#but in an unexpected and not completely same way that the characters would expect

[silveryinkystar]

Gonna hijack this post for a bit because the mechanics of Force visions is something I find actually fascinating in SW media (I was just going to leave this in the tags and it got way too long oops)

From a Doylist perspective, Force visions are a reference to the self-fulfilling prophecy trope, especially in Anakin's case. It's textbook Greek tragedy levels of "trying to avoid your fate only ends up causing it," which makes sense since the prequels are designed to replicate the structure of a tragedy, ROTS especially so.

But if we look at it on a textual level, there's something really interesting going on about just the way Force visions are presented, i.e. in the form of little flashes of the near future which are mostly visual. (part of this is obviously to give the effect of "visions" to the viewers, but there's some textual evidence that it's how the characters also understand their visions - Ezra and Ahsoka come to mind) It's a little bit meta in itself, so not 100% Watsonian, but it does help us understand more about how visions work.

So we have the future being pushed to these people in fragments of visual scenes - in Ahsoka's vision of Padme getting attacked, for example, she sees the chaos following the attack but not Padme actually dying. There's a sort of foreknowledge that's implied, of the possibility of her dying, but it's not actually confirmed - what we're told is basically, "hey, Padme's going to be in a potentially fatal situation soon, and it's causing chaos." The letter of this vision does come true, but we don't know if the spirit of it does as well.

By "spirit" I mean the literal essence of the vision - is it warning Ahsoka that Padme's about to die in that attack, meaning she had to intercede and therefore eschewed that future? Or was the vision presenting her with the chaos and just saying that it could go either way, and that Padme would survive because of her interceding anyway? There's not enough detail to be sure - which I feel is exactly what the Jedi try to say.

Kanan says the same thing to Ezra, to be careful, but doesn't dissuade him from acting on his vision - which again follows the letter rather than the spirit of what he sees. I'd say that as bad as the consequences of following the vision were in the immediacy of their actions, they did oust an Imperial double agent who could have caused so much more chaos for the Rebellion instead.

Ultimately, we never actually find out exactly what the visions say. Maybe they do happen as they're presented to Jedi, or maybe the futures presented are all subverted while being mapped out visually in the same way. But it's this uncertainty that the Jedi warn against! There's never empirical evidence of what's going on, and we don't really learn much about how visions actually work beyond this breakdown.

What fascinates me is that we, the audience, are also pulled in into the same level of mechanical awareness of how Force visions work as the characters - it's as ambiguous to us as it is to them. Which means that as much as we can say, "X did the wrong thing by not listening to Y's visions," or "Y shouldn't have acted on their visions," we ultimately don't know which of them was the "correct" way things would happen, or even if there is such a thing implied at all. (note that "correct" here doesn't mean "good" or "bad", but more like "foretold" or "predestined" in an unchangeable way)

Also interesting is the fact that the Force is never straightforward about things that may happen in the future - the only other form of foresight that we see that comes anywhere near as close are "bad feelings", which also don't actually tell you anything meaningful about what's going to happen, only that something is. Just a little food for thought ;)

The jedi often insist that they are only shown possibilities in their visions of the future, not certainties; while I'm inclined to trust them on that, I don't remember ever having read or seen a work where the visions did not come true, even if not as expected.

Ah sorry. The question was meant to be whether you know about an instance of force visions that don't come true.

Hi! This is an interesting question because it's not always clear what counts as a Force vision, what is weird Force fuckery (like Ahsoka's future vision of herself from Mortis--that vision never came true, but does that count as a vision?), and what's something else. But of the ones that we know are Force visions, in top level canon (movies + TCW), they generally all come true because there only a handful of times they happen and most of them happen in ways that are not accurate to the events of the vision. (The thing is, it's a franchise that has to keep its audience's attention, wasting time on a vision that has no point to the plot is not a good way to spend your limited amount of movie time or your 22 minutes per episode!) So, it's not that the Jedi are saying, "Yah, just go ahead and ignore a Force Vision." (unless it's billed as a dream, not a vision, that's a key difference) but "Be careful, because it's only a possibility and often times acting on it can be what brings it about or makes it worse than in the first place." But ultimately if you're writing a story that's exciting to a reader, what writer is going to include a Force vision that never happens? That would feel very unsatisfying! XD So, because the Jedi are shown to be reliable narrators on the Force in the major ways (like the Force 100% works like they say it does, via Lucas' commentary about it), this is one of those things you just gotta trust what the material tells you, in my experience.

[baeshijima]

— within uncertainty

sunday reflects on his limited time thus far on the express, only to find himself distracted by a face he has unknowingly become fond of.

CONTAINS : 1.2k wc, gn!reader, astral express member!sunday, fluff

A/N : chat have we seen the lc and gameplay leaks…? throwing up.

When Sunday first arrived on the Astral Express, a miniature gold and crimson ticket attached to his apparel, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

A new start; that much he was sure of. But with these people who instilled a newfound hope and courage to face the future, there was no shadow of a doubt within his heart and soul that he would encounter the unexpected more times than he can keep track of.

Sure enough, the unexpected came in many ways.

For one, March 7th’s uncanny ability to look at the bright side of things appeared so natural to her, so easy and simple. In recent times, he has found himself thinking about situations in a more positive light, no doubt a side effect of having spent time with her bubbly self.

He discovered Dan Heng’s aloof demeanour barely concealed his great care and affection for the crew— the Astral Express family. Even with what seems to be passive quips and dead-eyed stares, Sunday has begun to note the differentiations in his tone and body language, and all the subtleties he only shows with them.

He discovered the Trailblazer was every bit of a jokester as they are courageous, often finding himself staring blankly at some of their… seamlessly timed quips, to put it lightly. Even so, he’s oftentimes caught himself mid-admiration when they take charge in what they believe is right, wondering if he, too, could be like them in that aspect.

He found that Welt, while still retaining the righteous and strong spirit he displayed while in penacony, had a rather unprecedented charm. Sitting down for hours on end listening to the elder ramble passionately about animating, the arts, and endless theories about this universe wasn’t something he had ever planned for, but his heart warmed all the same at the burst of energy.

He came to realise the Express’ Navigator, Himeko, was certainly a… character. Brave, wise and humble were what he would use to describe her, even more so after her warmly welcoming him into the family. However, Sunday realised he could do without that… concoction she dubs a coffee.

He also never realised such a creature existed until he met Pom-Pom, much less one being a sentient conductor. Their nags are backed with overflowing affection for the members of the Express, often displayed through the meticulous care taken in the tailored meals and rooms and experience. There is so much love of the Astral Express, and Sunday wouldn’t be surprised if he were told most of it came from the Conductor.

(Though he does recall being warned by Dan Heng in particular to not anger the Conductor, an experience he is both curious about but also content in not knowing what exactly would transpire.)

And then there is you.

Sunday only caught a glimpse of you during the final moments of the conflict, much like with Himeko, so he didn’t have too much to go off of other than the fact you, just as it seemed to come with being a part of the Astral Express, were brave and fought for what you believed in.

(With you in particular, he found himself unable to forget your gaze — how it held a sparkling resolution and commanded his full attention, completely and utterly drawn in.)

Of course, that’s not to say you don’t embody those aspects now that he’s gotten to know you. Rather, you are so much more than what he could have ever imagined.

“Wow… they’re way softer than they look!”

…In more ways than one.

Sunday doesn’t really know how this situation came to be. He was merely idling around the Express in search of something to pass the time until you took note of his predicament, swooping in like the graceful saviour you are (self-proclaimed by you).

Somehow, in some way, that brought you both to his room.

It’s times like these where Sunday wholeheartedly believes the most forward member of the Astral Express isn’t that racoon-like Trailblazer, but rather you instead.

Seriously. How are you not embarrassed by this… this compromising position you’re both in?! He can practically feel the radius in which the heat from his face permeates!

“Do you, like, have a care routine for them or something?” you ask while gently thumbing individual feathers, because obviously this is only affecting him and him alone. “I refuse to believe your wings are like this naturally.”

He knows he gave you permission to touch them, but it doesn’t change the fact his wings are still sensitive. Aeon knows what you would do with that information; well, assuming you haven’t already picked up on his reactions towards your… ministrations.

“I do have a routine. I go to great lengths pruning and trimming my feathers. More than that…” he trails off, opting to ignore your mumbled comment of “Wow… you’re just like a bird then…”. He coughs, averting his eyes from your intensely gentle gaze, raising a fist to cover his lips. “Are you this forward with everyone?”

You blink. Once, twice, thrice. Somehow, the action makes Sunday fluster even further.

A hum leaves you as your lips purse and your head tilts in thought. “Well, I wouldn’t say everyone, exactly. Just those I consider to be very close to me. Oh,” you begin, as though realising something, “does it bother you? I’m so sorry!”

No— wait— why are you apologising?

“I didn’t realise I was making you uncomfortable! Oh gosh, I did it again…!”

You make a move to scramble away from him. Is it your frantic and unfocused eyes, or perhaps this uncharacteristic side of your usual confident and unabashed self which makes his heart lurch?

“I’m so, so sorry! I’ll keep my distance from now on and—!”

He acts before he can think.

“No!”

There’s a surge of panic which shoots into him. It makes itself known in the raw strain of his voice, in the shaky wide-eyed stare at the thought of you leaving, in the trembling grip he has your arm in.

Really, Sunday doesn’t know what he’s panicking about. He just knows a part of himself would never forgive him for unintentionally pushing you away like this.

A gasp escapes him after a few tense seconds which felt much more like an eternity. With haste, Sunday tears his hand away from your arm. Despite that, he remains in close proximity to you, mustering the courage to look at you once more.

“I… I mean, no, you’re not making me uncomfortable.” Sunday prays you didn’t hear the stammer in his words. And, if you did, then he hopes you don’t bring it up. “If I were feeling as such, I would have told you outright.”

The silence is absolutely suffocating. Even so, Sunday doesn’t dare look away from your stunned expression, not even when he’s almost positive his face is about to melt off from the sheer heat radiating from him.

“Oh.” You blink, expression falling into that of neutrality. A nod of understanding is your next action; understanding of what? Sunday has no clue — he’s not sure he even wants to know. “So you’re that type, huh. I see now.”

Nevermind. Maybe he does.

“…What does that mean? Wait— [Name], come back here! Explain what ‘that type’ means! Are you listening?!”

Suffice to say, Sunday never received a verbal response from you. Only your cheeky grin before you left and a plethora of butterflies fluttering amok within his stomach are all that remains.

Yeah. Sunday didn’t know what to expect when joining the Astral Express; in fact, he still doesn’t know what to expect. Despite being thrown into the unknown, he finds himself thinking this situation to not be so bad after all.

if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33

[suplicyy]

You bringing him a bento for the first time!

Haikyuu boys x Gn!Reader

— Summary: How would he react to receiving a bento at school that you made especially for him.

— Characters: Yamaguchi, Kenma, Akaashi, Oikawa, Tendou.

— Tags/Genre: Gn!Reader | Fluff

— Idea by: @sarasversionworld

Yamaguchi Tadashi

He never thought he would receive something like this until he met you.

You always treat him with so much love and affection, that he even thought about the possibility of this happening one day, but he always thought he was dreaming too much.

But when you appeared at his desk holding a small box wrapped in a flowery cloth, he felt like he might pass out right there.

Yamaguchi is someone who is very insecure about himself, as he has not received attention from any person in a romantic way, so receiving something simple but as comforting as a homemade lunch means a lot to him.

"Huh!? This is for me...? T-Thank you very much!!"

You can be sure he was all flushed when he took the bento from your hands.

And if you have any doubts that he didn't like it, put it out of your mind immediately! Tsukishima will definitely complain to you the next day saying that Yamaguchi talked about your bento all day.

Kenma Kozume

We all know that Kenma is someone who eats very little, and it's no wonder he has the smallest appetite in the series.

You worry a lot about his diet and how it affects his well-being, and as he is a volleyball player, he needs to eat well to be in good shape for every game!

And to help him, you thought about making a complete bento for him at least once a week.

So when you walked towards him with a bento box in your hands, he didn't think it was for him and that it was your own bento, but those thoughts soon dissipated when you shyly handed him the box perfectly wrapped in a polka dot cloth.

Obsessed with technology, Kenma always has his cell phone or console in his hand while eating a meal.

Then It was an unexpected surprise to see him putting away his video game to eat the bento you made for him.

And if you give him a delicious slice of apple pie, he will definitely try to eat better to get the dessert.

Akaashi Keiji

As someone who has the habit of taking care of others around him, he was probably the one who gave you a bento earlier, so as a thank you, you decided to make one for him too.

Even if he never said it to you, it's quite noticeable how much he likes onigiris, seeing as he brought one to school almost every week.

And that was why the bento you prepared was full of onigiri of different flavors, as you weren't really sure which flavor was his favorite.

Akaashi would certainly be very grateful for the surprise, and he may be a little shy about the gift and sometimes doesn't show his emotions as much, but you've known him long enough to know that he loved the bento you prepared for him.

"Oh, that's for me?" He takes the bento from your hands, and when he opens it, he finds onigiris that you made yourself.

"Thank you, my love." He gives you a small smile, and when no one is looking, he plants a kiss on your cheek.

Also, don't be surprised if Bokuto appears out of nowhere and eats some of the onigiris you made for Akaashi, he usually eats his friends' snacks (and doesn't share when someone wants to eat his snack💀).

Oikawa Tooru

He has certainly received several bentos or snacks from his fans, and no matter how willingly he accepts each gift, he has never been so interested in it.

But his opinion is totally different when it comes to you, he appreciates every thing you do for him.

We all know he can be a little cheeky sometimes, so expect to get a comment from him bragging about himself.

"But of course you wouldn't resist the thought of spoiling me, I'm irresistible after all." says Tooru giving you a wink.

Just give him a serious look and he stops talking in the same second...😭

Oikawa will beg you to feed him, blatantly lying that his hand is hurting at that moment.

He'll be bragging to his third-year friends about how he has such an amazing partner and they don't, but not until Iwazumi threatens to throw him off a cliff.

Tendou Satori

Just like Yamaguchi, Tendou is someone who has never caught anyone's attention romantically, and is even excluded because of his different appearance than other people.

So when he receives a bento from someone he loves so much, he will definitely remember it forever.

Trust me, he'll have a passionate smile written on his face and with the brightest eyes while listening to you talk about how you prepared his favorite food.

He would probably first make some joke about the situation, to try to ease his own shyness, but later he will genuinely show his gratitude in every possible way.

Tendou loves being around you, so expect lots of hugs and little kisses during lunch, in addition to his lots of compliments for the bento you made.

The next day, he probably would surprise you with a dessert he made especially for you, like truffles, cookies or even cupcakes!

And please give him lots of compliments too!! This way, he will prepare something every week for you.🌷

— A/N: They had already sent me this idea a long time ago, and only now have I managed to have the creativity to write something about it.😭 Anyway, thank you very much for your help!! And I will certainly do that other idea of yours that you sent me!

[frozenmoonshine]

TR boys' unexpected/random red flags headcanon:

Just some crack and slander for the humor purposes. As always, don't take it too seriously, and have fun with it at least half as much as I did writing it!

Since I obviously need to spell this out for some of you, even though it's literally in the title of the post - these are the red flags you wouldn't normally expect from them! That's the whole point of them being unexpected. So don't go telling me how I missed the mark with some characters, or how their red flags are something else. Yeah, we all know the obvious ones, but why would I state the obvious?!

TW: F!reader; implied mysogyny; mentions of DV, cheating, and general toxic behavior.

🚩Mikey - proposes on the second date.

🚩Draken - never talks about himself whatsoever. Even when you directly ask him to open up about what's troubling him, he's still difficult and avoids conversation.

🚩Baji - mama's boy. At first, it looks sweet, how he cares about and respects his mother, but soon you realize that he is dependant on her, and cannot make any decisions bigger than what to eat on his own, without "consulting with his mom". Silver lining is that Ryouko is an amazing, lovely woman, but you don't exactly want to date both the mother and the son at the same time, do you?

🚩Chifuyu - overromanticizes everything, then gets mad at you if things don't turn out irl the same they were in his imagination.

🚩Mitsuya - really damn cheap. Like, ok, I know you grew up poor, but going out once a month won't bankrupt you! (You're not even asking him to pay for you or anything like that, but he just refuses to step even one milimeter out of his frugal ways!)

🚩Hakkai - aside from the obvious red flag (you get a package deal of Yuzuha and Mitsuya as well, if you are dating Hakkai), he can also be incredibly self-absorbed and condescending sometimes, thinking he's so much better than you, etc.

🚩Pah-chin & 🚩Peh-yan - putting them together cause they have the same red flag - if you date one of them, the other one will third wheel all of your dates, no exeptions. Might as well just go poly and date them both at this point!

🚩Smiley - refers to women as "females".

🚩Angry - doesn't let you do anything on your own/overprotective. Look, Souya, it's nice that you're being a gentleman, but do you really think I'm incapable of getting a glass of water for myself?! His behaviour can be incredibly stifling and suffocating.

🚩Mucho - won't ever let you pick a date spot cause he's convinced he knows the best. You always end up doing what he wants for dates, or you don't go on a date at all.

🚩Haruchiyo - yeah, sure, he's got more red flags than China, but the not so expected one is that he's incredibly fussy and naggy about the smallest of things. "That's not how you put the trash bag in the can!" "You folded the laundry wrong! Look how I do it!" "Wipe the counter with this, not that!" "Don't leave your hair everywhere! I don't wanna live with a cat!" And so on and so forth, it feels like you are living with your parent(s) all over again!

🚩Hanma - another one with enough red flags to call it a carnival, sure, but the one that catches you off guard is just how jealous and possessive he is. "Where are you going?" "Why is your dress so short?" "You can't go out with male company wearing your tits out!" "Why are you hiding your phone?" "Who's that?" and so on and so forth, you get the idea.

🚩Kazutora - yet another walking red flag in a row (at least his unhealed self), but even as an adult (healed) he still retains that aggression from his teens and gets into random street/bar fights semi-regularly. Him coming back home bloody and bruised is not a rare occurrence at all.

🚩Kisaki - cheats. No idea how he manages to, provided that he looks like... well, that, but he still does.

🚩Taiju - a religious freak prone to domestic violence... what more red flags can you even ask for? None, indeed. But what you don't expect on top of all that is his complete lack of manners and just how loud and embarrassing he can be in public.

🚩Inupi - rude to the waitstaff.

🚩Koko - never got over his ex, stuck on her forever, and cannot ever be fully present in his current relationship. Compares you to his ex all the time, every other person he dated after her was just an unsuccessful rebound.

🚩Izana - does he even have any green ones? Likely not. But what you wouldn't exactly expect from him right away, given all the other red flags that come into front upon the first contact - is that he's a bad mansplainer. "You probably don't know how the betta fish do this thing where..." - Izana, I'm literally a marine biologist.

🚩Kakuchou - breaks up with you over the smallest things. He missed your call cause he didn't hear his phone ring while in the traffic? - He's not good enough for you and you two should break up. He was late 5 minutes to your date because Izana needed his help with something? - He's lowkey ready to commit seppuku, and of course, dramatically breaks up with you. It's tiring, honestly.

🚩Ran - gaslighter and manipulator par exellence! Undiagnozed NPD, but the symptoms are everywhere.

🚩Rindou - loves the gym more than you. Obsessed with working out and body building, won't eat normal food, spends all time in front of the mirror flexing and "checking his gains". Will either try to "get you into fitness" (force you to act the same way he does) or constantly tell you that you "don't understand" just how important it is to him. Is your 10th workout this week really more important than our anniversary, tho, Rindou?

🚩Mocchi - manspreads all the time, and manspreads badly. He's also that type that won't move away from the sidewalk if a woman is coming the opposite way.

🚩Madarame - probably not unexpected, but he's the biggest, worst incel of all. Lives in the manosphere and inhales the alpha bro bullshit podcasts.

🚩South - judges and publicly makes fun of your music taste. It doesn't matter what you listen to, unless it's 101% exactly the same as his taste, he'll be a real bitch about it. Of course, don't even dream about getting a hold of the aux cord!

🚩Shinichiro - doesn't shower regularly. Idk Shin, maybe your lack of personal hygiene was the reason for all those rejections so far? Just some food for thought...

🚩Takeomi - yet another one that's redder than the red army, but what you don't expect is how much he infantilizes you, especially if you are younger than him! Even if it's just one year age difference between you, he'll act all patronizing and constantly emphasise his "rich life experience" and tell you how "you don't understand some things because you are (too) young".

🚩Wakasa - secretly insecure about his height and gets super jealous if he sees you talking to a tall guy. Doesn't even matter if it's your blood relative or a random stranger asking directions in the street - Waka isn't having any of that. He'll sulk and jab at you for the whole day, never saying what the actual problem is.

🚩Benkei - Cannot find/keep a proper job to save his life! Got into some kind of beef with every single potential employer, so he's doomed to working at the gym for the rest of his days.

[slackerlifewhere]

TCF is all about healing

- This is a review about the novel.

There's possible SPOILERS for readers who haven't finished reading the first volume.

___

When I first picked up the novel, I didn't have high expectations. After reading a lot of stories that end up disappointing me because of how the author eventually adds romance or harems into the story because their main character apparently needs a romantic relationship to feel good about themselves, I thought that Trash of the Count's Family will be the same thing further down the line.

But damn, did the author prove me wrong.

In the first few chapters, the novel's entire vibe was almost unnoticeable. Sure, there were some small details like him not being used to extravagant clothes or finding a simple meal delicious, but it wasn't obvious. It made me raise my eyebrow but I simply thought that he's a simple salaryman or something.

The first lines about him not having anyone who would miss him if he's gone in his previous world can be excused as him having no lingering attachments. And honestly, some transmigration/isekai stories do have their main characters having no attachments in their previous world. So it makes sense and it didn't alert me of what could've possibly happened to Cale, former Kim Rok Soo, for him to be so aloof and calm at the forced transmigration.

And then...he thought about poverty and pity when interacting with On and Hong. That was the first sign that he may have left a few lines out of his introduction.

It steadily got worse when he was talking to Choi Han about him being used to the cruelty of people like Venion. And then, at the first meeting with Raon, he appeared as if he understood the hopelessness of a child under an abusive adult's hand.

That's when I finally thought that TCF is a story about healing. And I was pleasantly surprised.

Sure, there's action, drama, and comedy, but TCF is mainly about moving on or healing from past hurts. There are moments when it can be called "cliche" but TCF is unique in the way it portrays Cale and his relationships. There's the found family trope that I love but what I love the most about the story is how these characters who have lost something or were about to lose something if OG Cale didn't make the deal with God of Death to have KRS replace him, is slowly understanding that they're not alone and that they can improve as a person if given the chance.

It's heart-warming and completely unexpected. I didn't read the first chapter expecting this fantasy-themed action novel to be about this.

OG Cale, Choi Han, Raon, On and Hong, Lock, Taylor and Cage, Alberu, the Dark Elves, Mary, and so many characters paved the way for me to completely fall in love with this novel.

If I sound like I'm exaggerating, then I don't care because this novel is just beautiful.

What completely blew my mind is the final reveal of Cale's past as Kim Rok Soo.

Listen, I have a love-hate relationship with KR survival novels involving monsters and dungeons and the freaking apocalypse. I love some of them and I can't stand the others. But I did not expect that Kim Rok Soo was in a world trying to survive from the effects of the apocalypse.

My first reaction was "What the actual fuck" because I 100% did not expect for the story to go that way. And my second thought was "So that's why!" Because it finally explains why he hates "papercuts"! This guy is so good at making big things about himself sound so small that it left me stunned when the big reveal happened!

I wanna slap him and hug him at the same time.

It explains why he's so good at being a commander. It explains why he's used to getting hurt or why he hates the thought of his friends and family dying with him as the survivor (I believe he has a survivor's guilt?). It explains everything.

He may be in a new world but he's still stuck in his past no matter how much he says about not thinking about what-ifs and his past. The time he spends in this new world is him slowly realizing that he's not alone and he doesn't have to be so scared.

And when I finally thought that I'm done being surprised, OG Cale appears and flips everything I knew about the character. They talk about how content they are with their new identities. They smile. They're happy. And that proves why this novel is about healing and not the simple transmigration novel full of action and comedy. Instead of getting angry at Kim Rok Soo, former Cale Henituse, for the deal with God of Death, he's just happy for the man and for himself. I just love how the author doesn't forget about Kim Rok Soo's sacrifices and rewards him with a happy life with his mother.

It's so hard not to finish the novel within weeks because of how good it is. It can be fast in some parts for the action, which makes sense since everything is happening at once. But there are also slow emotional moments that keep reminding me why I love this novel.

So yeah, this is my review about TCF. It's not a perfect novel but it's a good novel about healing and family. And I'm waiting for the second volume to be done so I can finally read the rest.

[novlr]

what are some uncommon tropes or ones that haven’t been done? what are some plot twists that are uncommon? i have a story where there are supposed to be multiple plot twists as i’ve set the main character to basically have told lies that she believes to readers and other characters. during most of the story, she wants to die, but at some point she has to sacrifice herself to save the world, but then she realizes she doesn’t want to die, so she doesn’t make the sacrifice. so, im dabbling with how to give other alternatives without completely stripping her of magical abilities.

It can be difficult to come up with new and innovative plots. There is a reason that tropes exist, and it’s precisely because they’re so commonplace. That doesn’t mean that uncommon tropes don’t exist — there are certainly tropes that are more popular than others — but it does mean that it can be a bit trickier to subvert reader expectations. 

We often see the same tropes and plot twists in media. And I will say from the outset that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Readers enjoy seeing how a fresh take on a common theme might unfold, so don’t feel for a second that everything you write has to break the mould. 

That said, if you really want to look at new and interesting ways to subvert reader expectations, explore using some of the more uncommon tropes, and approach plot twists in new and interesting ways, then here are some tips based on the parameters of your story:

Subverting the sacrifice trope

One of the most common tropes, especially in genre fiction, is the sacrifice trope. The protagonist will have been prepared for sacrifice through their upbringing, their responsibility, or even their job. The trope will usually include a moment where the character questions the need for their sacrifice, but it usually ends in a follow-through or someone close to them accepting the sacrifice in their stead. A subversion of this trope would be that they simply refuse to follow through. In the plot, this could look something like:

The character realises their death would actually cause more harm than good

The sacrifice is revealed to be a manipulation by antagonists to remove a powerful threat

The character finds a way to split the sacrifice among multiple people, diluting its impact

The prophesied sacrifice turns out to be metaphorical rather than literal

The character’s refusal to sacrifice themselves actually solves the problem in an unexpected way

Subverting the chosen one trope

The chosen one trope has almost become a cliché at this point, but it’s still incredibly popular. Each writer approaches it differently, even if it follows the same basic formula, but there are still unconventional and interesting ways that you can subvert it. Examples might include:

The character chosen to save the world actively despises the responsibility and openly tries to sabotage their destiny

If there’s a prophecy, it might refer to multiple people rather than a single hero

The chosen one actively rejects their destiny and chooses a different path

The antagonist turns out to be the real chosen one

The expectations of the chosen one were misinterpreted, leading to unexpected consequences

A seemingly ordinary character accomplishes what the chosen one couldn’t

The chosen one fails, forcing others to step up and save the day

The protagonist fades into the background, and their role is replaced by a character who initially seemed unimportant

The symbiotic antagonist

Instead of the traditional hero-villain dynamic, the symbiotic antagonist is one of the more uncommon tropes. It’s essentially about the villain’s success being crucial for the protagonist’s survival or happiness, creating a complex relationship between them and their place in the world. Some interesting ways you could use it could be:

A villain whose dark magic unknowingly maintains the world’s balance

An enemy whose defeat would trigger a worse catastrophe

A rival whose opposition actually strengthens the protagonist

An adversary whose evil actions prevent greater evils from emerging

A nemesis who serves as a necessary counterweight to the hero’s powers

The hero has to protect the antagonist in order to protect themselves and their loved ones

Innovative plot twists

While tropes can easily be subverted, coming up with plot twists that readers will believe and be really invested in can be a little more difficult, especially if you’re planning on writing a lot of them. What I will say from the outset is that you don’t want to overdo it. Readers can easily get fatigued if a book is too twisty. A couple of well-placed twists with impact are better than multiple twists for the sake of it, so keep that in mind before diving in. With that caveat out of the way, let’s take a look at some examples of plot twists that could work in your scenario:

Reality shifts

The entire story is revealed to be a book being written by a secondary character

Characters discover they’re in a story but realise changing it would make things worse

The world isn’t ending – it’s beginning, and the characters are accidentally preventing its birth

Time isn’t moving forward or backward but sideways into parallel dimensions

Power and magic

Magic is revealed to be a parasitic entity that actually harms its users

Characters learn their powers come from stealing others’ abilities without realising it

The source of all magic is revealed to be a cosmic mistake that needs to be maintained

Using magic actually changes past events in unpredictable ways

Writing techniques to keep things unexpected

So, how do you put all of this into practice? There’s the rub! It’s all well and good sharing what might work, but it’s no good if you don’t know how to do it, so let’s look at some writing techniques for using uncommon tropes and setting up plot twists:

Set up the surprise

Plant contradictions that seem like plot holes but are actually clues

Create reasonable explanations for strange events that turn out to be completely wrong

Use character beliefs and biases to hide the truth in plain sight

Build multiple possible interpretations into key scenes

Executing the twist

Reveal information that makes earlier scenes impossible rather than just unlikely

Show that characters’ core beliefs about themselves are wrong but for unexpected reasons

Make the twist reveal that the story’s framing is different than it first appeared

If using multiple twists, make sure that each changes the meaning of previous twists

Final tips

Ensure your twists serve the story rather than just shocking readers

Build proper foundations for your twists throughout the narrative

Consider how subverting tropes affects your character development

Don’t be afraid to combine multiple unconventional elements if they work together

Remember that even unconventional twists need to make sense within your story’s logic

The most effective uncommon tropes and plot twists are those that not only surprise readers but also enhance the themes and emotional impact of your story. 

[sundrop-writes]

Emergency Contact

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

You choke on your words, but you swallow them faster.

Just want you to be my Emergency Contact.

Summary:

After Jason miraculously comes home from his brush with Deathstroke, you’re both feeling it in very different ways. You have an unexpected physical wound from the battle, and he has many (very expected) emotional wounds. You help each other heal. Even if it’s very stubborn on both your parts.

Jason Todd x GN!Powered!Reader. Enemies/FWB to Lovers. Angst and Hurt/Comfort. (Slight Smut). Set during Season 2, Episode 5.

Word Count: 10,400

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

...

Warnings: general emotional angst, Jason has a self deprecating inner dialogue, (kind of) enemies to lovers - more like annoyances to fuck buddies to lovers, friends with benefits to lovers, the reader and Jason have a bantering/argumentative nature to their relationship, the reader is meant to be 100% gender neutral (the reader is never referred to in the third person, so there is no need to use they/them pronouns, but the reader is not called she/her or he/him), Jason calls the reader ‘babe’ (imo, a completely gender neutral term and he would call anybody that), mentions of alcohol (Jason drinking a beer), the reader character has ice powers (not entirely relevant to the plot but I couldn’t help myself lmao).

sexual themes throughout, mentions of sexting (no detailed descriptions), mentions of sexting in public, mentions of the reader character sending nudes to Jason (no detailed descriptions of the photos), one scene with detailed smut (but it is not the primary focus of the fic), the reader’s genitals are not described in any specific way, some dirty talk, Jason is more dominant and the reader is more submissive, penetrative sex, Jason is annoying even during sex, Jason has a pain kink (even when he’s a dom, he’s a painslut, I don’t make the rules), scratching/marking (Jason receiving), slight humiliation kink.

mentions of canon level violence, mentions of kidnapping (in alignment with canon), mentions of Jason being beaten by Deathstroke, mentions of Jason’s near-death experience (being dropped off the building), gun violence, the reader is injured - has a bullet wound/bullet fragment in their stomach, mentions of blood,��descriptions of first-aid, mentions of puss from an infected wound (theoretically, not something that happens in the fic). That should be everything.

A/N: The title for the fic comes from a song by Pierce the Veil of the same name. It’s a newer song, and it’s one that I absolutely went to when looking for a title for this fic. The concept of becoming someone’s emergency contact is about upgrading the relationship from casual to much more serious, and just the whole song, and specific lyrics in it suit this fic so well. I highly recommend listening to it paired with this fic.

This was based on a request from my old blog, but obvi I don’t have that ask anymore - the request was about Jason getting shot and having his wound attended to by the reader, but I changed it to the reader getting shot cause I thought that was more interesting and less common. If the person who made that request sees this and finds my new blog, I hope you enjoy it! And in general, I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it.

This is another re-post from my old blog, and I do have a sequel for it in my drafts, which I am not actively working on. And before I post the sequel, I do plan on tweaking this and revamping it a little, but I figured I would repost this for now just to have the masterlist complete on this blog.

...

If asked, you would be hard pressed to explain your relationship with Jason Todd. 

The best way you could describe it would probably be - friends with benefits? 

But most of the time, the two of you weren’t even friends. You weren’t the type to hang out casually, or spend time alone together if it didn’t involve ripping each other’s clothes off. 

If you ever exchanged secrets or those precious bits of your most raw selves, it was by mistake. It was through sarcasm, or coming off the tired lips of someone who had just been exhausted by a few orgasms. The two of you knew each other well, quite literally inside and out. But you always made a deep, concerted effort to hold each other at arm’s length. And maybe that’s part of what all the snark and harsh words were for. 

It wasn’t all arguing. You were friendly. You could be civil, at the very least. 

Right from the moment you had first met Jason, you had found him to be so damn annoying, a shitstain on the earth - yet, someone you couldn’t stay away from. The line between flirtatious banter and a truly grinding argument was always so thin with the two of you. 

… 

You hadn’t expected that your life would be truly changed when you walked into that safehouse in Chicago that day. You truly thought nothing of him when his eyes landed on you - in those moments, a completely anonymous stranger, raking his eyes over you like you were a piece of meat. It was a gaze that immediately made you feel naked, something that made you want to smack him. You told yourself it was because he was being a pervert, not because of the heat that curled in your gut at feeling so intensely desired by him. 

He had been sitting on the couch sipping a beer like he owned the place, his thighs spread wide in a way you immediately decided was arrogant and annoying rather than hot - showing off his muscle tone as if it was trying to break through his jeans. Definitely annoying. Definitely the stance of a fuckboy trying to look bigger and badder than he was. He definitely was not attractive. 

When Dick led you, Rachel, Gar, and Kory further into the condo that seemed far too conspicuous to be a safehouse, the stranger you would later come to know as Jason quickly spoke up. 

“Who are your friends?” He asked. 

As he rose from the couch, his eyes lingered on you. Though his words seemed more out of curiosity, you couldn’t help but feel that bite of something more salacious lingering in his voice. 

It caused you to scoff and roll your eyes. 

“Not important.” Dick declared, his voice snippy. He was clearly annoyed with this new guy, and you could tell that your perceptions of him were definitely not ill-informed. 

“Who’s he?” Kory asked, going for the obvious question. 

“Not important.” Dick parroted out the words again, sounding much shorter with his patience. 

“Anybody want a brew?” Jason asked, motioning with the beer bottle in his hand. 

“Brew?” You twisted your eyebrows with disgust, staring him down as you commented on his odd choice of slang. 

He didn’t get to reply, as you were trampled over by Gar’s enthusiastic voice in your ear. 

“I do!” He said, raising his hand with excitement. 

“No, you don’t.” You quickly told him, reaching out to grab his hand and put it back down. “It’s disgusting.” 

You had a grand suspicion that Gar had never drank beer before, and he had no idea what he was truly asking for. Rather, he was simply taking advantage of trying new things because Dick and Kory were incredibly slack parental figures and he was away from home for the first time. 

“No, no one wants a brew.” Dick sighed, shaking his head. He threw Jason a small glare and you resisted the urge to laugh. 

“That can’t be Adamson.” Kory said, motioning toward Jason. 

This left you confused. But you didn’t question it. 

“He’s not Adamson. Adamson’s in the bathroom. Unconscious.” Dick explained. 

“Hi, I’m Rachel.” Rachel told Jason, offering him a sweet smile - being her usual sweet self. 

“Jason.” He introduced himself, in that moment, finally giving you a name to that obnoxious face. 

“I’m Gar!” Gar said with a grin, to which Jason nodded. 

Jason caught you glaring at him, and looked you up and down again, as if trying to willfully tear off your clothes with his eyes. It made your skin itch with heat and you would forever deny that it was a feeling you liked. 

“What can I call you, babe?” He asked, his voice entirely slimy, the kind of tone he would have used to recite cheesy lines to Tinder dates, you were entirely sure of. 

Before you could come up with some clever reply, Dick sighed in frustration and started balking again. 

“Okay, who we all are doesn’t matter right now.” He pressed, his neck so entirely tense that veins began to pop from the skin. “Can we just chill out, relax, sit on the couch and watch TV or something?” 

It seemed that he wouldn’t get his wish. 

Gar quickly charged around the table, finding something else to get strung up about. 

“Yo, when did you get another one?” He asked, putting his hands on both of the expensive cases on the long dining table - a copy identical to the one you knew to be containing Dick’s Robin outfit. 

It made you curious, and the answer that followed certainly surprised you. 

“That one’s mine.” Jason said, his chest literally puffing out with pride as he stated the fact. 

“No way.” You scoffed. 

“Yes way.” He quickly argued back, the whole exchange sounding entirely juvenile.

“This one’s yours? Wait, you’re Robin too?” Gar quickly put the pieces together. 

“I thought you were Robin?” Rachel commented, tilting her head toward Dick with curiosity. 

“I am.” Dick said firmly. 

“He was.” Jason corrected, a cocky smirk forming across his lips. 

“Batman really lowered the height requirement, huh.” You said. 

The words flew from your mouth before you could stop them, seeing as it was likely the only thing you could nitpick about Jason’s appearance. Between his stunning sharp jaw, his piercing blue eyes, his oddly appealing wild hair, his muscle tone being somehow visible beneath his baggy clothing - all of it made you equally frustrated and annoyed with him, and your baser urges couldn’t resist the low-hanging fruit. 

You felt victory and a slight pang of guilt when Jason deflated because of your comment, shrinking back into himself at your words. 

He didn’t have anything to say in return, he simply sipped his beer. 

“Wait, how many Robins are there?” Gar said, beginning to excitedly ramble at the thought. “Are there a lot? Cause I would love to-” 

“Okay, quiet.” Kory cut him off, clearly becoming annoyed with all of this dancing around the point as much as Dick was. “Sit.” 

Her words were firm, and you couldn’t help but to listen. You found yourself collapsing to sit on the couch while Rachel and Gar took seats at the dining table. Jason continued to linger in the middle of the room, staring at Kory and Dick as their frustration filled the air. 

“Bathroom.” Kory told Dick, and then they left to deal with whoever - or whatever - Adamson was. 

Jason sighed and took a seat beside you. When his eyes fell on you, you set your jaw and glared at him. You didn’t give away a single ounce of the heat you were feeling as his eyes locked with yours. 

“Even if I am the shorter Robin, I can assure you that everything else about me is… very long.” He lowered his voice and whispered those last words, crowding into your personal space as he did so. 

It sent shivers down your spine, his silken voice making the words sound too tempting. Even if you twisted your face and said ‘gross!’ causing him to dissolve into laughter, you didn’t make an effort to move away from him or put any space between your two bodies on the very large couch. You told yourself it was because you were tired from a very long day of travel, not because you were enjoying the smell of his strangely expensive cologne from this close by. 

His grin was still entirely smug, and you couldn’t stand it. 

When he raised the beer bottle up to his mouth again, you reached over and put a hand on his forearm, forcefully dragging his arm down as you made a snide comment. 

“That shit is disgusting, why the hell do you drink it?” You asked. 

You found your face drifting toward his again and if asked, you would say it was a form of intimidation - not that you were being drawn in by an unconscious attraction to him. 

“Because I can.” He replied, just as snide as he slipped your grip and sipped on the drink. 

You mocked his words in an entirely childish voice, and then you raised a single finger up to it and skimmed along the neck of the bottle. It took only a single moment of concentration with your skilled powers to freeze the beer inside solid. He thought he felt an extra chill coming off his hand, but convinced himself that he imagined it. But when he kept it tilted and nothing came out to meet his lips, he shook it and then stuck an inquiring eye inside the bottle. 

When he saw that it was completely frozen, he looked over and saw you grinning, and little did you know - that was the moment he became completely taken with you. You were one of the most annoying people he had ever met, and he found himself so intensely attracted to you. 

Even if it was getting under your skin by arguing with you or fucking your brains out, he knew in that moment - he had to get inside you and drive you insane the same way that he knew you would for him. 

… 

When Dick left to go check on his old circus friend Clay, Jason winked at you and said ‘don’t miss me too much’. You made a show of putting a finger near your mouth and audibly gagging. 

Later that night, when Jason didn’t return, you hated the curl of disappointment that panged in your stomach. You wanted to hit yourself for staring at the door, waiting for the second Robin to come in behind Dick. 

You hated yourself even more for replying to Jason’s texts. 

Apparently he had taken your phone out of your jacket pocket when you went to the bathroom (not to see Adamson - a different bathroom, to pee). And he had put himself in your contacts as ‘Hot Guy’. He had also sent himself a text from your phone that read ‘omg Jason you’re so hot, will you fuck me?’. And then replied to it from his own phone with a picture of his cock. 

Unfortunately, the only thing you could mock about the picture was poor lighting. 

When you told him as much, he quickly remedied that with several more pictures - ones with better lighting. He sent a video with very distinct audio. You would deny that you rushed to put your headphones in to listen to it while you sat on the train with Kory and Gar. You would deny that it drove a hard, hot pain between your thighs. 

You dug through a folder and sent some pictures of your own. You told yourself it was to prove to him that you were too good for him - to show off something he could never actually have. To tease him. 

You would deny that you loved the compliments he gave you, that you ate up the affection like a plant lovingly soaking up the sun. 

When you were sexting him, you had no clue that you were ever going to see him again. It was almost mindless, something for a dopamine hit to distract yourself from all the chaos going on around you. You weren’t doing it because you actually liked Jason. You didn’t have any real attractions toward him, or any real plans to carry out all of the bold things you said in those messages. 

You had no clue that you’d end up living together. 

When you did find out that Dick would be taking Jason into the newly reopened Titans Tower along with you, Gar, and Rachel, you didn’t make a big deal of it in your mind. When Jason made flirtatious remarks toward you in person, you brushed him off. You put up a wall. 

You told yourself that he was nothing more than a cocky, shallow guy who would use you for sex and then throw you away - something you could never actually build a proper relationship with. And if you were supposed to live together, be some kind of team like Dick expected you to be, then you couldn’t be messy. You couldn’t get emotional. 

You had no clue that on one of those first nights living together, your self assured discipline not to give into your lust for him would break like a wafer cookie, and you would be in his bed faster than a sea turtle running into ocean. 

… 

“Fuck, babe, you feel so good on my cock.” Jason grunted, his face buried in your neck as he thrusted deep inside of you. The loud squelch of artificial wetness coming from between your thighs as he worked his hips, working you open with a needy, demanding pace. “Bet you love this cock, huh? Tell me how fuckin’ much you love it.” 

“Shut up.” 

The words came from your throat as a weak whimper, much less powerful than you had intended. 

You didn’t want to give him any more power than he already held over you - he had you weak and willing on his cock, something you would have never admitted could be true until it was happening in these moments. 

Though you would never admit it aloud, you loved the way he handled you. Having you pinned against the bed with his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, having you breathless and moaning as he fucked into you with fast, obviously skilled strokes. Your nails cut into the flesh of his back, and he let out a low rumble from his gut as the sharp sting sent a wave of pleasure through him. 

You hated the twinge of lustful embarrassment that curled in your gut when he chuckled at your words. 

“Oh, you want me to shut up?” He asked, slightly breathless from the act himself, moving one hand beside your head to raise himself up slightly to look in your eyes. 

He was sweaty, disheveled, his hair a mess, his muscles taught with the effort as he continued to pound into you. You hated that you had imagined him much like this before, and that this outlived all of your fantasies. 

“Yes.” You fired back. “Just shut up and fuck me.” 

He bit his lip - something you didn’t know was him trying to hold back his orgasm, so utterly turned on by your bratty defiance, the twinge of a whimper in your voice as you said those words. 

“You weren’t tellin’ me to shut up when I was texting you.” 

He said, all hot breath fanning across your chin, his hips spearing forward in sharp, hard hits that made your skin smack loudly together. It made you work hard to suppress moans deep in your chest in a way that was painful, like venom inside your lungs. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of your sounds, of knowing just how good he was fucking you - even if he could see it written all over your pleasure twisted face. 

“You only begged for more when I was tellin’ you how I was gonna lay you on my bed. Take you apart… make you scream my name.” 

He reached his other hand from your hip to the point where you were joined. He began touching that tender place, making sharp, vicious strokes that were almost vengeful. Tears easily gathered in your eyes and he let out another chuckle when you choked on a deep, pleasurable wail. 

“Tell me, how many times did you touch yourself reading what I wrote?” 

He asked, leaning down to whisper the words right in your ear. 

“How many times did you cum thinking about me?” 

“I didn’t.” You choked out, digging your nails deeper into the skin of his back, causing him to grunt as the pain mixed with the pleasure flowing through him. 

“Sure, babe.” He smirked down at you, turning that look into something absolutely pavlovian that would forever make you feel his cock deep inside of you when you saw it, rather than feeling annoyed. 

Maybe from that point on, it was a bit of both. 

In an effort to shut him up, you reached up and claimed his lips. It was supposed to be a kiss, but it was mostly teeth. When you bit down on his bottom lip, snarling, he tasted blood and the way he moaned at the pain was absolutely unmistakable. It was something you remembered and used against him many times after that. 

… 

You wouldn’t allow yourself any room for self hatred when it came to that break in your self control. When it became an ongoing thing, you spun it as positive in your mind. 

It was just sexual release. You and Jason both needed it. It paired well with intense training and the heavy studying that Dick made you do. It lowered your stress levels a lot, and it helped you get through the day. 

The more time you spent around Jason, the more you got to know him, and the more you came to realize that he was nowhere near shallow. You easily saw that he was caring, deep, complex, troubled. The more time passed, you found yourself falling for him and the more you deeply denied it. Because it was just sex. 

Things were good between the two of you, and you knew that if you added anything else to the mix - any complicated, mushy feelings - you would fuck it up. 

You were especially reminded of this - how important it was not to fuck things up - just a day or so before every other force aside from you railed Titans Tower and began royally fucking things up. 

… 

It was a morning just like any other at Titans Tower. It was delightfully quiet - even though Dick demanded that everyone get up at ungodly early hours to begin training, you had somehow managed to wake up before everyone else and you were enjoying the peace it brought you. 

When you got up to see that Jason was already in the kitchen, standing at the counter as he munched on a bowl of cereal, you wanted to scorn the idea that your peace would be interrupted. But instead, you found yourself willfully suppressing a smile. 

You yawned and walked over to the counter, grabbing a bowl from one of the cupboards, thinking that cereal was just the right idea on his part. A deep frown cut through your face when you poured out the rest of the cereal box he had left on the counter, and a very measly amount fell into your bowl. 

“What kind of asshole only leaves three fucking cornflakes in the bottom of the box?” You scoffed, causing him to chuckle. 

“Learn to count, babe.” He told you, speaking with his mouth half-full. “That’s more than three.” 

You rolled your eyes. You were likely exaggerating - but still, it seemed rude to you to leave such a small portion, barely a handful, in the bottom of the box. 

“Or did I make you cum so hard last night that I knocked the common sense out of your head?” He added on, throwing you that signature smirk that made heat bloom between your thighs. 

You let out a sarcastic snort, giving him a purposefully disgusted grimace as you lifted the bowl up and dumped the remaining cereal into his portion instead. 

“You might as well take these.” You told him. “And don’t flatter yourself, you’re not that good.” 

You moved behind them, distracting yourself from the conversation by making a cup of coffee. 

“Oh really?” He perked up, rising to his full height, pure mischief in his voice. “It didn’t sound like it last night.” 

Much to your horror, he then began imitating your moans. 

“‘Oh, Jason! Oh, fuck me! More!’” 

It was a cartoonish, pornographic imitation, something he likely wouldn’t have done if the others were anywhere within earshot. Oddly enough, even though your relationship was casual, you still kept it guarded and private, as though it were some precious secret that needed to be kept from the others. 

“‘Jason, please, your dick is the best! Oh, make me cum!’” 

But that was the farthest thing from your mind as embarrassment curled in your stomach, the reaction he likely wanted to draw out of you. You hated that you didn’t truly know if it was accurate or not, because sometimes - yes, he did fuck your brains out and make you completely mindless on his cock. 

But you would never admit that he was right. 

“Shut up.” You sighed, causing him to dissolve into laughter, feeling as though he had won. 

But you wouldn’t simply leave it at that. 

Instead, as you pushed the button on the machine and your coffee began to drip, you turned around and gently placed your fingers on the side of his cereal bowl. You froze all the milk inside of it solid, making it into one large frozen chunk with the spoon stuck inside when he wasn’t looking - distracted, staring at your face, looking for any trace of the reaction that he had drawn out of you. 

You just glared, and he smirked once more. 

When he picked up the spoon again and went to take another bite, the entire bowl came with it. He sighed in defeat when he realized what you had done. 

“You know, it’s so damn annoying when you do that.” He sighed. 

“I know.” You grinned at him. 

He couldn’t help the butterflies that fluttered in his stomach at this. He resisted the urge to grab you by the sides of your head and steal the grin of your mouth with his own. He told you that it was out of annoyance, and not affection. He told himself those lines were most definitely not blurred when it came to you. 

… 

Confessing your feelings to Jason would not have been your choice. 

Given the choice, you would have let your feelings quietly live and die inside of you. You would have just kept Jason as a friend. You would have even dropped the amazing sex if it meant staying on good terms with him. 

But the stakes rose pretty quickly, and things were taken out of your hands. The choice was stolen from you and Jason entirely against your will. 

When you found out he was missing, supposedly kidnapped by Doctor Light on the heels of some misguided plan - something inside of you shattered. Up until that moment, if you thought it was just a stupid crush, or an infatuation inside of you that would easily fade with time - you quickly found out that you were wrong. 

You went through the stages of grief like a rocket. 

Denial. Staring at the door, waiting for him to walk inside at any moment. Just like you had back at the safehouse.

Anger. Being so pissed at Dick at the other older Titans that you could barely breathe. How had they let this happen to him? How could they make him feel so inadequate that he felt the need to go out on his own, half-cocked, clearly doing something in the name of looking for their approval? 

Bargaining. You would have traded places with him. You would have been the one, alone and scared and stranded if it meant that he got to be at home safe. You would have gone with him to carry out the stupid plan if he had only asked. Why hadn’t he asked you? 

Depression. You wept in your room, hands clasped over your face, letting out chest-shaking sobs as you thought of the possibility of him never returning home again. You realized the possibility of him dying was very real and it made your lungs burn. 

And then finally - Acceptance. You finally accepted that your feelings for him were something bigger, and if it meant that you were the only person in the Tower who truly cared about him (probably aside from Gar) - the only person who didn’t just see him as a pawn to be used against Deathstroke - then you had to do something about it. 

So you laid out your love for Jason. You put it all on the line for him. You accidentally confessed to him, showed your feelings in a gesture so quiet it screamed. 

You knew that for someone who stepped up to become Robin, someone who scorned cops for pummeling down on the innocent when they were supposed to be protectors - stepping up to try and save his life meant a love bigger than anything else you could have done. 

And he was terrified of it. There was a big justice in your love for him. And to him, there was an even bigger justice in giving you an out to escape it - to escape loving him.  

… 

Hectic. 

That was easily how you would describe the last few days at Titans Tower. 

Between the unexpected arrival of Rose - Dick taking on another stray because, like Rachel said, he couldn’t resist a bird with a broken wing. Finding out that she was related to one of the deadliest men on earth that the Titans apparently had previous history with. And then Jason going off on his own without telling you, some botched hostage trade, and the group picking up yet another stray - a strange boy who had saved Jason’s life. It was all a blur of hectic chaos that had you snapping your neck to keep up. 

Sleep was scarce and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a proper meal. 

But you weren’t truly worried about any of that. 

Dust had been kicked up around your life, and you couldn’t wait for it to settle before you made your next important decision. 

Even though the wounds were still tender, you knew that things were safe for now, and your number one concern was Jason. 

The minute he had gotten in the door, even though he was slightly hobbled and clearly sore from whatever Deathstroke had done to him, he rushed out of your sight. He was clearly eager to get away from everyone like a wounded animal sulking away to lick his wounds in peace. And when you had chased him, ignoring a nagging pain in your own side from the fight, he had slammed his bedroom door in your face, entirely uncaring of the fact that you called out his name, concerned for him. 

The rest of the group was distracted with Conner - not knowing what he had been shot with or how to fix it. You hated it, but in the eyes of the group, yet again, Jason and any of his problems fell to the back burner. 

After you had taken a short shower and changed your clothes, you found yourself here. Standing in front of Jason’s closed bedroom door, hoping not to face another cold rejection. 

You wondered if he would be sleeping, wondered if you should interrupt his peace. But you knew that sleep was unlikely after everything that had happened. 

So you took the leap. 

You raised a fist, once again pushing down that stinging pain coming from the right side of your stomach. You reasoned that it was probably nothing more than a bruise forming there. And you knocked on the door. 

A few moments later, the door was jerked open, and Jason glared at you. 

His eyes were dull and tired, and there was a large bruise forming on the side of his mouth. Probably one of many others that you couldn’t see, from the way he had been walking earlier. He likely hadn’t been sleeping, but you had disturbed him. 

“What the hell do you want?” He grumbled out, his voice dull, lacking any true fight. 

“I wanted to check on you.” You told him, entirely honest. “I know it might seem stupid, but I wanna see how you’re doing.” 

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

He wanted to agree that - yes, it was stupid. It should have been obvious how he was doing after being kidnapped, beaten, and dropped off a building. But he was an idiot who had gotten himself thrown headfirst into that mess, thinking he could handle it. And he didn’t need to go crying to you about how badly he had fucked up. He had made a poor choice and he deserved all of the consequences. It was a simple fact of life. 

“I’m doing just fine, thanks.” Jason said, entirely snide and sarcastic. “Look, I don’t need your help, okay? So fuck off.” 

It was a set of harsh, cutting words. But he thought getting distance from you would be best. This whole thing had woken him up from the sweet little fantasy the two of you had been participating in. He was a natural born fuck-up. And sure, he could have you for a while, play around a bit - but he could never truly make you happy. Eventually, he would fuck you up too. He was a harsh poison and it would be better if he got out of your life before you felt the full effects. 

He moved to shove the door closed and upon instinct, you reached up and fought him on it. Unconsciously, you winced as a sharp pain came from the injury in your stomach, reaching for it with your free hand as you held the door open with the other. It should have been no big deal. With your meta abilities, you usually healed quicker. You weren’t even used to feeling it when you got hurt. You were probably just feeling it worse because you were tired. 

You tried to ignore the pain. But in a moment, Jason’s eyes went wide with worry as his gaze darted from your face, knit with pain, to where your hand was nursing the injury. Any sense of smarmy discontent dropped from his features, immediately being replaced with a softness and worry for you. 

“You’re hurt.” He said quietly. 

He let the door fall open again, reaching for your hand to inspect the injury himself. 

“I’m fine.” You played the card this time, exchanging his lie for your own. 

It was an odd play. He had lied about not being so torn up inside, emotionally devastated as he was, and now you were lying about not being physically injured from the fight. The two of you made an odd, but perfectly matched pair. 

Jason barreled right past your words, and you were easily pliant to his touch as he removed your hand from the injury. You certainly were not expecting for him to find anything incriminating under your hand. But he glared at you when he found bright red spread across your palm, a glossy wetness leaking through your shirt. 

“You’re bleeding.” He grunted at you. 

Clearly, he was disappointed in the fact that you had neglected to bring this injury to the group’s attention. Pissed off at the fact that you weren’t in the medbay with Conner receiving some treatment right now. 

Maybe you could blame it on the chaos. Maybe you could blame it on the fact that with everyone so emotionally distraught, you didn’t want to be just another problem for everyone to fuss over. 

“Whoops.” You breathed out sarcastically. “I didn’t even notice.” 

That last part was honest. In all the adrenaline, all your worrying over whether or not Jason was going to live as you watched him dangle so high off the ground - you truly hadn’t paid any mind to the injury. 

“You didn’t-?” Jason huffed out in anger, but didn’t bother finishing the sentence. 

Perhaps he partially understood himself, knowing how the adrenaline from a fight could stamp out pain. Or perhaps he knew how truly stubborn you were and he didn’t want to waste his energy arguing with you. 

“You need this treated.” He added on. 

No matter how fucked in the head he was, he never wanted to see you hurt. That was something he would definitely waste his energy on - wearing down your stubbornness until you let him or someone else in the house take care of the injury properly. 

“Conner is worse off than I am.” You shrugged. “He needs the attention more.” 

“Then let me help you.” He said, an impatient nagging rising up in his throat. “Bruce gave me some first aid training. One thing that means I’m not totally useless.” 

The words made your chest ache for him, a pain that easily competed with the bleeding wound. 

“Jason-” 

You wanted to argue with him. You wanted to tell him he had infinite worth to you. 

But of course, he cut you off. 

“Just go sit on the bed.” He told you, quiet, but a firm command that you couldn’t ignore. 

He gently pushed past you, on a quest for some supplies to patch you up with. You then found yourself drifting into his room almost mindlessly, your hand clutching the wound again upon instinct. It was a place that you felt oddly at home. The nights you had spent in that bed since coming to Titans Tower, your head delightfully empty as he had fucked you hard and fast - they were by far your favourites. 

You would say it was because of the sex, and not just because you got to be wrapped up in Jason’s arms. Maybe everything had changed. Maybe your answers were different now. Maybe you were raw and tender and Jason wasn’t prepared to chase you in that devotion. 

But that was just the thing. With you and Jason, there was never any sense of devotion. You and Jason were always hard and fast. Teasing each other, verging on the edge of vengeful. It was a flame that burned intensely hot - but it was never anything soft. It was never anything that prompted you to knock on his door so late, wanting to check on his well being. It was nothing that prompted you to make chase to put your life on the line for him. 

Even just knowing that he had the intent to attend to your injury, called himself useful because of it - the thought cradled you like a warm blanket. It had you balancing on the edge of a dam holding back a barrage of feelings that you had been quelling down since the moment you had first put your lips on his.

“I told you to sit.” Jason’s voice came from behind you. 

He had raided the infirmary and now had a handful of supplies - luckily without anyone seeing him or questioning why. When you turned to him, he was closing the bedroom door behind him, sealing you both in with this newfound soft intensity, the tired lull of two people unwilling to hold back that softness anymore. It was entirely dangerous, and entirely life-saving at the same time; and neither of you realized it. 

“Since when do you get to boss me around?” You told him, your voice low and lacking any true spirit or sarcasm. 

It was in the same vein as the banter the two of you usually threw around - bickering about who was a bigger asshole, who was more stubborn, who was better in bed. 

You expected some kind of sexual comment in return. You could almost hear it now - he was the boss of you because he made you melt on his cock, made you mindless and dumb with it. 

But, no dice. 

The longer you stared at him, catching bits of the fresh pain swimming through those gorgeous blue eyes, you wished so badly for the mischief and sarcasm and light to come back and bite you the way that it used to. 

It only made your stomach churn harder at the whole situation. Things had officially changed between you and Jason. You had yet to find out if it was for the better, or for the painstakingly worse. 

Jason sighed through his nose. 

“You can be such an asshole sometimes.” He told you. Coming from him, and given the nature of your relationship, you knew it was almost a compliment. “Will you just sit down and let me help you?” 

Even though you were utterly terrified of the swelling of emotions you felt, bound to come to a head - you did. 

You sat on the edge of the bed and he placed the supplies beside you. 

When he mumbled out a quiet ‘lay back’, and you did, his cool fingertips at the hem of your shirt pulling it upward felt strangely more intimate than any other time you had been in this same position. It wasn’t heady, you weren’t granted the distraction of his mouth on yours and his tongue shoved between your lips while a harsh throbbing nagged between your legs.

This was quiet, and calm, and gentle. 

When you caught his eye above you as he wiped away the blood with some clean gauze, you saw nothing but pity and worry and sparkling affection for you. You almost dared to call it something as epic and dangerous as love, buried deep in his eyes. He worked with the most delicate touch, almost as if he was afraid to break you, before he glanced down and inspected the wound. 

His brow furrowed with even more intense worry, guilt nipping at his insides when he got a good look at it. 

“I think I see a bullet in here.” He told you, and then he moved around the bed and grabbed his phone, turning on the flashlight to have a better light to inspect it. You felt intensely naked, intensely caught when he began shining the light on your stomach with a harshly inquisitive look across his face. “Definitely something shiny. You got shot and you didn’t fucking tell anyone?” 

It was only then that you realized when you had gotten the wound - the exact moment clicking into place in your mind. 

“It was only a ricochet.” You argued quietly. “It’s not that bad.” 

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes, and began sorting out his supplies, preparing to pull out whatever was lodged inside of you. 

… 

Dick explicitly told you to stay put. 

They only wanted the more experienced Titans, the Varsity squad on the case when dealing with Deathstroke. He blamed young naive incompetence as the reason Jason had gotten captured in the first place. You blamed him and Bruce pushing Jason out, making him feel like he needed so desperately to prove himself. But it was something Dick wasn’t ready to hear - an argument you weren’t going to have with the very stubborn team leader. 

Instead, you went for the silent route. You trailed the rest of them out of Tower, and when Dick strayed away from the rest of the group, his head on a swivel as he glanced back and forth, seemingly wanting to assure that none of the others were following him - you followed your gut instincts and went after him. 

You hid in the shadows and the moment that Deathstroke hit the button and those panels scrolled up, revealing Jason stranded on that scaffolding - you couldn’t help yourself. 

“Jason!” 

You screamed out his name, you leapt forward. 

Dick didn’t have time to scold you, not before the gunfire started. 

Kory came out of nowhere - seemingly, she had the same idea as you. Putting her life on the line for an emotionally repressed man that she hadn’t admitted her feelings for. But she was there because she was in love with the other Robin. (Or rather, a man who claimed over and over again that he wasn’t Robin.) 

Things quickly became a blur - flashes of flame as Kory fought, battling with the muzzle flashes from Deathstroke’s guns, limbs flying as they fought each other. You didn’t see it, but Deathstroke raised and aimed at you as you rushed toward the window, blindly going after Jason. In response, Dick charged forward, redirecting the gun as he pulled the trigger. You heard the sharp ‘ping’ sound of metal on metal - what you couldn’t see was the bullet hitting one of the metal beams in the ceiling. But you certainly felt it when it sliced into your side. 

At the time, it was nothing compared to the fear you felt for Jason. 

His eyes were wide with terror, and you could only focus on getting him to safety. You had no idea that a large part of his panic came from seeing you in the building. He had hoped that Dick would keep you away from all of this. But there you were, standing a few feet away from a man with a gun who was shooting around wildly. Jason would have delighted in being dropped off the building to his death if he had to see you get fatally shot when he could do nothing but squirm on the other side of the glass. 

You put two hands on the glass, banging on it - of course, it was no use. It was inches thick, meant to keep people from going through it at this height. Working entirely on instinct, you put your palms flat across it and began forming ice crystals over it, hoping to make it rigid and breakable if it was frozen. 

Once there was enough ice, you quickly looked around and spotted a metal pipe there for the in-progress construction of the building, so you grabbed it and rushed to smash the glass with it. You felt victorious as it shattered, and Jason flinched away from the shards, putting you one step closer to freeing him. 

Though the moment the glass was cleared, leaving the wind whipping around you, his first words of greeting to you were not celebratory. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He barked at you, clearly angry with you. 

You felt a dull ache in your chest at this. You thought he might be relieved, happy, pleased. At the time, you couldn’t interpret his harsh reaction as worry for you possibly getting hurt. 

Nonetheless, you ignored his harshness. You would save him, whether he wanted to be saved or not. You draped your body through the window, reaching out to him. You made an effort to keep most of your weight planted on the floor of the building, in case the scaffolding wasn’t stable enough to hold two people at once. 

“What do you think?” You replied, pure sarcasm dripping through your voice as you reached behind Jason and began fiddling with the rope around his wrists. 

The position put the two of you in intensely close proximity. Jason caught a whiff of your unique scent, the shower gel you used that mingled with your body’s natural oils; and he felt so painfully at home. For the first time that night, he held back tears. He couldn’t help but to lean his forehead on your shoulder, taking comfort in having you so near after being on edge and terrified for so many hours. You resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair, to cradle him and give him further comfort. You forced yourself to focus on the task at hand - getting him to safety. 

Behind you, at the very back of the room, Dick and Deathstroke wrestled with the remote for the explosives attached to the scaffolding. 

Just as you managed to get Jason’s wrists freed, Deathstroke hit the switch, and the bombs went off. 

… 

You winced loudly as Jason dabbed at the wound with disinfectant. 

“I would say sorry… but, you’ll thank me later when this isn’t swollen and leaking puss.” He told you, throwing you a small smirk. 

It was smug. It was the usual kind of humor that he gave you. 

It was comforting to know that every trace of the Jason you knew hadn’t been stolen by Deathstroke. 

You held your breath as he pressed down with the medicine-covered gauze again, drawing much less of a reaction out of you this time. 

“Great mental image, Jay.” You replied, your voice dull. It lacked any of the true bite you wanted to deliver in response to him. “I’m sure it’s such a turn-on thinking about my puss.” 

It was meant to be a joke. But even unconsciously, it was an acknowledgement of that dangerous line - the line between truly caring and just using someone for sex. The line between having someone in your life as a body to get off with, and being so… homely with them. 

You and Jason were towing that line dangerously. It was a thread that you were balancing on, and it would either break, or you would cross to the other side and be forever bonded to him. 

Jason shrugged. “Maybe I don’t have to be turned on by you all the time.” 

There was more stuck in his throat. Another dangerous acknowledgement of that line. 

‘Maybe I just have to care.’ 

Both of you lulled into silence because neither of you dared to say it. 

After a few moments, Jason put down the gauze and hesitated to reach for the tweezers. He knew that pulling the bullet out would be painful, but inevitable. It was a lot like the state of your relationship with him. Break it off, and find happiness elsewhere, or acknowledge this big thing swelling to fruition between the two of you. Have Jason fuck it up eventually. Painful, but inevitable. 

“You shouldn’t have to be hurt like this.” Jason said quietly. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt for my sake.” 

There it was again - words with a dangerous double meaning. 

You looked up at him, pure pain knit across his face, and for a moment he looked from the tweezers to you and he could hardly stand holding your gaze. 

‘It’s worth it.’ You wanted to say. ‘For you, I’d bear any pain.’ 

The words lived and died behind your eyes, and your tongue decided on something else entirely. 

“It’s nothing.” You told him. 

You downplayed the pain, pretending that the injury was only a minor inconvenience for you. And in the grand scheme of life, it was. With time, it would heal. Losing Jason would be something you’d never heal from. 

Jason shook his head at this statement. 

He forced himself to reach for the tweezers then. He handed you his phone, a silent agreement that you would hold the light as steady as you could. He knew you well, too well, and he knew that you needed something else to focus on to push away the pain. He put his free hand on the plush of your stomach, pulling back slightly to hold the wound open while you held the light on it. 

When the sharp metal of the tweezers breached your wound, you wanted to swear. You wanted to call him an asshole as the pain shot through you. You wanted to scold him for leaving the Tower and being kidnapped in the first place. But you knew that even if it was playful or sarcastic, fueled by the bite of your pain, it was not what he needed to hear right now. So instead, you held your breath, and gripped his phone hard, keeping the light steady as you bared the sharp shocks of pain. 

After a moment of digging around that felt like an eternity, he pulled out the fragment and held it up to show you as you collapsed back against the bed, panting with tears stinging the edges of your eyes. 

“It’s not nothing.” He declared sharply. 

You couldn’t conjure a response. You knew he was right. And you didn’t want to be forced to admit it. 

Instead, you turned off the light from his phone and relaxed into the bed, closing your eyes as he walked around to the trashcan and threw out the bullet fragment. It fell into the bottom of the plastic wastebasket with a very small ‘ping’ - making you wonder how something so small could cause so much trouble. 

Jason quickly returned to you, dabbing more disinfectant into the wound in a way that made you groan and flex away from the touch. Once again, he did not apologize. 

There were a few moments of muddy silence with nothing but your slightly labored breathing, trying to contain your sounds of pain so as to not make him feel any further guilt about the whole incident. 

Your mind churned, and you couldn’t help the next words that came from your mouth. 

“I meant what I said.” You told him. 

At the sound of this, his hands immediately stilled. You felt his eyes on you, and you forced yourself to open your own and look up at him once again. He stared you down with intense examination. He looked for any ounce of falsity, any sign that you were lying, even posturing to make him feel better after everything that had happened. 

He didn’t find any. 

You thought he might acknowledge you, that he might say something back to return your mighty words. Instead, he simply reached for more gauze, and began putting a final bandage on your wound. 

… 

The explosion caused a sharp rattle through your ears. It shocked you and made you dizzy and put the whole world off-kilter. The only thing you could perceive past the mind-numbing hum in your brain was the feeling of Jason’s rough glove gripping tightly onto your wrist, so you gripped back as hard as you could. 

When you blinked open your eyes, you were half-hanging out of the open window, the edge of the floor cutting into your waist as you held onto Jason by nothing but his wrist. His whole body weight created a harsh burn, straining on the muscles in your shoulder as you watched him dangle hundreds of feet above the street. 

Panic flooded you. 

You scrambled to reach out with your other hand, and the moment you moved, your shirt slipped against the sleek, polished material of the floor and you began sliding out the window. You gasped and Jason stilled his panicked flailing immediately. 

“Don’t move!” He shouted. 

“Give me your other hand so I can pull you up!” You shouted back. 

Beyond the unpleasant hum of your eardrums rattling, you still heard chaos behind you. Gunshots, the grunts of fighting, Kory and Dick’s voices yelling. They were busy with Deathstroke, they couldn’t help you or Jason. 

Jason looked up at you with glassy eyes. 

He knew that with all his gear weighing him down, even with the training you had been doing, you wouldn’t be able to pull him up. Not by yourself. And if you weren’t careful, his body weight would just pull you out of the window and cause you to go tumbling down to your death along with him. 

When you saw that frown etch across his lips, that filthy look of dawning - you glared at him. 

“Give me your other hand!” You screamed, your voice raking across your throat like hot coals. A hot boiling rage at the fact that he seemed almost determined to die. 

There was one thing he was determined about. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to take you down with him. 

His gloved wrist started to slip from your nervous, sweaty palm, and you tried hard to hold on tight. You formed large shards of ice, hoping you could create some kind of bond there by freezing your hand to his. But it would only be temporary with gravity trying to tear the two of you apart. 

“You have to drop me, Y/N.” He said, nothing but pure mourning on his lips. “I’m dead weight.” 

You both knew it was a horrendous double meaning. 

He thought he was a dead weight to your life. 

“No!” You immediately defied this thought, that feral rage ripping at your throat once again. “I’m gonna pull you up. I’m gonna pull you up!” 

You reached your other hand down and tightly wrapped both of your hands around his wrist, yanking upward. The harsh movement caused you to slide even further out the window. You were now dangling dangerously over San Francisco with only the thickness of your thighs giving you any real stability on the intensely high up floor. It made you dizzy, and the only thing you had to focus on were the wet wells of Jason’s eyes staring up at you. 

“It’s no use!” Jason said tearfully. 

You ignored him. 

You cast your chin over your shoulder, and began shouting. 

“Help me!” You screamed, trying desperately to get the attention of Dick or Kory. “Help me! Fuck!” 

“You have to let go.”

Jason’s words immediately shifted your focus back to him. 

But of course, you refused. 

“I’m not letting go of you!” You declared sharply. “Not that easily.” 

As he stared up at your tearful eyes, he knew that you meant it as more. 

Unfortunately, it was the one thing he was terrified of. 

He thought that you saw him as some shiny perfect thing, something good and worth having in your life. He thought that you were incapable of seeing the poison, the true fuck-up that he was. If you didn’t let go of him, sooner or later, just like everyone else in his life, you were going to get burned. 

So Jason did what he had to do. 

He began prying your fingers off his wrist, trying his best to keep you stable while he forced himself from your grip. 

“No!” You shrieked. “No, no, no-” 

You didn’t have much room to fight him about it without falling out of the window yourself. 

You made a move to readjust, to get a tighter grip on him - and it was the one deadly move that caused him to slip out of your touch completely. 

You were forced to watch on in chest clenching horror, blinking through heavy tears as he began hurtling toward the ground. 

… 

If not for Conner - a literal miracle - swooping in and saving Jason at the last second, then you would have spent the rest of your life regretting those moments, wondering what you could have done differently to save him. 

When Jason finished taping down the bandages, making sure the wound was clean and secure, he laid his palm flat on top of it. It was a kind of ‘kissing it better’ that instantly spread warmth curling through your gut. It was a touch so incredibly tender - especially compared to the heated, aggressive groping you were used to from him - that it caused a whimper from the back of your throat. 

You knew it was unlikely, but you hoped that he hadn’t heard it. 

“All done.” He said quietly. 

You instantly felt regret when he took his hand away and began tidying up the medical supplies. But you forced yourself to sit upright, now feeling only muscle soreness and a much duller pain coming from the area. You felt intensely thankful for his care as you pulled your shirt back down, righting your clothes back into place. 

“You’re free to go now.” Jason told you, his voice still low, as though a single decibel would shatter the delicate peace between the two of you. 

You felt your heart sink. 

In an instant, you understood what it was - he was concerned about your physical wellbeing, but he didn’t actually want to have you around. Just like his reaction to you showing up at the hostage exchange - he didn’t want your presence there. 

You heaved a sigh and got off the bed as Jason busied himself with gathering up the used gauze to throw it away. As you put your hand on the doorknob, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to leave. 

It was something else. 

It had to be something else. 

Jason hadn’t let himself drop off a building in some desperate ploy just to get away from you. He had been trying to save you. 

He was so utterly willing to give his life for yours. 

And now he was trying to back down from that. 

You turned and faced him, leaving the door closed. When he turned from ditching things in the wastebasket, he froze. He was entirely surprised that you were still there.

The two of you locked eyes, both staying still - like a predator and prey locked in a stalemate, wondering who would run first. 

In this situation, you weren’t sure who was the prey. 

You were both so vulnerable. 

Jason thought it would be selfish to get caught up in all of this, to finally admit those dangerous feelings he had for you. When he cared for things, he usually ended up breaking them. Of course, it was never on purpose - he was an idiot. Everything he touched, he fucked up. He had made that more than evident with his last braindead plan, the outing to prove that he was worthy of being Robin. Something that had gotten you shot, probably could have gotten you killed. 

If you stuck with him any longer, you probably would end up being killed. And he would never forgive himself for that. 

He would be better off ripping himself from your hold, as much as it hurt. Giving you a dose of that heartbreak now so that you could get over him and go after better things. 

As you stared at Jason, you could see all the pain boiling underneath his surface. You wondered what he was thinking, what the hell he was churning over in that intense brain of his - but you didn’t dare to ask. 

You knew that he needed to be held right now - in every sense of the word. You knew that he needed to be cared for the way he had cared for your wound, pushing past the pain in order to heal. You wondered if he would lay down and bear it or if he would continue to fight you. 

You were the one to bravely step forward. Though Jason was tempted to ask you to leave, that thing inside of him yearning to marinate in his isolation because he deserved it, he pushed it down. He let his hands naturally come to sit on the plush comfort of your waist as you put a gentle touch on both his shoulders, leaning into his body ever so slightly. 

You laid your forehead on his cheek, right next to that ugly bruise that had been left on him, and he let out a contented sigh as he felt your warmth envelope him. For the first time since his feet had touched the ground, he felt calm. He felt safe. 

You smoothed a hand across his shoulder, and raised your head, using your touch to gently tip his face toward yours. He quickly realized that your intention was to kiss him. And something ached in his heart - something painful and longing. He knew that it would not be needy and haste with the intention of pile-driving toward sex like your other kisses had been. He knew that it would be the metamorphosis of your relationship that he was not prepared to go through. 

He nuzzled along your forehead, gently stopping you. 

“Please don’t do this.” He murmured quietly into your skin. 

He knew that it would break him. 

He knew that this was the moment - like Gatsby reaching up toward the stars - this would be the moment that he was tied to you forever, damned by his love for you. Only, much different than Gatsby, he wasn’t destined for some grant fate if he didn’t have you. He was on a one way path to a messy death, and he was determined not to take you down with him. 

Tears pricked the edges of his eyes at the thought. 

You pulled back, just enough to properly look him in the eyes, and your own tears formed when you saw that pathetic puppy dog looking back at you. 

“Why not?” You demanded, much sharper than you intended. You knew he was fragile and you didn’t want to upset him any further than he already was. 

“You know why.” He replied, his voice barely scraping above a whisper as the emotion clutched at his throat. 

Jason wanted to hold onto you forever, but he was also a realistic person. He expected that any minute now, you would rip away from his arms and charge out the door, entirely angry with him, and this would finally be over. You would finally be safe from him - safe from any nasty fate his life could conjure up for you. 

You hated what he was asking of you - asking you not to care for him anymore. As if you could somehow switch it off. Impossible. 

“I meant what I said.” You repeated yourself, still entirely firm in this conviction. “I’m not gonna let you go that easily.” 

You leaned in, planting your lips on his in a light kiss. A pained sigh ripped through you when he didn’t make any moves to kiss you back. 

“Jason, please.” You whimpered out desperately. “If you get to bandage my bullet wound, then I get to do this.” 

Jason wanted to spell it all out for you, plain and dirty. He wanted to get angry, he wanted to scream. He wanted to rush along the inevitable. He wanted to tell you what a poison he was to the world, that he deserved to die and you deserved better things. But he had the utmost feeling that you wouldn’t listen. 

“Please, stop pushing me away.” You whispered against his lips. 

Instead, he listened to your plea. He let himself indulge in this selfish softness for once. 

He reached up and grabbed your jaw, pulling you into a firmer kiss, declaring every ounce of passion and terror that he was feeling in those moments. You answered it all right back - digging your fingers into the shoulders of his shirt, letting out a hot huff against his cheek as you leaned into his body. 

He would never be perfect - but he was yours.

...

The sequel to this fic is now posted, but I do highly encourage you to leave a comment on this fic telling me what you enjoyed about it before you continue on reading.

Keep Reading Here: The Jaws of Life - Jason Todd x GN!Reader

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch.2

Warnings/Mentions: History of abuse, neglect, strong language, mentions of character death, alcohol and drug abuse, ptsd, shared trauma, reader is cold, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Summary: Reader gives friendships a try, and the first signs of Daryl changing start showing after unexpected tragedy.

Notes: I love writing Merle and early season Daryl, I hope they're in character!

"I'm ten seconds away from blowing his goddamn brains out."

"Not worth the wasted bullets." Daryl watched as Shane stalked back up towards the Greene house. You scoffed and rolled your eyes when you saw him stopping himself from slamming the door, at least needing to respect Hershel gave him some restraint from being a complete piece of shit. You weren't sure how long that would last though.

"Can't fucking stand these people Daryl. He looked like he wanted to kill me."

"Ya called 'em a homewrecker. The hell'd you expect?"

The days would go by without pause, no matter how you all screamed and cried for just one minute, one minute to get it together and breathe. Everything was constantly changing, and it ended up making you colder. 

The Greene farm was a nice place. You enjoyed the chores you took on there, you got to work with the horses, the cows, and the old barn cat. He'd end up passing away after a while, which would have really upset you if it hadn't been such a peaceful death, he just fell asleep with a stomach full of deer stew and never woke up. 

Andrea's strange half admiration and half disturbed likeness to you strengthened at the time on the farm, which you didn't know how to handle. You'd always wanted a girlfriend, ever since your first one in 6th grade ended your friendship. Your mother had shown up to pick you up from school, so high on Percocet she could barely keep her eyes open. She rear-ended the father of your friend, he got pissed, she spit in his face, and he called the police. ‘My daddy says I can't hang out with trailer trash like you anymore.’ She'd told you the next day. 

You secretly liked the way Andrea looked up to you. It was nice having a woman think highly of you, or any adult for that matter. She would often ask for shooting practice, and you even let her try out your bow a few times. 

She kind of fucked up your budding friendship when she shot Daryl. If you hadn't been so busy helping him get up into the house you would have shot her in her foot, and that's not an exaggeration. You wanted to stay up in that room with him until he fully healed, willing to sleep on the floor just so you'd be with him at all times, but the insecure fear of being seen as weak and clingy prevented you from doing so. You were out in the woods most of those days, hunting or killing any dead you ran across.

It was almost humiliating the way people would update you on Daryl’s condition. At first it was just Rick letting you know he’d be okay, but then it was Maggie and Hershel updating you on his eating habits, how much he ate, when he ate, he was only in bed for a couple of days, but it felt like weeks. Each time someone would tell you the miniscule details of his day you’d respond the same way, ‘Why’re you telling me? I’m not his mamma’. If you could look past the embarrassment of feeling like a worried child, you would be grateful. 

Andrea unknowingly made it up to you when you heard her bitching at Lori in the kitchen once, apparently having enough of her ‘a woman's place is in the kitchen making life worth living, leave the guns to the men' spiel. You complimented her afterwards. 

“Been real sick of that shit.” You had said as you loaded your Ruger pistol. “She's lucky it was you who said it, I think I would've punched that bitch in the face if she said that bullshit to me.”

Andrea was almost too stressed over the Beth situation to fully appreciate the gravity of your praise. She nodded as she looked over the field, eyes squinting against the bright afternoon sun, her arms crossed over her chest. “All my life I've heard that kind of thinking from men. It's different when it's a woman telling you that you're not worth the same as a man. Especially when said man lied about her husband being dead and got in her pants right after.” 

You smirked, stuffing your gun into the back of your jeans as you looked her over. “Wanna go kill some dead people?” 

“Oh, god.” She groaned dramatically. “That's the best idea I've heard all week.”

After you lost the farm, you wound up at an old prison. That was one of the rare times you had allowed yourself to try and be positive, and forced yourself to make friends, although it was obvious all your relationships were strained. Andrea was the only person who had ever made an effort to get to know you, and she was gone. 

Shane’s death didn’t affect you much, truthfully you were glad Rick killed him. The constant tension and heated arguments drained you just as much as Dale’s annoying humanitarianism. You attempted being friends with Lori, Hershel, Carol and Beth, despite the young girl being your polar opposite. She was soft, pretty, sweet and bubbly, you were hard, mean, vulgar and distant. 

Which might be one of the reasons your relationship with her had started to work. Beth saw you as a challenge, like a mean feral cat, and deep down you saw her as a possible redemption. If you could become friends with Beth, the sweetest girl with the kindest heart, you could do it with anyone. 

Lori never trusted you, so you never got far with her. She would look at you with this look on her face, like you were always seconds away from cutting her baby out of her stomach or some twisted shit. You had cursed her out once for said expressions, calling her a stuck-up bitch who thinks every woman that isn't her is beneath her. She died a couple days later, and a part of you that you couldn't push away felt like shit about it, for a very long time.

The whole Governor shit was a pain in your ass. But it was a blessing in disguise, because he was the reason you were reunited with Merle. 

“I want to come.” You stood your ground, grabbing your Ruger AR-15 from its spot on your cell wall. 

“I said no, we’ve got enough concerns, we don't need to be worrying about you.” Rick tried to speak in a hushed tone, his intentions good, not wanting you to feel embarrassed if the others heard you being denied. They knew you seethed at the prospect of being told what to do. You didn't work well with others, that was glaringly obvious.

“I don’t need you to worry about me.” You hissed, tugging the heavy gun over your back so the strap dug into your shoulder. 

Rick repeated your name, using his angry father tone, and that seemed to work. Your shoulders drooped and you growled out a few insults under your breath. You missed when the group members had more say in the way things were. Rick had become more authoritarian after Lori died, and it never affected you until that day. 

When they got back you were waiting at the door, pacing like a mother in those movies whose children had stayed out too late. Your eyes brightened as they filed into the prison, you saw Maggie and Glenn were back, and Michonne had returned as well. 

Your anxious smile slowly faded as the door closed behind them, counting two missing bodies. 

“Where…?” You breathed, looking between Rick and Maggie, your heart racing. 

Rick started having a goddamn mental breakdown after that, screaming at the walls and pointing his gun at things only visible to him. Tyrese, the newcomer, and his group fled, and a part of you considered it as well. If Daryl and Merle were dead, you had no reason to stay. Especially not with Rick behaving like a fucking maniac and no one speaking to you. 

True to your nature, you abandoned the prison in search of the Dixons. You knew they couldn’t have truly left, they would never do that, they'd never leave and forget you. Especially Daryl. He had promised to you one night after you fully secured the prison, that he was the one thing in your life that would never change. He’d never die, he’d never leave, he would always be there. Not in those exact words, of course, but in his own way.

He had stayed true to his promise. You found the two of them on their way to the prison, traveling through the same trails you’d originally used to find the place. 

“Thought I’d never see you two assholes again.” The apocalypse had made you more skilled at hiding your true emotions. You came off as playfully irritated, a contrast to the way you were barely keeping tears at bay. 

“Awww,” Merle teased in a condescending tone, faking a pout, “You miss us?”

“No. Rick’s group makes you seem like a peach though.” 

“Our group.” Daryl’s voice had taken on a strange edge as he walked ahead of you down the trail. “Those are our people now.”

You glanced at Merle to see he was outwardly displaying your same reaction, rolling his eyes and silently mimicking his brother's words. 

No matter how happy you were to see the two of them, Daryl’s reply echoed in your head for a long time. He meant what he said, you could tell by the way he spoke. He was changing, you hadn’t noticed it until that day, he wasn’t the same Daryl from Atlanta, the Daryl you knew. You swallowed your retort and followed him back to the prison. 

The Governor shit was really a pain in your ass after that day, making your earlier experiences a walk in the park. Through the tense days you found yourself around Merle more, the two of you discussing the prospect of just getting the fuck out of there in hushed voices, despite you both knowing Daryl would never abandon Ricks group. It was like he had some sort of unknown obligation to them, something you couldn't decode for the life of you, no matter how hard you tried.

“You're gettin’ real close to bein’ a bonafide pussy, boy.” Merle had said one day, shoving his finger in Daryl’s face. You stayed silent as they argued, biting at the soft skin inside your cheek. 

“Why? Cause I ain't jus’ lookin’ out for myself no more? Cause I actually give a shit about these people?” Daryl standing up to Merle wasn’t a familiar sight, and it made you feel emotions you really weren’t comfortable with. 

“It’s making you weak, brother.” Merle urged, nearly slicing his own scalp when he went to put his hands on his head, the heat of the moment causing him to forget his right hand was now a weapon. “Can't you see it? I ain’t gonna let you die for these sheep.”

Daryl would soon come to regret his last interaction with his brother. You, on the other hand, were lucky enough to have had some peaceful final moments with him before he vanished. 

“Dude, that's my fucking bed!” You shoved Merle away from your mattress, groaning when you saw it shredded and ruined. You’d have to go to the other cellblock and get another, if he hadn’t already paid those cells a visit. 

Merle sat on the floor breathing heavily through his mouth, resting an arm over his propped up knee.

“The hell you do that for?” You grumbled, kicking a chunk of bedding out of your cell and into the hallway. 

“Hopin’ to find some contraband.” 

“Dude, you could’ve just asked me. Holy shit.” You grabbed one of your bags from the corner of your room and began to dig through it, finally pulling out Merle’s old stash bag. HIs eyes lit up and he practically jumped for joy, snatching it out of your hands.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?” He grabbed your face with his hand and noisily kissed your cheek, making you groan and shove him off. “Oh sweetheart. Whooo! Daryl know about this?”

“No, didn’t want him to know. I’m better at making shit last than him.” You replied. Daryl didn't like drugs the way Merle did, he had his run in with meth and its consequences and he was strong enough to quit and not touch it again. Other drugs were a different story though, you suspected the speed and painkillers would be gone by now if he had known you were the one who stole it.

He fished out the group of smaller baggies he was looking for, full of various shades of white in different textures. He groaned like he just creamed his pants and leaned over, planting another dramatic smooch to your forehead.

You stayed with him on the floor of your cell as he got high, and eventually he left to go ‘clear out the walkers in the tombs’, something you were happy to sit out on. He told you to stay back and you laughed, teasing with a ‘it's all yours, tweaker’. 

Even though your last moments with him were pleasant, you never forgave yourself for not accompanying him. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx

[nerdanel01]

Emmrich Fics - Masterpost

For anyone looking for the former pinned post with my Solas fics, they can be still be found at my Solas Masterpost, here.

for love is strong as death - When the Veilguard fails to stop Solas' ritual, Varric asks Rook to step up and lead the team. But the mistakes she's made in the War of the Banners haunt her as she tries to defeat the gods—as do the ties she'd severed when she left the Grand Necropolis behind. Emmrich/MW Origin Rook Longfic, Chp. 5/?, 43k+ wc *Spoilers for Veilguard

Lectionary Pursuits - Rook cockwarms Emmrich in the meditation room. Emmrich/F!Rook smut, Emmrich POV, NSFW, 3k+ wc. *Spoiler-free smut!

when I am laid in earth - Long ago, Rook encouraged Emmrich to give up his dreams of lichdom. Now that he's gone, she almost regrets it. Emmrich/F!Rook, Multiple POV, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, Chp. 1/4, 3.9k wc. *Spoilers for Veilguard

___________________________________ Pre-Release Fics The below list contains fics written pre-release. Emmrich characterization is pretty solid, but watch out for OOC characterization of certain Mourn Watch related side characters. for no mere mortal can resist [Ao3] - Agnes Gallatus, a newly initiated member of the Mourn Watch, grows into her new role under the guidance of her mentor, Emmrich Volkarin. Link to AO3 above, individual chapters linked below.

Translated into Russian courtesy of @pseudocrypturus! [ficbook]

Thrown In The Deep End - Rook's first day in the Mourn Watch with her new mentor, Emmrich Volkarin. Things don't go as planned. 2.5k+

Annum - Rook's first workiversary, 2k+

Guard - Emmrich is gravely wounded in the Necropolis. Rook handles it about as well as you'd expect. 5k+

Substitutionary Satisfaction - Rook unravels a bit after sharing a tent with Emmrich in the Necropolis. 4k+. **18+ for sexual fantasy and explicit sexual content

Exquisite - Rook tries to find some way to express to Emmrich what he means to her. 2.5k+

Death - When Rook is wounded while patrolling the Necropolis, Emmrich is forced to take drastic measures to protect her. 1.5k+

Tipsy - Rook and Emmrich share a night at the opera. Emmrich POV, 2k+

Appearances - A chance conversation with Myrna yields some unexpected revelations. Emmrich POV, 1.5k+

All Things Go, All Things Grow - Changes are happening in the Mourn Watch. Rook doesn't take them so well. 4k+

All Things Go, All Things Grow Pt. II - Emmrich contends with the consequences of his decisions. Emmrich POV, 3k+

Dilemma - The more things change, the more they stay the same. Emmrich POV, 5k+

Aostrolf's Weed AU

Aostrolf's Weed - After an unexpected discovery in the Necropolis, Emmrich and Rook are forced to contend with their feelings for each other. *AU, sex pollen, Pre-Veilguard, Mourn Watch origin Rook. 20k+ wc, 18+ for explicit sexual content, available by AO3 link only

Love Is A Stranger - Multi-chaptered fic that pics up where Aostrolf's Weed leaves off. Chp. 10/11 available on AO3.

One Shots

You Who Know What Love Is - @racheloleo asked if Emmrich ever fantasized about Agnes. Emmrich POV, 4k+ 18+ for explicit sexual content.

Horrors - Lord Halkias makes the long journey to Nevarra City to inter his wife in the Necropolis. Although Johanna Hezenkoss tries her best, she cannot conceal his arrival from Emmrich. 3.5k+

When We Were Young - Things don’t always work the way they used to when you are older. Rook assures Emmrich that’s just fine by her. Emmrich POV, 1.5k+, strongly implied sexual content

Caught - Emmrich POV, 1k+, 18+ for explicit sexual content.

From This Day Forward - Emmrich and Rook consider what will come next after the Veilguard's mission is complete. Emmrich POV, 1.5k+

Exquisite, Pt. II - Emmrich is reunited with Rook when he joins the Veilguard, but that reunion is somewhat less warm that he would have hoped. Emmrich POV, 2k+

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Remember Us

Note: I changed the request just a little to make it more authentic to the shows storyline and Gibbs’ character.

“Do you have to go right now?” you groaned, rolling over in bed to hide your face in your fiancés chest. Jethro wrapped his arms around you and placed a kiss on your head.

“Things are moving quicker than anticipated. They want me on the ship asap.”

The thought of Jethro in the middle of a possible terrorist plot made your stomach twist, especially when you knew you still needed to tell him that you two were now expecting, but if you didn’t tell him now and something happened, you’d never forgive yourself.

You decided you would tell him once he was fully awake, waiting until he finished his shower and getting dressed.

“Hey Jet,” you started as he brushed his teeth.

“Hm?”

He rinsed his mouth and walked over to you as you sit on the edge of your shared bed, twiddling your thumbs nervously. He noticed and took your hands in his.

“I’m gonna be fine sweetheart. I’ve done plenty of undercover ops. This one is no different,” he reassured, misplacing the reason for your nerves.

“I know, it’s not that, exactly. I- uh- just don’t know how to say-

“What’s the matter hun?”

“I’m pregnant Jethro.”

It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop as his eyes got a little wider as he blinked bewilderedly.

“You’re what?”

“Pregnant. I’m about 3 weeks along. Just got the results from the doctor yesterday.”

He continued not to say anything and you started getting worried. Worried that he wasn’t ready. You two had talked about having a child but never really planned anything.

“Jet. Can you say something? Please.”

He finally took a deep breath and exhaled, letting your hands go so he could run them through his hair.

“Uh- this is definitely unexpected.”

“I know we’ve been careful but I think it happened that night at the Gala. We were both pretty drunk,” you began rambling but Jethro stopped you.

“Hey, I’m not mad. This is great. We’re gonna be a family.”

You smiled, completely relieved at his reaction and jumped up to give him a hug which he chuckled at.

“I’m gonna have to make room in the basement for my new crib project now. Do you like oak or maple better?”

“You choose babe. It’ll be your present to them,” you said leaned back to give him a kiss.

“Oak it is then.”

————

It was late when you raced through the entrance to the Emergency Department. You would’ve been there sooner if you weren’t literally in the middle of a major surgery and didn’t have anyone to cover for you. Luckily, the hospital that Jethro was brought to was

You spotted the sign in desk and made your way over, pulling out your id.

“I’m here to see Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He should be out of surgery by now.”

The nurse gave you a visitor badge and a quick rundown on how to get to his room. You wasted no time and it took everything in you not to just absolutely sprint down the corridors.

Once you reached the room, you walked in and was not expecting to see the Director of NCIS to be sitting at your fiancés bedside, holding his hand.

“Jenny,” you greeted flatly. She released her grasp and stood up before clearing her throat.

“I was just keeping an eye on him until you arrived. He’s in a stable condition but still in a coma. The doctor said-

“I know. He told me too,” you cut her short. You knew all about Jethro and the Director’s relationship, and for the most part it didn’t bother you because you trusted Jethro but Jenny was another story. You knew she still had some feelings for him and seeing her here with him before you irked you.

“Alright. Well I’ll leave you too then,” she stated before collecting her purse and walking out, your eyes following her all the way. Once the door shut behind her, you stood in the same place she had been in and looked down at his sleeping figure. His head was bandaged and burns adorned parts of his face, pulling at your heartstrings. Your hand found his as you leaned in to place a small kiss on his forehead.

“You said this op was no different Jet. You promised me you were going to be ok,” you whispered, trying not to cry.

For the rest of the night, you sat by his bedside, praying he’d wake up or even just squeeze your hand. The doctor assigned to him had a cot sent up so you could also catch some sleep.

The next morning, you were wakened by the door opening. Picking your head up from the edge of the bed, you winced at the sharp pain in your neck and saw Dr. Mallard standing there.

“Goodness dear, have you been here all night?” he asked, looking over at the untouched cot.

“I couldn’t leave him Ducky. I wanted to be here when he woke up.”

He sighed knowingly and pulled a chair up beside you.

“Well I hope you don’t mind if I join you for a little bit?”

You nodded and he took a seat, putting a comforting hand on your arm.

“We’re expecting Ducky.”

You didn’t mind the doctor knowing about the pregnancy. He was one of Jethro’s closest friends and you came to trust him completely as well.

“That’s wonderful Y/N. You two are going to be great parents.”

Looking at Jethro’s chest rise and fall rhythmically, you spoke lightly. “I can’t do it on my own Duck. He needs to wake up. Who’s going to make all the baby furniture and paint the nursery?”

“He’ll wake up Y/N. Just give him some time.”

You wiped the tears from your eyes and took in a shaky breath.

“I hope so Duck. I really hope so.”

————

You were literally gone for less than 5 minutes to grab something to eat when Jethro decided to wake up. You arrived to his doorway just as he got done telling Ducky he didn’t remember him.

“Jethro?” you called softly, everyone turning to look at you. You made your way over to his bedside, fearing the worst.

“Do you remember me Jethro?”

He focused hard on your face before shaking his head no. Not being able to hold back your emotions, you down in sobs and walked out of the room with Ducky following.

“Just give him some more time Y/N. Retrograde amnesia is very common for coma patients that suffered head trauma.”

He pulled you in for a hug and held him tight, hoping he was right.

————

The next couple of days were terrible as Jethro recovered physically but still couldn’t remember who you were or the life you two shared. Somehow he managed to remember Jenny and their time together which only made you feel worse but there was nothing you could do about it. It hurt so badly and had come to the point where you couldn’t take the constant rejection and decided to stay with your mother until he recovered completely.

You received occasional updates from Jethro’s team about his memory state but they never spoke the words you wanted to hear. So the only thing you could do was compartmentalize and keep your mind busy with long hours at the hospital.

The rain and thunder outside reflected your mood as you unenthusiastically put a sandwich together. You had absolutely no appetite but knew you needed to eat for the baby’s health. A knock at the door startled you as you glanced at the microwave that read 2am.

You walked over and saw Jethro standing out on the porch, soaked from the rain. You opened the door quickly, with a smile on your face but it faded when you saw his furrowed brows. He still didn’t remember you.

“I know we have something together Y/N- I get these small flashbacks, small snippets of us together, but never the full memory. The team tells me all about you and how happy you made me. I want that. I want to remember,” he started. “I need your help. Help me to remember.”

You stepped out onto the cold porch barefoot to stand close to him and did the only logical thing you could think of. You took his face in your hands and pulled him in for a deep kiss. If this didn’t work, then you were all out of ideas.

His hands tentatively placed themselves on your waist, slowly deepening the kiss as the butterflies fluttered in your chest. It happened every time you kissed Jethro, even though you’ve known him for years. When you felt his breath hitch, you pulled away and searched his face for an answer.

“Do you remember now Jet?”

Another faltered breath and he nodded his head slowly.

“You’re pregnant,” were his next words, bringing the smile back to your face.

“Yes.”

Ecstatic, you jumped into his arms and he caught you easily.

“Jethro, I missed you so much,” you breathed into his neck, tears falling.

“I know baby. I’m so sorry I took so long. Please forgive me.”

“You don’t have to apologize Jet, it wasn’t your fault.”

He set you back down and tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear. Your clothes were damp from hugging him and the thin pajamas you had on did nothing to stop the cold stormy wind from sending a chill through you. You hadn’t realized your mother walking up behind you until Jethro turned his attention towards her.

“Look at you two, kissing and talking in the rain like some cheesy rom-com. It’s like one of Y/N’s dreams,” she teased, making you roll your eyes in slight embarrassment.

“It’s good to see you M/N,” he answered with a smile before giving her a tentative hug, careful not to get her wet.

“You too Jethro. Now both of you get home before you catch a cold.”

You ran inside to grab your purse and shoes before hugging your mom and following your fiancé quickly to his truck. Jethro drove through the streets, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your tummy.

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Epilogue

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set immediately following Chapter 13: The Jedi.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, angst, bittersweet-ness, so much love and fluff, SMUT - Din take this helmet off, thigh riding, oral sex (m receiving), P in V sex, reader on top, Din's dirty mouth, all the praise, cursing in Mando'a (I had to let these two go out with a bang, they would have rioted otherwise)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Read on AO3

Your return to Nevarro was bittersweet in a way you hadn’t fully expected.

You hadn’t anticipated the swell of emotion you would feel at the sight of the coal-black sands and the rugged white architecture, a pang in your heart that reminded you of the relief of coming home. You hadn’t planned for the immediate ache of Grogu’s absence, always there but particularly poignant when you realized that you hadn’t thought you would be coming back here without him. You hadn’t thought to steel yourself against the rush of affection that washed over you as you said your goodbyes to Fennec and Boba, wishing for all the galaxy that they could stay even while you knew that they had their own priorities to look after back on Tatooine. The sensation had almost choked you when the former pulled you into an unexpected embrace, cradling the back of your head in her gloved palm in a way that reminded you painfully of your mother.

“Keep working on that right hook,” she murmured into your shoulder, arms tight as durasteel around you as you clung to her lean frame. “I expect you to give me a run for my money on the sparring mat the next time I see you.”

You hadn’t expected Greef Karga himself to greet you on the tarmac as you disembarked from the Firespray. The way his handsome, weathered face had gone from cheery to confused to mournful as he swept his gaze across Din, then Cara, then you in search of little green child and not finding one, the way he had immediately opened his mouth to ask only to be interrupted by a wave of Din’s hand.

“My quest is completed. He’s with his own kind.”

You imagined there might have been a time when those words would have been said with triumph or satisfaction, but instead they sounded flat and hollow as they crackled through the bounty hunter’s helmet.

Victory and loss. Comradery and loneliness. Homecoming and homesickness. You wondered how long this dichotomy would linger, how long it would be before you could experience one emotion without also being overwhelmed by its opposite. Would anything ever feel quite right again, now that Grogu was gone?

---

After dropping off her belongings at her apartment, Cara Dune took you both out to lunch at Ninda’s, the same cantina she had introduced you to before your departure for Tython. Din had protested, insisting that the two of you ought to be heading for the port office, but thankfully, the marshal had refused to take no for an answer. Now, bellies full of savory meat pies and mugs of ale, you could feel an air of anticipation settle over the table as Cara leaned back in her chair and asked the question that had lingered in the back of your mind since departing Gideon’s cruiser.

“So. What’s next?”

You glanced at Din, catching his gaze only briefly through his visor before he replied, “We’ll be moving on. There’s nothing left for me here now that my covert is gone, and we’re still out of a ship. I need to find work.”

“Plenty of work to be done here,” Cara retorted. “City’s growing every day. I could always use a deputy, and I’m sure we could find a spot for your girl somewhere. Not nearly enough people with your skills around here yet,” she continued, flashing you a smile. “You could be one of the first. Open your own shop. Karga would approve your business license in a heartbeat.”

You huffed a soft laugh. She was right, of course. You could do it if you wanted – start your own business. Perhaps you could repair broken hardware, design custom mods, restore vintage ships. You could probably even build them from scratch if you found a good parts supplier. It would be a good life, a stable life. Shipbuilding was a lucrative business, and you could be your own boss, something that had felt like a pipe dream during your years of servitude on Chardaan.

But one look at Din had you shaking your head and slipping your hand under the table to rest on his thigh, giving him a comforting squeeze. Your bounty hunter wasn’t ready for that kind of life just yet. You could feel it in the tightness of his muscles beneath your hand, could see it in the way he crossed his arms over his chest at the suggestion.

Someday, you thought that might be something he wanted, but for now, you could feel the itch to return to his nomadic life among the stars burning under his skin as if it were your own.

“That’s generous of you. But we can’t stay,” you said after a beat. “It’s not time for us to settle just yet.”

Cara accepted your response with moderate grace, ensuring that you each had her personal comm link code should you change your minds. She also informed you that Karga had offered to put you up in a temporary apartment for as long as you wished while you decided your next destination.

“It’s nothing special,” she quipped, passing Din a sleek, black keycard. “Just something he used to rent out to clients back in the day, when they wanted to do business in person. But it should have everything you need until you’re ready to move on.”

A swell of fondness rose up in your chest, making it difficult to swallow as you fought the urge to launch yourself across the table and wrap the other woman in a fierce hug.  Meanwhile, the Mandalorian appeared reluctant to accept. Slipping the keycard into his belt, he rasped, “You can tell Karga I’ll be paying him back.”

The marshal laughed, loud and brash. “He’d shoot you for even suggesting it.”

“It’s too much. I won’t be indebted to him like that.”

“Indebted?” Cara looked almost offended at the suggestion, dark eyes flashing sharply. “You know better than anybody what it means to take care of your own, right? Let Karga do the same.”

This response seemed to take Din aback; you watched his helmet cock to the side in confusion as he processed her words, as if it were the first time he had considered that others might be willing to show up for him whether there was something in it for them or not.

You wondered then if he knew how much he meant to people, if he knew how strongly others were drawn to him without any effort on his part. You wondered if he knew how his sense of honor, his generosity, his steadfastness all made him a natural leader. He was the type of person who inspired loyalty, whether he actively sought it or not. Such a thing was a rare gift.

Almost absently, your eyes dropped to his utility belt where the inactive hilt of the Darksaber hung limply against his armored thigh. Should he wish it, he could take up Bo-Katan’s mission – reunite his people. He would be a tremendous Mand’alor, and that sword would give him more legitimacy than if he had been born to it.

“Fine,” he replied, pulling you out of your musings. “Just this once. We won’t linger long anyway.”

Cara shrugged. “Like I said – it’s yours for as long as you want. Just promise you’ll stop in and say goodbye when the time comes, okay?”

---

The apartment was in the market district, a little one-bedroom unit on the fourth floor of a white-washed building edged in royal blue trim.

The first floor was taken up with a tidy little caf shop that you looked forward to patronizing, and both sides of the cozy cobblestone street were lined with market stalls shaded by colorful linen awnings, all varying shades of red, orange, and gold. In spite of the charming surroundings, the marshal’s assessment of the unit itself had been accurate – it wasn’t nearly as lavish as the inn you had stayed in the last time you were on Nevarro. However, after spending weeks in deep space, the full kitchen, running water refresher, and large bed felt downright luxurious even if it was a bit barebones.

“I wonder how many places like this Karga has across the city,” you mused, pacing the length of the living space. The place had been sparsely furnished in nondescript shades of gray – a charcoal sofa, a light gray leather armchair, a two-person dining table in an ashen wood with a shining steel surface. Not unwelcoming but decidedly devoid of personality.

Din cocked his helmet in thought, following close on your heels. “A few, I’m sure. He likes to be prepared.”

You hummed thoughtfully. You could see that; Karga struck you as the type of man who was accustomed to holding all the cards.

Setting aside thoughts of the magistrate for the moment, you turned to face your companion, taking in the Mandalorian in your first moment of true solitude in weeks. Even through the bulk of his armor and the impassivity of his helmet, you could sense his weariness. It draped across his broad shoulders like a cloak, his emotions nearly tangible to you after so many months in his company. How had you ever thought this man stoic?

Closing the narrow distance between you, you rested your palms against the cool, unyielding surface of his breastplate and gazed up into his visor. “How are you, ner kar’ta?” you asked earnestly.

Your question hung in the still, silent air for a moment before the bounty hunter slipped his hands casually around your waist and pulled you to him. “Hmm. I like it when you speak Mando’a,” he rasped, fingers kneading the curve of your hips through the coarse fabric of your boilersuit.

You grinned, leaning gently into his touch. “Yeah? I’ve been practicing my accent.”

“It’s really coming along,” Din replied with a nod. You could hear the smile in his voice, could picture the softness in his dark eyes as he gazed at you, and you felt a gentle flush rise in your cheeks.

“I’d love to learn more, if you’re willing. All the phrases I know at this point are just…expressions of affection.” You hit him with a pointed look, eyebrow arched, and he huffed a laugh.

“I’d be happy to teach you.”

“I look forward to our first lesson.” Drawing your lower lip between your teeth, you shuffled another inch closer and threaded your fingers into the folds of his cape. “Now. If you’re done dodging the question…”

Broad, heavy palms drifted lower then, pressing warmly, firmly into the muscles of your ass, and you struggled to keep your eyelids from drooping under the heat of his hands. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The arch of your eyebrow deepened, and you drew back slightly, as much as you could manage in the cage of his arms. “Din,” you said shortly.  

Silence stretched between you for a breath, the two of you simply staring at one another, tacitly waiting for the other to capitulate and change the subject. But you would not allow him to best you in this. Eventually, it was him that offered a soft, tentative confession.

“I’m…restless,” he admitted, breaking your gaze to stare down at his boots. “I don’t like the idea of just…sitting around. I’d rather keep moving.”

You nodded in understanding. “I get that. Trust me, I’m not very good at doing nothing, either. But let’s just…” You trailed off, searching for the right words. “Let’s just try. For a few days. Please.”

The Mandalorian glanced back up at you at that, and you could see your own face – the bags under your eyes, the chaotic strands of hair clinging to your forehead, the weary shine of your eyes – reflected back at you in his visor. Your clothes were rumpled, your scarf stained with sweat. You looked, if possible, even more exhausted than you felt.

“We’ve been running at lightspeed for weeks,” you continued. “I’m completely spent. And I would bet if you held still for more than a couple of seconds, you’d feel it, too.”

The shoulders beneath your hands stiffened at your words. “That’s the life I live,” he replied gruffly.

“That’s the life you’ve chosen to live,” you corrected immediately. “But right now, maybe for the first time, there’s no Guild Agent beating down your door, there’s no quarry to chase, there’s no covert to provide for.” Offering him a gentle smile, you slipped one hand up to cradle his beskar cheek. “You don’t have to be…the Mandalorian right now. Right now, you get to just be Din Djarin. And Din Djarin is a human man. Who needs food. And water. And sleep. Just like the rest of us.”

Din was quiet then, though you could swear you could hear the gears in his mind turning as he processed your words. You could sense the battle within him – who he had been before Grogu, before you at war with the man he had become in the time since. The old Din Djarin was a lone ranger, a rolling stone, a clan of one; rigid, impassive, uncompromising. His drive to keep moving, to keep working, to keep surviving had been as much a part of the core of him as his Creed.

Who was this new Din Djarin? You could feel the question even through the silence.

Taking pity on him, you gathered both of his hands in yours, pulling them from your body and instead pressing soft kisses to them, one for each ridge of knuckles hidden beneath thick leather. “Tell you what. Why don’t we get cleaned up, and then we can go downstairs and take a walk through the market? Replenish some of the supplies we lost, then go from there?”

After a moment’s hesitation, the bounty hunter nodded. “All right, cyare,” he agreed. Resignation colored his tone, and you felt your smile widen in triumph. “Go get the water started. I’ll join you in a minute.”

---

You hardly remembered stripping down to your skin as the shower heated up, could not recall leaving your dirty clothes crumpled in a pile in the corner of the ‘fresher as you climbed in and immediately dunked yourself under the stream of too-hot water. It was all done on autopilot, your body moving on inertia alone as your mind raced, echoing with Din’s words.

I’ll join you in a minute.

Join you.

In the ‘fresher? In the shower?

You had left the lights off just in case, though admittedly you weren’t certain it would do much to prevent you from seeing his face should he decide to climb in under the spray with you. There was a small window paned with thick, warped glass cut into the far wall, and late afternoon Nevarran sunlight filtered through it, leaving the room dim but hardly dark. Plenty to see by with hardly a squint.

As you scrambled into the stall, you draped your scarf around the shower door handle as a backup. Another just in case.

Lost in thought, you went through the motions of your routine. Unwinding your braid, soaking the long strands until they weighed heavily on your shoulders, fumbling for the anonymous bottle of generic shampoo that had come stocked with the unit. You kept your eyes on the wall of the stall in front of you, your back to the shower door, and you tried not to let your hands tremble.

It had been so long since Din had touched you, so long since he had bent you over the rickety bunk on Boba’s ship and sent you rocketing through the stars. So much had happened since then, and in the intervening time, there had been days where this side of you had felt so far away, so out of reach it felt almost alien. But no longer. Your skin prickled under the steaming spray, seemingly impervious to the heat of the water now that another heat had reawakened in your belly. It simmered there, a creature stretching and preening after a long slumber, a thing that only Din had ever managed to draw out of you.

You had never wanted anyone the way you wanted him, and that want burned so brightly you could feel the space between your thighs begin to throb at the mere suggestion that it might be satisfied.

Distantly, you heard the hiss of the ‘fresher door sliding open followed by the rhythmic thud of heavy boots. You swallowed thickly as the door slid shut again, as soft clinks joined the sound of rustling fabric. It was like…metal on tile.

Like beskar being peeled off of a flight suit and stacked neatly on the floor.

You pressed your palms to the cool wall of the shower stall, holding yourself steady as you felt your knees begin to tremble with nerves you could not control. You hadn’t even been this anxious the first time you had fucked him – on the contrary, that experience had left you soaring with confidence. What could possibly have you in such a state this time, you wondered?

A brief rush of cool air swept into the shower stall behind you, dissipating the thick cloak of steam that surrounded you and blooming goosebumps across your shoulder blades.

You said nothing, the only sound you made the deep, centering breath you drew as a pair of broad, tanned hands appeared over the swell of your hips. Before you could shiver away the sudden chill of the open stall, the door closed again, and a strong, masculine body pressed tight to your back. His heat bled into you instantly, and you could not stifle the moan that dripped from your mouth as you leaned back into his embrace.

“Shab. I’ve missed you, mesh’la,” Din murmured, voice low and coarse as he pressed his face into the bend of your neck. Against your damp skin, you felt a pair of pillowy lips caress you. You felt scratchy, uneven stubble – longer than the last time you had seen it – drag against your pulse point. You felt the tip of a prominent, aquiline nose tuck into the space behind your ear and breathe you in.

The Mandalorian had, once again, taken his helmet off. On instinct, your eyes fell closed.

“Din,” you gasped weakly, hand flying up to thread your fingers into his hair, holding him to you. Maker, he felt good against you, his skin hot and smooth, his kisses along your neck wet and sucking. The sensation had your knees softening beneath you, and you were grateful for your grip on the wall and his clutch on your hips keeping you on your feet.

“S’all right. You can open your eyes. Ni liser nu haaranovor teh gar tug'yc.” Hands drifting to your stomach, your ribcage, your breasts, Din pulled you deeper into his embrace. You could feel the thick, warm hardness of him pressed against the small of your back, the heavy weight of his balls soft against your ass. “I won’t hide from you anymore. I refuse.”

A whimper worked its way out of your throat at his words. “Y-You’re sure? I won’t l-look, I swear,” you panted, grinding the globes of your ass cheeks instinctually against his cock like a Loth-cat in heat.

The bounty hunter groaned, his fingers digging sharply into your flesh to keep you still, and the sound vibrated through your body like the roll of thunder. “I know you wouldn’t. My sweet girl. I’m sure.” Using his grip on you to spin you around, you quickly found yourself backed up against the shower wall. Still, your eyes remained squeezed tightly shut as he continued, “It can be…permissible show one’s face. Within the bonds of the riduurok.”

Riduurok. You knew that word. It meant –

Your eyes snapped open, and instantly, your field of vision was filled with nothing but him. Broad, tanned, freckled shoulders. Dark brown curls clinging to his forehead. Deep brown eyes, round and earnest and tender, brimming with love, burning with desire. Your beautiful bounty hunter, somehow even more breathtaking than you remembered.

“Marriage,” you translated breathlessly. “Riduurok is…marriage.”

Din nodded once. “Yes.”

A wave of emotion rose up in your throat, and you struggled to swallow. “We aren’t married.”

“No,” he conceded. “But my intentions have not changed. Have yours?”

You were shaking your head before he had even finished his question. “Of course not.” Your voice sounded tremulous, a bit frantic to your own ears. “I just… I couldn’t stand it if you regretted this. I don’t want you to look back at this tomorrow and not be able to put your helmet back on fast enough.”

A flash of guilt sparked in his dark eyes then, and his proud shoulders fell slightly as he dropped his gaze to the floor. You knew he was remembering that morning on Gideon’s cruiser, the disappointment on your face as he explained that taking his helmet off the day before had been an exception.

“I can’t bear to be the thing that drives you to break your Creed, over and over again.” Bringing your hands up to his face, you cradled his cheeks in your palms, savoring the feel of his beard against your skin, forcing him to meet your gaze. “So I need you to be certain. Is this what you want, ner kar’ta? To be like this…with me?”

Din cupped your face in return, the two of holding each other in mirrored poses under the steaming water. “With you and only you,” he promised. “Forever, cyare.”

And then his lips descended on yours, and you swallowed a moan as he gathered you into his arms and bore you back against the shower wall.

---

You got yourselves clean in fits and spurts, between long stretches of deep, wet kisses, fervent gropes, and tantalizing caresses. Din toyed with your breasts while you rinsed your hair, kneading them firmly, trapping your nipples between his fingers, teasing and plucking and tugging until they ached and you couldn’t stifle the needy whines in your throat. When it was his turn to wash himself, you pressed yourself along his back, reaching around his body to stroke his cock with one hand and cradle his balls with the other. You dodged rivulets of soap that streamed down his back as you pressed kisses to his spine, and he shivered beneath your touch. Hot and heavy in your hands, the tip of him leaked and dripped over your skin only for the slickness to immediately wash away under the rush of the showerhead.  

The moment the last of the soap bubbles had disappeared down the drain, the Mandalorian turned off the shower and threw open the stall door.

“Bed,” he growled. The sound reached deep inside you, tugging on your nerve endings and sending a rush of fresh wetness to the apex of your thighs. “Now.”

You paid no heed to the water you trailed behind you as you burst through the ‘fresher door and staggered into the single bedroom. Din was hot on your heels, crowding up behind you as you went so that by the time you reached the foot of the large bed, he needed less than a second to reach around you, snag ahold of the downy-white blankets that dressed it, and fling them onto the floor.

With a breathless laugh, you spun around, the backs of your calves hitting the mattress as you collapsed onto the bed. You reached for him the second your back hit the sheets, fingers scrabbling urgently over his smooth, wet skin, but there was no need; he went to you willingly, clambering atop you with little encouragement. The weight of him was grounding, the give of his belly and the corded strength of his limbs keeping you anchored to the moment.

“Cyar’ika.” The tender, lilting word vibrated against your skin, tripped down your nerves as his teeth dragged along your collarbone. Goosebumps broke out along your skin, and you arched into his touch, hands in his dripping curls tugging him down, down, down to the swell of your breasts. His stubble teased your skin there, making you squirm, pulling a little giggle from your throat, but the giggle quickly morphed into a moan as his lips locked around one of your nipples.  

“Din!” you panted. Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling a groan from him, which he smothered against the pillow of your flesh. You could feel your clit swell and throb in time with the coaxing swipes of his tongue, your nipple now impossibly hard and pebbled in a way that had you squirming beneath him, begging for pressure, for friction, anything to soothe the ache that pulsed between your thighs. “Please. Need you.”

As always, it seemed that the Mandalorian knew your body better than you did. In an instant, he had slotted his knee between your legs, adjusting his weight so that he could press himself right up against the place where you needed him most.

“M’right here, sweet girl. Not going anywhere.”

Your hips moved without your direction, grinding into the delicious pressure the moment it arrived. Maker, the heft and the hardness of his thigh felt incredible against your swollen cunt, and though you had to work for it, it was giving you everything you needed as Din’s soft, sucking kisses traveled across your chest, to the hollow of your throat, to the vulnerable patch of skin beneath your ear where your pulse raced.

“Shab,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, panting into your open mouth. “Can feel how bad you want it. You’re soaking me, mesh’la.”

You bit back a whimper, eyelids fluttering as you nodded. “You feel so good,” you assured him. “Always want you, always.”

Sealing his lips over yours, you felt your core tremble at the heat of his tongue, the plushness of his mouth, the force of his kiss. Against your hip, his cock pulsed and leaked, leaving hot, slick trails of precum across your skin, and you swore saliva pooled under your tongue at the sensation. You wanted to taste him, to feel the warmth and the weight of him in your mouth. You wanted to hear him groan and curse as the thick, broad head of him breached your throat, as your nose pressed into his dark curls. You wanted him to need – just as badly as you needed – and you wanted to be the one to make it happen.

Pressing your palms into his chest, wrenching your mouth away from his, you breathed, “Roll over. On your back.”

To your surprise, he obeyed in an instant, and for the first time, you felt a surge of gratefulness for the size of the bed. Such a move would never have been possible in the narrow bunk on the Razor Crest or in the dusty bounty cell on Boba’s Firespray. Scrambling over him, you nudged his legs further apart and kneeled on the mattress between them.

Lower lip trapped coquettishly between your teeth, you braced your hands on his thick thighs and leaned over him. Long, damp strands of your hair cascaded over your shoulders, the ends dancing over his stomach in a way that had the muscles there jumping. You paid them no heed, instead nuzzling the tip of your nose and the round of your cheek against the underside of his hard, flushed cock.

“Hold my hair back, ner kar’ta?” you asked softly as you dragged your tongue across his glistening head.

Din threw his head back with a grunt, broad hands sinking instantly into your hair. He fisted the locks back from your face, holding them close to the root, tugging at your scalp, and you whined at the bolt of white-hot lightning that licked down your spine at the gesture. You didn’t have it in you to tease him any more after that; pulling a deep breath in through your nose, you drew him into your mouth and began to suck.

“Haar’chak!”

The curse echoed through the empty apartment as you smothered your answering grin against his dense, dark curls. You loved him like this – impossibly hard, flushed and hot, heavy and pulsing and tasting of fresh, clean skin and slick, salty man. You loved the way his hips hitched upward, seeking more of your warmth, more of your wet, and you loved the way he stopped himself from pushing you too far, even if he clearly wanted to. You loved the grip of his hands on the back of your head, the way they grounded you to the moment. You even loved the ache in your jaw as you worked yourself over him, knowing you’d suffer much worse to hear him make those low, breathless little groans and know that you were the cause.

It was a privilege getting to watch a man like him fall apart at the seams. To be the one responsible? Just the thought had your racing heartbeat traveling from your chest to your cunt.

It didn’t take long for the fall to begin – didn’t take more than a handful of minutes to have the Mandalorian trembling beneath you, the muscles in his thighs clenching under your hands, his fingers tightening painfully around your hair as he attempted to anchor himself in the maelstrom. A premature thrill of victory coursed through you at the feeling, and you swallowed sloppily around the thickness of him once more before letting him spring from your mouth.

“Taste so good, Din,” you whimpered, dragging your tongue against his leaking tip to drink down another glistening pearl of precum.

A deep, rumbling sound gritted its way out from between his clenched teeth, and you glanced up to watch the tendons in his neck strain as he tried in vain to collect himself. “Can’t say stuff like that,” he panted. “This’ll be over before it even starts.”

You felt a wicked smirk curl your lips and lapped at him again, a teasing little kitten lick that had his hips flexing desperately in search of more. “I’m sure you’d make it up to me.”

With a shake of his head and a weak smile, the bounty hunter released his hold on your hair, letting it tumble back down around your shoulders. “Not happening, cyar’ika. Now get up here before I sit you on my cock myself.”

Stars. A rush of heat flooded your body at his words, an answering wetness dampening your inner thighs, and you scrambled gracelessly from your crouch between his knees. As it had been from the moment you met, you were at his mercy, though now you reveled in it, for you knew he was just as weak to you as you were to him.

His hands came up to cup your hips as you knelt over him, fingers digging deep enough to bruise as you dragged your dripping slit against the thick ridge of his cock – soaking him, making him moan, catching the plush tip of his head against your swollen, throbbing clit. But just as you had worked him up to desperation, you had done the same to yourself, and you found you could not bear to tease yourself for long. Reaching down between your legs, you wrapped your fingers around the base of him, gave him a couple firm strokes, and notched the tip of him against your entrance.

His name was a pitiful whine on the back of a sob as you sank down onto him, felt him stretch you, fill  you, somehow feeling deeper and thicker than ever before. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized this was the first time you had taken him without his fingers to prepare you first, and you could feel the difference – it felt as if he was splitting you open, carving you in two, hollowing out a place for himself deep inside your body, and your muscles trembled and quivered at the harsh demand. It stung, but Maker, did you hunger for it.

“Thaaaaat’s it,” Din growled, watching you with heavy-lidded, blown-pupil eyes. “Look at you. You’re so beautiful like this.”

“Fuck, it’s – it’s – Din. So much.” The pathway between your brain and your mouth seemed to have deteriorated, every word coming out quavering and half-slurred, but your lack of coherence only seemed to spur him on.

“S’okay, cyare. You can do it.” He nodded slowly, encouragingly, using his grip on you to coax a roll of your hips. “Puhoi bal pakod. Slow. Nice and steady.”

The shift of him inside you, the way he dragged against your walls had your jaw dropping open and your eyes falling shut. You needed more immediately. Before you could fully wrap you mind around what was happening, you found yourself rocking against him again, again, again – back and forth, up and down, rocking him deeper, faster into you, dragging your hard little clit against his pubic bone, digging your nails into his chest for support, moaning and gasping as you went.

Through your blurred vision and frayed awareness, you could sense the Mandalorian practically melting beneath you – head dropping back limply, sinking deeper into the now-damp mattress, hands ghosting lightly over your hips to your waist to your breasts to your ass to your thighs, all the while murmuring faint encouragements under his breath as you rode.

So good for me, keep going, mesh’la, take what you need from me, that’s it, just take it, it’s yours, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop…

“Din!” You could feel it building at the base of your spine, could feel your muscles starting to coil in your abdomen. Gods, every time you came down on him, he pounded that soft, elusive spot inside you, making you shake, making you drip. Sweat glistening on your skin, you felt yourself become almost slippery under his hands, the exertion mixing with the dampness of the shower and leaving you shining in the late afternoon sun. Your hips and thighs burned, unused to the strain, but you couldn’t slow, couldn’t stop, couldn’t think of giving in now. You were so close – he was going to make you –

As though reading your mind, the bounty hunter rasped through gritted teeth, “You’re right there, aren’t you? Go on.” He nodded, eyes locked on yours, dark hair clinging to his forehead with his own sweat. “S’okay, I’ve got you, m’right here. Let it happen.”

It occurred to you then that he was watching you fall apart, that his gaze was making note of every facial expression, every bead of sweat, every clenched muscle that rippled across your body, as you were sure he had done so many times before. But just now, right here, was the first time you were getting to watch him. No helmet, no pitch-dark room, no blindfold – nothing stood in the way of you getting to watch the man you loved hold on to the ragged edges of his sanity while you took him for all he was worth. Even in the midst of your hunger and your need, your heart stuttered at the intimacy of it.

You could see each other – really and truly. Fuck, you loved him –

“Yes!” you gasped, seizing up around him. “Yes, yes, fuck, Din, I’m – ”

And then you were gone – flung over the edge of the precipice with a shout, bearing down on his cock as you trembled and throbbed and leaked more of your wetness all over his lap. It smeared under you, slicking the hair at the base of his shaft, gathering in the little creases at the joints of his legs.

Distantly, you could hear a long stream of curses in Mando’a spilling into the air. “Shabshabshabshab. That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it. Feel so good coming all over me like that, such a good girl.”

Every word sent a little spasm through you, delicate aftershocks tripping down your raw, ruined nerves and making you shiver. They left you feeling weak – muscles slack and bones wobbly in the aftermath of your pleasure. You wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the bed beside him in a spineless heap, but no. You refused to abandon him now, not when he was still so impossibly hard inside you, not when he was still smothering low-register grunts as he tried desperately not to flip you onto your back and take what he needed from you.

Instead, you gently slumped forward onto his chest, pressing your tits against his skin and threading your fingers into his hair. “Your turn, ner kar’ta,” you murmured breathlessly against the underside of his jaw. You sucked on the skin there briefly, tasting the salt of him on your tongue. “I’m all yours. Let me feel you cum.”

Your permission was all he needed. In the span of a heartbeat, Din shifted beneath you, bringing his feet up to press firmly into the surface of the mattress, dropping his hands to the globes of your ass, and using his newfound leverage to thrust up into you with a force you hadn’t prepared for. You let out a sharp, surprised yelp, and you could have sworn the bounty hunter laughed in response.

It didn’t take much after that – a few deep, quick, powerful thrusts from below, his big hands steadying you above him as you buried your face in his neck, and then his hips were stuttering, his cock was pulsing, and a bloom of warmth spilled deep inside you. Your name was on his lips as he came – your real name, one he rarely called you but that sounded so sweet on his lips you almost wished he would use it more often.

You felt the curve of his mouth on your brow as he came back down, the scruff of his beard and the bristles of his mustache catching in your hair as he pressed a weak kiss to your skin, and when you looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, you treasured the rare sight of his crooked, fucked-out smile. You weren’t sure you would ever get used to how beautiful your Mandalorian was, but you hoped that perhaps now, with his newfound resolution, you might actually have the opportunity to find out.

---

It was well after dark that first night before the two of you managed to make it down to the market for dinner. Only a small handful of vendors remained open, so you made do with a modest selection of fresh fruit and the last loaf of bread from a baker’s stall down the block. You ate your meager meal naked in bed, the sheets beneath you still cool and damp from your post-shower romp. Despite the lack of glamor, it was easily the most hedonistic moment of your life, and you felt certain you would remember it fondly even when you were old and gray.

The following week you spent in Karga’s loaned apartment was bittersweet. On the one hand, you and Din had never been closer, and your relationship flourished now that you finally had a moment to focus on one another without other competing priorities. You spent long hours lounging on the couch in the living room or curled up in bed together, talking and napping and touching as you pleased. You told him about your childhood on Chardaan, about your parents, about the bad deal that landed your grandfather in the debt of Orron Halcard’s father. You told him about the morning after your eighteenth birthday, the day Orron came to your home to call in the last of that debt. And you told him how you worked for seven years to pay it off, and when you went to him after the final day of your servitude, instead of signing the documents that would have released you from your indenture, Orron destroyed all record of your years of service and instead fitted you with a cortical tracker to keep you from running away.

In return, Din told you what little he remembered of his childhood on Aq Vetina. He told you of his years in the Fighting Corps on Concordia, of his time traveling with another Mandalorian – a man he referred to only as his “mentor,” for whom he served as an apprentice. He told you of finding the Nevarran covert, of the decades he had spent building up his reputation in the Outer Rim as a fierce, efficient bounty hunter, all the while nurturing the growth and prosperity of his hidden community with contributions from his earnings. And he confessed how lonely he had been, all those years making his way through the galaxy alone – that he had not even known he was lonely until Grogu came along.

And therein laid the “bitter” part. The absence of Grogu was like a physical thing – big and tender and painful and always present, no matter how much good food you discovered in town or how many different surfaces Din fucked you on around the apartment. You found yourself sinking hours into ruminating about him, wondering whether he and the Jedi had gotten to their destination safely, whether he was being properly cared for, whether he was happy. You wondered whether this Jedi had picked up on his love of frogs, whether he knew how much the boy liked to be held and carried and rocked to sleep. You wondered whether the Jedi laughed and played with him, whether he sang him songs or told him stories. When you found yourself in one of these moods, you had to reassure yourself that he would, he did, he was; otherwise you surely would have demanded that Din find where that strange man had taken your little boy and made him book transport there immediately.

As it was, you knew you could never ask such a thing of Din. He kept his feelings about the entire ordeal rather close to his chest, but he had shared enough for you to know that he was struggling, as well – perhaps even more than you. So you knew you could not tempt him. You didn’t know if he would have the strength to refuse you.

As one week on Nevarro became two, the both of you began to grow restless. Though neither of you broached the topic, you knew the time of your departure was imminent, as Din had slowly started to use portions of his reward money from Gideon to restock his arsenal of armaments, first aid supplies, and deep space-friendly foodstuffs. You chose to take your cue from him and spent a sunny afternoon replacing the small wardrobe you had lost in the Razor Crest’s destruction, as well as putting together a rudimentary toolkit, which you could take with you to job sites should the opportunity arise. By the end of the second week, it was clear that both of you were as prepared as you could be to venture out beyond the safe haven of Nevarran space once again.

It was late when you finally worked up the courage to ask the question, the two of you lounging in bed in nothing but your skin, the holoprojector running old episodes of Knights of the Old Republic softly in the background. Turning onto your side, you took in the sight of your Mandalorian in his most vulnerable state – bare and open-faced, eyes half-lidded and sleepy as he watched the holovid with lazy interest. Loathe to disrupt his peace, it took you a moment to swallow and say, “When we were on the Firespray…you mentioned wanting to try to find the remainder of your covert. To look for your armorer.”

Din glanced over at you, a single brow arching as he took in your anxious expression. “Yes. Is that still something you’re interested in?”

“Of course,” you were quick to assure him. “Your covert is your family, Din. If you want to look for them, I’ll help however I can.”

“And…what I said about wanting the seek the naur’alor’s blessing. For us.” He paused then, and you saw the moment he pieced it together – the reason you seemed so uncomfortable mentioning what he had said on the Firespray all those weeks ago. His brows drew up, concern coloring his dark gaze. “Is…that something you still want?”

You nodded. “I want to be your wife someday. Your riduur. And if getting her blessing means we could make that happen, when we’re ready, then yes, that’s something I want.”

The bounty hunter seemed to consider that for a moment, the deep wrinkles between his prominent brows growing even more pronounced as he thought. After a beat, he rolled over onto his side, his posture matching yours as he propped his head up on his fist. “The naur’alor is my Tribe’s spiritual leader,” he explained. “She is the keeper of our culture, the custodian of the Creed. Her word is law. Her blessing would give us…legitimacy. And it would grant you privileges as Mando’ad – protections that I can’t give you all on my own.”

Breaking his gaze, your eyes flicked to the wrinkled sheets between you. You could not bear to look at him as you gave voice to your next question – the fear that had swirled in the back of your mind since Din had first proposed this idea.

“And what if… What if she says no? What if she rejects me?”

A broad, tanned, calloused hand appeared under your chin, tucking his fingers under your jaw and urging you to look up at him once more. “To reject you would be to reject me,” he said earnestly. “Where you go, I go. We are bonded, cyare, in all but name.”

“But if she does. I can’t ask you to give up your culture – your people – for me, Din. I won’t do that to you.”

“You aren’t,” he insisted, caressing your jaw soothingly with the pad of his thumb. “She will understand. You and I are…unprecedented. But the naur’alor is wise. She is good. I can’t believe she would turn us away.”

The pure, unyielding faith in his voice made your heart clench in your chest. You wished you could trust the way he did, but if your time with Boba, Koska, and Bo-Katan had taught you anything at all, it was that there were clearly multiple interpretations of the tenants of the Creed. There was more than one approach to walking the Way, and it seemed that your bounty hunter had been raised among only the strictest of zealots.

The nagging feeling at the back of your mind that this armorer might be a more formidable challenge than Din expected simply would not leave you alone. You could only hope he was prepared for the possibility.

“Whatever she says, I want you to know that I’m with you,” you promised, laying your hand across the back of his, cupping him to you. “For as long as you want me, I’m all yours.”

He grinned then, a wry thing that curled the corners of his soft, plush lips. “I’ll always want you, gotabor’ika,” he murmured. “Darasuum. Forever.”

Emotion swelling in your chest, urging you forward, you kissed that grin with all the tenderness and love that threatened to spill from you at his devoted confession. In return, he cradled you like you were something precious, traced the seams of your lips with his tongue like you were something to be savored. You were flushed and thoroughly breathless by the time you managed to pull away.

“Okay then,” you breathed, tracing the tip of your nose along his to press your foreheads together. “Let’s go find your covert.”

---

Mando'a Translations:

ner kar'ta - my heart cyare - beloved shab - fuck mesh'la - beautiful Ni liser nu haaranovor teh gar tug'yc - roughly translated "I will not hide from you anymore" riduurok - a Mandalorian marriage agreement cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart haar'chak - damn it Puhoi bal pakod - literally translated "slow and easy" naur'alor - smith, craftsman, specifically a metalsmith that works with beskar. It's a title that's called out in the Kyr'tsad Mando'ad, a manifesto of the Death Watch and is later recognized in the book The Bounty Hunter's Code by Boba Fett. Given the Children of the Watch's connection to Death Watch, this felt like an appropriate formal title for the Armorer riduur - spouse, gender neutral term gotabor'ika - "little engineer" darasuum - forever

Notes:

For those of you who have been with me throughout this story, thank you. It means more to me than words can say. It's been a year and a half-long labor of love, and I'm so proud to have finished it. I plan to come back to these two in the future - maybe a string of connected oneshots - but until then, ret'urcye mhi.

[herefortheships]

Why would you say people ship Beetlejuice and Lydia? I’ve been a fan for so long I’m just like “huh…why do we ship it?”

Suddenly remembered I hadn’t answered this, and since I can’t sleep right now I’ll answer it! I meant to earlier and forgot.

I personally ship it because I love the concept of monster x human relationships, and especially when one character (usually the male part of the ship when it’s m/f) in this case this character is Betelgeuse, is dark, powerful, often immortal and even terrifying, (in Betelgeuse’s case also unhinged and absolutely crazy lol), and definitely the least you would expect to EVER fall in love, and yet he does fall in love with this other character who happens to be human, mortal, often quiet and also unlikely to fall in love. These two are the least likely to fall for each other, but they do! Then he starts to show a softer, completely unexpectedly romantic side to him that is reserved only for this woman he loves and no one else. She is both his strength and his weakness all at the same time. He is willing to do everything and anything for her.

Often these two characters are complete opposites and at odds with each other (or even enemies!) and yet they find each other in the middle. There is something they find in the other which cannot be replaced or found in anyone else in the world, and as unexpected and unusual and crazy at it is, before they even know it, their connection is forged in a way where they cannot and will not ever belong or fit in with anyone else. They’ve become a part of each other, even when the odds were against them or might be against them forever because they are intrinsically worlds apart. But love just finds them, and they meet in the middle.

I also love this kind of couple a lot when one of the two realizes their connection before the other, like Beetlejuice just knowing Lydia is *the one*, even if he can’t explain to her how he knows or why. This same scenario happens with Spike in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. At some point he realized she was the one, and she just got under his skin and became an inseparable part of his being.

Although not always, I believe this type of couple also follows the female gaze, since the male character (as I mentioned above it’s often the male character) shows an interest in the emotions of the female part. This is true in Beetlebabes. He isn’t interested only in her body, but also in honoring her emotions and desires (like Betelgeuse honoring Lydia’s wishes to have a more private wedding and respecting her boundaries by not forcing her to kiss him or something like that, plus making an effort at being romantic by serenading her and giving her an absolutely romantic wedding with a magical dance in the air). These interactions that are more romantic than sexual speak to the female gaze.

I think also that Beetlejuice Beetlejuice had several “Universal fantasies” entwined in the Betelgeuse x Lydia relationship that are just irresistible for many romance lovers and when those are present, our minds just inevitably grab on to those fantasies and identity them whether we are aware of them or not. Our mind just goes yep this is a romance and oh boy what a romance this is and before you know it you are obsessed. If you haven’t read about Universal Fantasies in writing, these are basically just more specific tropes that really speak to audiences in a way that hooks them powerfully to a story, and more specifically to romantic stories. This concept is introduced by Theodora Taylor in her book 7 Figure Fiction (which I’m sure many writers know about since it’s pretty popular but I mention it just in case it’s new to someone reading this).

Another reason lots of people love this ship is just aesthetics as well which is also valid. For me this for sure became one of my top three Burton couples.

[blackberrysummerblog]

Hi all! I’m just out here being three weeks late with my 2024 Writing Round-Up, and thank you so much to @monbons, @forabeatofadrum, @confused-bi-queer, @rimeswithpurple, @nausikaaa, @prettygoododds, @ileadacharmedlife, @artsyunderstudy, @best--dress, @j-nipper-95, @roomwithanopenfire, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @imagineacoolusername, @mooncello, and @thewholelemon for tagging me! I hope I didn’t miss anyone, and thank you as well to everyone who’s been tagging me for Six Sentence Sunday and WIP Wednesday this month. Without getting too much into it, I am BURNT. OUT, and it’s making me retreat from even the things I enjoy the most, like writing and catching up on everyone’s beautiful fandom works.

But, I’m determined to make this round-up post, even if it takes me a couple of days to put together. There’s a lot here! Almost all of it was from COC, which I was hellbent on finishing this year, and did! Here’s the list, in chronological order, of all published writing for 2024:

The Field Trap, 1/2 (5272, M) This has been sitting unfinished for a bit, but I do anticipate it being completed. I discovered a real love for Watford-era fics toward the end of the past year, but it probably all began for me two years ago when I wrote Field Trip of Dreams, the prequel to Field Trap. At any rate, I haven’t forgotten the fic, and Field Trap may end up with an E rating in the second chapter.

Time Will Lie Down and Be Still (26,201, M) This is the fic I’m most proud of this year. It’s the result of my COBB collab with @rimeswithpurple, and it’s been such an inspiration to work with Arianna! I highly recommend the experience :D This fic has 3/5 chapters published so far, and I’m getting there with the 4th. I’ll share that Arianna finished the art for Chapter 4 the other day and it is STUNNING, so I need to get my part done! For anyone who doesn’t know, the fic is a retelling of the movie Practical Magic (I’ve never been able to get very far in the book, for whatever reason, so I wouldn’t count on the fic lining up with it). This one is close to my heart for many reasons, but I’ve especially enjoyed building Dev’s character and his relationship with Baz.

Absolutely everything else I published was for COC, and I’ll put it below a cut due to length. Thanks to everyone who read my work this year! As always, the output of this fandom is just incredible, and I’ve enjoyed being able to take it in as well as contribute a little myself. Happy New Year, everyone!

Something Old (1146, T) Simon finds something unexpected while clearing out space in the wardrobe.

Chosen (880, G) Agatha and Simon have just begun dating and Philippa attempts to engage her in a little friendly roommate squee. Agatha isn’t quite so sure.

I Hate You, Never Leave Me (2339, M) Simon and Baz have found a new and better way to settle their differences, by getting each other off all over campus. Will it evolve into anything more, however? (I love this one, honestly. Might have to someday write a more extensive version)

Greek (1565, T) Simon has to keep a very close eye on Baz in Greek class, for reasons.

Let Me See You (1205, T) Simon is the one to find Baz draining a deer in the forest instead of Agatha. His reaction is not what either of them was expecting.

Truth or Dare (2608, T) Does what it says on the tin—the gang play a game of Truth or Dare, and the dares reveal a little more truth than anyone expected. (Definitely not a groundbreaking take on the prompt, but I never really tire of reading truth or dare fics, and hoped readers would feel the same :P)

Gently, Gently (668, M) Simon and Baz spend the morning in bed, skiving off class and not regretting it at all. (I came to realize that an embarrassing number of fics I write either start out with the boys waking up in bed or that is the entire premise of the fic. “Waking up” is a weird fetish to have, but OK me, I guess)

Looking for Knives, Looking for You (1181, T) Baz reflects on all the wounds he and Simon have given each other over the years. (Despite the vicious sounding title and depressing summary, this one was meant to be sort of cute and sweet)

Hold You Safe (1015, G) At the start of Eighth Year, Dev and Niall’s relationship is still very new as they get some bad news from home.

Dinner (Guess Who’s Coming) (3525, T) It’s half term, and Baz’s parents want to take him to dinner. They invite him to bring a friend, but unfortunately for Malcolm, he pisses Baz off first, and Baz decides his guest will be Simon—the Mage’s heir, his family’s mortal enemy, and Baz’s undying secret crush. (As with nearly all my COC offerings this year, this fic was knocked out during my lunch break the day of, and it shows. It really could have stood to be longer and more developed, so maybe I’ll revisit it one day, since I did like the premise)

Stay with Me (878, T) It’s Eighth Year and Simon gets home late and injured from a mission. Baz arrives at a resolution. (I was a little baffled to get a comment about the Mage already being dead, since this fic takes place during the school year and makes mention of a very much alive Mage in multiple places. It was more of a statement than a criticism though, I think.)

A Charmed Life (1449, E) Baz and Simon have an utterly normal morning getting frisky in bed. (Again. Huh.)

A Horse Named Jane (736, T) Simon has that song stuck in his head again. The one Baz can’t stand. They work out a (sort of) compromise.

Sour and Sweet (3060, G) It’s Baz’s birthday and Agatha has just given Simon his walking papers. Oh no :P However, the breakup does little to lift Baz’s spirits. (This one has two chapters and filled two prompts, sour and sweet, natch. Chapter two’s summary is: Simon decides he needs to make something sweet for Baz’s birthday, even though he’s two days late and doesn’t know how to bake. Well, he’s got magic at his disposal, so things are sure to turn out just fine. :P)

Punk (828, T) Baz is making Simon join him for lunch with Fiona again, but Simon figures he’ll debut a new look & attitude. Will they actually make it to the restaurant? (I really enjoyed writing this one. Simon being frustrated with Fiona’s behavior and still being silly with Baz about it was just a happy place for me)

Surprise (733, M) Simon and Baz are engaging in one of their classic Mummers’ House tiffs. What will happen? :P (I did write a little surprise into this one, but it was very much in keeping with some of my favorite themes)

Cast in Fire (791, G) Simon comes to Watford and learns about how his roommate will be chosen.

Fluff and Nonsense (1627, T) The prompt is ‘fluff’ and did I once again take the opportunity to write a light-on-plot secret relationship fic about Watford-era Simon and Baz being cozy and silly in bed? Yeah, I might have. Simon is going home with Baz over the Christmas break. Not a lot going on here, they’re just really comfy and in love.

Pieces of Me (1557, M) Baz has been having nightmares. Simon comforts him and encourages him to open up.

The World Was Open (956, T) Agatha and Niamh attend Simon and Baz’s wedding, and Agatha overhears another guest making a snide remark.

Find Me (2374, M) Eighth year at Watford was unremarkable, and Simon and Baz last saw each other when they graduated. Seven months later, Dev and Niall drag a pining and protesting Baz out to a club for a night of drinking and dancing, but there’s a familiar face behind the bar. Simon Snow is serving drinks, and worse, he’s flirting with a Baz lookalike. What will happen :P (This was yet another fic that could have been developed a little more, but I was still happy with the result overall)

Warm Spell (1795, M) Goatherd Simon has been almost-encountering a beautiful stranger for several weeks now, but one hot summer day, they finally meet.

Lost and Found (575, G) The boys go shopping together and Baz temporarily loses Simon, but it’s all pretty plot-free :P

Truce (1101, M) Simon pesters Baz while he’s trying to study, and needs to learn a lesson. Will they be able to call a truce? (This one was where the trouble began—I changed my settings to allow comments from unregistered users, because I like to fuck around and find out, I suppose. And find out I did! Luckily, the rude comment I received took aim at some writing element that didn’t even make sense for this particular fic, and I quickly realized it was a bot. Not long after, I started getting comments on other fics as well, all very nonspecific to the fandom, characters, and genre. I’m so sorry because I know it upset a few readers who were very kind to clap back and reassure me, and I changed my settings back so that it wouldn’t happen again.)

Savour (1189, T) Simon has been away on one of his missions for the Mage, and Baz has been awaiting his return by leaving out plates of food in their room every night. (Bot’s review: “the worst fic in the fandom”. It’s not even the worst fic in my own oeuvre, so joke’s on you, guy XD)

We Were Always Together (2239, T) During cotillion class, Simon is forced to dance with Baz. The horror! (I flipping loved writing this. Full on had a blast and Would Write Again)

Let It Snow (925, M) It’s almost time for Christmas break at Watford, and it may not turn out as the boys planned. However, thanks to a spell gone wrong (or very right) it may yet work out for the best :P

Always (551, G) It’s Christmas Eve and Baz has just finished putting the kids to bed. Simon is putting the finishing touches on the Christmas tree.

Something New (990, T) Simon and Baz have a little tiff near the end of eighth year, but it’s not fated to last long. I’ve written a lot of secret!relationship Watford era fics for COC this year, some that could go together and some that were in separate universes. It’s been so much fun to write about the boys sneaking around, but this is…something new. :P (In which I was very pleased with myself for how I wrapped things up in accordance with the prompt. I really, really enjoyed COC this year :D)

Thanks for reading! I’m sure most everyone has already made their own round-up posts, but consider these no-pressure tags and hellos: @valeffelees @stardustasincocaine @bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @c0nsumemy5oul @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists @tender-ministrations @basiltonbutliketheherb @ghostpepperworld @larkral @letraspal @cows4247 @fiend-for-culture @palimpsessed @hushed-chorus @shrekgogurt @raenestee @cutestkilla @drowninginships @youarenevertooold @iamamythologicalcreature @beastmonstertitan @ic3-que3n @supercutedinosaurs @stitchy-queerista @alexalexinii @asocialpessimist @shutup-andletme-go @prettygoododds @ivelovedhimthroughworse @j-nipper-95 @wellbelesbian @bookishbroadwayandblind @orange-peony @papierhaikuphoto @martsonmars

[lunar-years]

The horrifying fandom takes and theories it's generated aside, one of things I really love about Ted Lasso is the way it handles motherhood/babies/the future for its two main female characters. Like, on the one hand is Rebecca who so obviously and vocally has always wanted to be a mother, but married someone who didn't feel the same way and put her own desires aside for his, then had that fact thrown back in her face years later after he's abused and divorced her and gotten another woman pregnant.

A big part of Rebecca's arc is the constant frustration of having to accept the hand life's dealt her even when it's the opposite of everything she'd always wanted for herself. She's someone who wanted to be a wife and wanted to be mother and then finds herself in middle age as neither of those things. Then she makes the decision to pursue it on her own (which was awesome, I love that they showed her going to the fertility clinic and inquiring about whether pregnancy was a possibility for her! there's not way to become a mother!) and then she has to face her inability to get pregnant. And it sucks! but as sad as that is, it's also very...real? And the show doesn't miraculously let her have a miracle pregnancy anyway (like stupider shows would do, tbh), but instead has Rebecca come to terms with herself and her life under its new circumstances. She finds purpose outside of the things she once thought she would be and the roles her younger self assumed she would play as an adult. By the final episode, she's calling Richmond her family! She's realized what she wants most is the stay at the Club. She's come into her own. And then, yeah, there's the little ambiguous opening of Matthijs and his daughter and her possible future there with them--but importantly it isn't the end all to her happiness, anymore. It's a sign that she still has opportunities, just maybe not in the way she first envisioned, that no doors have closed forever and that what she's been looking for might come from unexpected places. there's no timeline!

And then you have Keeley, who's in her 30s and focused on her career and still figuring out how she wants that to look and who she wants to be. And yeah she's dating, and she has a serious onscreen relationship, but the topic of children (or marriage for that matter) never even once comes up! It's not made some big arc about how she doesn't want those things, and it's not some big fight with Roy or a goofy "really, you've never thought about babies?' conversation with Rebecca, it's just never something that's made relevant to her character nor her growth! She's a whole person without those things and she's clearly not actively pursuing them. And these two women with very different goals and wants are completely supportive of one another--it's never even a question :)

I thought both of their storylines in that sense were very refreshing to see on TV and like, comforting? If anything, the discourse it's spawned has been very...eye-opening...about how conditioned people have become to expect traditional marriage and babies storylines from every single female character. But the show doesn't give in to that mentality and instead shows that there's not one way a family has to look and not one way to be a mother and there isn't a set timeline for any of this stuff even if later you change your mind. And then if things don't turn out how you think, it doesn't mean you aren't going to end up with a good life! that was such a good message.

[glamourscat]

KUROKO HEADCANONS

i am two days late, I know. but here’s Kuroko’s bday post! Some fluff relationship hcs for my favourite character in knb 🩵

Kuroko is a rather silent, invisible presence. To most people, he’s merely a shadow, slipping in and out of spaces unnoticed. So, if he were to fall for someone, it would have to be someone he’s truly close to. Someone who sees him in a way no one else does. His type is “gentle and kind people,” which means this is definitely a friends-to-lovers kind of love.

Maybe you’re the one who always notices him first. The one who spots him in a crowded room before anyone else even realizes he’s there.

It’s the way he realizes he loves you after months of friendship out of pure coincidence. Perhaps he had a bad day at practice or an argument with Kagami and all he wanted was to disappear for a while. To be alone. And he almost succeeded… but you still found him. You always do. Even in the most unexpected places.

“How did you find me?” he asks, his voice as quiet and even as ever. He sits with his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around them, his chin resting on top.

“How did I find you?” you echo, eyes soft yet twinkling with amusement. “A magician never reveals their secrets.” Your teasing lilt, the gentle curve of your lips, makes the smallest of smiles form on his lips. One he doesn’t even try to hide.

The way Kuroko loves is quiet, subtle, just like him. It’s in the little things, the details he never misses. The way he always notices what you like, silently making note of it. The way he seeks you out in a room, even if he never makes it obvious. The way he sits beside you, fingers twitching with the subconscious urge to reach out.

It’s in his eyes, how they light up just a little when you’re near, enough for his friends to notice even if he remains composed. It’s in the way his dog has become completely obsessed with you, always wanting to be close, nudging his head against your palm. And if Tetsuya #2 approves, then maybe… this is meant to be.

But who confesses first?

He waits, observing, trying to understand if you feel the same. But at some point, his heart starts to ache with the thought that maybe you don’t. Maybe this quiet thing between you is only something he has imagined.

And then there’s you. You don’t need words to see how Kuroko feels, but maybe, just maybe, he needs to hear it. So you decide to show up at one of his games, something you’ve never done before.

He notices you instantly. Even in the sea of cheering people, you stand out to him. His normally steady hands falter for just a moment as he grips the ball. He wasn’t expecting you to come. He never told you the time, never reminded you of the match. And yet, there you are.

After the game, as the crowd thins out, you wait for him outside the gym. He steps toward you, his usual unreadable expression in place except for his eyes. They are searching, questioning.

“You came,” he says softly.

“Of course I did,” you reply, shifting on your feet. “I wanted to see you play.”

There’s a brief silence before he speaks again. “You could have told me.”

“Would it have changed anything?” you counter, tilting your head.

His lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. “No. But I would have looked forward to it.”

Your chest tightens, a warmth sensation in your tummy. You take a breath, then step closer.

“I like you, Tetsu.”

There it is. Simple. Honest. No teasing, no riddles. Just the truth.

Kuroko blinks once, twice. And then, a rare sight. A full, genuine smile. It’s soft, but it reaches his eyes.

“I like you, too.”

No grand gestures. No dramatic confessions. Just you, just him. Just the quiet understanding that this has always been real. Always meant to be.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[wukong-s-only-wife5000]

Hey I hope your doing well! I just wanted to say that I loved how you wrote my Request, and I’d like to show the boy some more love so can I Request First Date for Lego Monkie Kid Macaque? Have a fantastic day btwsss👋🏼👋🏼✨

LMK!Macaque: First Date.

Word Count: 2494.

Rating: Fluff.

Content/Trigger Warnings: N/A.

Authors Notes: Say.less. This came out way longer than I expected yet left rushed? Hope you enjoy it!

<---Previous | Masterlist | Next--->

“You're here early,” the voice scared you… it felt like a déjà vu moment, but you shook it off and focused on him. 

“I didn't wanna be late,” you looked at the emo monkey boy in human form and smiled a bit. 

He wore his usual puppet master outfit, but something about it this time seemed more… well-kept? Groomed, even? Right now, he had the hood down. Like last time, he looked a bit weird to you since you were more used to seeing the emo monkey boy and not emo human boy. He was handsome nonetheless, though.

“You look gorgeous,” he said as he got a look at you and you to him.

“So do you,” you said without thinking and smiled nervously. “I mean, handsome, you-”

“It’s okay,” he cut you off with a chuckle. “Thank you.”

“R-right… so, what do you have in store for me tonight?” you smiled up at him. He just stared at you with a small smile of his own before his mind finally caught up to him.

“Right, well,” he chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, you said that you wanted it to be a shadow play… so, I, um…” he cleared his throat. “I made one for you.”

“You… made one for me? Like from scratch?” you asked in both shock and curiosity.

Your entire face felt hot from the blush that took over when he said that. You’d never expect that he or anyone would make something like a play script just for you, granted this would be the second time he did. It was definitely unexpected and most flattering if you were being completely honest.

“May I?” he asked. You looked at his hand he held out for you, that charming yet mischievous smile made your heart race as you placed your hand in his.

“You may,” you replied with a small smile.

“Are you scared, (Y/n)?” he mused a bit.

“Me? Scared? Pft- don't be ridiculous,” you waved him off, which made him chuckle as he led you inside.

“Date never killed anyone,” he chuckled.

“You haven't watched enough horror movies,” you teased him. 

The theatre room was empty as he led you to and sat you down front and centre. Before you could question him on whether or not he rented out the room for just you two, he put his hood up and the lights dimmed a bit.

“Ladies and gentlemen… tonight, you're all in for a treat,” you looked at him in question before you noticed there were people in the room; you were the only one in the front. You were sure it was empty before, though, but you shook it off and zeroed in on Macaque.

“This story was made for the gorgeous creature in the front row,” he gestured to you with a grin, which made you shift a bit as people watched you. You gave him the ‘I'll kill you later’ eyes, but his grin only grew wider as his head lowered to cover his face except his mouth.

This story had everything you loved: action, mystery, tragedy, romance. It felt unlike him, but at the same time, how he told the story was breathtaking and had many on the edge of their seats. The main character was a heroine who fell in love with the villain and changed him… only for the villain to lose his life while saving her. 

The story had ended with the heroine marrying the villain who had actually faked his death in order to keep her safe from his enemies. It was an entire rollercoaster of emotions and maybe because it was written for you that you were more invested in the story than you normally would be. He took your breath away and his smile when he saw how much you were enjoying it shone brighter than Wukong. 

“Did you like it?” was the first thing he asked once everyone left, and he walked over to you.

“I loved it,” you smiled up at him. “I never would have thought that the Six Eared Macaque would be this good at writing,” you teased, which successfully made him all bashful and shy.

“I'm glad you liked it,” he chuckled a bit and sat to your left as he shifted back to his emo monkey form. “To be honest… I kinda made up the last part.”

“You mean you killed off the villain?!” you gasped dramatically and nudged him playfully with your shoulder. “You monster… how could you,” you said dramatically, which made him laugh a bit.

“But I saved him, don't hit me for that,” he chuckled as he put his hands up in mock surrender. 

“It was still pretty good, though,” you smiled, looking ahead at the stage. “You must really enjoy doing these.”

“It’s just a hobby,” he shrugged a bit. 

“Don't think you can try to be all indifferent now,” you looked at him with a smile and nudged him.

“Fine, fine… it's a hobby that I really like,” he admitted. “Especially now that I have a fan,” he looked at you with a small smirk.

“Oh really? And who said anything about me being your fan, hm?” you teased as you folded your arms.

“I had a pretty good hunch,” he said confidently. “You wouldn't have suggested our date be a shadow play if you didn't really like it… so you're obviously a fan of mine.”

“Fine, maybe I think that your shadows are pretty cool,” you smiled a bit to yourself. “I really like how well you use them to tell your stories.”

“I appreciate that,” he looked at you. 

Your smiles never seemed to disappear when you were around each other. Neither of you had ever smiled so much at anyone, especially Macaque. Yet, being with you like he was now… it brought him an odd sense of peace and made his insides and outsides feel warm and fuzzy, I mean, forgetting that he is fuzzy.  

“What do you wanna do now?” you asked without even thinking.

“Well, I could show off a bit more,” he said as he let a shadow clone appear on your right, which scared you at first. 

“Do you get cold easily?” you asked.

“I'm covered in fur, (Y/n),” he mused.

“Touché,” you shrugged as you stood up. 

You tried to ignore how cool you thought the clone was so as to not fill up his ego by letting him know how cool you thought it was. Sure, you'd seen Wukong’s clones a lot before, but that never meant that you always thought it was amazing every single time! I mean… they made clones! Yes, you have abilities too, but this wasn't about you.

“Did you want to go somewhere?” his voice brought you back to reality.

“We can go for a walk to the park, there was a full moon out,”

“Do you like the moon?” he asked with a small smile. You were too adorable for words.

“A lot,” you grinned a bit.

“Let's go for a walk, then,” he made his clone disappear into the dark void before he stood up and opened his hand again for yours. “(Y/n),”

“Yes?” you asked softly.

“Can I hold your hand while we walk?” he asked in a gentle tone that made your heart want to explode.

“Mhm,” you nodded. 

That was all you could get out as he took your hand and led you out through the back exit. Your insides were on fire, but he wasn't any different. He didn't know where that courage came from, but he was glad that he asked. Your hand was small, but it felt so warm and though it wasn't very soft. It was between smooth and rough, which showed you were a hard worker and he loved that about you.

The walk down the alley to the streets was as quiet as the night before when you waited for the others to arrive… which they never did, by the way.

“Be honest with me, Macaque,” you glanced up at him.

“Sure,” he gave a nod, curious of what you wanted his honesty on.

“Did you do something to MK and the others to make them not show up yesterday?” you raised a brow. He laughed a bit and lifted your hand he was holding to kiss the back of it.

“Guilty,” he confessed, which made you laugh a bit, not minding the hand kiss even though your heart never seemed to slow down.

“What’d you do?” you asked in amusement.

“Let's just say… I called in a few favours,” he grinned at you.

“You didn't!” you laughed. “No wonder Wukong was so pissed off.”

“Well, when I heard you were coming too, I wanted to take the chance to talk to you in private,” he confessed as he looked at you. “Of course, you know that if our buddy Wukong was there, he’d have made sure I was in another theatre entirely.”

“Point taken,” you smiled a bit. “Were you really that desperate to get me alone?” you teased.

“Talking to you in person is way better than talking on the phone or texting,” he stated.

“I guess,” you chuckled and shook your head. “Such a trickster.”

“Guilty again,” he chuckled as he let go of your hand and instead wrapped his arm around your shoulders to pull you closer. “This okay?”

“Y-Yeah… it’s fine,” you said softly, face bright from all the blood rushing to your full cheeks. He smelled so good, like pinewood and some amazing cologne. His body was so warm and the fur on his wrist tickled the skin of your arm.

“You were shivering a bit,”

“No I wasn't,” you looked up at him with a smile.

“Guess my eyes aren't what they used to be,” he joked.

“Real smooth, emo boy,”

“Emo boy?” he mused.

“Yeah, emo boy,” you looked at him with a slight grin.

“If you're calling me that, then I'm freely calling you plum,” he shot back.

“Macaque,” you said, which made him chuckle.

“Nah, I'm still calling you plum,” he stated with a slight shrug before he pulled you closer to him.  

“Fine,” you sighed softly. If he was anything like Wukong, he wasn't going to stop calling you that. 

“Wasn't as long as I thought,” he smirked, referring to when you told him having nickname rights would take a long, long time.

“Hey, look,” he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “It really is a full moon,” he said and pointed to the empty sky.

You didn't know when you got to the park, mostly distracted by Macaque and his voice and his body close to yours. The view of the night sky from the park was breathtaking, you mentally thanked yourself for suggesting it. 

The rest of the night was spent with his arms wrapped securely around you to ‘keep you warm’ even though it wasn't exactly cold out. You didn't want it to end, but he didn't want to keep you outside too late. 

“I don't think I can teleport…” you glanced away with a small pout. Macaque smiled a bit at your adorable behaviour. 

“Oh really?” he mused. “Do you want me to teleport you, then?”

“Yes, please,” you looked at him with an eager grin and a childish glint in your eyes.

“I don't know, plum…” he tried to play hard to get. “It might be dangerous~”

“Danger is my middle name!” you declared, which made him laugh.

“Alright, alright, I won't make you beg,” he chuckled. “But, this transportation isn't free,”

“Oh, really?” you mused as you folded your arms. “What's the fee?”

“One kiss for one portal,” he said as he looked down at you with a small smirk.

“W-What?” you stuttered slightly, not expecting it but not surprised either.

“What? I'm sure a beautiful woman such as yourself has kissed someone before,”

“Of course I have! But that isn't the problem,” you said defensively. Sure you've kissed people in your long life… but this felt different for some reason.

“What is the problem?” he raised a brow, his smile never wavered.

“Well…” you trailed off, not really knowing what to say.

“How about… since it’s our first official date, I give you a small kiss,” he suggested. “Sound good?”

“Okay,” you nodded, you were sure you hadn't stopped blushing since he asked to hold your hand back at the theatre.

“Great…” he held that same hand while his other hand held your chin. “Can I kiss you, (Y/n)?”

“Yes…” your voice was soft, your eyes locked onto each other like you were the only beings in the universe.

“Alright,” he smiled a bit before he leaned in close, placing a kiss on your forehead before he pulled back and let your hand go. You were… flabbergasted. You never expected that… 

That tease!  You thought to yourself as you looked at him as he stretched and cracked his knuckles.

“It’s really late,” he looked at you with that cocky smirk. “I’ll need your address.”

“Oh… right,” you nodded and gave it to him, you were surprised that he knew the area.

“If you're scared, I can go with you,”

“Nope,” you shook your head as he opened the portal. Your heart was beating too fast all night for you to think about him being in your home… Alone with you. 

“Suit yourself,” he struggled with a chuckle. “If you're scared, you can close your eyes and jump in,”

“Okay…” you nodded… only for him to move it below you. “Jerk!” you yelled before you fell in and, thankfully, landed on your couch. You stared ahead and cupped your heated cheeks. “Stupid emo monkey,” you puffed your cheeks a bit before your left hand moved to touch where he kissed…

That dork… you smiled a bit to yourself.

He teleported you to your place with a smile, but when the portal closed, he frowned. He held up the hand that held onto yours most of the walk and narrowed his eyes at it. It felt cold now, his body felt cold, and he hated it. He mostly hated himself for opening his big mouth and sending you home. He hated himself for being this hung up on you… but he would never trade the feeling you gave him for the world. He wanted to be selfish and let you stay with him till the sun came up…

His fingers lifted to touch his lips and a small smirk formed. The warm touch of your skin still felt tingly against his lips, he wished he’d kissed your lips, but that was for another time. You were so nervous, and he didn't want to do something that would make you uncomfortable. He had to be patient with this and go slow… thankfully, he was a very patient emo monkey.

Silly plum…  he mused to himself.