping you so helplessly wrapped around his finger, fucking you good enough that no one else comes second to him, and he knows this. He sees this from the desire pooled in your eyes. 

Megumi scoots down lower to stare at your pussy, which is already embarrassing since you’re so wet down there. He simply sighs at your bare cunt before him, using two fingers to pull the lips apart, followed by a groan at the apparent slick. “This is all mine.”

In your lust-filled haze, you scrunch your eyebrows and sneer, “How about you mind your own business?”

“The fuck did you just say?” he chuckled, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. “You’re mine, babe. Haven’t I fucked you enough to drill in that in your pretty little head?” Megumi doesn’t waste his time diving straight to your eager, awaiting core. Your hands fly down to tug at his hair as you grind your hips to his face, legs weak from his lips wrapped tightly around your clit. “You know I’ll get mad if you touch anyone else.”

“Fuck off, Megumi,” you spat out, “We’ve been fooling around for a year, and you still refuse to date me every time I ask you out officially. Listen, I understand you’re not ready for that kind of relationship, so you could at least respect that you don’t get the exclusivity of keeping me all to yourself.” Truly, this rebellion is so uncalled for and unexpected. The moment you had your eyes on him and made it your life’s mission to win him over, not once had you complained that he never wanted to take things a step further. But it’s been too long, too fucking long, and too many no baby’s already – your pride was beyond crushed. It was about time you set the boundaries this time, and you quiver around his skillful tongue, strong and firm as you rasp, “I’ll fuck whoever I want.”

“You’re lying.”

“What?”

“You love me,” Megumi pulls away from your clit with an audible pop, his face glistening from the smeared juices all over his cheeks. However, his eyes are narrowed, almost as if he’s scrutinizing you. You can’t focus on the fact he denied you of your orgasm because he’s looking at you so seriously, only to tilt his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s written all over your face.”

“Maybe I do, but are you deserving of it?” you push his head away and ignore the aching in your chest. Megumi shuffles close to you, pulling you in for another cuddling session before you hide under the sheets, making it clear you were not to be touched anymore. “Go home, Megs. I’m tired.”

In all honesty, you want him to stay. You want him to fight harder to win your approval back. He’s not a big cuddler, more of the type to pass out beside you after he’s gotten his own orgasm, but you’ve been so sure that maybe he might be different today. Under the sheets, your lip trembles in anticipation, eyes blinking wide at the dark silhouette outside your metaphorical shield. But as Megumi playfully slaps your ass, his warmth leaving the bed, you’re not really surprised. 

He never stayed the night before – why would he do that now? 

Silly girl, you chastised yourself. 

“Fine. But I’ll be back tomorrow,” you hear him scuffle for his shoes outside, a smile evident in his voice as his words float around the silence of your apartment. “Wear my favourite set like a good girl for me?”

“Go away!”

Megumi’s laughter echoes all the way to where you curl yourself into a ball. You hate that his laughter alone makes your heart skip a beat, even if it doesn’t carry any affection behind then. “See you then, baby,” is all he says before the door slams shut, leaving you alone to your thoughts and insecurities all over again.

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

You’ve really hit rock bottom; that’s the only explanation for your actions. Megumi was coming over in a few hours, unsurprising that he chooses 3 AM of all times. Not only did it mean his frat brothers would be asleep, but it also meant that his other side bitches would assume he’s doing the same. You know, of course, you fucking know you’re not the only one, but it didn’t hurt any less.

The pain just keeps getting worse every time you think of him, said thoughts always comprised with your shirt trapped between your teeth and your hands down your pants. There’s no denying you’re addicted to him, though being addicted to a never-ending heartbreak was a different story. 

A story which you’re not ready to find out yet, so you dress up in your sexiest dress and take the nearest cab, heading to a place where you definitely shouldn’t be.

Two more hours before Megumi arrives. Two more hours before you fall into that endless cycle of fucking and him leaving you alone, promising he’ll be back tomorrow, before it all repeats and traces back to square one. He’s not going to stop, and neither are you, so where was any of this supposed to go now? He doesn’t want you, not in that way, that very much is clear – so why was it so hard to let go of him?

Deep down at the back of your mind, you know your answer. It’s because, like the lovesick fool you are, you’re still hoping that maybe someday he’ll look at you the way you look at him.

Fuck it, is all you think of as you flash the bouncer your ID, not missing the way his eyes fall down your tits that are so close to popping out of your dress a minute longer than welcomed. Snatching your card away from him, you push against the crowd, immediately regretting coming here as the loud thumping of music and stench of sex and alcohol washes over your senses. 

You make a beeline for the empty bar, save for the bartender who had his back turned to you as he wipes the glasses over.

You clear your throat to make your presence known. The first thing you see is a broad back, thick lines of dark tattoos outlined even in his white button-up shirt. He places the glasses down and moves expertly before you, sliding shot glasses next to others before procuring a drink out of nowhere, a greeting about to leave his lips when you both make eye contact.

The drink stays still on his hands, blinking for a moment at your equally stupefied face before he says, “It’s you.”

“S-Sukuna,” you greet back, smiling at your roommate. You’ve barely seen the guy the past few weeks other than sleepy good morning’s, and I’ll take the trash out tonight before both of you disappeared into your own worlds. 

Sukuna is...well, you don’t know, exactly. It’s not like he’s around much for you to make a proper judgment of, but he’s a pretty nice roommate, filling up the fridge whenever you guys run out of beer. There were times he nods at you as a greeting before leaving for work, too, leaving you alone at the house from midnight all the way to the morning. Other than thinking your roommate is pretty unique from his face tattoos and roguish handsomeness that contrasts his rather frequent sleepy mumbles, you’ve failed to realize he could actually be like a normal human. Seeing him stand before you, his forearms lined with veins and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, taut waist emphasized by a black vest, you swallow audibly.

He’s entirely different from the guy you often see passed out on the couch, but it’s a welcomed sight, nonetheless.

Sukuna’s actually...pretty hot.

Hiding the thumping of your heart – whether out of nervousness or it’s just trying to match the beat of the music – you beam up at him,  eyes glossed over with curiosity as he reciprocates with a more mischievous grin. 

If he’s easily read your mind that you are indeed attracted to him, he makes no comment about it, focusing on hearing your voice over the music instead. 

He leans over to you, not pulling away even as your lips faintly graze his ear. Fuck, he’s got piercings too. You greedily drink in his masculine scent, thankful that the music thumping is so loud he won’t hear the frenzy mess inside your ribcage. 

“I didn’t know you worked here. Heck, I didn’t know you were a bartender, but I guess the irregular sleep patterns make sense somehow.”

“What did you think I was, sweetheart?”

His deep voice reverberates all the way down to your toes, his throaty chuckle hoarse. “I-I don’t know,” you pull away nervously, blinking up at him way too innocently. “A gangster, to be honest,” you blurted out. Sukuna tilts his head to the side, and you immediately raise your hands beside your head as you mull over how offensive your words might’ve been. “I don’t mean anything offensive by it, I swear! It was just my first impression!”

“First impressions are usually false. Anyway. It’s fine,” he shrugs, resuming his task of wiping over the glasses. 

His hands were so big, his fingers long and slender...your attention is drawn to the adept manner of how he wipes the cloth using the tip of his finger, reaching behind him to get another glass, all without keeping his eyes off of yours. It leaves much room to muse about what else he could do with those hands, and you squirm at your seat, opting to look at his face instead since that would be more polite than eye-fucking his hands.

Sukuna smirks, that cunning twinkle in his eyes matching the dim lights of the bar. Somehow, you suddenly feel so lightheaded. 

“If it makes you feel better, I thought you were a shy girl at first, but your boy toy brings a different side of you every time he comes around.”

You squeak in embarrassment, “You’re home by then?!”

“Only sometimes,” he reassures with a laugh. “But I’ve heard enough,” Right. He’s older and definitely more experienced than your sexual escapades with Megumi – this must be nothing new to him by now, and yet, your skin flushes heated. “Don’t look too flustered, sweetheart. It’s not the first time I’ve heard of that,” he nods at you, “You don’t look very happy with him, though.”

“Tch, now you’re assessing my relationship status?”

“I don’t have to,” he shrugs, the gesture so damn reassured. Chuckling at your apparent frown, Sukuna shakes his head to himself. “It’s written all over your face you’re not satisfied with something. You wouldn’t be here if you were feeling good in the first place.”

“How much have you heard?”

“Oh, I don’t care about how you scream his name. That’s none of my business,” he grumbles under his breath rather bitterly – but that could just be the music messing with you. Sukuna holds your gaze as he sets the final glass down before you, his elbows languidly resting on the counter that separates you both. You’re left staring at him in wonder, watching the way he pours the drink right in front of you, the movement of his lips so intoxicating and even erotic you nearly didn’t hear him say, “But as your roommate, I wish you’d stop inviting him around and just kick him out already. He doesn’t like you, you know.”

He doesn’t like you. Megumi doesn’t like you – you know that already.

Glare deepening at your surprisingly nosy roommate, you take the glass from him and down it in one go. Sukuna’s brows shot up in awe, arms crossed against his puffed-out chest as you slam the glass down. 

You were fuming. 

“You don’t know a single fucking thing about me.”

“That’s right, I don’t,” he answers without skipping a beat, “But we men, we understand each other,” You open your mouth to retort, silenced by Sukuna’s finger pressing against your lips. You freeze at the contact, and Sukuna makes use of your state, continuing right where he left from. 

“Listen, take it from me as free advice. I’ll even put your drink on the house.”

Really, nothing is stopping you from biting off this guy’s finger, but he looks like he knows something you don’t that you just choose to keep your mouth shut.

Satisfied at your decision, Sukuna smiles sweetly, reaching over to tuck your hair behind your ear. The gesture puts you under his spell, and he lingers there a little longer, massaging the lobes of your ears before he pulls back just as fast, almost as if he never touched you in the first place.

You fight back the urge to huff. 

Why were men so complicated? One moment, they were hot, then cold the next. You would just never get it.

“That guy you’ve been mooning over for who knows how long? He doesn’t give a fuck about you. You’re just someone who warms his cock every now and then, but I guarantee he’s thinking about someone else in his head when he’s with you,” he announces straightforwardly, not giving you the time to recover before he shrugs like his words didn’t just slap you in the face. “Just call quits on him, sweetheart. There’s really no need to waste such a pretty face. Ever heard of the saying – there’s plenty of fish in the sea?” he pushes another drink to you, “Drink up and loosen a little. With a face and body like that, you’ll find someone better soon.”

“I highly doubt I can find someone better when all everyone sees is my appearance.”

“I don’t,” he hinted with dark eyes, “But I assure you it might be what people see first. You do have a face of an angel; men are into that shit.”

Taking the drink from him with a loud sigh, you feel yourself weaken. You bury your head in your hands, replaying all the memories you’ve had with Megumi. It’s foreseeable that almost all of them consisted of you two fucking, nothing but a faint memory of two where Megumi actually cared enough to perform aftercare. The thought makes you wince; he really is an ass, but you’re also so hopelessly infatuated with him that you refuse to acknowledge the truth.

“Megs and I...we’re just complicated, okay?”

“Sure.”

“I swear!” your defenses are hopelessSukuna’s knowing smirk, the man holding back a snigger from your silent rage. “Besides, maybe his disinterested nature is what made me attracted to him in the first place. I like the mystery. It’s not bad for a girl to enjoy searching for answers every now and then.”

“Except he’s already given you a concrete no, and you’re the only one still hanging onto him,” he reminds you. At your dropped jaw, Sukuna has the audacity to wink. That motherfucker –“Pressed a button, kitten?” he pats your head, leaving you to be even more riled up. “Don’t be sad. It’s not like he’s the only guy who can make you feel good.” As if a light bulb went up in his head, Sukuna hid his smile by turning his back to you, pretending to be engrossed in the drinks all laid out in front of him. But even with his face obscured from your view, his words rang thick and clear: “In fact, I bet you your cute ass someone else can change your former perspective on what pleasure really is.”

“Yeah, like who?” you snorted sarcastically, “You?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” he faces you, absolutely shameless as he eyes your cleavage. Sukuna clenches his jaw at the tempting view before him, sliding his gaze back to yours to look for the answers in your face. “If you want a demonstration, that is.”

Sukuna hasn’t really touched you or even spoke explicitly, but you’re breathing hard anyways, subconsciously clawing the countertop. 

You don’t know if it’s your voice or his that’s ringing your ears, the words what’s holding you back? the last thing you hear before grabbing him by the collar, leaning over the counter to taste his lips. Sukuna smiles at the kiss, his large hands cupping your face in them. His thumb traces circles over your jaw as you greedily suck on his lip, uncaring that you’re making out with your roommate in a public place.

As if remembering that he’s still at work, Sukuna pulls away for a moment, diving in for one last peck that has you giggling adorably. Sukuna’s grin grows wider at your flushed cheeks, snapping his fingers at someone from a distance. “Geto, break!” 

The guy who must be Geto popped his head out of the backroom, frowning at Sukuna’s words when his gaze lands on you and the not-so-subtle needy grip you have on Sukuna’s collar. His mouth forms into an ‘o’ shape before he gives a thumb up, disappearing afterward. 

That’s all Sukuna needs before he’s leaving the counter, breathing in your panicked squeals as he picks you up, your legs flailing to wrap around his.

You’re giggling and laughing all the way to the back of the club, your hands tugging at his undercut and his own squeezing at your ass. Sukuna kicks the door of the restroom open, which is thankfully clean (you made the right choice choosing a luxurious club), settles you down before him, and locking the stall.

His lips are on yours in an instant, his hands tugging off your dress and scowling at it as if it’s offensive. “Calm down,” you tease him, “They didn’t do anything wrong.”

“They were a fucking tease the whole night,” he glares at the lacy cups of your bra, his breathing laboured as he cups them. You throw your head back until it thumps at the door, teeth muffling the moans that threaten to erupt. Sukuna unclasps the material in one swift movement, surprising with just how many times he’s done this before. “Fucking gorgeous tits – why the fuck does your boy toy not want to keep you to himself?”

“He’s – oh fuck,” you scrape Sukuna’s scalp, his tongue wrapping around the swollen bud. He caresses the other one not to leave it unattended, and he’s grinding you against the door so hard, his dick poking at your dress leaving very little to the imagination. 

Sukuna chuckles at your broken response, rutting his hips in such a sensual manner you didn’t think he was capable of. “You were saying?”

You glare at him from under your chin, but he can’t take you seriously while he’s sucking at your tit like a child. This man is brave enough to nip it with his teeth, the sting making you hiss and buck against him. “He’s possessive,” you breathe through your mouth, a little in disbelief you’re casually thinking about him while Sukuna gets down on his knees. “He wants me to be exclusive with him, but he’s free to fuck who he pleases.”

Sukuna rubs both palms in front of his face as if preparing to devour a meal, which he’ll do so soon enough. He pushes your dress and bunches it at your waist, tugging your underwear to the side before he groans. The sound is so deep and masculine, so utterly frustrated for some reason you can’t understand.

“Now that’s unfair,” he mumbles absentmindedly, peppering your pelvis with kisses. The feverish touch of his warm lips on your already burning skin has you clutching at the door, feeling your legs weaken.

His eagerness and distrait acts of body worship drive you crazy. Megumi is good at making you feel desired and fuckable – that much you know from his habits of pushing his pants down at pretty much anywhere as long as you were around, claiming you’re a walking ‘boner trigger.’ Sukuna, on the other hand, was a lot more patient and attentive to his movements, taking the time to make you feel you were more than just a body and a hole. It’s odd, hella fucking odd, because this man is older than you and a friend of your professors, but did you care? No. Did you want him to fuck your brains out in a public restroom? Fuck yes.

A wanton moan paints the wall as Sukuna slides your thong off just above your knee, his eyes closed as he buries his cheek in it. You look down with wide eyes, hands grabbing at nothing and everything at the same time. From the looks of it, he’s sniffing your sex, the sight so outright erotic that you only moan louder.

How was it possible to be this much turned on?

By the time he’s opened his eyes, his entire demeanour’s shifted. Gone was the enthusiastic and sly bartender, now replaced with a much more animalistic entity residing beside it. 

Before you could make yourself comfortable, Sukuna hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, the tip of your heel grazed against the tight walls of the stall. He licks a flat stripe from your hole that clenches around nothing, moving upwards in such a passionate, languid manner he’s making you forget you’re literally in a fucking restroom. Your breasts heave up and down from how you’re struggling to breathe, his tongue pushing past through the tight ring of resistance until he’s plunged through your core. You wobble above him, remaining upright only by his arm pushing your back flat on your under boob.

Sukuna slurps at your cunt yearningly, the hums he gives every now and then, making your core vibrate. You grind your pussy on his face, the black marks lined on his face glistening.

He moves to suck at your clit, transitioning after each beat to slurping the swollen bud and kissing your lips as if he was making out with it. You’re sure you’re making a mess on his face, but he doesn’t give you time to feel embarrassed about it. He spreads your legs further until your muscles ache from the stretch, the pain accompanied by your stomach tightening.

“S-Sukuna, oh, oh yeah,” you bang your fist on the door, his smug chuckles sending you over the edge. Your pupils blow wide as you feel the impending orgasm weigh down on you heavily, about to send you into overdrive by his tongue swiping at your lips, teasing you to give it to him more, give it to him harder. Turning your head down to warn him you’re coming, the words die on your throat because he’s already looking at you, his cheeks and nose smothered with your shining slick, and the brat is smirking. “Shit, you’re a little—” Sukuna cuts you off by generously sucking your clit one more time, pulling the muscle taut just to show you that it’s rolling between his lips. It looks fucking insane and filthy that you come right there and then. 

Your orgasm is so strong that you actually slip from your heels. A scream from you is knocked back into you just as fast, Sukuna moving quick and graceful in one fluid movement. He catches your leg and shoves you against the door, gripping at your hips until you’re bending forward, ass perked, and wiggling just for him.

For a split second, you’re sure you hear the unbuckling of a belt, but it all fades in your clouded mind.

Sukuna enters you in one thrust, the sensation of being filled up so soon rendering you speechless. Literally absolutely silent, palms flat on the door and tongue lolled out, all the burning in your body focused on your centre.

He releases a grunt at finally being inside your plush, warm walls. Sukuna allows you to get used to his length for a solid minute, both of you catching your breath in the meantime. Your tits are sprawled out, and you’re a shaky mess, feeling nothing less of dirty yet so aroused that you can’t do anything about it. Sukuna thrusts in slowly at first, and that’s when you feel the size difference between him and Megumi. Megs was definitely blessed in the dick department, and he’s always been so cocky about it, but goddamn, Sukuna was beyond huge.

You think you could cum again just from him filling you up. He was stretching you out so well that he leaves behind a faint burn, making you feel as if it’s your first time all over again – all for the good reasons.

He soon begins to set his pace, one of his hands tugging at your ponytail so he could see your glossy eyes and mouth hanging open. Sukuna scoffs at your fucked out state, too cock-hungry even to form coherent sentences. His length is slipping past your folds in such a tantalizing, delicious state, the prominent veins of his cock kissing the bumpy ridges of your walls. He was right – you’re definitely changing your perspective on pleasure because you don’t think you’ve felt this good in your life. 

With Megumi, it was mostly always about his own release. With Sukuna, he’s making sure you get to feel inch by luscious inch slipping out of you before he slides them back in, his deep moans the dirtiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“Aw, look at you,” he coos, kissing you sideways sloppily. Sukuna reaches the edges of your lips but licks at your skin anyway. His canines revealed to graze at your skin. It’s so animalistic, so carnal, and he’s fucking you with such primal need that you forget everything you once knew about sex. “Your pretty pussy is drooling for cock, sweetheart. Such a dirty little thing, taking me like this.”

Now, this was lust as its purest form, the rhythm of his hips so sinful you’ve lost faith in everything but how he’s making you feel. 

The walls are pounding with the bass boosting outside, but soon even the loud volume of the synthesized music is drowned by your whimpers. Sukuna lets go of your hair to place his hands on your hips. If he was dominant before, he only encourages you to scream his name louder, realizing that he was still being nice seconds ago, but now he’s the one controlling you. 

He pounds roughly into you until you’re crying, your drool dribbling from your lips and small patches dropping to the floor. It’s the same with your cunt. You’re so wet that you can feel squirts of cum staining his pants and your legs. Sukuna doesn’t stop praising you on how you’re so perfect, how your cunt is the tightest he’s ever fucked, and now he gets why your boy toy could never really let you go. In the middle of it all, he manages to slip in a comment that maybe Megumi’s dick isn’t big enough to stretch you out because you’re wrapped around him like a vice, to which you respond that he’s just massive.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” he agrees cockily, eyes narrowed at where his length kept being swallowed by your pussy. “I’m fucking destroying you, sweetheart. You’ll be broken by the end of this, fuck.”

His words are like ambrosia you’re getting drunk on, the filthiness of his mouth fuelling your desire. Your body heats up at the same time that familiar tingling tightens in your stomach, and you blindly stretch your arm out behind him. Sukuna easily reads your mind and takes your hand, looping his fingers with yours. His palm is right above your knuckle, and the angle hurts your arm so bad you cry harder.

“Please, please, please,” you beg him and snap your hips back to meet his dick thrust by thrust, “I’m so fucking close, please—”

“I got you, sweetheart,” he leans down for a quick peck at your hand, increasing his pace as he twitches inside you. Sukuna is thrown off rhythm by the way you grip down on his dick harder, his breath stuttering as a result. You wrap your fingers around him as your second orgasm that night crashes down onto you in waves, his cock on the brink of being spent from how you’re milking him. 

He pounds deep and slow into you, relishing in the warmth of your cunt that he’s losing his mind, basically in the same state as you are now. You’re panting and sweating, cursing at each thrust, and he stills for a moment, pulling out so fast that you wince at the emptiness. Sukuna pumps his dick with his free hand and shoots his load onto your back, his moans guttural and hoarse. You grimace at the warm cum now coating your back because there’s no way you’re using your dress to wipe that away. 

Sukuna chuckles at your silence, probably noting in the way you frown at him. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he runs a hand through his hair, his cock growing hard despite releasing a huge load. “Next time, I’ll cum in your mouth. I want to see you swallow me like a good girl.”

“Next time?” 

You think you’re so sly by scoffing at him, but Sukuna isn’t stupid. He sees the way you light up at his implications, and he walks closer to you, a hand wrapped around your throat before you pull you flush against his chest. You gasp at the lack of air, blindly patting behind you, but your hand only grazes at his cock, which twitches excitedly at the contact.

“Yeah, next time,” he affirms with a low growl, licking from your jaw down to your neck. It’s so hot, he’s so hot, and you’ve never felt this sexy in your life that you soon become on par with him, pussy clenching around nothing. “I’m not done with you yet. You’re not leaving unless I’ve changed your mind,” he teases the base of your throat to squeeze it tighter, the swift movement of him filling you once more escalating to a tenfold. Your struggle to breathe causes you to clamp down on him hard and Sukuna’s chuckles falter into a quick inhale that’s so satisfying to witness. “What do you think? Still need more demonstrations?”

“Yes,” you choke out. Sukuna’s victorious and award-winning smile is hidden at the sweaty column of your neck where he leaves little kisses in its wake, ones that soon turn into something of a harsh bite. “Yes, please, show me more. Need you, need you so bad, you fuck me better than he does.”

Sukuna does more than show you that night. He makes you feel a thousand more nerves set on fire until you’re nothing but a moaning mess. After all, what better way to change someone’s mind than to mess with it on the inside?

In the end, when it comes down to it, your lies were way too sweet – and he was too addicted to make you stop.

[outercrasis]

Sessions

Pairing: College!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None (let me know if I missed something!)

Summary: Everyone is talking about the mysterious new guy on campus

A/N: I had a ton of fun writing this extremely self-indulgent AU and I have plans to keep writing more about these two. It won’t be an actual chaptered fic, but at some point I’ll throw together a masterlist with a chronological order to things.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Introductions

The semester had only started four weeks ago and he was already a legend around campus. Almost everywhere someone could be found whispering about him. You'd even heard faculty speculating, wondering about the rumors they overheard their students sharing.

You first heard of him in your literature seminar, some of your fellow classmates discussing a recent rumor about the now fabled man. Something about a motorcycle and a child caught your ear, prompting you to interrupt and the girls in front of you who they were talking about. 

The looks you received from the pair were incredulous at best. “You mean you haven’t heard about him?”

“Heard about who?” you asked, genuinely confused. It had only been the first week of class at the time and you were too caught up with your own busy start to check in on the rumor mill.

“Mando, obviously. He’s all anyone is talking about.” From there the girls had happily filled you in on all the latest sightings and rumors. 

Mando, as they called him, was shrouded in mystery. He'd popped up on Corellia University's campus when the semester began and no one knew a thing about him. He hadn't gone to Corellia before, internet searches turned up nothing, and even the skull-like symbol on the back of his leather jacket wasn't familiar to anyone. Any information on him was conjecture at best and there was plenty to go around. Once the rest of the class caught onto what you three were discussing, theories began to fly.

People discussed how he’d been spotted downtown, beating on some guys in a back alley. He’d also been seen uptown the same night though, strolling through Basalt Park. One girl was nearly certain that she’d gone to elementary school with Mando, but he’d mysteriously disappeared one day without explanation. Someone else was confident he was just a cop trying some weird shtick to go undercover. Then one person insisted he had a kid with him sometimes while another was trying to explain that he was actually a murderer. The rumors only became more ludicrous from there.

By the end of the discussion you only ascertained two things for certain. He went by the name Mando and he wore some kind of special helmet. Information you could have gotten by watching him pick up a drink at the Java Hut. Not nearly enough to warrant this level of fervor in your opinion.

From there, hearing about Mando was inescapable. You got home that night only to have your roommate and best friend, Layla, launch into theories about him. Within the week someone set up a social media page to try and track his location around campus via DMs fellow students sent in. That had struck you as invasive and unsettling, but the messages about him kept flooding in.

By pure chance, you had yet to actually see him for yourself. There weren't even any creep shots for you to look at. People had been trying to take photos of him, but he was like a ghost. In the time it took them to pull up their cameras he'd disappear. 

There wasn't even more concrete information about him beyond what you'd learned that first day. Just more and more speculation, a good amount of it made up purely for the shock factor. Another week slipped by, the semester picking up, and Mando news became standard in your day. There was always something new going around about him and as much as you tried to avoid it and focus on your studies, you couldn’t help but wonder about him yourself.

Who was this guy? Was this all some stunt or ‘social experiment’ that would be revealed by a sociology student at the end of the semester? Or was he a legitimate peculiarity, doomed to stick out like a sore thumb? You weren’t sure if you should hate him for making a big deal out of himself or pity him for all the unwarranted attention. Either way, you were sure that whenever you met this enigmatic Mando, you’d know.

×××××

You grumble looking at the submission form. The name and student ID information is blank again. You told Todd last week those fields needed to be made mandatory. How else were you supposed to know who to email when you end up with a no-show for the hour?

Looking further down you're pleased to note that they're at least a grad student. Despite the unfinished form, graduates almost never skip sessions like these. You're thrilled to have the opportunity to discuss something other than freshman composition for once. It's fun helping the wide-eyed freshies, but you can only go over basic comma rules so many times before you start to lose it a little.

There's a knock at the study room door and you look up only to be rendered speechless. It's him. Mando. With a kid on his hip. So Alissandra hadn’t been lying when she told you about the toddler she saw with him. Interesting. Continuing to take him in, you can’t help but focus on the obvious - the only thing you knew about him other than his supposed name, the helmet. 

It’s unlike anything you've seen before. You're fairly certain it's a motorcycle helmet, but it's been modified. Rather than the typical rounded shape, his is all sharp angles and flat at the front. It’s colored a sleek, shining chrome that gleams under the washed out fluorescent lighting. Most arresting is the way he's changed the face of the helmet. The cheeks dip inward at a sharp angle, creating deep, curved contours. His visor is a T of black glass in the center, entirely impossible to see through. It's intimidating and… kinda hot?

The little boy he's holding starts to wiggle in his grasp, physically demanding to be set down in the study room. Once his feet touch the floor, he immediately runs over and climbs into the chair next to you. He's a welcome distraction from his father’s? brother's? guardian's? commanding presence in the room.

The boy can't be older than three, smiling up at you with a wide toothy grin. His hair is covered by a green beanie with large floppy ears sewn onto it and he's wearing a little brown jacket with a sherpa collar. Maybe a bit too heavy for the early autumnal weather, but if the rumor that the kid rides on a motorcycle with Mando is true, it’s perfect. His eyes are large and brown, shining up at you with a slightly mischievous glint.

"Hello, what's your name?" you ask, smiling back at the child.

"Grogu," comes the reply, not from the kid, but from Mando.

You arch an eyebrow at him. He can't be serious with that name. "Grogu?" you ask.

He shrugs, placing his bag on the table. "I came home one day and he told his babysitter that was his name now. He won't respond to anything else. So, Grogu."

You look back to the bouncing toddler. He's still grinning, nodding along with what's been said about his name. They must not be lying then. Either that, or it was some elaborate prank between them and you would never be in on the joke. 

"Well okay, Grogu it is." 

You extend your hand out to Mando, offering your name alongside it. He offers a leather clad hand in return, giving you a firm handshake. You're pleased when he only gives your hand a gentle squeeze, not crushing it like so many other students have done. His gloves are unique as well, black with orange fingers, the leather well worn in. It's warm to the touch, his body heat radiating through the thick fabric. 

"Mando," he says, officially introducing himself as he takes the seat on your other side, across from Grogu.

"Mando," you repeat, cementing it as a truth from the rumor mill. "Got any other names?" You hope that comes across as casual and not intrusive. He hasn't even gone to remove his helmet, telling you he isn't a man who cares much for people prying into his business.

"No. Why?" Mando cocks his head slightly as he asks, the helmet adding an exaggerated look to the movement. He reaches into his bag, pulls out some crayons and a pad of paper, pushing them over to Grogu.

You shrug, trying not to think about how you heard his name might be David from someone in your composition course. "Just thought I'd ask. One hears many things around campus and it's hard to tell what's true or not."

"What do you mean?"

That question makes you pause. Surely he knows. Part of you is still convinced he’s doing this act on purpose, trying to gain notoriety for some reason. The way he asked though, something about it tells you that the poor man is clueless about the buzz he's caused.

"Mando, you're like the talk of the town right now. We only just met but I've heard plenty about you," you explain. It's hard to tell with the helmet on, but you're fairly sure he's shocked underneath. Grogu ignores you both, excitedly scribbling away on his paper.

"I'm fairly sure most of it's just rumor and speculation, but still. You're like a thing around campus," you add.

He's quiet for a moment, his laptop only half out of his bag. "Oh," he finally says. "I didn't know."

Grogu gives a happy shriek not a second later, breaking the awkward tension that had begun to creep into the room. He's beaming, holding up his crayola masterpiece. On the paper there is what appears to be a hastily drawn frog using every color in the box.

Mando returns to himself, pulling his laptop the rest of the way and continues to get set up. "Great job, kid. It looks good."

Most people would have said that dismissively, a platitude to get their child to stop bothering them. When Mando says it though, the authenticity is palpable. He said six words and you can hear the pride lacing them all together. It’s sweet, the obvious affection this clearly private man has for the toddler. 

You can’t help but wonder what his connection to Grogu actually is. The way he spoke just then, if you had to put your money on it, you’d say father. The kicker then though is if he’s biological or not. And if not, then how else does a grad student get strapped with a three year old? Thinking about all the potential scenarios is enough to make your head hurt.

You’re also left wondering where all the more violent rumors about him are coming from. His tenderness is so readily on display that it’s hard to imagine the man before you choking someone because they cut him in line at the local froyo shop. He’s mysterious and gives off a vaguely dangerous vibe, sure, but less than five minutes around him and the kid and it’s obvious he’s no threat to you. He’s just a guy trying to get his assignments done for class, same as everyone else.

Your stomach still catches in your throat as Mando starts unexpectedly tugging off his gloves. From what you’d heard, he never takes anything off: not his jacket, not his gloves, and certainly not his helmet. All anyone knows of his true appearance on campus is that he’s obviously male with rumors flying around about everything else including simple attributes, like the color of his skin. Now, here he is, casually revealing this groundbreaking information to you.

His hands move fluidly, pulling off each glove in just a few easy tugs. His skin matches the heat you felt from them just minutes ago, a warm golden tan, with a few faded lines of scars worn in. Watching him type, pulling his paper up for you to discuss, you feel a deep and sudden ache to have his hands touch you again. A simple handshake is no longer enough. Every stroke of the keys is measured, deliberate, and leaves you wondering how he would use those fingers on you.

“This is what I have so far.”

His voice snaps you back to reality, a quick wave of shame washing over you. Where did all of that come from? It was just a man’s hands for heaven’s sake, certainly not something you should be horny about at two in the afternoon. Not to mention that he came in here looking for your help, not wanting you to start fantasizing about his hands expertly working you over.

You clear your throat and tear your eyes away from the offending appendages. “Great, let me just read the introduction here so I can get an idea for what you’re writing about.”

You settle into working with him easily. His paper is already well-written, just needing tweaks here and there to bring it to the next level. It’s nice working with him. He’s attentive, clearly listening to everything you have to say and taking it into account. He doesn’t even try to challenge you as some of the more macho male students are wont to do. By the end of the session, you can’t help but wish all of your time as a tutor was that easy.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, tucking his laptop away. “You really helped.”

You smile at him, thrilled with his genuine complement. “Of course, that’s what I’m here for.”

He finishes packing up his and Grogu’s things, with you silently lamenting as his gloves slide back on. It still feels like a ridiculous thought, but he really does have beautiful hands. There’s a small tap on your arm and you look to your left to see Grogu patiently waiting. He’s offering something to you, paper outstretched in his little hands.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the sheet from him. You look at it to see a frog carefully drawn on the page. It’s not the same as the first one he showed you and Mando, this one more deliberate and thoughtful. The colors are still just as varied, but it’s obvious he took more time to think about where he was using each one. You can’t help but smile at his small masterpiece.

“It looks great, buddy. I’ll keep it forever,” you tell him. Grogu beams at your praise, excitedly looking over to Mando. 

Mando nods at the kid. “Yeah kid, I heard her too.” He turns his head towards you. “Thank you again. I’d take good care of that drawing. He’ll never forgive you if he finds out you got rid of it.”

“Does that mean I’ll be seeing you again?” Your own boldness takes you by surprise. You have no idea where that came from, how those words spilled without a second thought. Part of you is already cringing at Mando’s potential reaction.

He surprises you once again though, holding a hand out for Grogu to take. Shouldering his backpack, you hear an amused huff of air from under the helmet. “Yeah, mesh’la, I’ll see you around.”

There isn’t a chance to reply as Mando turns, escorting his tiny charge out of the room with him. You’re a little dumbstruck, now equally surprised with him as you had been with yourself. 

And what was that name he just called you? Mesh’la? You don’t even know what language that could have been, much less the meaning. Something about his tone when he said it tells you it’s a good thing though, that he’s not secretly calling you rude names in some unknown language. You can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever get to find out.

.

.

.

taglist: @honestly-shite

[remosdeerica]

Batshit AU Part #1: The Bio Kids

(Yes I have actually decided to call this the Batshit AU. I already have a series of one shots [there is only one so far, lol.] called Assorted Batshit on Ao3 so I figured I'd just keep going with the name.)

I have been posting a lot of stuff to do with "my Batfamily" or "my version of events" so I figured I'd go ahead and make some long ass posts about what I would love to see in the Batfam's future but know I will never get (but that's why fanfic exists so I guess I'll live)

Now there isn't going to be any clear timeline to this because I plan to write different fics in regards to these particular chain of events and when or how things happen might change depending on the plot. But it starts with the question asked by Random Joe many posts ago:

How many kids do you have, Mr. Wayne?

Well to answer that question:

Legally: 7

Biologically: 5

Emotionally: Anyone under the age of 25 that is within a 50ft radius (I'm mostly kidding but lets be honest, it's kinda true).

Now if that math doesn't make sense to you (as most math doesn't make sense to me), fear not! I shall explain!

So Legally we have as follows: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Damian Wayne and Helena Wayne.

These are the obvious few.

Now we get into Biologically and things get a bit more complicated. For this category we have: Damian Wayne, Terrance McGinnis, Athanasia al Ghul, Matthew McGinnis, and Helena Wayne (I put them in order of their ages and added colours if you wanna skip my ranting and get to the goods).

Now for those of you who may not be as obsessed with Batfam lore as I am; yes all of these characters are canon (in some timeline anyway) and you are welcome to google them. But just be warned that I take canon and make it my bitch so almost nothing you read about them on their wiki-pages or wherever you look for your info will really matter (besides Damian but even then I take creative liberties). But I love Easter eggs so there will be plenty of those.

Damian and Helena are pretty straightforward. We know where Damian came from and Helena is just the result of Selina and Bruce finally getting their shit together.

Terry, Matt and Athanasia are a bit more complicated.

Terry & Matt: These two cuties were the unfortunate victims of an experiment called the Batman Beyond project. A project that was put into motion by A.R.G.U.S. after Bruce "died" (was lost in time) as a way to make sure that the Batman legacy lived on (as if he doesn't already have a million children for that).

Warren and Mary Singer were lead scientists on the project but after finding out what exactly it was that A.R.G.U.S. was doing with the "failed attempts" (they were killing them) the couple stole the toddler subject BN9-12 (Terry) and infant AC7-30 (Matthew) and fled (I made the numbers up on the spot don't read too much into them). They changed their names to McGinnis and raised the boys in Gotham City (cause that was a good choice...).

Unfortunately, their old lives eventually caught up with them and Mary and Warren were killed. Terry (around 10-11yrs old) took Mattie (around 7-8yrs old) and ran, his parents having taught him some skills in case something like this ever happened. The boys lived on the streets for many months before running into Tim Drake (i.e. Batman) who later adopted them (because when faced with black haired blue eyed orphans there is only one thing for a Batman to do).

[Side note: Tim doesn't know the boy's origins at this point.]

Athanasia: After Damian's death at the hands of the Heretic, Thalia went insane (more insane?) with grief and as a result decided to have another child with the left over.... substance.... shall we call it.... that she had acquired from Bruce all those years ago. However this time she intended to keep the child safe where they couldn't be hurt by either the League or Bruce (as if Thalia wasn't the main reason Damian was dead... but whatever. I have mixed feelings about Thalia).

When Athanasia was "born" (taken from her birthing pod, as one is) Thalia locked her away Rapunzel style in a secure location. Never allowing her outside for fear that she would be discovered by Ra's spies and killed.

For 8 years Athanasia grew up in relative luxury inside her bedroom, learning history, politics math, writing, and anything else Thalia thought she needed to learn. But Thalia never taught her how to fight (haven't quite decided her reasoning for this so just go with it) and as a result Athanasia is a very quiet, gentle child (basically the opposite of what Damian was like at her age).

Thalia never told Athanasia about Bruce. Since she wasn't created with the intent of being the heir to anything, Thalia saw Athanasia as only hers and therefore deemed it unnecessary for Bruce to know of her existence.

But she did tell her of her older brother; Damian (what Thalia told her is still undecided and will probably depend on overarching plots).

The rest of Athanasia's story is still in the works but essentially Damian eventually finds her and brings her back to Gotham with him. But although she acknowledges Bruce as her father, she lives with and defers to Damian (and Jon depending on the situation) as her caretaker.

So here is Part #1 of the Batshit AU!

Next Part will probably be about Dick and Jason's child situation that I've hinted at. I'll link it once it's done. :)

[phantomato]

Five Tom Riddle Crossover Fics to Read

Tom Riddle is a difficult character to ship. For those of us who want to see pairings beyond the Big Two (Tomarry and Tomione), canonical options peter out relatively quickly. Sure, we can invent our own pairings by fleshing out side characters, but sometimes, the itch is best scratched by borrowing from another canon.

And it makes sense for Tom more than nearly anyone else in HP. Tom was born into an era that is the subject of so much literature, so it’s easy to find another person kicking around postwar Europe if that’s your goal. He’s an archetypal character, the villain seeking immortality, and can be matched against other villains with the same aims. Hell, even his quest to recover lost artifacts turns into the basis for two of these works—Tom Riddle has the perfect combination of a recognizable context and character model, plus the ambiguity of his canon timeline, to slot him alongside so many other fictional figures.

I want to pause on some of these themes for a second. Immortality or relationship to age, for one, is something that comes up in three of these pairings: the Darkling and Koschei the Deathless are both immortal characters in their own canons, and Edmund Pevensie is not immortal but has aged and de-aged repeatedly in his travels to and from Narnia. The HP series doesn’t give us nearly this wealth of different perspectives on age and immortality, which is fair—HP makes it clear that immortality is unnatural and undesirable, and Flamel is notably a ‘good person’ because of his willingness to accept his own death—but for a character as obsessed with the idea as Tom, some emotions can only be explored when you match him with another character who has a complicated relationship to aging. Even someone like Indiana Jones, not immortal and not trying to be, has an interesting perspective to bring to a story because he has seen so many other quests for power gone terribly awry.

Of course, the other thing we get from crossover pairings is the ability to match Tom with a villainous character. And whether you’re a fan of conflict at the start of a relationship or not, I think there’s something to be found in putting two villains together: moral arguments, when they exist, are rarely about whether death is necessary but about what kinds of death are best used when; the entire concept of either a redemption arc or a breaking bad arc can be thrown out a window. It’s a space wherein our two villains are allowed to be themselves, and the reveal of the extent of each character’s villainy becomes a strange form of celebration. This is challenging to achieve if one sticks to HP canon alone, whereas crossovers are a fruitful space.

My selection methodology was to read every crossover fic with a clear focus on Tom Riddle or Voldemort on AO3. I found crossover pairings by visiting the meta pages for the Tom Riddle, Voldemort, and Tom Riddle | Voldemort tags—I may have missed some pairings for Tom Riddle, as the character has over 300 child relationship tags and AO3 cuts off at 300 displayed. If you know of any ships I missed and should check out, do tell! I’ll also make a note here that one of these fics is my own—if self-recs bother you, skip Bluebird.

The following five fics are ordered by wordcount. Let me know what you think!

Neurotic Virtuosi, by skazka

Crossover: Hannibal Rising (movie version). The wizarding world exists, and Tom and Hannibal encounter each other in non-magical Eastern Europe.

Summary: Tom and Hannibal ride the same train when Tom is hunting down the diadem. Tom shares an apple and thinks about keeping Hannibal.

Mature, <1k, Graphic Torture Fantasies

Why?: This is one of those pairings that I wouldn’t have thought to do when the characters were both young, but it’s so much better for that choice! The length of this fic means we only get a taste of their interactions, but what a taste it is. Tom’s internal fantasies are horrifying and described in a very erotic way, which fits both characters.

This also serves as an interesting vision of what Tom might have experienced during his world tour to find the diadem, a period we rarely get to see. I particularly like that the author chose to write it as frustrating and mostly fruitless; a Tom who is stymied and unsuccessful is a particular weakness of mine.

Two Sides of the Same Coin, by Anonymous

Crossover: Chronicles of Narnia. Both Hogwarts and Narnia are real, and the characters meet in Britain. The magic isn’t the same, but there’s mutual recognition.

Summary: Tom tries to use sex to seduce secrets out of Edmund. Edmund sees something reminiscent of his younger self, the version of him who could join the White Witch, in Tom Riddle.

Explicit, 2k

Why?: Edmund and Tom are a pairing made in crossover heaven, both boys of a similar age born into war in the same country and whose discoveries of magical worlds help them escape it. Both lust for power and make poor choices; Edmund canonically recovers and finds redemption from his actions, and Tom does not.

This fic wears the hat of something pure smut, starting in the middle of a sex scene and tagged with top/bottom roles, etc., and it is that and does that well. But give it a shot for Edmund’s reflection at the end, his hopeful musings that he can apply the lessons learned from Aslan to help Tom before Tom’s utterly lost. It’s a crossover ship with unbelievable potential for both characters, and this fic makes me want so much more.

Shedding Skin, by electric_typewriter

Crossover: Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente. Both the wizarding world and the magic of Deathless exist.

Summary: Tom meets Koschei before splitting his soul. They keep meeting, and Tom keeps attempting to match Koschei’s immortality.

Not Rated, 2k

Why?: Immortality via relocation or storage of souls is an idea that easily predates Harry Potter as a series, and seeing two different versions of the some core idea interacting with one another is precisely what crossovers exist to enable. Koschei as an immortal being that found his immortality in a way he considers superior is a fascinating concept, because it creates a power imbalance between them that leaves Tom always running to catch up. And Tom, poor Tom, feels like a desperate man, finding sensation only when he’s around Koschei and feeling nothing at any other time.

This reads a bit like you’re dissociating. The author uses descriptive language to keep the reader a little distant from the grounded reality of the events happening, which has the effect of keeping you focused on the metaphysical question of what it means to have part of a soul.

Bluebird, by Phantomato

Crossover: Shadow and Bone. S&B summoning powers instead of HP magic, set in the real world, with characters’ histories preserved.

Summary: Tom is the second sun summoner to exist, born long after the first gave up her powers and lived out her natural life. He tracks down the Darkling, the shadow summoner who never really died.

Explicit, 17k

Why?: Tom is an immortal being for at least part of his life, and his character arc is about pursuit of immortality, but he is fundamentally a young immortal, and is killed before he can graduate to old immortality. Aleksander, the Darkling, is canonically an old immortal, and his character arc is about the burden of living with the knowledge that you will likely always be alone. That loneliness sets the scene for the relationship between Tom and Aleksander, driving Aleksander’s behavior—he fundamentally believes he will always be alone, even an immortal like Tom passes through his life.

There is a high proportion of smut in this, serving in place of the emotional honesty that neither character can muster, and I recommend it for that. But the story also relies on investment in quiet everyday moments shared between the characters. It’s a fic told through behavior because both men are so cautious around one another, where they nevertheless manage to find sympathy for the other.

Riddles of the Dead, by Maeglin_Yedi

Crossover: Indiana Jones. Blends together the wizarding world and the mysticism present in Indiana Jones films.

Summary: Tom Riddle hires an expert archaeologist and gentleman adventurer, Dr. Indiana Jones, to help him pursue an artifact that might grant him immortality. There’s fucking, fighting, magic, snakes, and some difficult choices in store for our leading men.

Explicit, 18k, Angst

Why?: Maeglin Yedi has been a mainstay of the Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort ficspace for nearly two decades, but an old crossover like this can unfortunately slip through the cracks. It shouldn’t! With an original publishing date in early 2005, this predates the concept of horcruxes, the knowledge of Tom’s early years at Wool’s orphanage, and, well, so much of what we would eventually learn about Tom Riddle as a person. It’s a testament to the author that the story manages to capture Tom’s character in such a way that he’s still fully recognizable to a current-day reader, despite working with so much less canon.

This fic is fun. It’s an adventure, featuring hazards and traps and assassination attempts that you would expect from an Indiana Jones film, but the magic and mystery never overwhelms the relationship at the core of this story. It’s set up beautifully, with a mirrored structure between the front and back halves of the fic that foreshadows the inevitable end of the story. Watching older, confident Indy seduce young, hungry Tom is a delight. One (possible) mark of a great Tom-centric fic, imo, is to be able to portray Tom enjoying the exchange of power, giving it to someone as well as taking it from them, and this Tom is able to revel in giving up some perceived power as he practices being vulnerable with Indy. The romance is quite sweet, especially considering that ‘angst’ tag at the top of the fic!

[oloreaa]

Daisy Chains

Pairing: Din Djarin/f!Reader

Summary: You fall in love with Din in the summer before he swears his creed.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: slightly nsfw, non descriptive sex, yes I used those gifs of young Pedro to fuel this, so expect shaggy haired puppy eyed Din who is cocky af

Notes: I wrote this in a span of 5h because my brain could not stop working, also I took some liberties with canon: Mandalorian's come of age when they're 21 in this fic, due to the severity of the creed/ the restrictions that come with it. So Reader is about 19/20 while Din is 20 :) [edit: title and one line are inspired by Lana del Rey's "Summer Bummer"]

▪ Masterlist ▪ Next ▪

……………

The first time you saw him, he was wearing a scowl, staring after the Mandalorian warrior who had given him a slap on the back of the head.

You could not help your giggle, turning away so you could laugh at the grumpy expression on his face. When you looked back, though, his gaze was on you.

Immediately straightening, you sent him the most innocent smile you could muster.

He raised an eyebrow at you, and made his way over to your stall that was filled with flowers in both pots and buckets, ready to be arranged in various possibilities.

"You see something funny?" he asked, shaking the slightly shaggy hair out of his face. Your eyes widened as you took him in, and you felt your face become hot as you realised that he was handsome as hell.

Dark brown hair that was a tad too long, a sharp face with high cheekbones, a jawline to die for, dark eyes you could lose yourself in. Not to mention his voice, like honey wrapped around every vowel and consonant, pleasant to listen to and you would do anything to keep him talking.

"No, sir," you said, and they were the only words you could manage, "nothing funny at all."

The corner of his mouth quirked up, and you could not help but be charmed by those looks, the instant way he had drawn you in, the sharp glint in his eyes.

"Is that so, flower girl?"

You felt your heart flutter in your chest, and bit your lip playfully, suddenly feeling very bold. "Yes," you breathed, tilting your face up playfully.

He scoffed slightly, and put his hands on his hips, resting his weight on one leg. You could place him as maybe one year older than you, two if you had to squint.

"Girls like you should know when to keep their eyes away," he said. 

You leaned against the counter, smiling brightly, overwhelmed by the urge to get to know him better.

"The way I see it, I was just observing a spectacle."

"Uh huh?"

"What are you doing with the Mandalorians, anyways?" You asked, looking at him. Wearing something that approximated armour, a durasteel plate on his torso and some thigh plates, and a vambrace, he seemed better armed than most of the visitors of the market here.

"I'm one of them," he answered, puffing his chest out, raising his chin.

"You're not wearing a helmet," you observed, and you could not help the coy smile that crept onto your face.

"I'll swear the creed soon," he said, clenching his jaw and revealing a twitch in his cheek that almost made you swoon.

"Oh dear, that's a shame," you said, plucking a daisy from the flower pot you were selling.

"Why?" His face was set into a frown, brows pulled together, and it was honestly unfair that he was so good looking even while doing that.

"Face like yours, under a helmet? A damn shame."

His eyes widened, and he stared at you, and with delight you could see his cheeks darkening some. He opened his mouth several times as if wanting to say something, but nothing came out.

You reached over the counter, and gave him the daisy, which he accepted without taking his eyes off you.

"If you care for dancing, come and find me," you invited, and with a shy smile, you told him your name. 

When he repeated it, dark eyes locked onto yours intensely, you swore you just melted a bit.

~

You did not see him for the next week, which was fine. To be honest with yourself, you did not even expect for him to remember you. The way you saw it, it was just a small interaction with a cute guy, some butterflies in your belly and a crush to think back on in the middle of the night. It did not matter that he probably forgot you.

If you gave yourself enough time, you might have completely forgotten him, too.

But apparently, the universe had other ideas.

"Flower girl," someone called from behind, "Do you need help?"

You looked up from the ground, teeth gritted together in effort from the heavy bag of soil you were carrying. When you caught sight of him, your face lit up.

"Not-A-Mandalorian-Yet!" You called out, putting the bag onto the ground as gently as you could, already moving onto giving him a hug. "Hey, how are you?"

He looked at you, startled, and with a hot face you realised you had automatically tried to embrace him like you often did.

"I'm good," he said stiffly, and you gave an embarrassed smile, stomach doing somersaults.

"Oh, Maker, I'm sorry I assumed," you started to say, hands raised to your mouth, "I do that with my friends, I'm so sorry."

He furrowed his brows and gave an equally embarrassed smile back.

"It's fine," he said, "I don't mind."

Yet clearly he did.

You stepped back from him, and bit your bottom lip nervously. "I think I'll get going," you said, fidgeting like an absolute moron and cursing yourself.

He jerked into motion.

"No, I'll- Let me help you with the bag," he said, and if you had not been too occupied with how hot your face felt at the moment, you might have noticed how he was blushing as well.

"That's nice of you," you managed to say, and barely resisted a giggle in both embarrassment and delight when he picked the bag up with no difficulty, putting it smoothly under one arm, before turning towards you and giving you a slightly crooked smile. "Where to?"

You blinked at him, a big smile on your face. "Thank you," you told him, and started into motion. He easily kept up, but did not initiate conversation like you expected.

If he won't talk, I will, you thought, and squared your shoulders in a mini pep boost.

"So, Not-A-Mandalorian-Yet," your mouth chose to say, and you inwardly started to cringe at yourself, "Do you have a name that I can call you by?"

He hesitated, and looked away while you walked, and your heart sank a bit.

"Oh, no- no, it's fine if you don't want to tell me, you don't have to-"

"It's Din," he said, "I haven't sworn the creed yet, so you can know my name."

You beamed at him, and he shyly returned your smile, his dark eyes intense and burning into you.

~

The third time you saw Din, he was on a supply run, walking past your stall with a hovering craft filled with crates. Him and three other young armoured humanoids, fellow Mandalorians, if you had to guess, were walking alongside with it. When his gaze met yours, you held up a small bundle of daisy blooms that was in your hand already, and shot him a smile. You were surprised when he smiled back, sending it alongside with a fluttery wink that made your heart skip a beat.

~

It became a game. 

Everytime he came to your stand, you instantly perked up, heart beating fast in your chest, a broad smile already greeting him.

Whenever you passed each other, you smiled, fleetingly touched each other, found excuses to look into the other's eyes.

He started to greet you with "sarad", and while you were pretty sure that he was calling you something like annoying or cheeky, the gentle tone he used and the tender way he would smile at you let you know that this attraction was not as one-sided as you tried to tell yourselves sometimes.

And you were pretty sure that Mandalorians do not need to buy flowers as often as Din did.

"What does sarad mean?" you asked him once while you finished up a bouquet for another client.

He was quiet, looking at you for a long time, before: "Sarad means flower."

You stared at him, and he visibly blushed even if the rest of his face did not change.

"I like it," you said, a shy smile on your face, "Please don't stop calling me that, all right?"

He smiled brightly at you, his entire face lighting up, and you were pretty sure that if you had not been smitten before, you would have definitely fallen for him in that second.

"Okay," he said.

~

"Do you want to go dancing?" You asked him when you saw him again, this time alone, "It's the weekend soon and my friends often meet somewhere to dance."

He huffed, leaning against the stall, cutting an attractive figure against the bright light of the marketplace. It was a slow day, barely anyone coming to visit in the heat of the midday sun. 

"Do I look like I dance?" Din asked, giving you a wry look. 

You bit your lip, feeling your cheeks heat up. 

"I could teach you," you offered, in a breathier tone than you would have liked. He looked at you, and you could have sworn that his eyes dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second, which made you even bolder, "We could dance alone at first."

He stared at you, jaw slightly ticking.

"I might have to take you up on that," he said, and oh, when did his voice become so deep?

"When do you want to?"

His eyes dropped to your lips again, this time for a longer moment, and when he said "Now," in that sinful voice of his, you knew that he was not talking about dancing at all.

Risking a look around, seeing the marketplace basically abandoned, most of the other vendors having taken a break, you decided that you could have a bit of fun.

"There is a bag of soil in the back, and I might need you to lift it for me," you told him, shooting Din a coy smile that became a full beam when he nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips as well, delightful dimples showing as his eyes crinkled in amusement. 

He followed you without a word, and before you knew it, you were out of sight of everyone else.

"Can I-" you started to say, wanting to ask for his permission first when you turned around and looked at him, but he sneaked a hand behind your head, tilted your face towards him and gave you a chaste kiss on the lips.

You looked at him in surprise, mouth open, flush threatening to burn you alive.

"I'm sorry," he started to say, blushing furiously, "I've not kissed many people before, was it-" 

Before he could say anything else, you had both of your hands cradling his face, tugging him closer to your body.

"That's all right," you said before kissing him again, this time opening your mouth and tasting him properly, feeling him reciprocate clumsily but with enthusiasm. Your lips parted with a quiet smack, and you stared into his face. His eyes were hooded and fixed onto you like he was a hunter and you were prey, a blush high on his cheeks, his lips slightly pinker than before.

"I'll teach you," you whispered, before kissing him again, tugging him even closer.

~ 

After that, his visits became more frequent.

~

"My alor'ad does not approve of this," Din said to you after a few more times you crossed each other's paths.

You had shown him the meadow you often went to, reading there most of the time, a small place not many people would find. The both of you were sitting in the tall grass, your fingers working on making a flower crown for Din. He did not know it was for him, yet, and he was holding his face into the sun, eyes closed as he soaked in the warmth of the summer.

You hummed, and linked your fingers into his, giving him a cheeky smile.

"My mother would not approve as well," you told him, using a long piece of grass to tie off the crown, "Always says something about finding a husband first. Would probably marry me off to the first Imperial officer she could find, to keep me out of trouble."

He opened one eye, looking at you with a smirk.

"You? A trophy wife for some cog head?"

"I would make an amazing trophy wife, thank you very much."

The young man turned onto his side, propping his head up with his hand, giving you a cocky grin.

"That you would," he said, gaze trailing along your figure, and you felt desire building in you at the heat in his eyes.

"Here, for you," you said to diffuse the tension crackling between the both of you, and presented him the wildflower crown.

Din stared at you in bewilderment, and you could not help your laugh at the offended look in his eyes.

"I'm not wearing that," he said, with a small scowl. You walked on your knees towards him, a smile threatening to split your face, and crowned him.

"I declare you king of the meadow," you said as dramatically as possible, before dissolving in a fit of giggles. You could see that he was still embarrassed, but he was grinning as well.

"I'm training to become a Mandalorian," he told you, face becoming very serious, raising his eyebrows at you and tilting his chin towards his chest, his dark eyes making you feel all sorts of butterflies, "I am very dangerous and can kill you with no hesitation."

You nodded, a mocking expression on your face, knowing deep inside that he would never harm you without reason. "That's hot."

He snorted in surprise, a loud laugh ringing through the meadow.

"I can take out a stormtrooper within twenty seconds."

You giggled, slapping his chest slightly. "So could a very determined duck. Or a Gungan!"

He attacked you, tickling fingers trailing along your side, making you shriek as you tried to get away from him.

"Take that back," Din demanded, a playful smile on his face.

"Okay, okay!" You laughed, squirming under his touch, "You're a mighty warrior."

He nodded, and raised his eyebrows at you expectantly.

"Din, are you fishing for compliments?" 

He winked at you. "I might be."

You pushed at his shoulder, chuckling to yourself, before you started off.

"You can take on four men at once."

He furrowed his brows and nodded thoughtfully, lips pursed, "I like those odds."

"You can use those badass jetpacks." You pressed a small kiss onto his knuckles, desperately trying not to laugh when his gaze became self-satisfied. 

"Training in the Rising Phoenix, sarad, don't you forget that."

"You can roundhouse kick a blurrg!"

Dissolving into giggles, you pressed your face into his chest, feeling it rumble with laughter as well.

The both of you cackled for several minutes straight, everytime you caught each other's gazes, starting to laugh again.

It took too long until you could breathe normally again.

"Haven't tried that yet," Din said, making you giggle.

"You're a mighty warrior, we all know that, no need to brag."

He smirked at you, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "But you know that it's not bragging if you can actually do it."

"I'm sure you can," you snorted, "But even warriors can wear flower crowns."

Din scoffed, a big grin on his face. "Is that so?"

He tried to take the crown off, but you pushed it deeper onto his head, flattening his shaggy hair against his forehead. He tried again, crunching his nose at you, a playful smile on his face, but you resisted his charm to the best of your abilities.

He quickly grabbed your shoulder and flipped you around, making you shriek with laughter as he pinned you onto the ground.

"Stop that," he said, and you could feel his belly twitch against you as he suppressed his laughter, "I'm very dangerous and I have a reputation to uphold."

"Of course, Din," you said, smiling up at him, his head eclipsing the sun in your view. Tugging at his hair, he pulled the crown down and set it onto your head.

"It suits you better," he said in a rough voice, and before you know it, he was devouring you in a searing kiss that made your toes curl, a hand on your cheek, tilting your face up to him for better access.

When he groaned your name into your mouth, you almost came on the spot.

~

You had told him to come to the meadow tonight, and you were excited beyond compare. As soon as you saw his familiar frame, tall and lanky but with deliciously broad shoulders, you made your way through the high grass, a basket in your hands.

"I brought food," you told him shyly, before spreading a picnic blanket onto the ground, flattening it carefully.

He dropped to his knees, and helped to make it more even, then put the basket right on the side so one corner would be secured by the weight.

You both took your shoes off, and after a bit of light conversation and nibbling at the various fruits you had packed, relaxed into each other.

"You know I can't do this for long, right?" Din asked, slowly tracing the side of your face with a gentle finger, his head propped up by his hand as you lay side by side under the guise of watching the stars.

You turned your head to him, and stared into his face.

"How long do we have?" you asked him, voice quiet and very small.

"Two months," he said, voice rough. 

To avoid having to answer to that, you kissed him desperately, rolling on top of him, bodies flush together as you straddled his lap, feeling proof of his desire against you. Kissing your way down his neck, you were careful not to leave any marks that Din could be punished for, should the Mandalorians see them. His hands were on you, kneading your sides, pulling you close.

He sat up quickly, and took off his shirt, and with pooling desire you absorbed the sight of his toned upper body, some scars curling around his arms and one slash across his abs.

He was beautiful. And you told him that as well, watching him blush, gaze darkening.

When you looked him into the eyes in the dim starlight, he gave you a slightly nervous but determined smile. You quickly resolved to kiss every single one of the scars he might possess, leaving a trail of wet kisses on his chest, then his stomach, and then lower.

He gasped when you wrapped your lips around him, his fingers tightening in your hair.

~

It was sufficient to say that while his visits were frequent before, now they were a nightly occurrence.

~ 

You could not always finish your explorations of each other, sometimes your commlink blinked and your mother demanded to know where you are, but most of the time it was Din's, the covert sending out messages to several of their trainees, having them run errands. But despite all of that, you learned each other's bodies quite well anyways. Using every moment you had together, touching the other one, feeling your skin against each other, the evidence for your desire never failed to make the other one dizzy. 

You learned a lot about Din during those stolen nights, and days, and little breaks whenever you could manage to sneak away. 

He was just as enthusiastic kissing you on the mouth as everywhere else, which you loved. It was almost as if he was trying to absorb as much of your touch as possible, probably stocking up on touch before he will swear the creed in a few weeks. 

As much as you wished that he would choose you over his tribe, you know he would not. It was too important to him.

So you took everything he had to offer you now, and made the best of it.

You made love under the stars so many times you had lost count, hiding a smile every time you felt the dull ache he left behind, and with Din's passion, you had never been so grateful before that you had the implant.

And it was so unfair, as well, for he had the face of an angel but his voice was sinful, making your head spin in the best of ways. Letting him in your life and between your legs was one of the best things that could have happened to you, even though time was working against you.

Din always let his mouth run while you were warming his ears with your thighs, while he was deep inside you, murmuring against your neck, while his fingers were buried in you, or in your hair as you looked up into his dark eyes, winking as you swirled your tongue around him. 

He never seemed to be able to shut up while you were around him, on him, under him, and it was as if he tried to make up for lost time already.

You pretended that you do not cry yourself to sleep because of his creed sometimes.

~

"I'll be of age in the fall," he told you again when you were hiding in the back of the stall on another slow day with almost no customers. You were on his lap, both of you with flushed faces and heaving chests after you spend several minutes simply making out, hearts fluttering fast in your chests. "I can't stay for long."

Even as your heart broke at hearing that, you decided that, once again, it was a problem for future-you.

"Then we'll make the best of it," you said before capturing his lips again, making him groan deep in his throat.

"You're so pretty," he whispered, his big hands resting on your waist, pulling your bodies close together, his dark eyes burning into you, the shaggy fringe falling into his eyes softening his face, "So, so pretty."

"Even when I'm making you flower crowns?" you teased.

"Especially when you're doing that," he whispered, and you pushed his fringe away from his face, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Din," you murmured his name, looking at him tenderly.

"You've wrapped me up in your daisy chains, sarad."

Heart clenching at the genuine affection in his voice, you kissed him to shut him up, feeling him smile against you, knowing that your days together were coming to an end.

……………

Thank you for reading!

Huge thanks at both @mndalorians for listening to me ramble late at night and being amazing, and @teaofpeach for being the beta of this fic, looking over this and constantly encouraging and enabling me. I love you❤

Tags: @binggrae-banana-milk @b0n-chann @pisss-offf-ghostt @chibi-liz05 @din-damn-djarin @soldade @yourexcellentboiiii @chaotic-noceur @ezrasarm @hdlynn @mndalorians @over300books @agirllovespasta @crookedmoonsaultpunk @teaofpeach @shadylightbearherring @mitchi-c @concussed-to-pieces @adikaofmandalore @dadolorian

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @claraxbarton donated $50, and requested Dean Winchester & Bucky Barnes. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

Curfew to get back to their bunks is 2200 hours but Carlisle's still trying to prove something and so Bucky's still out, too, because hell if he's going to let some jerk from Long Island out-drink a Brooklyn boy. "Think you're gonna fall asleep soon, punk," Carlisle says, grinning wide and loose and his eyes real red, and Bucky raises his eyebrows and knocks the next shot back. He doesn't rise to the punk thing even if he wants to sock the jerk one. See, Steve, he wants to say, but of course Steve's not here. Bucky sucks the inside of his cheek, not feeling the burn anymore after this much—maybe a bad thing—but he waves to the girl leaning against the bar, signaling for another. Becky, is her name, which caused some comment from Carlisle too. She's in a too-short skirt and Bucky knows from when Carlisle got a hand on her ass that she's not too worried about keeping the hemline down, giggling as she leans over and puts the next round on the table. Carlisle pulls her in by the hand, murmuring something in her ear that Bucky can't hear over the jazz from the jukebox but that she hears perfectly well, from how she giggles and leans in, her bosom squishing up and catching Carlisle's attention just fine. Bucky sighs, sits back. Maybe the competition's over, after all. He sips at the next shot instead of downing it, actually tasting the whiskey—crap, but better than he used to be able to afford back home—and ignores how Becky's showing off the top of her stockings, the peek of white thigh above them, and looks over the top of Carlisle's head at the lawyer-type who's been sitting toward the back of the jazz club, this whole time, watching them.

Hat on the table, a beer half-sipped at his right hand. A paper pad open, at his left. Doodling something. Bucky sips at his shot again and Becky's now in Carlisle's lap, her arms around his neck. The bar's emptying out, most everyone from boot camp gone home, and Bucky's maybe got a point to prove but he's tired of this. He knocks back the rest of his shot and then reaches out and takes Carlisle's, and kicks him under the table for good measure. "Hey!" Carlisle said, distracted from sweet Becky's plump white throat, and Bucky said, "Sorry, pal, you forfeit by way of boring me to death," and gets up from the table in a scrape of the chair on the wooden floor, and Carlisle starts to stand up but of course Becky's weighing him down and she says, "Hey, slugger, you're gonna leave me all alone?" and Carlisle's distracted, soothing, long enough for Bucky to walk away, toward the back of the bar, the shot still heavy in his hand. He wants to drink it but he wants something else, too.

Jukebox, in the back. He leans over it, flipping through. Glenn Miller, Gene Autry. He wonders who put on the run of Louis Armstrong—fourth song in a row, by his count—and in the corner of his eye he can tell that the lawyer-type is watching him, from the table right there, and doing a good job of pretending he isn't.

2200 hours. Bucky checks his watch. Ticking closer. He's not the most rule-abiding guy at the best of times but he knows he's been pushing it, with his sergeant, and if he's found out to be back late again then—well, it's latrine duty for sure, if not a full ten miler with all his gear. He sucks the inside of his cheek. Worth the risk? If he's thinking of going to Europe to fistfight Hitler, then what isn't?

"Hey, pal," Bucky says, turning, with this feeling in his gut like running into a fight in a back-alley in Brooklyn—but the lawyer's up, leaving his beer half-drunk on the table, walking past him to the hall where the WCs are. Bucky licks his lips. There's a doodle left on the table, a torn-out page from the guy's pad: some weird symbol that Bucky doesn't recognize, in heavy pencil-marks, sketchy and strange. He frowns, looking over his shoulder, but the door's swinging, and he's—sure, almost. He's gotten that kind of look, before. He's given it.

The hall's empty, but there's another door at the end, frosted glass, EXIT in reversed letters, just closing. An alleyway—well, hell. Bucky's done worse in worse places but the danger of it is leaping in his throat, now. The chances that someone might see, might catch his uniform in the dark, might—but he's a real knucklehead, it turns out, and he's pushing through the door, the glass of booze still clutched in his other hand, and then: the alleyway, and whatever's waiting, and… the lawyer nowhere to be seen.

He turns around, squinting in the mostly-dark. Trash bins, and a cat racing away out toward the streetmouth. Bucky steps forward, looking—wondering if he was seeing things he wasn't meant to be seeing, wondering if his stupid heart was manufacturing things that weren't there, like always—and—there, on the other side of the wooden gate, a glow. A candle? No: a… circle, somehow drawn on the alley wall like with fire. Strange symbols that he can't make out as he gets closer. They're bright but slowly fading and he reaches out, caught by the strangeness. No heat, as his fingers hover over the coal-flames. In the center, one of the symbols looks like a star, and he licks his lips and takes a deep breath and like an absolute knucklehead presses his hand flat against it and then –

*

"Of course I'm—look, I'm the one who had to haul his ass into the trunk, okay? And he's heavy as hell. So, thanks for sending me out here solo, by the way."

Bucky keeps his eyes closed, trying to keep his breath even. He's waking up slow, not like from a bad dream but from a deep, long sleep, and he hasn't had one of those since before basic—since before Joe moved back into Ma's house—since before he slept over at Steve's, when they were younger and Steve's mother was at the hospital, and Steve was snoring on his half of the bed but Buck was—well, it hardly matters. His head feels queer, memories close to the surface and hurting. He's laying on something soft.

The man starts talking again: "Dude, for the last time—yes, Sam, I'm sure. You know how many History Channel docs I've watched about Cap and the Commandos? There's some kind of federal law that it's all they show at noon on a weekday. Check the insignias from the uniform, I'm telling you. This ain't a reenactor, it's the real deal. Plus there was that Thule sigil still burning on the alley wall." A pause. Bucky doesn't know the half of what this guy's talking about. Thule? What the hell is a history channel? "Yeah. Hey—look, he's—okay. Call me when you find something."

Another pause. There's a shift, fabric rustling, and then a creak of bedsprings. "You want to stop faking? You're not that good at it."

"Says you," Bucky says, but he opens his eyes.

A room, like a hotel or something. Nighttime, from the dim, and a lamp making a pool of light between the two beds. He's on one, laid out on his back, and on the other, when he turns his head: a man, older than him, sitting on the side of the mattress, watching him. Bucky presses his lips together, looking. Not the lawyer type who gave him the slip in the alley and not anyone he's ever seen. The man's looking right back at him, studying his face, and then his eyes go skipping down Bucky's body, and Bucky's still wearing his uniform but he feels—"What's a Thule sigil?" he says, to cover up his reaction, and the man's eyes jump right to his and he grins, like Bucky's some circus pet that just did a trick he didn't expect.

"I think we better start with 101," the man says. Generic accent. Where are they? "Name's Dean. I'm a hunter. Sorry for kidnapping you, but you were passed out in an alleyway and I wasn't sure the cops would know how to handle a guy from 1943 who's—uh, you." He scratches the corner of his jaw—hasn't shaved in a few days, apparently—and then shrugs, and nods at Bucky. "Your turn."

"James," Bucky says. He surprises himself and blinks at the man. Dean. "James Barnes. Probably AWOL from my unit at this point, depending on what time is." Another grin, but this one more natural, and Bucky decides he probably doesn't want to sock the guy one. He starts to sit up but his head—ah. Woozy, the world tilting some, and Dean reaches out quick and grabs his arm, helping pull him upright. It hurts but not like getting punched, or the one time a guy coshed him over the head in an alley fight and he woke up to Steve grimly holding his brains together. More like a hangover but he didn't even have that much to drink. When he's up, boots on the floor, Dean sits back and just looks at him again, all over, and Bucky looks down at himself too like maybe there'll be something interesting to see. It's just him, though, in his uniform a little worse for wear for eating dirt in the alley, but Dean keeps looking at him like…

Dean's spinning something in his hand—a metal rectangle with a shiny glass face. He sees Bucky looking and grimaces, and tucks it into his jacket pocket. "Sorry," he says, "not sure we're ready to do the whole Back to the Future II thing, here," and Bucky doesn't know what that means, either, but then Dean says, "Here's the thing: it's 2013," and Bucky blinks at him and says, "Bullshit."

Dean's eyebrows go high. "Wow," he says, under his breath, "okay, so it really wasn't like the newsreels." Bucky stares at him. "Um," Dean says, and then says, "Shit, Sammy doesn't know everything, hang on—" and he picks up something from the bedside table between them and points it, and then there's a flashbang of color and light and… a man, talking about the stock market, in brilliant color and as vivid as Dean sitting across from him. "Don’t tell your pals in the unit about Wolf Blitzer, I don't want to create a time paradox or something where someone doesn't get born," Dean's saying, but Bucky just sits and stares, frozen on the bed. It's like… a marvel, from that World Fair they went to, something that Stark genius would think up. He gets up, finally, and Dean's quiet, and he reaches out and touches the glass and it sparks against his fingers, static, against where there's a box that says February 15, 2013, 9:57 pm. "Yeah, it's an old one. A television. I can't remember if you have those yet or not."

"Who are you, pal?" Bucky says, not turning around. The light hurts his eyes, it's so bright.

Dean sighs, behind him. The sound from the television goes away and Bucky touches it again, shaking his head, and Dean says, "James Buchanan Barnes. You go by Bucky. You're from Brooklyn." Bucky looks over his shoulder and Dean's looking at him—looking older, looking tired. "You joined the service in 1943. You're in the 107th and, from what I can tell, you haven't shipped out to Europe yet, because you were in an alley in Georgia, instead, and you haven't—" He gestures vaguely to Bucky's side, eyes dipping, but Bucky doesn't know what he means, and he's got this vague panicky feeling stuttering up in his chest. Like being caught at something only this time he hasn't done anything wrong.

Dean stands up. They're the same height, same build. Dean's dressed like a farmer, in denim pants and a plaid shirt untucked, but he doesn't carry himself like one. A hunter, he said, and Bucky braces himself. Hunting what? The door's too far away for him to lunge and make it before Dean could get there.

"I'm not here to hurt you, man," Dean says. He laughs, lightly, shaking his head. "Like, that's the last thing I want to do. You're Bucky Barnes. I can't—tell you what that means, I guess, but… It means something. But you're not supposed to be here."

"Where's here?" Bucky says, tightly.

"Well, seventy years out of place, for one thing," Dean says. His mouth curls up on one side. "Though I gotta say, you're hot for an old guy."

Bucky takes a breath, while Dean grimaces. "I feel like I just hit on George Washington or something," he mutters, eyes dropping to his boots.

"Even if you add seventy, I'm not that old," Bucky says, after a second, and he can tell he's coloring up but he's not—men don't—he's never, even in alleyways and in dark rooms and in the one dance club he ever got brave enough to go to, one night when Steve was staying up with his mother and Bucky was so strained in the heart he thought he'd crack in half, he never—out loud, he never.

Dean looks up. Calculation. He's a looker. Even back in the unit among all the guys, Bucky could say that and not have anyone question it. Brownish hair, green eyes, freckles like a kid from a sodapop advertisement but he sure doesn't look like a kid. A man, carrying himself like one, his muscles obvious in the blue plaid, his hands square and sure. Bucky looks at them instead of into Dean's face. He's never sure but now he's very not and he doesn't want to—so there are Dean's hands, on his hips, and his knuckles, and his clean neat nails. Safer to focus on than the insanity of what Dean's telling him—the future, Bucky thinks, again, the world wheeling off its track, where somehow some man in some hotel in Georgia knows who he is, and says he's hot. Howard Stark's World of Tomorrow couldn't possibly.

He steps forward. Dean's hands lift, low, cautioning, and Bucky licks his lips and walks into them, lets Dean catch his hips. "Whoa, sailor," he says, and Bucky says, "I'm in the Army," and then he picks up his head and kisses Dean, square on the mouth, heart leaping into his throat.

Brief, hard. He grips Dean's shoulders and they're—oh, shocking, hot and firm and real in a way that he's turned over by, half-convinced that it's a dream, but all his dreams have been insubstantial as air, gossamer that slips away when he tries to hold it. There's a burst of air, Dean exhaling hard through his nose, but his lips are—soft, his chin scratching against Bucky's, and after a second of stupid clenched-eyed hope Dean's hand slides up his side and he readjusts his head, tilts, makes the kiss… softer, easier, and Bucky gasps in air he didn't realize he was holding onto and Dean's mouth follows his, closing over his bottom lip and sucking very softly, and Bucky thinks out of nowhere without his brain having any say-so Steve, and he pulls away then, jerking so hard that Dean says, "Whoa, whoa, buddy—" and Bucky almost hits him but turns away, puts his hands over his face, breathes out hard and quick and tries to ignore how his lips feel oversensitized, burning.

There's a strange metallic sound while Bucky's heart is trying to beat out of his throat. It cuts off mid-racket and Dean says, "Great timing, Sammy," full of sarcasm, and Bucky drags his hands down over his cheeks, covers his mouth. Turns around, to face his stupidity like a man. Dean's holding the metal thing to his ear, apparently listening, but his eyes are fixed to Bucky's. "Oh, just traumatizing a war hero," Dean says, and then his attention shifts and he rolls his eyes, holding the thing away from his ear with this expression so what are you gonna do?, like a guy from the deli taking a call from his henpecking wife, that Bucky snorts. Dean smiles at him, easy, and puts it back to his ear in time to respond, "Yeah," and then, "Got it, okay—look, text it to me, I left my pen in Kansas," and takes it away and holds it in front of himself—another whirling flash of color, a picture of some man, and then Dean pokes a red circle and it goes quiet.

"So," Dean says. "Sammy knows how we can send you back. Gotta do it by midnight but that's no big deal, I've got the stuff in the trunk. Scary adventure's gonna be over soon, soldier. You'll have to worry about the AWOL thing on your own."

He's poking at things on the rectangle again. His thumbs move very quickly. Bucky's watching his face, downturned, apparently casual, except that his ears are bright blushing red.

"War hero," Bucky says, finally.

Dean's cheek sucks in on one side and he looks up under his eyebrows. "Can we pretend I didn't say that?" he says. Bucky shakes his head and Dean bites the corner of his mouth. His mouth. Bucky looks into his eyes instead. "Yeah. Look, I can't—tell you this stuff. I don't know if they had sci-fi in the 40s but you just… can't tell people their future, okay? It's a bad idea. You might change something, or do something, and you'd screw up time, and then, I don't know, giant vampire robots might take over Manhattan as soon as I send you back."

"Vampire—?" Bucky says, bewildered, and Dean groans.

"Forget that, too," Dean says—fat chance, Bucky thinks—and Dean shakes his head, sighing. "Look, all this… time travel crap is new for me, too. Didn't even know it could really be a thing before a few years ago, and I didn't know regular people could just smear some stuff on a wall and speak some mumbo-jumbo and just make it happen. And so—we found this record that an unexplained event had happened, on this day in Georgia, and Sammy—that's who was just on the phone—he said, well, go check it out, and he's faking like he's not sick so I just let him send me out on the errand, and then it turned out to be you, and I'm… babbling, this is embarrassing, but you're you and I gotta say, whenever we were kids, Sammy was Superman and I was Batman but when we played Commandos he had to be Cap because I always wanted—"

Dean cuts off, and now the red's in his cheeks as well as his ears, even if Bucky doesn't know what goes there. "So. I'll send you back, but." He lifts a shoulder. "I wish I didn't have to."

He looks real sorry. Bucky leans back against the dresser, with the silent television flashing colors by his shoulder. He tries to imagine it. Boys in some hazy, magic-screen future, playing at being him, the way the kids in the neighborhood play being Flash Gordon. It's too big to fit into his head. He says, instead, "So… we win, then." Dean frowns. "The war. We win? If… me and the commandos and whoever the Captain is, we all get to be heroes. We must win."

Dean licks his lips, and looks… guilty, as all hell. "Yeah," he says, voice strange. "Yeah, you win."

Oppressive, to hear it. Not relief but responsibility. Bucky nods, takes a deep breath. "Well, all right, then," he says. He smiles at Dean, his very best. "Then I think the big hero deserves another kiss."

Dean startles, and laughs, and Bucky grins until Dean's head drops. He swallows. The future, settling onto his heart; the past, roaring up to meet it.

[mego42]

Shamelessly stealing @foxmagpie​’s monthly rec thing without the ability to get my life together to do these on a monthly basis so, seasonal recs! So excited to see if I manage to do this again with anything remotely resembling consistency but i’ve been keeping the notes for approximately 43 years (or since ~september, whatever that means) so by god i’m gonna use them. 

found my thrill - s_t_c_s / @sothischickshe​

Turner POV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

guys turner is SO OBSESSED with Beth and Rio

both canonically and in this fic

it’s gr9

also features a weirdly soothing and relatable cord untangling moment as a metaphor

truly disturbingly relatable turner pov tbh

relentless boomer disdain, always a plus

led to the creation of this monstrosity, not sure what kind of a monster would do that

War In My Mind - mintletters16

Backread!!!!

post-213, gorgeous character study 

guaranteed to make you feEl stUfF

I really love the like, cyclical, fractured pattern of Beth’s internal monologue, it gives the whole thing a really affecting at times dreamy, at times haunted vibe

the end twist is *chef’s kiss*

mourning bells - Ejunkiet / @ejunkiet​

Backread!!!!

Later s2 era, Rio’s at a funeral, gets drunk and calls Beth

V short, kind of…..mmm, not sweet, but almost? Idk

It’s got a wistful sort of almost/i can be quiet with you vibe that i go extremely bonkers for

delinquents - foxmagpie / @foxmagpie​

Lol are any of you actually not reading this yet?

g o d ch 8 where do i start

First off how ABSOLUTELY VERY DARE for the tragic angst that is delinquents!beth boland. This poor baby, this precious bean. MUST PROTEC

SHE’S TRYING HER BEST AND I LOVE HER

zero percent deserves dean’s clammy hands, no i have not forgotten, tattooed on my brain, will never forgive

I also love love love love LOVE the ruby/stan subplot happening

(and ruby’s mom!!!!!) (seriously though you write the best moms)

oh god and baby beth starting to have confusing feelings about rio?????? *chef’s kiss*

p sure i was just like, straight screaming the entire end of the chapter

the dugout is like, pure serotonin

I can’t even talk about the closet

tHe teNsiOn

thank you i will take eleventy billion

don't give it a hand, offer it a soul - medievalraven / @medievalraven

am a desperate heaux for any fic that features rio and mick friendship

you are all incredibly shocked i know

still would not be mad if this swerved into rio x mick fake dating but beth x rio is cool too i guess

Speaking of things i am a desperate heaux for: DIANE!!!!!!!!

and DATING ANNIE???????????? Blessed

honestly this fic is worth it purely for the assertion that mick watches queer eye

Why don't we go to Venus? - watermelonriddles / @bensonstablers​

another grief study! 

apparently i was working through some stuff in september, idk, that was like 4 years ago

considering it’s the premise of the fic, i don’t think it’s a spoiler to say this fic is canon divergent and working with the premise that rio killed beth in 302

he is uh, not coping well

extremely haunted you might say

lots of marcus and rhea which is a delight!

rhea is to good for him tbh

i said what i said

truly top notch dream (nightmare?) sequences

the conversation at the end is extremely uncalled for

drop the game - Ejunkiet / @ejunkiet​

Backread!!!!

Am going to die mad Beth and Rio didn’t hook up in 211 but luckily this fic scratched the itch 

(temporarily, it’s a fairly permanent itch)

Bonus rec: missing scene series i wanna do bad things to you featuring 2x02 and 2x04

Viva Voce - zetuslapetus / @querenaxx​

Whoops we woke up married Vegas shenanigans!! 

So cute!!!!! So sexy!!!!! 

What more do you want?

am desperately obsessed with how beth can’t help stalking rio

feels right, feels organic

this makes me feel a lot of stuff about how they could be without their canon garbage between them

🎶 we could’ve had it aaaaaaaaaaall 🎶

you showed me colors (i can't see them with anyone else) - gild_fire / @gild-and-fire​

really into the use of color to illustrate beth’s emotional state, i feel like there’s a word for that but idk what it is

UNIMPORTANT

really nice job capturing beth’s inner vulnerability balanced by her outer stubbornness

am DESPERATELY into Mick playing matchmaker

more please???????

Both Sides of the Law - JoeyLee / @joeyjoeylee​

LAW SCHOOL AU! I suuuuuuper love Beth and Rio here (alt pov!! a gift!!!!) I love how initially prickly they are, I love how it’s evolving into a grudging respect, I love how INCREDIBLY AND HILARIOUSLY OBSESSED WITH EACH OTHER THEY ARE and neither one of them seems to see it

listen I know we’re all already foaming at the mouth over this one but as it’s gonna go down as one of my all time favorites it bears repeating/rereccing

cannot stress enough how masterful the use of POV is here, both voices feel completely true and distinct and I love how the alternating chapters revisit, reveal and emphasize pieces of each other

i can’t talk about this fic without hyperventilating

I LOVE IT SO MUCH YOU GUYS

the slow burn is going to ACTUALLY KILL ME

rip, no regrats

Earned It - wakeupflawless / @wakeupflawless​

spanking

that’s it that’s the pitch

H O T

living for beth’s exit in the first chapter, rio and i are both incredibly into it

second chapter also features violently possessive Rio who cannot deal with anyone messing with his girl so if that’s your thing boy howdy get on it

shake, baby, shake - openhearts

backread!!!!!

according to my bookmarks this was a reread but ???????

must’ve read it in the fugue state that followed reading for a moment we were strangers which is gr9 and I believe I have recced it before. If not, horrible oversight, reccing it now

beth and Rio POV lead up to the bathroom break, beautifully done, low-key feel bad reccing it bc the end point of both chapters makes me want to throw things but it’s super worth it for the tEnsiOn. ENJOY

What the Sea Wants, the Sea Will Have - flashindie / @pynkhues​

I’m assuming all of y’all are already reading this

If not OH MY GOD FIX YOUR LIVES

P I R A T E  A U

I’m sorry maybe you didn’t hear me piRaTE aU

meticulously researched, brain-meltingly vibrant, already painfully sexy slow-burning PIRATE AU

god where to start okay so first off, the world-building here straight up breaks my brain, sophie’s put in the work and it SHOWS

second, the atmosphere. i’m generally a pretty like, vague mental picture sort of reader but the sensory detail here grabs you by the throat and like, forcibly hauls you in whether your brain’s wired that way or no

and hey speaking of throats if you, like me, go a little funny about the knees at the idea of beth holding a knife to rio’s throat (he’s fine, calm down), there’s a v excellent beth-in-a-barrel moment for you

oh christ and the sexy tension

it’s gonna be a race to see which slow burn takes me out first, this or law school

Stunner - foxmagpie / @foxmagpie​

Another high school AU, this time with baby Rio absolutely head over heels for his older sister’s bff

stunner!Rio has an emotional earnestness about him that I feel like delinquents!Rio has already outgrown and it’s so SWEET I can’t get enough

Desperately cute!!!!!!

alL he waNts iS foR beTh tO bE hiS girL

also unreasonably angsty???????

ANN ARBOR IS NOT THAT FAR MEGAN

A Heart's A Heavy Burden - tooshyforthis / @bathroombreaks​

Howl’s Moving Castle AU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love Howl’s!!!!!!!!!!!

perfect opp to roast Rio for being a Dramatique Heaux 

and it’s gonna be 9 chapters?????? H Y P E

author’s note boldly presumes I did not know I needed this AU when the reality is I did in fact know I needed this AU, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to deliver

so blessed

author also claims to not be team nose stud and yet it features prominently in all its magnificent glory

what is the truth dot gif

A Bit of a Stretch - septiembre / @septiembur​

SO????? CUTE?????????

would be on this list for Rio calling Beth E alone tbh

really really really really really love this Rio POV of being settled into a relationship with Beth

It manages to be sweetly domestic af while still holding the edge that makes brio brio which is a neat trick

@septiembur may be a witch

beth’s approach to getting rio to do yoga with her is hilarious and exactly right, canon-typical amounts of subtlety 

1000000/10

Post Break-Up Sex - femalegothic / @bethsuglywigs​

stg this was called Hit Shuffle

no matter

h O T

with a side of damn i’ve made some questionable choices in my life haven’t i introspection

(no regrats tho)

(esp not with this fic)

not the point of the fic by a long shot but i’m also extremely obsessed with Weed Eddie, so real

She drains my soul... she drains it not - niham87 / @niham87​

ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED WITH THIS CONCEPT

am a complete sucker for paranormal world building that satirizes bureaucracy 

Is that a trope? If so that’s my favorite

I did it. I’m picking a single favorite. You know what that is growth dot gif

ANYWAY i love the concept, i love the humor, i love beth instantly clicking with annie

I love her and mick’s sort of grudging professional courtesy

Love beth as a champion of environmental responsibility and all of the underworld being like …...okay??

cannot wait to see where this goes

Nine-Tenths - riosnecktattoo / @riosnecktattoo​

*INCOHERENT PTERODACTYL SCREECHING*

sometimes i think about rio putting beth’s hair in a ponytail and have to go lie down

science please explain why this rUinS mE

wait hold on i skipped ahead

HEY KIDS DO YOU LIKE UNBEARABLY CUTE DOMESTIC TENDERNESS

opens with rio sleepily holding beth’s hand to his heart so that’s the kind of thing you’ll be dealing with

uGH theY’RE sO CUTe

idk why precisely but rio adding hair ties to his bracelet collection is my undoing every time

Missed Call - foxmagpie / @foxmagpie​

Rio doesn’t come home from a job when he’s supposed to. Beth (and I!!!!!!!) slowly loses her mind

Truly a masterpiece of rising tension

Will literally never forgive her for calling this light angst

I was SO STRESSED OUT

The first person to point out there was an author’s note at the beginning I obvs didn’t read is getting blocked

crush - foxmagpie / @foxmagpie​

Listen even though this is centered around two OCs, they are OCs FROM a (n iconic) brio fic AND Beth, Ruby and Rio all make cameos (I mean, Rio’s pretty present since he lives in Mar’s mind rent free bc they are THE SWEETEST MOST ADORABLE BEST OF FRIENDS so idk if i’d call it a cameo but whatever)

and even if it didn’t feature any official GG characters I’d still rec is bc that’s mY SON AND this fic is TOO CUTE

I have so many feelings over mar and rio growing up and not knowing how to cope with girls becoming a Thing in their life and how it affects their friendship and mar feeling left behind but (SPOILERS) at the end of the story rio starts feeling that too and it’s so poignant knowing how that’s going to continue in delinquents

while mar may be my son, i also claim elena’s #1 stan status

before you’re like meg you’re only reccing it bc it’s a bday present ask yourselves do i really strike you as the kind of person that wouldn’t be equally obnoxious about this either way?

truly cannot fathom how hard i have fallen for these OCs i don’t normally do that

@foxmagpie is definitely a witch

The Ottoman - Niham87 / @niham87​

look i will be the first to admit that i don’t go near as bonkers over the ottoman line in 308 as y’all do

(don’t get me wrong, i love it!!! I love that he laughs and i love that she’s pleased it just doesn’t hit my lose my whole mind button like idk, the dubby or the 306 convo, idk why)

BUT i v v v much love the context this delightful Rio POV pwp gives it

am also absolutely feral for 209 missing scene fic

and anything that captures the complexity of Rio’s s3 feelings for Beth and how twisted they’ve become

so this scratches a bunch of itches, is what i’m trying to say

Bet On It - zetuslapetus / @querenaxx​

*INCOHERENT PTERODACTYL SCREECHING*

That’s what my brain does when I think about Beth and Rio meeting in ch 1

am DESPERATELY OBSESSED WITH the tension between the two of them in this fic

I love how it plays with the ways they have to rely on but don’t trust each other

plus FAKE DATING and BED SHARING (fair warning hasn’t happened yet but the set up is there)

originally supposed to be 2 chapters, already up to 4, prayer circle it goes on forever

do you like drugs (tonight) - s_t_c_s / @sothischickshe​

v important focus on hydration, other fic should take note

extremely about the use of cut to and then flashback to enhance the ‘we were on drugs’ vibe

speaking of, beth and rio absolutely would take ecstasy to prove they are fun bc they are the exact kind of idiots that would peer pressure themselves

so glad beth kept her purse, got a bit stressed there for a second, clutches in that kind of circumstance are A Risk

not that i would know

FLAWLESS USE OF VOICEMAIL TBH

really love the ongoing denial that they are remotely into each other while proceeding to demonstrate how they are in fact, extremely into each other, great vibe

rio dances

I know my brain broke too

mmmm bacon

Navigate A Broken Path - flashindie / @pynkhues​

*INCOHERENT PTERODACTYL SCREECHING*

I have a long standing tradition of getting unreasonably obsessed with side characters so i’m not like, entirely surprised by how obsessed i am with both Mick and Mary Pat but i never in a million years considered them as a ship

AND Y E T

they fit????? so perfectly?????? It’s amazing how she developes them individually enough that i look at them together and think ah yes this makes perfect sense for both characters

and they’re such an amazing foil to Beth and Rio? 

can ships have foils? do i know what a foil is? 

unimportant

GUYS you dON’T uNDERStAN d 

hell i don’t understand

how absolutely very dare you make me care about YET ANOTHER set of gg ‘verse children

do not read this fic if you have no interest in feelings you zero percent asked for

wHA t hAPPeNED iN aLASkA?????????

A Moment’s Silence - femalegothic / @bethsuglywigs​

*makes sign of the cross*

y’all are gonna make me rediscover religion

extremely appreciate the author’s note approach to backstory top notch prioritization

listen it’s basically 3k of beth deep throating rio idk what more you need me to say about it

it is…..good stuff

bless the kinkmeme or fest whatever we’re calling it

praise - civillove / @blainesebastian​

I mean you had me at “three times rio calls beth a good girl and one time he really means it”

ephemeral rio

I left that note for myself in here in the middle of the night and haven’t the foggiest what i was thinking but i stand by it none the less

okay okay i think i know what i meant, this fic (as do all of my fav civillove brio fics) has this sort of like, liminal, in the quiet moments feel to them that makes the moments and feelings somehow feel like i’m catching a glimpse of something secret and precious???

idk i just really like it okay

Heart and Soul - riosnecktattoo / @riosnecktattoo​

oh look more unbearably sweet domestic tenderness, this time to music

thank you ma’am for my life

rio remembers beth used to play piano and gets her one and revoltingly cute shenanigans result

also hilarity

and sexiness

this fic has it all, truly

shout out to mick who sees no reason to keep rio’s feelings to himself

good girls tumblr fic - prettylittlementirosa / @hypermania​​

cheating and reccing a whole series

It’s my list and i can do what i wanna

stop crying about it, it’s four fics and they’re all AMAZING absolutely impossible to pick a fav

truly flawless characterization, next level ability to capture evocative mood, cannot get enough

three’s a crowd: who knew ballroom dancing while dean watches and grinds his teeth could be so sexy 

(trick question everything about that premise sounds A++++ and boy howdy does it live up)

feel it on the way home: rio tries to break up with beth, it goes about as well as you’d expect

(thE angSty tenSioN)

i want to play the game: [from the floor] i’m still not ready to talk about it

(rio/turner, missing scene, 10000000% a taste of what went down in that hotel room)

june after dark: pitch perfect annie pov, really really love the take that Annie is the baby whisperer, can’t fully explain why but it feels incredibly right

(ANNIE X NANCY COULD WORK SO WELL YOU GUYS)

[wrenhyperfixates]

Of All the Places

Chapter 2

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: Washing up in a small town in Oklahoma was definitely not part of Loki’s plan when he came to conquer Midgard. There is one good thing about it, though: No one recognizes him as the one who just wreaked havoc in New York. So, Loki plans to recover from the battle and move on with his life. The only problem? He’s not sure he can leave you. Chapter Summary: It’s a new day and Loki meets the rest of your family. He begins to formulate a plan, but it’s derailed by your hospitality before it can even begin. Chapter Warnings: none A/N: Alright, here we go. Chapter 2! Let me know what you think, and if anyone has any predictions they’d like to share, I would love to hear! Updates every Friday. Enjoy :) P.S. It’s spooky season! That has absolutely nothing to do with this fic, but it’s one of my favorite times of year

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiantfavs​

✥ Start at Beginning ✥ | ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki woke up feeling a lot more alert than he had the previous day. After convincing you that he had amnesia, he spent the rest of the day drifting in and out of slumber, assisting his rapidly healing body get better even faster. He got out of the bed and stretched his aching muscles before scanning the room with fresh eyes. It was even more bare than he had originally realized, but he could tell from patches of less faded paint and wood that there was a time when it wasn’t so sparsely decorated. He flipped a switch by the entrance and the lights came on, sending a surge of panic through him that had him running over to the TV. He let out a sigh of relief when it still did’t work. Though, perhaps that was just because he was so terrible at using Midgardian technology. He stilled for a second and heard a faint mechanical hum easily identified as a generator. The cable would be back sooner rather than later, he was sure, but from looking out the bedroom’s single window, Loki knew he was in the middle of nowhere and that the internet connection was probably spotty at best. With any luck, he would be fully healed in the next few hours and could take his leave.

As he worked on massaging out the remaining dull ache in his body, Loki’s eyes finally landed on a bright pink piece of paper left atop a pile of clothes. His eyes skipped to the bottom where the signature was and, seeing that it bore your name, he went back up to the top to read it. He tugged off his sweaty, bloody clothes and pulled on the ones you’d written were left for him. The material of the shirt was soft enough, but the sweatpants were dreadfully baggy for someone who preferred form-fitting clothes that displayed his physique. Certainly, though, you’d been thinking of the comfort level of what you believed to be a very injured mortal, so he tried to remain thankful. Loki folded up his old clothes and left them in the spot where his new ones had been moments ago.

Back at the window, Loki was once again trying to determine precisely where he was. Besides the landscape, your voice and that of your father’s provided some clues to the most likely locations. He still had to be in North America, he was sure, and though he suspected it was the United States, there wasn’t anything confirming it at the moment. Your father did have a slight twang to his voice, though, so it supported his theory that he was probably in one of the southern states. Other than that, all Loki could determine was that this was a farm; a nice remote farm where he could hide from his oaf of a brother and his new overly heroic friends.

Loki called out to the Tesseract, and it appeared in his hands. Such power for such a tiny object, he thought as he turned it over in his hand. The last time it rested in his palm, he’d not fully been himself. Even so much as looking at it made him feel a little queasy now as he thought of all the crimes he’d committed with it. For it. But when his life is on the line, Loki had learned, there is very little he’d not do to save himself. It was one similarity he shared with mortals that he’d rather not. It was also one of the few he’d actually admit were there. But, no, some mortals were righteous beings. He knew that, but had trouble separating those of a higher caliber from the rest of the species. He wondered what kind of mortal you were, before being pulled out of his musings by a delicious aroma. He debated for a minute before once again tucking the Tesseract away in its dimensional pocket and heading out of the room, down the stairs, towards the amazing scent coming from a lower floor.

“Not a thing,” he heard your voice ring out as he got closer.

“Or so he says,” responded an unfamiliar female voice.

When he rounded the corner he saw it belonged to a woman that must be your mother, or else your older doppelgänger because of how alike the two of you looked. Your dispositions, though, could not have been more different. The first person to notice him lurking half-in, half-out of the room was a small boy who pointed at him.

“New friend!” he cheered. “New friend!”

Such innocence as Loki had never known continuously amazed him. He feared he could be dangerous for this child, but he would be gone so soon that he wouldn’t even be a blip in the boy’s memory.

“I would very much like to be your friend, indeed,” Loki said, crouching down to the boy’s height as he toddled over. The adults in the room all shot each other glances, but no one moved to do anything. “And what might your name be?”

“I’m Matt. And I’m this many,” the child responded, proudly holding up four fingers.

“A pleasure to meet you, Matt. My name is Loki.”

“How many are you?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Oh, far too many to count on fingers, little one. In fact, I am 1,047 years old,” he said, realizing that it would probably just be seen as a joke to amuse the boy, rather than a fact.

He laughed at Loki’s statement, but before he could reply, a woman that was presumably his mom called him over. “Don’t bother our guest right now, Matt. He’s still recovering,” she scolded.

“I assure you, it is completely fine, Mrs...?”

“Johnson. But, please, feel free to call me Ana. And this is my husband, John.”

“Glad to make your acquaintance,” Loki charismatically said, though on the inside he was laughing at the name “John Johnson.” These mortals and their foolish names. “And I do believe we already met,” he added, turning to you.

“Yes, we did. You were so out of it I wasn’t quite sure you remembered. This is Mama,” you said, gesturing to the woman who Loki had correctly identified as your mother.

“Hello,” she drawled, fixing the god with an icy stare.

“Papa, did you hear? Loki’s awake,” you told the man walking out of the kitchen with a plate of light brown disks stacked high.

“Glad you’re up, son. Just in time for pancakes, too,” he said, immediately diffusing the tension brewing between Loki and Mama. “Come on, plop yourself down on a seat over here. You must be pooped, and I promise we don’t bite.”

Loki sauntered over to the chair Papa had gestured to and sat down. Feeling a fuzzy mass moving between his sprawled legs, he peered down and saw a grey-brown cat under the table. He’d never been one for pets, but the soft fur was comforting to his weary soul.

“Taffy,” you tsked at the feline before looking back up at Loki with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I hope you’re not allergic.”

“Do not worry, I am not. At least,” he added, remembering his lie from the day prior, “I do not remember that I am.”

Loki appraised your charming family in your quaint farmhouse, almost feeling bad to intrude. Though, he reminded himself, he’d be out of your hair before you knew it. Papa was the only one happily chattering on about this year’s harvest, oblivious to the tension at the table, or else ignoring it. The God of Mischief refocused on the plan he’d created this morning; he needed answers. You were seated beside him and, besides your father and nephew, the only one who didn’t seem wary of him. And you were really the only viable option as Loki didn’t want to get sucked into a conversation about the wheat crop with your father, and Matt was at the age where he was only vaguely aware he was on planet Earth.

“If you do not mind,” he started, turning to you, “I have a few questions.”

“Of course you do. Sorry, I’m such an idiot,” you said smacking your forehead. “Please, ask away.”

The way you immediately seemed to blame and degrade yourself reminded Loki of himself. The difference, however, was that you did it aloud while Loki kept it bottled up. Whose way was better, he didn’t know. Perhaps neither was really good.

“It is quite alright,” he reassured you. “To begin, where exactly are we?”

Apparently it was some hole in the wall in Oklahoma, so Loki had been fairly correct in his middle of nowhere assessment. Apparently, you weren’t outrageously far from Oklahoma City, though Loki felt it best he avoid cities for a little bit. The nearby town that your farm was technically a part of was a very close knit community, so you knew that wasn’t where he was from.

“I see,” he said, planning his next move. “And that is how far from New York?”

“Far. Why? Is that where you’re from?” you asked, getting excited for Loki that he might already be getting his memory back.

“I am not sure,” Loki lied. “I just seem to think that is where I was headed. Or coming from.”

“Maybe you were at some kind of convention,” John offered, tuning in to the conversation. “Aren’t those a big thing in New York City?”

“It would sure explain the clothes!” Papa added.

“Great. Let’s send him back there,” Mama said, already standing up like she intended to drive him there right at the moment.

“Mama,” you harshly whispered, hating how unwelcoming she was being.

“Maybe he was on vacation from England. He does have an accent,” Ana chimed in, hoping to prevent a fight.

“I am afraid that I do not remember,” Loki muttered.

He was thankful no one was even concerned about how he arrived here. There was something else, too. He was feeling uncharacteristically ashamed because of how helpful you all were being. Well, most of you were being, anyway. He reminded himself again that he would be gone within the hour.

“It’s ok,” you soothed. “Like I said yesterday, you can stay here for as long as you need. In fact, I insist that you do.”

“I... Thank you.”

Loki still planned to leave rather quickly, but the kind look in your eyes compelled him to stay for a little while longer. After all, it couldn’t hurt to think about his next move a bit more. If he were to use the Tesseract again, Heimdall would surely notice. So, he’d lie low for a while and then get off this accursed planet.

“Well if he’s going to be staying here, he better help out some,” Mama grumbled. “I won’t have any freeloaders on my farm.”

“Now now, honey,” Papa said, patting her hand. “He’s still injured, after all.”

“On the contrary, I would happy to help,” Loki interjected, shooting a charming smile at Mama. “I am feeling much better now.”

“See, Earl,” Mama said triumphantly. “He’s fine.”

Everyone else tried to fight on Loki’s behalf but, between him and Mama, it was a losing battle. Eventually, it was time to clean up from breakfast, and you took him away from the clattering of empty dishes to find him so work clothes. The trickster god got a much better look at the rest of the house while you led him higher and higher until you reached the attic. You hesitated a second before opening a box labeled “James’s Clothes.” As you gently picked up the shirt on top, Loki peered over your shoulder wondering who this stuff belonged to.

“My brother’s,” you began before he could ask, sensing the question on his tongue. “We were going to donate them anyway, so I suppose it doesn’t really matter. And don’t worry, I’ll talk to Mama before she sees you. I’d give you some of John’s things, or Papa’s even, but you know.”

Indeed, Loki did know. Though he was roughly the same height as both the men, he was much leaner than they were. Unfortunately, that was about the only thing he understood. Your little distracted speech left him with even more questions than before, but something in him was screaming not to push you, to think of someone else for once. So, all he said was thank you. After a quick pit stop in the room from the night before to change into the bundle of clothes you’d given him, Loki made his way back downstairs where yet another argument was taking place. He was certain that his arrival was causing more tension than normal. His mind briefly flitted to his own family. It all seemed so picturesque, once, but that time was long gone. His mother—or Queen Frigga, as he supposed he should start calling her—never changed. She was as kind and gentle as ever, yet still possessed this refined regality and power. In other words, she was the complete opposite of Mama, who turned on her heel and made a disgruntled sigh as she exited when Loki appeared.

“There ya are, son,” Papa greeted once she was gone. “We had an idea while you were up there. We should make you up a missing person ad. I’m sure someone’s bound to know who you are.”

There was that sickeningly Thor-esque optimism in Papa’s voice. Not to mention the nickname “son” which, for someone like Loki at least, was one of the worst thing he could be called. He did his best not to grimace.  

“No thank you,” he replied, before continuing at the behest of your confused looks. “I certainly would not want to put you out any more than I already have.”

“Nonsense. We just gotta find the camera,” Papa said, already moving past him.

Loki just sighed, deciding he’d find a way to stall later. When he finally looked back at you, your hands were clasped behind your back and you were nervously shifting your weight.

“In the meantime,” Loki began, picking up where he left off with your father, “why not show me what I may help with?”

You took him out to the chicken coop and taught him how to collect eggs. He supposed it made sense this was the task left for him considering you all still thought he was a fragile human. As you taught him, you prattled on about your life and your family. You mentioned how Mama met Papa, and how your sister met John, but nothing about your brother. Loki was on the verge of asking, but he didn’t want to make his time with you awkward. Even more than that, he didn’t want it to seem like he cared. No need to cause any extra pain when he inevitably left, right? Though your glittering eyes and stunning smile were working overtime to convince him otherwise.

“That’s all there is to it,” you said, finishing up your tutorial. “Any questions?”

“None at all. You are an excellent teacher.”

You two shared a laugh, and Loki was shocked by how easily conversation was flowing. Though, he let you do most of the talking, lest he reveal something that does not align with the rest of his story. All too soon, you had to leave to take care of your other chores. For a second, Loki felt as if he missed you already, but he quickly pushed the thought out of his mind and focused on the task at hand. Just a week, he repeated in his mind as he gently placed eggs in the basket you’d given him. Just a week.

As he approached the farmhouse, he noticed a thick newspaper on the long driveway. He went over to examine it and, sure enough, he’d made the headlines. No clear photos of him attached, luckily, but the clothes were distinctive enough that you would recognize him for sure. Loki looked side to side before performing a quick spell to get rid of the paper. He headed back over to the house before anyone could notice him, ignoring the annoyingly persistent guilt bubbling within him.

“Just a week,” he muttered to himself again as he neared where you were on the front porch. “Just a week.”

But deep down, he already knew it would be much longer than that.

[theoceanfaewriter]

Laws and Lattes

Merry Christmas @clockworkgraystairs!! Have a Manorian coffee shop au as your cliche little Christmas gift 😂 Thank you for all the scheming (as well as screaming. coughs in the infernal devices) and help with other fics. ily!

Dorian was 28 years old and had long since given up on finding love in a coffee shop.  A coffee shop.  He was the youngest politician in the country, for fuck’s sake.

When the magic ink showed up on his wrist at midnight on his 18th birthday, he'd guffawed at Chaol who'd waited up with him, ever the believer in this soulmate crap.  In miniscule white, bubbly letters, the words "Hi.  Welcome to Starbucks, may I take your order?"  Great.  That was really just his luck.  Just 2 weeks before, Chaol's wrist had been emblazoned with "Not tonight, buddy.  I'm just a girl in a bar tonight."  She sounded like a fun girl.

Suffice it to say, considering that he was born and raised in New York then moved to Seattle, he'd seen more than his fair share of the chain's stores.  For the first couple of years, he'd replied to every hot barista's greeting with "Is it you?" and secretly prayed that none of the more homely ones would perk up after hearing his order.  By the time he'd graduated university, he'd given up.

When he walked into the establishment at 4th and Pine, he glanced down at his wrist and rolled his eyes, joining the queue.

-

At midnight on her 18th birthday, Manon Blackbeak sat in a circle with her half sisters, Asterin and Vesta, and her little sister Sorrel.  When "I'm sorry, no, I just got called into a city meeting," appeared on her wrist in sloppy, harsh lettering, Asterin and Vesta let out excited squeals, while Sorrel just rolled her eyes.  

The three of them had decided ages ago that they were all going to be surgeons like Asterin and Vesta's mom.  "So, that settles that, then.  Political science is a definite."

“You were supposed to come to the dark side," Asterin growled, climbing into her little sister's lap and nearly knocking her over.  She was already in her first year of Med School and Manon's hero.  Somehow, she was managing to take care of Asterin, who was still in high school, and their ailing mother, all while managing to progress in her classes at UW.  Manon remembered the long, teary phone call with her the week before her graduation from Dartmouth, telling her about her mother's diagnosis, and how she'd have to forgo Northwestern and settle for UW, citing that at least she'd be nearer to her.  It had taken its toll on her, but by then, almost a full year from that phone call, you could hardly tell.  

Even though she seemed genuinely happy for Manon's definitive first-words, it still stung that her tattoo had merely said "Excuse me."  

While she herself was a sophomore in College already by then, having skipped grades when she was younger, Manon wasn't sure that surgery was where she was headed, despite being pre-med.  That merely sealed the deal.

She'd only gotten this job to kill time and save up a few dollars while waiting for her internship at the hospital to start.  She just knew that she wasn't going to meet the love of her life in a coffee shop.  How cliche and boring would that be?  Still, it was cute the amount of young adults who came in, eyeing her suspiciously and asking some variation on "Are you her?" after her company-standard greeting with a wanton desperation, only to deflate when she shook her head sadly.  That just wouldn't be it for her.  

She knew that it was frustrating.  She saw it in the way Asterin had flinched every time a stranger moved around her on the street or tried to get her attention in a bar up until the night before she started her internship.  The fact that he turned out to be a surgeon and her boss proved only to be a minor stumbling block the next morning.

That was all going to come to a close for Manon soon.  She could feel it.  She was going to be a kickass politician and find her equally kickass politician spouse.  The fact that this was her last shift just made it all that much better.

Despite all that, she couldn't help but notice the ridiculously sexy, brooding man that just walked in and secretly mourned that her tattoo didn't read something like "Doppio Espresso and a coffee cake, please."  After a moment, she let it go.

The line progressed efficiently and there he was in front of her and, god, he was even more beautiful up close, she thought, but found herself interrupted by the sharp chirp of an old school pager.  Pager, she thought cheerfully. Politicians use those!  Returning to reality, she found herself absently chorusing the typical greeting, "Hi. Welcome to Starbucks, may I take your order."

The words didn't seem to rouse the man from the device.  "I'm sorry, no, I just got called into a city meeting," he answered and turned and walked out just like that.  

Manon's heart hammered away in her chest as the next guest babbled their long, frothy order at her, but it was irrelevant.  She hadn't heard a word they'd said.  Turning away, she waved over a coworker and pointed at the register, before she retreated into the back of the store.  Holy shit.  She'd met her soulmate in a coffee shop.  And as quickly as he'd come, he was gone.

-

That night, Manon cried in her sister's arms, describing him over and over to Asterin in perfect detail thanks to her photographic memory, and swearing she hadn't made him up.  "His first words defined who I'd become.  What if this was it?  What if I'm destined to be alone because I let him walk out?" she hiccuped.  "What if he's my soulmate but I'm not his?  Can that happen?"

"No, Manon," Asterin cooed.  "That doesn’t happen.”

It was only after the 5th time that it clicked in her head.  "What time did you say it was?"  

Sniffling pathetically, she answered "8:11".  

"And, you said he was tall, with salt and pepper hair?" she asked, straightening herself out in front of her and putting her hands out on her shoulders.

She nodded a little.

"Do you love me?" Asterin asked her sister, question met with an indignant grunt.  "Come in early for your shift tomorrow.  There's someone I want you to meet.  Get some sleep, hon."  With little more argument, Manon headed up the stairs and into bed.  As soon as she was certain she was out of earshot, Mer reached into her pocket and called her own soulmate, remembering how she'd bonded with someone over having a generic tattoo, but how she'd assured him that his soulmate probably had something great because he would be so sick of listening for it.  "Chaol, are you busy?"

-

Morning light changes people.  When she woke up, Manon felt incredibly stupid.  Obviously, that couldn't have been him.  She had a lifetime full of customers in front of her.  The chance of meeting a politician and her soulmate in a Starbucks?  Slim.  Infinitesimal, even.  That didn't change the fact that Asterin's persistence in getting her in early this morning was thoroughly irritating.

"Just trust me," had been the incessant refrain.  "You won't regret it."  She couldn't help but take her sister's urgence as a slight mockery of her reaction the night before.

Rolling her eyes, Manon sighed impatiently, "I'm fine."  She grabbed her coat off the hook and headed for the door.  "Really, this isn't necessary."

She merely smiled, practically pushing her to the car.

-

"This is stupid," Dorian moaned from where Chaol had him lodged in the hallway.  "Why do I have to be here to meet your stupid girlfriend's stupid little sister?

His best friend smiled his normal 'because-I-know-what's-best-for-you-dipshit' smile, and answered "To humor me?  Besides," he urged, "You never know.  She might be fun to hang around."

He turned away from his best friend coldly, rolling his eyes and burying his shoulder in the wall, having decided that he wasn't just going to stare at the elevator like a chump.

-

Leaning against the handrail, Manon groaned "This is stupid."  She couldn't believe she'd had her sleep cut back an hour before work. “You know I'm going to be here later than anyone else.  Why did you have to make it even longer?"  She missed her bed already and they weren’t even out of the car.

"Because you trust me.  And I'm your evil big sister."  Who you're going to thank endlessly in 5... 4... 3... 2...

-

The elevator dinged and the two girls left the car and Asterin dragged Manon straight for the men leaning against the wall with an absurd amount of pep.  She couldn't even bring herself to mind that her little sister seemed more interested in her shoelaces.  

"Hey, beautiful," he started, planting a chaste kiss to his girlfriend's cheek.  "Manon," Chaol greeted, swatting at Dorian to get his attention.   

Asterin smiled, bumping her hip against her sister.  "Manon, this is Dorian.  He's the senator here."  From his posture, Asterin wondered if he'd fallen asleep.

She looked up with her standard friendly smile and stopped cold, jaw suddenly lax.  She recognized him instantly. The guy from yesterday. Glancing between her sister and Chaol, not sure what to do.  Chaol tapped his wrist and pointed at Dorian.  Asterin nodded and whispered "Say it."

Her tongue grew thick in her mouth.  She shrugged at Chaol.  She knew what she'd said to him, obviously, but all she was sure of was that what he said was on her wrist.  She decided to give it a shot.  She tapped Dorian on the shoulder and repeated the company line one final time:  "Hi.  Welcome to Starbucks, may I take your order?"

The older man whipped around and stared at the girl, ready to lay into her, until he realized that she was holding her wrist out to him.  He read the words in his handwriting over and over again, trying to place why they sounded so familiar until it clicked.  Starbucks yesterday.  When he'd ran out, that's what he said to the barista.  He hadn't even thought to look up before he took off.  Now, he wished more than anything he had.

After the brief silence grew to an uncomfortable length, she repositioned her hand from showing the white ink on her wrist to offering it to Dorian.  "Manon Blackbeak."

"Dorian," he fumbled, reaching out to shake it.  He stared at her for a long time, like he couldn't believe after all this time that she was real.

She smiled, pulling his hand closer and looking down at the etching inside his wrist.  Her handwriting.  Those words.  "I thought I'd never see you again after you ran out of there."

"Guess it was meant to be," he answered.  In that moment, some 10 years after his ink showed up, Dorian really, firmly believed in soulmates.

TOG taglist: @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves @starborn-faerie-queen @addies-invisible-life

[snakebites-22]

My Favorite Color is You

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N: This is my first Peter Parker fic and first fic on this site. I really hope you like it and feedback is welcome but don’t be a bully please. Thank you @dreamofaprilsblog​ for the prompts “Do you need to go to the hospital?” and soulmate AU. Sorry for this being a day late, but I hope you still enjoy it anyways. 

Warnings: fire, almost mugging, burns, hospitals, slight angst, petty teenagers, mentions of a person being followed (comment if there’s anything else I should add)

Word Count: 3175

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter Parker is very desperate to find you, his soulmate. He’s looked for you in every person he makes eye contact with. Guys, girls, he’s looked for you in everyone. Well, one fateful patrol leads him to discover his new favorite color. 

Side note: I tried to make this as gender inclusive as possible so I used “they” to describe the reader’s pronouns, but just imagine your own whenever “they” is used if it isn’t your pronoun. Peter is bi in this story. If there is a point where I accidentally specify a gender please let me know so I can fix it. Enjoy! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter knew about soulmates. He’s read about them in books, learned about famous soulmates in class, and even heard about them in real time from people lucky enough to find theirs. He, of course, was not that lucky. Stupid Parker luck. He knew from what he’s heard and learned that the world actually isn’t dull shades of gray with black and white, but it actually had color. Real vibrant colors like red and purple and green, things his brain didn’t have the capacity to imagine. He knew that all it took was eye contact with the right person to change his world. Too bad he hadn’t found those eyes just yet. 

He was sitting on top of a random apartment building while on his usual nightly patrol bored out of his freaking mind. There just wasn’t anything good tonight. He helped a little girl get her kite down from a tree and one man needed help catching his dog who had gotten off his leash, and yeah he was a cute dog, but he could be doing something better. He could be finding you. Of course, he didn’t know who you were yet. Just a bright, beautiful figment of his imagination, and his heart ached for you. Was that even possible? To long for someone he wasn’t even sure existed? Well, guess it is because he’s living proof of the pitiful feeling. 

A loud yell shook him from his depressing thoughts and he jumped up quickly. 

“Finally,” he muttered with a small grin as he shot a web in the direction the yell had come from. He swung as quickly as his agile body allowed and soon landed down on the pavement in front of an alleyway. He looked around cautiously and could feel the prickling sensation that was his Peter t- Spider Sense. It was his Spider Sense. He shook his head a bit and tried to remain focused as he crept down the dark passage. 

 “I don’t want any trouble, lady,” Peter heard a low voice hiss from the gloom. “Just want whatever cash and shit you got on ya. Don’t be a bitch about it.” 

Peter scowled and kept walking until he was able to make out two figures in the dim light the street lamps provided. A young woman, maybe late teens or early twenties, was pinned up against a wall while a man who was obviously older stood before her, a small knife in his right hand. 

Peter sighed softly. “Y’know,” he started as the criminal dude jumped. “If you want money you should probably just get a job like a normal person. I hear the Burger King down the street is hiring.” 

The guy quickly turned around and tried to slash at Spider-Man with the knife which the boy effortlessly ducked and grabbed his assailant's arm, twisting just enough that he dropped his knife. The man grunted in pain and swung at him again, but Spider-Man dodged and countered with a kick to the man’s abdomen. The force of the kick sent him flying back into the opposite alley wall and before he had time to even look up, the young hero webbed him to the dirty brick. 

“Karen?” Peter whispered softly.

“The police are on their way Peter. Good job,” the AI responded.

Peter smiled beneath the mask. “Hey, thanks.” 

The boy turned around to see the girl still standing against the wall, breathing deeply. His heart jumped a bit as he realized that she was about his age, and also very pretty. Try as he might to keep it down, hope surged in his chest as he made his way over to her. 

“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?” He asked quickly as he did a small glance over her.

“No, I believe I’m alright. Thank you Spider-Man,” she breathed out. 

She slowly looked up at him and Peter looked into her eyes and-

Nothing… they remained a light grey color just like the rest of his surroundings. He couldn’t help the small disappointed sigh that left his lips before he forced himself into a smile. 

“That’s good. I’m glad. Um… do you live far from here? I could walk you home if you want.” 

The girl shook her head and gave him a tiny, hesitant smile. “My car is right down the street. I was walking there so that I could get to the library where my girlfriend is probably waiting for me when that guy grabbed me. Speaking of her, I should probably get going. Thank you again.” She smiled hesitantly and waved to him before walking away and taking out her phone, probably to call this girlfriend. 

Peter sighed again and watched her to make sure she got to her car before looking back at the man webbed to the wall. “Does everyone have a soulmate except for me?” he questioned without really expecting an answer. Nevertheless, the almost mugger shrugged anyway. 

Peter scowled before jumping up and climbing the alley wall. He stood on the roof and waited there until the police arrived to take the guy into custody, and once they were gone so was Spider-Man. 

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

Peter entered his bedroom through the open window and crawled along his ceiling until he was over top of his loft bed. Looking over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t accidentally fall onto the floor, which definitely didn’t happen a lot, he let go and flopped onto the bed with a huff. He tugged his mask off of his head and tossed it over the side in a fit of petty anger. 

May, who must have heard him come in, opened the door and gazed up at him. “Long night?” she asked softly to which Peter just shrugged, not in the mood to really talk to anyone. 

“Well, I got us some Chinese food if you’d like it.” Peter heard the door creak behind her as she turned around and walked back towards the rest of the house. He would have preferred to stay in bed, but the incessant growling of his stomach said no, causing him to get up. After changing out of his suit annoyedly, he went out and joined his aunt. 

Aunt May was sitting at their small dinner table with a plate of chow mein, glancing at the TV which was playing the news report of the latest Spidey save. Peter walked over and sat down in his usual seat across from her. When she looked up at him, she smiled sadly.

“I got you some dumplings and noodles. Also they gave me, like, a ton of fortune cookies. I don’t know who needs sixteen fortune cookies, but apparently it’s us.”

“You counted?” Peter asked with a little chuckle.

“Hey. That many fortune cookies needs to be counted,” May retorted with a smile as she saw her nephew laugh. 

They both began eating, Peter slow at first but then diving in once he realized exactly how hungry he was. 

Once they finished eating, Peter helped pack up the leftovers and clean the dishes. As he loaded the dishwasher, Aunt May asked softly, “what’s on your mind tonight? The guy you fought?” 

Peter shook his head and sighed. He finished loading the dishwasher before turning to Aunt May to answer. “No I just… how old were you when you met Uncle Ben? And found out he was your soulmate?” 

Aunt May looked slightly taken aback by this question and pursed her lips a little. She always did that whenever Ben was brought up. “I was 23, I think. Yeah… yeah somewhere around that age. We met at this resort one summer. That’s also where your mom and dad met.” She smiled a little at the memory and Peter watched her with slight pain behind his eyes. “God, when all four of us saw color for the first time, well, we were so surprised of course, but it was really, really amazing. Why do you ask?” 

“I just… nothing. Just curious,” Peter answered with a tight smile. “I think I’m gonna head to bed now. Tired. From the fight.” 

Aunt May nodded and Peter trotted back to his room. Before he reached the door, he heard her call to him from the kitchen. “You’ll find your soulmate Peter. I know it feels like forever and you just want to meet them now, but I promise you’ll find them soon.” Peter glanced back at her before walking into his room without saying another word. 

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

The next couple of days were a consistent and normal blur. Peter had school, then patrol, then repeat the next day. Everywhere he went he looked around for his soulmate. At one point, this really cute curly haired boy walked past him and he felt his heart skip a beat as he looked into his dark eyes, but nothing again. He sighed in disappointment as the taller boy walked away from him, leaving him to continue his stupid quest. 

That had happened two days ago. Now, Spider-Man was patrolling the city, swinging between buildings. It was a relatively quiet night. He helped this one kid find his mom when he got separated from at a park, and he also walked a young woman back to her apartment because she thought she was being followed. After double checking, it didn’t look like she was, but then again that was probably because the shithead saw Spider-Man and turned around. But all-in-all, it was very quiet and chill. That is, until the explosion happened.

Spider-Man quickly started swinging in the direction the loud sound came from, wondering what the hell that was about. It didn’t take him long to find it. A restaurant he happened to pass by a lot was burning up in giant, pale flames. He jumped down and quickly ran inside the burning building. 

There was fire everywhere. The heat crashed against him like a ferocious wave. It reminded him so much of his fight with the Vulture that he hesitated a second before continuing to run inside. It looked like most of the people had already gotten out or were running for the exits. 

“That way over there,” Spidey yelled to the people running past him. “Is anyone else still in here?” He called out as he ran further into the building. Weak coughing came as a reply. Someone ran up to him and grabbed him while coughing viciously into their arm. 

“Spider-Man,” the person said in harsh breaths. “Please you, you have to help. The back room. My friend－” 

“I’ll get to them. Get yourself to safety.”

They nodded and ran out the building while the young hero ran in the direction the person had gestured to. He could still hear the weak coughing from earlier, but now he was hearing a tiny “help” and “please” that made his heart ache. He dodged out of the way of falling debris and hissed in pain when he backed into a burning metal rod from an overturned table. Still, he pressed on until he reached the backroom. 

The smoke was immense. From the damage it looked like this was the epicenter of the explosion. 

“Hello?” he yelled over the roar of the fire. He wasn’t sure if he could even be heard over everything, but a weak call answered him. 

“O-over here.”

Spider-Man jumped over more burning debris as he frantically looked around. His eyes widened when he finally saw them. A figure lay trapped beneath a large chunk of wood that had once been the ceiling. They looked badly burned and were coughing harshly and breathing in rough, raspy breaths. 

He ran over to them and started to lift up the wood despite the burning in his hands, causing the person below to cry out. Spidey yelled in pain as he managed to lift the debris off of them and throw it to the side. 

He quickly crouched down to look at the person he just rescued, and he was met with the most beautiful pair of e/c orbs to ever exist. His jaw dropped as he quickly ripped off his mask, his mask that was now the most vibrant and bright shade of a color he had only ever heard about. He looked back at you, your eyes impossibly wide as you choked out a small, “you?”

Peter nodded. “Me..let me lift you up okay?” You nodded a tiny bit and whimpered loudly as Peter gently wrapped his arms underneath your battered body, lifting you up into his chest. He winced a little from the pain in his hands and his back, but he pulled his mask back on before running out of the now rapidly collapsing building. 

The fire was so much brighter now. Reds and oranges and yellows. He could see the burning blue curtains hanging in the window. The shades of green and brown and the colorful painting on the wall that were all turning to black and grey ash. How horrifyingly beautiful.

He ran over to where the ambulances were parked and looked around frantically as he saw the EMTs and paramedics treating people and getting the most badly hurt people on stretchers and into the vehicles. 

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” He heard from behind him. He turned around and saw a paramedic looking at him. 

“N-No no but they do,” Spidey stated as he held you tightly to his chest. Your eyelids were nearly closed and your breathing was ragged. 

The paramedic quickly called her team over and they gently took you from his arms. They laid you out on the stretcher and got to work on getting you on a breathing mask and looking at your wounds. His breath caught in his throat as he began to clearly see how bad your wounds were. Harsh red burns covered your skin, especially your lower body where the wood had pinned you down. 

For a moment it was so hard to focus, the sirens and yelling was overwhelming, the bright lights were blinding him, the heat was still so immense, he could hear your heart and your breath so impossibly loud, and just all the colors－

It was all so much he almost didn’t notice the team taking the stretcher you were on away into an ambulance. Taking you away into the ambulance. Away from him. He was not having any of that. They were not taking you away when he just finally found you. Your gorgeous eyes looked at him with fear and desperation as they rolled you away. 

“Wait!” he cried as he followed after them. “Wait please you have to let me come with you. I have to go with them.” 

“Are you family?” an EMT asked him with a puzzled expression. 

“No no I-I’m not but－”

“We’re only allowing family to－”

“I’m their soulmate!” He shouted. “Please. Please don’t take them from me.” 

After a moment, just one single moment where Peter could feel his chest constricting and he could sense your eyes on him and his heart was beating way too fast, the EMT nodded and Spidey joined them in the ambulance. 

He sat down beside your stretcher and gently took your hand. He stared into your eyes that had started to fill with tears, and he very lightly gave your fingers a squeeze despite the sting in his own hand. You offered him the tiniest smile, and then the ambulance drove off, taking both of you with it. 

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

It had been several hours. You were now laying in a hospital bed with all of your burns bandaged and your wounds attended to as Peter sat in a chair beside you, his own burns taken care of as well. 

Aunt May had stopped by earlier to check on him and also see you. They talked a bit about all of the colors. How bright they were or how dull they were and how your eyes were his new favorite color because, God, how could one thing be so beautiful? However, he couldn’t see your eyes now as you slept peacefully. Instead, he was staring in fascination at the Spider-Man suit. He really went around in such a bright red and blue suit? How has he not been shot and killed yet?

He was shaken out of these thoughts by the sound of the bed sheets rustling. He quickly looked up and was met by his favorite color. He smiled widely and sat up straighter as you offered him a tiny smile. 

“Hi,” he breathed out. 

“Hi,” you whispered back. 

You both stared at one another for a moment that was both awkward and yet somehow comforting. You cleared your throat a tiny bit before murmuring, “Can I have a drink?”

“Drink? Oh uh yeah of course, sorry.” Peter quickly sprang up to get you a glass of water from the water dispenser over in the corner. He walked back over and carefully raised the glass to your lips, your hand coming up to gently rest over his and he would be a huge liar if he said he didn’t blush as red as his suit. 

He set the empty glass down on the bedside table and sat back down in his seat, pulling it a tiny bit closer to your bed. 

“So,” you began softly. “Spider-Man is my soulmate?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he laughed softly. “My name’s Peter. Parker.”

“Y/n,” you answered. 

He smiled one of the biggest smiles that he’s ever smiled before. It was one of those where it leaves your cheeks aching afterwards. 

“What?” you asked, an eyebrow raised.

He shook his head quickly, his curls bouncing along his hairline. “Nothing just… your name is so perfect. You’re perfect.” 

“You found me in the pits of hell and you’re going to call me perfect? You’re an angel.”

He definitely did not blush at that statement. Nope. Not Peter Parker. 

He laughed a little and looked at you adoringly. He could already tell he was the luckiest guy alive. 

“So, uh, I should probably ask this just to um make it official and all of that,” Peter mumbled after a moment. “Would you like to go out sometime? I mean, obviously once we’re both healed and everything. And… afterwards maybe be my significant other?” 

You laughed a little and Peter felt his face fall and his inside twist up in nervousness. Did he do something wrong? What was happening?

“Yeah, of course. I’d love to go out with you Peter Parker.” 

He beamed widely at you as you smiled back. You both sat for a few minutes in silence and at some point Peter had taken your hand and was gently rubbing circles into it and you both were talking about absolutely anything, but mostly about all the new colors when a nurse walked in. 

“Excuse me, your parents are here. Shall I send them in?”

Peter’s eyes widened as you turned to look at him with a smirk.

“Ready to meet my parents?”

Fuck. 

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

Tagging some people who will hopefully like this: @soft-petey​ @quaksvn @itslokes @tommysparker @greenorangevioletgrass @lxilahm @holland-mendes-always-forever @thespydersargon @angel-spidey @angel-holland @th0ttie4tommy @tonguetiedholland @follow-tom-holland-is-spiderman @tcny-stcrks @spideyyeet​ @spider-starry​ @bitchass-slytheriny-snake​ @dreamofaprilsblog

(Redid the tags cuz apparently they didn’t work)

If you want to be added to my taglist or removed just comment and I’d be happy to do so <3

[dracosearlgreytea]

indelicate marks (1)

indelicate marks: chapter one - the broom cupboard 

A/N: welcome tumblr to this draco x reader fic! this can also be found on my ao3, under the user ‘accioearlgrey’. i hope to post 1-2 times weekly, so keep an eye out for updates

summary: Draco Malfoy and Y/N Y/L/N both hide the marks left behind by choices they did not make. The birth of one, however, will tie them closer together than either of them realise, in ways that grow to be more delicate than they know. Reader is a Pureblood Slytherin, set 6th Year.

warnings: blood, language, mild sexual implications, gryffindors being shite

indelicate marks index

Draco Malfoy had only spoken to you once. The Yule Ball - you seemed to be the only one in fourth year or above that hadn't shown up. Not that Draco had noticed; you were quiet, withdrawn. The type that made him, and most others, question your placement in Slytherin. You weren't obnoxious and loud, like Pansy Parkinson, and you didn't make friends with everyone for the gossip, like Daphne Greengrass. In fact, it was quite uncertain to some if you even actually existed, half the time. It seemed you had quite the knack of making yourself invisible. Draco was hardly surprised, either, with a name like yours. Rumours and whispers followed you in the corridor - whenever anyone noticed you, that was - shrouding you in dark mystery. 'Y/N Y/L/N - parents were in Azkaban before she had even learnt to walk.' 'I bet she's had the Dark Mark since she was born - just came out with it already there.' 'She's got to be a Deatheater. Surprised Dumbledore allowed her to even come to Hogwarts in the first place.' He couldn't help but pity you, in a way. He supposed, if things hadn't gone differently for his father... Well, he might have ended up in much a similar position.   So, no - it hadn't even occurred to Draco that you weren't amongst the crowd at the Yule Ball, not in the slightest. He'd left early. The music was still loud, the sound of students cheering and shouting along to a song Draco had never heard before echoing down the corridor. He was attempting to escape Pansy Parkinson, as per usual; her hands had been particularly too touchy and giggle too high, tonight, and so he'd managed to slip off into the mass of people when she had gone to get a drink, hastily making his way down the dim corridors. Once he was sure she wasn't about to ambush him after potentially spotting his swift exit, he slowed, contemplating why he had made the awful decision of asking Parkinson, of all people, in the first place. A fucking annoying date was better than no date at all, he reminded himself, pulling at his painfully tight bow-tie. She's desperate enough to have asked me herself, anyway. Just... Sped up the inevitable. He'd been nearing the top of the stairs leading down to the dungeons when he'd heard it. A quiet moan - a gasp. Draco had frozen, for a moment. His eyes flickered from where they had once rested on the floor, to the door to the side of him. He wasn't sure if he was too disgusted to check the broom cupboard the noise had came from - or if this was a perfect opportunity to ruin someone else's night. Fucking hell, you'd think they'd choose somewhere less obvious than a broom cupboard. They're pretty much asking to get caught. Another moment passed - another groan. Draco finally decided that no, he didn't want to see some hormonal teenagers getting at it to end his night, but as he took another step, there was another, much more worrying noise. A muffled scream - bluntly cut off by a violent shushing. Draco's heart skipped a beat, and he swallowed, glancing round the dark corridor. No one else would come this way for a good hour - and whatever the hell was going on in there needed stopping. Merlin. It's one thing after another tonight, is it? Where the fuck is Potter when you need him? Draco stepped away from the stairs, reluctant, before marching over to the broom cupboard. Grimacing, he flung the door open. "What the fuck are you -" Draco stopped, dead. There you were - thrust up against the wall, face crushed to the side. Held in place by some Gryffindor seventh year that he didn't recognise, another loomed over you, your arm tight in his grip. In his other a hand, a blade. It was bloody. Horrifically bloody. The crimson liquid plastered his hands, staining the fronts of his white dress shirt in a way that made Draco feel sick. At the interruption, the two had recoiled from you, leaving you to stumble to keep upright. Eyes wide with alert, their previous smirks now fell into horror at the sight of Draco stood in the doorway. It took him a moment to react, lips curling into a vicious snarl. "Get away from her before I get Snape." The older boys stared back at him, your attacker visibly tightening his grip on the blade. Draco poised his wand, before letting out a much louder hiss. "Are you deaf? I said get the fuck away from her!" They didn't need much more convincing. Shoving Draco out of the way, they pelted down the corridor, leaving you lent against the wall. Shaking, you held your bloody arm in your hand, hunched over and sobbing. Draco shifted forward, eyes widening. A pained wince spread across his face at the blood that stained your left forearm. It was now painted onto your right hand, running down your fingers before dripping onto the floor. Head forward, hair covered most of your face, but he could tell you were still crying. The sight seemed to wake whatever empathy he usually kept deep, deep within him, as a flicker of worry shot through him. "Let me look." Draco commanded, making you jump. You stared back at him through your mess of hair, eyes glinting with warning. "Get the fuck out." Your growl was wobbly, making it hard for Draco to take it seriously. Teeth bared as the corners of your mouth twitched, you were trying to contain your sobs, breaths quick. He could tell you were in agony, and it made the panic within him grow even more intense. "Shut up and show me your bloody arm," He moved closer, your eyes uncertain as he held out his hand. Gritting your teeth, you finally offered him your arm, shakily. He rested it in the palm of his hand, raising his wand and hovering it over the thick layer of blood. "Tergeo." You winced with a gasp, jolting your arm back a little. Draco kept his grip firm, but careful, moving his wand over the wound. The blood withdrew, back into whatever cuts the boys had left you with, but Draco noticed your eyes, still trained on him, jaw clenched. You stayed silent as the shapes of the cuts on your arm became clearer, that sense of pure sickness growing in the pit of his stomach. A word - several cuts overlapping on each letter. The boys had gone over it more than once. Deatheater. Sprawled across your left forearm. Draco faltered, eyes flickering up to meet yours for a moment, and you snatched your arm away from him. Your gaze avoiding, you pulled your uniforms sleeve back down over the wounds. Fresh blood was already beginning to stain the white of your shirt, and you tucked it away from view. Fucking Gryffindors, acting so high and mighty. Acting like we're the ones to pull all this shit. "You need to report them." Draco muttered. Anger swirled within his chest, your eyebrows raising as you finally looked back at him, still hesitant. "We don't all have a father to run to, Malfoy," Tone tainted, and bitter, but not quite as harsh as he would have expected. Silence settled between you as he searched your expression, but he found no aggression. In fact, your lips flicked up, so quick that Draco was half convinced it had been a twitch of some sort. But no - your gaze was not accusatory, a little unsure, but not malicious. Something within him shifted at the action - an unfamiliar feeling that Draco didn't recognise, spurring him to speak again. "Anyone tries anything again, you tell me." His words took you off guard, eyes searching for any humiliation or joke intended within them. "I've managed by myself so far." Gesturing, Draco flicked his gaze down to your arm, eyebrows raising. Your lips twitched again, a more obvious, relenting smirk. Within that moment, Draco studied you. You'd never spoken, but you had an atmosphere that felt easy. You were the perfect target for his bullying, and yet, he'd never said a word against you. After all, your name was your curse - and Draco recognised that all too well. When you didn't speak a second time, Draco took it as his queue to leave, only for you to grab his arm as he did so. Turning to look at you again, he found your expression much more unreadable than before. It took a moment for you to speak, uncertain, grip falling from him as he focused his attention back on you. "No one can know." A mere whisper, but something in your tone was desperate, your eyes glittering with anxiety as you stared back at him - pleading.   Draco's heart twinged, but he only pulled his features into ones of emphasised confusion, eyes glinting with an odd mix of sincerity and mischief. "Know what?" Your hesitant smirk came fuller this time, more genuine, eyes glowing warm with appreciation. His own played along his lips, and then he left the cupboard without much of a glance behind him. Yet, the smile you'd left him with didn't actually leave him. His dress robes remained stained with blood, your sleeves always pulled down and fastened since. You returned to acting like you didn't exist, and Draco did too. Your secret, however - that, remained kept.

[iwrite4obx]

Hiii! I saw that ur requests were open :) Would you be down to write a jj x reader where the pogues are all on a mission to find the gold out of town and they have to stop at like a creepy motel because a hurricaine's comming and jj and the reader have to share a room and a bed and they have a cute pillowtalk moment and reveal their feelings for eachother?🥰 thank you! I hope you get inspired by this!!!!

The Best Night of Your Life (JJ x Reader)

A/N: I love a good JJ x Reader. Thank you so much anon for being my first request!! I really enjoyed writing this fic for you. I hope you like it! I will most likely not be writing today (family reasons) but I will get back to my requests as soon as possible. Requests are still open!

T/W: Swearing, a bunch of fluff, a bit of kissing. I really can't think of anything else

Word count: 1.6k I might have gotten a little carried away with the backstory but oops hope you like it

Of course it could never be easy. You and the whole pogue gang had been on the hunt for the gold for weeks now. Your search had been through ups and downs, the most notable down being finding the empty Royal Merchant on the sea floor, but with a few fresh clues and the help of Kook Princess Sarah Cameron you were finally so close. She and John B had discovered that there was a survivor of the wreck, a former slave named Denmark Tanney, who took the gold and used it to buy a huge plantation on the mainland. You even found a map that would lead you to the exact location of the gold. So as soon as you could, the pogues hopped a ferry to the mainland. And that was where everything went wrong.

As soon as they disembarked the ferry, they starting hearing the talk.

"Did you hear, there's a huge tropical storm headed this way."

"They say it practically came out of nowhere."

“Better seek some shelter.”

Pope looks at the group nervously. "Uhhh guys, are you hearing this."

"Maybe we should go go back. We can still catch the last ferry home for the night," Kie offers.

"No way," John B refuses. "You guys can go if you want, but I'm not turning back. Not now."

"John B's right," you interject. You and your friends have come so far to simply give up now. "Besides, if there really is a big storm coming, we'll be safer here than on the island."

"If we're so safe on the mainland, then why can't we just go get the gold," JJ argues, his tone impatient. More than anyone, maybe even John B himself, JJ wants to find the gold.

He steps up behind you so that's he's hovering over your shoulder, making himself a part of the conversation. Your heart skips a beat. Being so close to JJ always gets your heart racing. It was becoming harder and harder for you to deny the fact that you were falling for the fellow pogue. It fact, you had even come to accept it. You lie awake at night imagining what exactly you would say if you could confess your feelings to JJ. But you would never say a word about how you felt. You knew JJ didn't feel the same about you. And even in some crazy alternate reality where you two did end up together, the pogues would never stop giving you hell for it.

"We can't. They'll still be heavy rains. In fact, they'll probably start soon. We gotta find someplace to lay low," Pope proposes.

So that was how you all ended up in the parking lot of the nearest motel, digging through your bags and pockets for spare change. You could only scrounge enough money for two rooms, one with a two queens and another two single beds. After intense negotiating. You all agreed that Pope and Kie could have the single beds. Sarah and John B would share one of the queens which left... Oh God.

You couldn't even look at JJ. And it seemed as if he couldn't look at you either. That hurt more than you cared to admit. Things were always so easy, so effortless with JJ. You two had always had natural chemistry. What had changed?

When he seemed to finally work up the courage, he turned to you. "Ready, y/n? This is going to be the best night of your life." You giggled and smacked him playfully, and for a moment everything was normal between you two. You almost felt as if his distantness had been your imagination.

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

After several hours of hanging out in the larger room, goofing off and laughing at each other's stupidity, Kie and Pope ran to their room in the pouring rain, shrieking, and the rest of you settled into bed. Sarah said she was exhausted, so John B immediately curled with her. But JJ came over to you and whispered in your ear as to not disturb Sarah.

"Y/n, I'm gonna get a shower. Don't, wait up for me, okay?" He gave you his usual impish grin but you were sure this was just another avoidance tactic. What had you done to push him away? As you crawled into bed and lie there staring at the ceiling, it was all you could think about. You tried to focus on the sound of the rain or John B’s soft snoring, but your mind kept coming back to JJ. How the wind blew his soft blonde hair and made a mess of it. How you loved more than anything the sound of his voice saying your name. How you just wanted to curl up with him, because you know it would feel safe. And how that would never in a million years, ever happen.

You're so lost in thought that you don't notice JJ emerging from the bathroom until he's climbing into bed beside you. He's wearing only his boxers and you are grateful that it's dark because you are blushing furiously.

You lay next to each other in silence, untouching, for several moments. Finally, you sigh and turn on your side to face him.

"JJ, I can't sleep." He turns to face you, his eyes sparkling even in the darkness. You can see a shadowed outline of his form, his long legs, his powerful arms.

"Because of the storm? Because we're stuck in the creepy ass motel? Because we're this fucking close to finding the gold, but we can't do anything but wait?" Although he's whispering, you can feel the anger behind his tone.

No, because you're right next to me! "Yeah," you lie.

JJ's eyes turn soft. John B said he's always had a soft spot for you, but you've never really believed it. "Then just talk to me, y/n. Anything and everything. I'll be your distraction."

"I don't know what to say. You know everything about me, J." It was true. You'd known the pogues for what seemed like your whole life. But JJ especially could probably list everything there was to know about you. You know you could do the same for him.

"Hmm... Tell me about your dreams for the future. You never talk about that."

As you begin speaking, his hand reaches for yours and he holds it, caressing it gently with his thumb. You know it's just meant to be a comfort and you can't protest because it certainly is a distraction from the weather and the gold.

"I don't know. I used to have so many big plans for the future. So many places I wanted to go. I wanted to see the whole world, but... as I get older I begin to realize that no matter where you go in the world, all you'll find is normal people living normal lives. You can't escape from your life by going to a new place. It will follow you there. And besides, I think I found my paradise. It's here, in the Outer Banks. I can't imagine ever leaving the any of the pogues, but especially you..."

You trail off when you realize what you've said. You resist the urge to clap your hand over your mouth. Why the hell would you say that? There was something about JJ’s thumb tracing your hand that lulled you into feeling safe. You had let your guard down.

Thankfully, JJ was as oblivious as ever. "Well of course I'd miss you, y/n you're my best friend." You thought you'd be grateful for him to brush off your almost-confession like that, but for some reason, you were infuriated. How could he be so oblivious? How could he not see how much you liked him?

"No JJ, you don't understand-" you began to argue, but he held up a finger to your lips, silencing you.

"Y/n, you didn't let me finish. I would miss you because you are my best friend, but also, if I'm being completely honest, and you know that's hard for me to do," he shot a smile towards you and you giggled at his attempt to break the tension. "You've always been more than that. To me, at least."

You were dumbfounded. It took you a moment to find your voice. "Are you saying you like me? As more than a friend?"

"God, of course I like you, y/n! I've been waiting for you to notice because everyone keeps telling me I'm so obvious about it but you never seem to feel the same way. I had to bribe Kie and Pope to insist on the single beds so that I could finally tell you, but I lost the nerve to and I was going to just-"

You cut off his rambling by crashing your lips against his. It was uncomfortable for a moment but you scooted your body closer to his and everything fell perfectly into place. He placed a hand on your hip and pulled you to him. Your kiss was deep and passionate. It felt so natural, as if you had kissed JJ a thousand times before. You were disappointed when he pulled away, even though you were gasping for air.

"So... Does that mean you liked me?"

This time his confusion made you giggle. "JJ Maybank, you are so oblivious." You pecked him on the lips once more.

It was still impossible for you to fall asleep. You stayed up until the rain stopped and the sun peaked through the cheap, flimsy curtains. But it was the best night of you life. Because the entire time you were awake, you were curled up with JJ whispering in hushed tones about all the possibilities of the future.

A/N: To the Anon who sent me all the prompts: Ooo thank you so much I love your ideas! I will probably do a few of them!

Masterlist

[artificialqueens]

Sober (Symnali) - Pazinae

Summary: College girl Symone and her house love throwing parties. Denali loves a fun time, and finds herself there every weekend. Just to get drunk and party of course. No other reason. (AKA pretty lesbians in denial)

AN: a drabble inspired by denali coming over to the house of avalon a while ago, getting v drunk and dancing w symone (the outfit symone wears in the fic is from that day www.instagram.com/p/CODlQtnp-KM/ denali is wearing the pink dress from one of her older posts). also the time they streamed and were just drunkenly complimenting each other is the absolute Cutest and symnali is underrated. i have a lot of ideas for this so if yall are interested ill write a whole thing of what happened that night <3. my first fic and concrit is very much welcome!! song is sober by lorde :>

—

//Night, midnight, lose my mind

Night, midnight, lose my mind

Night, midnight, lose my mind

Night, midnight−//

They called themselves House Of Avalon. They had all pitched in to rent a house near campus over the summer, and a place leased for a year consisting of young 20 year olds can only go as well as you can imagine. Yet getting ready for their parties surrounded by constant noise and the dozens of paintings, framed photos, and tchotchkes lining the wall, was a comfortable kind of chaos. As chaotic as they may be, they undeniably threw the best parties. Not to mention their outfits never missed, especially not Symone.

The madness of creative, raging queers all shoehorned together to form the most disorderly harmony was a type of home Symone wanted to bask in forever, and, quite honestly, the driving reason to stay in the boring hell hole that is college. The obligation of finishing this shit for a flimsy paper and bragging rights was a little more grounded when it’s the only reason her friends are currently living with her. One day this will all be done, and they can find a job with their degrees. Finish college like everyone wants her too, make everyone proud that yes, she did it, and together the House Of Avalon can buy a huge house with 5 guest bedrooms so everyone and their mama can visit. Throw the biggest parties, a pool in their backyard with an outdoor kitchen, a huge patio out front by the house gates, and they could even install a stripper pole in the living room. Until then she’ll be up at 7:30am to ride the train for her morning class. 

The thought of the a certain dimpled blonde helped make the week bearable because at least on the weekends she can fly to somewhere else. With someone else. 

Symone, Gigi and Rosy hung around the sofa together, getting tipsy as they waited for more people to pour in. They chattered mindlessly, the comfort between the three was an indescribable kind, so effortless and familiar. But in between each pause in conversation, when the laughs and talk of annoying professors and ugly hair trends came to a brief end, Symone couldn’t help but scan the room. Peeking out the corner of her eye for a certain pair of hooded eyes hopefully lingering around. A girl with the most distinct, beautifully symmetric face that can charm a room, and a sugary voice so addictive to listen to even without a sweet tooth. She could listen to Denali talk and ramble as much as she wanted about anything in the world, and she’d eagerly nod along. Her hazy tone when she’s slurring and half awake, to the chirps and goofy grins at the height of the night. The adorable glint in her eyes of passion and excitement when she drunkenly goes off about some kpop group Symones never heard of before, but might just happen to start coming across more. Her dancing like a duck that makes Symone squeal, and cheer, and hide her face in her shoulder so no one can see the smile she’s unable to bite back. She dawdles around with her infectious giddiness and smile so comforting it eases the absurdity and rushing high Symone constantly lives with. And it helps that she’s built like some athlete godsend with the prettiest arms and perfect curves and the most stunning thighs and calves and soft warm blonde hair with icy blue tips to frame her angelic face. She’s been drinking and it’s definitely just the alcohol that makes her head waiver and ramble. 

Time rushes by wedged between her sisters, and soon Symone holds an empty cup for the second already. The house has certainly been getting fuller and fuller. Glancing around, she finds the only person she could (and frankly would) look at for all of eternity, staring at her. Denali’s hair is scooped into two high ponytails at either side, and her body’s fit into a little off the shoulder pink mini dress that hugged her body all too well. Symone wanted nothing more than to just hold her, dance the night away until the jumble of noises and bodies fade out. Seeing her just standing there, perfect and still, a toothy grin is plastered on Symone’s face without her consent. She barely even knows Denali but her sheer presence brightens the room, sends butterflies to flutter around like she’s having some cheesy school girl crush. She can’t tell you what Denali’s favorite TV show, movie or season is, or how she likes her coffee. But if the world were to close in on them right now, have the walls disintegrate, ceilings crumble and the heaps of flesh around them melt into the floorboards under them- they’d still be yelling out the wrong lyrics while they twirl against the counter tops. Rush outside and run in the pitch black where nothing exists but each other in their hands- and that’s good enough for her. 

Denali just likes Symone because she wants to have fun, and Symone’s good at that. It’s okay that she won’t ever like Symone when she’s sober; When she’s quiet, and wrapped in a blanket over her hoodie starring at the ceiling. When she’s fidgeting with her nails and playing with her the tips of her hair instead of talking. When she burns mac and cheese and decides to have a bag of ketchup chips for lunch. Whatever it is they have; it’s still good enough for her. 

Damn maybe Symone does think a little too much. She winks at the dumbstruck skater. The night’s just begun, and the only exit signs in the labyrinth in her sinkhole of a mind is alcohol and/or Denali. Symone wants the and version. 

//Oh, God, I’m clean out of air in my lungs

It’s all gone, played it so nonchalant//

When Denali came through the door she not-so-subtly headed straight to the living room. She had barely glanced in their direction- but she saw her. She was laughing, in her little squad of pretty girls. The clique of long legged doe-eyed queens stand in the center of the living room in their mini skirts and low waisted pants- lifelike statues seemingly taking up all the air in the crowded room. She can’t help it if she stares a bit! They have cute outfits and Denali just wants some inspiration. Everyone’s gawked at the trio anyways. She looks at Symone, because of the cute fuzzy blue bucket hat adorned on her head. No other reason.

 But it’s hard to look away when her face- her makeup is so stunning. With a shimmery pink cut crease, and glossy lips, and dabbles of pink brightening her cheeks. Lashes that make her eyes pop, and the highlight on her glistening skin matched with her flimsy silver spaghetti strap crop top that made her shine even more like a radiant disco ball. The backless top is tied together behind, with a thin string leaving the space between her neck to ass as exposed skin. How could a person be so perfect? And addicting to look at? Unzipped jeans hung at the curve of her hip to show her pink thong, which rose to hug her waist. Pink wedge heels lie under her painted toe nails, and fuck was she a living bratz doll. It wasn’t Denali’s fault that she was objectively so head to toe stunning. It wasn’t her fault that she bit the inside of her lip a litte. It wasn’t her fault that her heart skipped when she was bent over in laughter and cupping her manicured hands over her mouth. It wasn’t her fault that she forgot to look away. It wasn’t her fault that when Symone caught her gaze she stood there frozen  (if the options are fight, flight or freeze, which do you think the ice girl is gonna do?). It wasn’t her fault that she forgot how to breathe when the enchantress gave her a wink. She smiles and waves in return. Someone taps Symone’s shoulder for her attention, and she looks busy. 

Denali pushes away, swimming through the sea of humans swarming the halls until she can identify the way to the kitchen. She needs a drink. It’s early and she’s far too sober for this.

//It’s time we danced with the truth

Move along with the truth//

There’s no reason why she’d be into Denali. She could literally get anyone she wanted, with her gleaming smile and cute laugh, and the way she can make you smile and feel important and wanted. The way she stops sipping in her red solo cup to look at you, to nod at every word and stare like you’re beautiful and matter. The way it’s impossible for her to not be the prettiest in the room. Denali takes a shot, the burning taste a welcome pain at the back of her tongue.

Five months ago when Denali took a sharp breath outside the main door, she made Rose come with her because, fuck, she wasn’t going to a party by herself. Not back then, at least. When she was a flustered freshman in October who didn’t know how to have a good time. Back when she first met the party throwers, and a certain captivating spirit with braided honey gold hair in a skimpy black dress took shots with her. Complimented her wispy hair dyed blue at the ends. Told her she looked amazing in slurred giggles. Because she was tipsy. The truth is the only time this will mean anything is when the world starts spinning, the room gets hot, and their minds start to blur. 

//Ooh (Hey)

We’re sleepin’ through all the days

I’m actin’ like I don’t see

Every ribbon you used to tie yourself to me// 

“You good diva?“ 

"Nnnm, gimme uh ‘nother few minutes"  Symone’s head is pounding, and the only thing on her mind is the dazy blanketing warmth of sleep. Her mind is a knotted, jumbled up mess and trying to think about anything other than passing out makes her head throb. Natural light from the outside pours through the windows, and through her squinted eyes, the wooden table across the room is glowing from the suns heat. A vague need to eat, drink water, and vomit creep up on her. She turns to lay on her side, wedges the blanket between her arms, pulls it higher up and tucks her hands under her head.

"You sure?”

“You still have your makeup you want to wash it off?”

“We can take it off”

“Girl its 2pm" 

"Let her sleep!" 

Half asleep, all the different voices mesh as one blob of noise. Indistinct chatter fades as Symone slowly luls back to sleep. Until-

"Where should I put the polaroids of Symone and Denali making out?” Peaceful slumber is very quickly forgotten when realization is drawn. 

“What the fuck happened last night?” Is the only thing Symone can muster out before throwing her head deeper into the pillow, all of a sudden quite awake. Focusing on the vague mist of memories from the night before, she replays it through her head starting from when she went up to Denali, taking shots in the kitchen.

[andcontemplation]

I saw your pic of Winona and Helena and I was wondering if you could do a short ficlet of maybe young Joyce discussing her fling/friendzone/love with Hop with her older sister cause hell she's desperate about it

Like the sister could ask her out, give advice, tease her about it, they could talk about each other's experiences or Joyce could even ask her for advice cause she's afraid to fuck things up if it gets physical

I'm not a writer so I'm leaving all my ideas here, I'd love if you wrote this but don't worry if you're too busy or sth

Dear Anon -- I don’t normally take many fic requests because I’m such a slow writer, but this one just sprouted fully formed from my brain the moment I read your ask! It still took me a few days to get after since life got busy for me. It also turned out to be about 1400+ words so I’ve pasted below under the cut. I’ll be uploading it to Ao3 soon too when I get a chance :) I’d be happy to dedicate it to you if you feel comfortable dm-ing me your username on Ao3. Thank you for sending it along!

"Hey, you! What's wrong?"

Joyce nearly jumped out of her skin at the disembodied voice that called out from the empty bedroom -- or at least, the bedroom she thought was empty. She turned on a dime, clutching for her heart. Joyce might’ve been sixteen going on seventeen, but she was far too young for a heart attack.

"Jesus!" She gasped at the familiar figure sitting at the edge of the bed. "I didn't know you were home."

"Ma didn't tell you I was coming home for Thanksgiving?" Stella stopped unpacking the small duffle at her feet and raised an eyebrow at her sister.

Joyce sighed and leaned against the doorframe.

"Ma's not even here! She went to Chicago this morning with her new beau."

"Color me surprised," Stella deadpanned, throwing the pair of socks down on the bed in disgust. "Which one? Tom?"

Joyce shook her head.

"Randy. Tom was married."

Stella rolled her eyes and reached for another handful of clothes.

"Of course he was," she snapped. "How does she keep falling for that same old line?"

Joyce only shrugged and toed the door jamb, waiting for her sister to invite her into her room.

They hadn't seen much of each other since Stella ran off at sixteen to live with her boyfriend in Philadelphia, almost two years previous, and as the months and then the years passed by, Joyce felt more and more distant from the sister she grew up with. It was beginning to feel like eons had passed since they would spend all their days together, playing dolls and dress-up in that exact bedroom, performing plays for the neighborhood kids in the backyard or riding their bikes downtown to go try on perfume and makeup at the five and dime.

Joyce was still a little miffed at Stella for running off and leaving her behind with their mother and not taking Joyce with her when she left. It didn't seem fair that she had to stay when she was the baby -- the baby with the most responsibility -- the one who ended up making sure Ma didn't go completely off the rails, dependent on the bottle again or running off with a third husband. The resentment Joyce still carried always made her forget just how much she missed having her big sister around and how much she still needed her.

Stella looked up from her duffle bag and saw Joyce standing there, looking at her with big, red-rimmed eyes.

"Sorry Ma skipped town. I'm glad you're home," Joyce said, meaning it.

Stella's frown melted, and she dropped the clothes in a heap, patting the bed beside her.

"I am too. Now tell me what's wrong."

Joyce sighed deeply.

"Nothing. It's stupid."

"Boys?" Stella asked with a knowing grin.

Joyce sighed again, and her eyes fluttered up to the ceiling, embarrassed at the degree of stupidity she was feeling that very moment. She willed herself not to cry over him.

Stella pushed Joyce's bangs out of her eyes and off her cheeks, where they stuck to pale skin, and gave her little sister a look. But instead of imbibing confidence, it just made Joyce want to cry more.

She made a face and sucked in a breath before letting it all out.

"Karen and I saw Hop behind the bleachers with one of the cheerleaders today at lunch."

Stella's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh. Which cheerleader?"

"Chrissy Carpenter. That bottle blonde bubble-headed... bimbo!"

Joyce glared out the window and across the street at the edge of Hopper's front lawn, the only piece of his house she could see from that angle.

Stella choked back a giggle when she noticed how intensely Joyce was staring.

"Woah. That's some serious alliteration."

"Yeah, well," Joyce grumbled and shrugged. "I'm upset."

Stella went back to emptying out the rest of her bag, but not before throwing her sister a loving look.

"I can see that. But I thought you and Jimmy were just friends?"  

"We are!" Joyce finally dragged her eyes off his house and pouted at Stella before trailing off. "It's just that…"

"Oh come on," Stella said and ruffled Joyce's bangs. "You know you can tell me!"

There was another eye roll from Joyce.

"I just thought that something had changed between us this year. Maybe... Oh, I don't know anymore."

Then she clammed up.

Stella walked over to the window, took out a pack of Slims, and lit one up before opening the window a crack.

"Know what? Spit it out, sis!"

Joyce couldn't look at her older, prettier, more elegant sister, sitting there smoking at the windowsill like some french model who could have any man she wanted -- wrapped around her little finger. Joyce wished she could only look so mod and in charge.

Instead, she felt pathetic for pining after the boy across the street.

"Well," she started, flopping back on the bed, finding it easier to confess without having to worry about seeing the look of judgment cross Stella's face. "He'd been acting weird since we went camping this last summer. Then I realized by the second week of September that he was over here almost every night. At first, he said he needed help with his schoolwork because he really wanted to graduate, and since we're in all the same classes, it made sense, right? But by October, he was coming over for the dumbest reasons, and then I started to think he was gonna ask me to the homecoming dance. Like, I was so sure he was gonna do it. A few times, actually. But it was like he chickened out or something."

Stella held up a hand to pause Joyce there, even though Joyce couldn't see it.

"Waitaminute. Didn't you say on our last phone call that Lonnie Byers asked you out that night?"

"Yep, and what a date that was." Joyce rolled her head to the side and looked at her sister with a scowl.

Stella smirked, tapping the end of the cigarette out over the eaves.

"I warned you about him."

"Yeah yeah, I know: 'Lonnie Byers is scum.' But I'm pretty sure we're talking about Hop here?"

"Pardonne Moi! Please... continue."

"So, he seemed a bit distant after homecoming, but he'd still come over to study sometimes, and I'd catch him staring at me. It almost looked like he wanted to kiss me or something. And one day during gym, he told me I looked pretty when I knew for a fact I was a sweaty, frizzy mess. I guess it got in my head because I started to think, well maybe I want him to kiss me. And maybe I like him too? I was gonna tell him this weekend. I had it all planned out. But then he runs off and swaps spit with Chrissy, and now here I am, crying over a dumb boy. Stupid, stupid me."

Stella put the last bit of the cigarette out and moved back to the bed, pushing Joyce's legs out of the way.

"Not stupid," she said. "Just young and in love."

Joyce sat up on her elbows, nose turned up in protest.

"Gross. I am not!"

"You are." Stella chuckled.

Joyce frowned as she slowly realized her sister was right and succumbed to her lovesick fate.

"I am, aren't I?"

"'Fraid so, my dear."

"Cripes -- this sucks!”

"Oh, don't worry." Stella smiled. "I know just the thing to fix a broken heart! Ma might not be around but we can still have fun. What’s say we stay up late, paint our nails, eat our way through an entire tub of ice cream and I can give you some pointers for when you find yourself a real man. You'll be over that silly Hopper boy in no time."

"But what if I don't want to be over him?" Joyce whined, feeling sick for even thinking it let alone admitting it out loud. He was her best friend, since before they could walk, and those feelings had remained strictly platonic but lately, she couldn't imagine being without him, let alone sharing him with anyone else. Especially bottle blonde bubble-headed bimbos.

Stella held her hand out to Joyce and helped her sit up.

"Trust me, sis. It's for the best. Boys like Jim and Lonnie will ruin you for life. You belong with someone sweet and kind, who won't rush you before you're ready…"

Joyce scoffed.

"Boys like that don't exist!"

"Sure, they do!" Stella nodded. Then she had an idea. "Say -- isn't there a Sadie Hawkins soon?"

"Yeah, the Snowball," Joyce said, cluing in, trying not to look too excited. "You think I should ask Hop?"

"No!" Stella sighed. "I'm saying you should ask a nice boy to go with you."

"A what?"

"Think of the nicest, and well... let’s say the nerdiest guy in your class, and ask him to the Snowball. Not Lonnie or Hop! No more bad boys who play ping-pong with your heart."

"No, no way!" Joyce shook her head and dove headfirst into the pillows. "I am not asking Bob the Brain!"

Stella threw her hands up in the air.

"Fine, be miserable and alone forever then. See if I care!"

"Fine!" Joyce shouted, muffled by the pillows before dissolving into a fit of giggles as her sister beat her over the head with another frilly embroidered pillow.

"I'm glad you're home," Joyce said when she caught her breath.

"Me too, sis," Stella said. "Me too."