#it’s the only reason i started writing that fic

[amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet]

Wanted to chime in as someone who has actively posted long fics on Wattpad (which does chapter votes) as well as now on AO3, would strongly agree with the creators in the tags here saying that's what comments are for.

I only have the one fic really still on Wattpad so I don't mean to use the numbers here as a humble brag, but it helps illustrate the topic I mean (also dates are showing most recent edits, in case there are confusions in my descriptions here).

Screenshots from my work Goddess of Secrecy on Wattpad as an example. Already on the first chapter to the second, there is a massive fall off of readership. Now, reader drop off is normal! And to be expected! But it's a lot easier to process that when you don't have hard proof of exactly where that happened. And so the continued drop off being visible is the data that's less fun to look at.

It also reflects that most readers will still only use the votes system like kudos anyway, which compounds the issue with these numbers to the writer: it'll always reads as a reader drop off from this end. I have no reason to tell why someone stopped reading, particularly just on votes alone. So I'm just going to assume it wasn't good enough to keep following at some particular chapter. It also leads to a lot of second guessing is the votes aren't consistent! If a regular reader only leaves a kudos every ~5 chapters, what was wrong with the other 4 chapters between? Why did the pattern suddenly get more erratic? Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria and Imposter Syndrome are already common enough in creators, adding more ways for someone to not interact with the work only adds more chances of making those symptoms worse. This gets highlighted more when we add in the very common occurrence in fic writing and that's hiatus.

These two screenshots are showing two major hiatus breaks I took on this fic, from 2015-2017, and then 2017-2024. While obviously with a hiatus you can't expect all readership to return, having hard numbers on exactly how many people came back is also really frustrating. And discouraging. Because now I'm left wondering why that many people didn't come back. And I can see exactly how much of a drop off it was.

You know what the difference was with finishing this fic in 2024 though? Actively commenting readers. Only three of them. But they were engaging with me actively in my comment sections and on my other social media. And that motivation got me through finishing the work and starting my next long fic. Because I knew someone was reading. They were telling me they were here reading. Kudos/votes don't reflect that, comments do.

This is also reflected in my current experience with posting on AO3 as well (I don't have visible metrics for this in the same way). But my biggest boosts of readership for my long fics are from reader recommendations. Every time someone leaves a public bookmark or recs the work somewhere, I see my biggest increases in kudos and new readers. A new active commenter is one of those boosts too. It shows other readers that someone is actively engaging through the length of the work enough that maybe they should give it a try too. And it means more. Storytelling is meant to be interactive, not passive. This isn't traditional publishing, you can engage directly with these creators. Take advantage of that opportunity!

I understand this sentiment. And there is always some serotonin in numbers go up. But. Anyone can hit a kudos button. It doesn't mean they're reading. In fact, adding more chapter kudos like this creates the opposite problem of encouraging people to post in short works right now and creates the issue in the other direction. One very long work with a writer with either a lot of time or a few good friends could make kudos bloat that's not reflective of actual readership. Comments can be done by bots, but not nearly as easily as votes/kudos can be.

So really, there is already a solution here. It's commenting. Even something simple. Fandom thrives on community engagement. There is no shortcut way around it like more ways to vote without compounding the problem. You want to support fandom creators, you have to be an active fandom participant.

i wish ao3 allowed people to give kudos per each chapter. These 100k word NOVELS need more love than 200 tiny digital hearts ☹️

[linddzz]

PLEASE tell us more about Jayvik being unhealthy about each other, this needs to be talked about more for... scientific reasons (borderline toxic codependency my beloved)

They're honestly such a fun mix of being adorable silly little nerds who could have so many cute domestic scenes, but there is ALSO that Weird About Each Other vibe lurking over them like a sword of codependent damocles, and it's why I'm SO GLAD I waited to see how Season2 played out before I started writing fic with the intent to post it. Romantic, platonic, the shit they do for/because of each other is WILD no matter what flavor their love takes. You see BITS of it in Season one from Jayce when he ousts Heimerdinger, which is done entirely because Jayce believes the Hexcore can save Viktor from his terminal illness and Heimerdinger is in the way of that. Remember that before Viktor gets his prognosis, Jayce was the one proposing Hextech be shut down due to Jinx stealing a gemstone.

There's nothing that has happened to make Jayce less likely to be concerned about the possible danger of Hextech, and the moment where he asks for Hextech to be suspended shows that he's more likely to believe Heimerdinger's cautions. BUT...that goes out the window with no hesitation when he believes it could save Viktor.

And that's the main thread of their devotion to each other, the willingness to put each other before anyone and anything else, including each others wishes. Jayce is at first the most obvious one when he jumps right to breaking his promise to destroy the hexcore so he can save Viktor's life with it. Yeah, he didn't know that it killed Sky at this point, so the betrayal does not seem as dire to him as it would to Viktor at this point, BUT...considering everything else they do, I think knowing about Sky would maybe add like...thirty seconds to Jayce's decision making process. Shooting Viktor isn't just an act to save the world, though that does weigh on him. It's part of saving Viktor from himself, and only done because VIKTOR told him to. It, at first, seems like Jayce is the one with this more unhealthy devotion, where he's willing to put Viktor above everything else, including Viktor's wishes. Viktor is the one who leaves with the goal to pursue ways to actually help people, after all. He is, in that moment, able to put their dream over Jayce. BUT...this moment is Viktor's version of Jayce asking for hextech to be suspended. The snapping point for Jayce was the threat of Viktor dying, remember. (Also Viktor is ready to take Jayce back the SECOND Jayce shows back up. I would bet good money that a solid six-ish months of hearing NOTHING from Jayce spooked him right out of that assertion that their paths had fully diverged lmao) Then we get that phenomenal reveal that Viktor is knowingly dooming timelines, knowingly setting them on a path towards calamity and mutually assured destruction again and again, all with the goal of stopping himself from ending Jayce in a way that keeps their fates connected. Even if that means risking Jayce getting destroyed by him again and again when it doesn't work. And yaknow. Great story. EXCELLENT Literary Romance right there. Definitely not aspirational for real life in the slightest lmaooo

[moonstruckme]

i NEED more lily fics she’s so underrated no one writes for her :(((((

please if you could do literally anything with lily i will be happy forever 💐💐💐

Thank you <3

modern au

Lily Evans x fem!reader ♡ 858 words

Lily touches your shoulder from behind, warning you before she brings a cup of steaming tea around your front. 

“Thanks,” you whisper. Or, really, it’s more of a soft rasp. Your girlfriend is sweet enough not to remark on it. 

“Of course,” she replies, sitting down beside you. 

You’re slouched against the armrest of your sofa, knees pulled up in front of you and laptop balanced atop them so you can squint at the bright screen. The edge of your keyboard digs uncomfortably into your chest. Lily curls up against your side, leaning her head on your shoulder to watch you work. 

You sip your tea. The honey mixed into it coats your throat pleasantly. 

After a while, Lily murmurs, “You should have a rest.” 

You sigh. “Lily.” 

“Y/N,” she says, evenly, though not without fondness. 

“I have to get this done,” you try to reason. 

“You have until the end of the month, sweetheart.” Lily palms the back of your neck, one finger smoothing the baby hairs at your nape. “You don’t need to have it finished tonight, and you’re not feeling well. Let’s have a hot shower, see if the steam helps anything.” 

“I want to hand it in tomorrow morning,” you say obstinately. 

It is the onboarding paperwork for your new job. You’d nearly forgotten about it during the overwhelm of your first week, until your boss had dropped a light hint on Friday reminding you to get it done. It’s Sunday now, and you don’t intend to give her the impression that you leave everything until its deadline. 

Lily’s quiet for a moment; you type numbers into a calculator for your tax forms. 

“And what if you aren’t there tomorrow morning?” she suggests gently. 

“I’m going.” Your voice squeaks a little, and you clear your throat. “I have to go.” 

“You don’t have to, baby.” 

“It’s only my second week,” you say. “I can’t start taking time off already. They’ll think I’m looking for any excuse not to work.” 

“It’s a fairly good excuse,” Lily offers. You can see her faint smile in your periphery. She strokes your nape. “You’re sick, sweetheart. You feel like you have a fever already. It might only get worse overnight.” 

“It could get better,” you say weakly. Sniffling. 

“It could,” she hums, “but they won’t want you there if you’re contagious.” 

“If I call in sick after one week, they’ll think I’m lying.” 

Lily actually laughs. “Are you planning on calling in yourself?” 

You look at her. “Yeah…” 

“Then they’ll believe you.” She kisses the side of your nose, slow and syrupy sweet. “You sound awful.” 

You laugh, too. It does sound awful, scratchy and wretched. You sniffle afterwards, and Lily gives you a sad look. 

“Oh, come here.” She closes your laptop and moves it away, wrapping you up in a hug. Her cheek squishes into the top of your head, your girlfriend risen halfway up onto her knees to wrap herself as fully around you as possible. She rubs your upper arm soothingly. “My poor girl,” she murmurs. 

It makes your throat feel even more raw than it already had. Though you haven’t admitted it, you’re aching in your head and your joints, that telltale sign of a cold coming on; the warmth, of Lily’s arms around you and her tea in your chest, helps. You’re feeling better than you had been a few minutes ago. Even so, you know it’s likely you’ll wake feeling worse tomorrow. 

The worst part is, you know if the roles were reversed, things would be exactly the same. Lily would be willfully pushing through illness to finish her paperwork, desperate to prove herself to her new boss and determined also to prove that she could, and you would be begging her to rest, to take care of herself, to see reason. The difference is that your girlfriend is a much more skilled debater than you are; if she was on the other end of things, she’d probably convince you to let her soldier on. 

“When you said we should have a hot shower,” you say softly, “did you mean both of us, or just me?” 

Lily’s hair tickles your nose as she pulls away to look at you. She looks sorry when you sniff and scratch it quickly to stave off a sneeze, but it doesn’t deter her smile. 

“I could go with you,” she says, “if that’s what you want.” 

You take another sip of your tea. “I’m still going to try to go to work tomorrow,” you say hesitantly, “but I could leave the paperwork for another day.” 

“That sounds very smart.” She kisses your temple approvingly. 

“You would think so.” 

“And keep an open mind about work tomorrow, alright?” 

“Let’s just start with a shower,” you say. “How pathetic do I have to act to get you to wash my hair for me?” 

Lily laughs. It’s your favorite sound. “You don’t have to act any way. I can put vaporub on you afterwards, too, if you’d like.” 

You smile at her. “A shower and a massage? This is sounding very hot.” 

She laughs again. “So hot.”

[sc0tters]

Agreeable | Trevor Zegras

summary: when the boys decide that you and trevor can't hate each other forever, you realise he may not be all that bad.

request: yes/no

trope: enemies to lovers

warnings: mentions of drinking, swearing, minimal hints to sexual acitivies at the end.

word count: 3.84k

authors note: okay hello! this was such a fun one to write and it was also a little different in comparison to the normal enemies to lovers prompts we end up writing. This is our second to last fic in the 500 celly, and I am so glad we changed this one over to this man because I am so much happier with this one.

Trevor found this to be a trip to his own version of hell. 

The lake house was meant to be peaceful and a moment to unwind with his best friends. But that whole idea was made so much more complicated when you always decided to show up. 

Jack met you at a bar in New Jersey, and as you both came in with fake IDs, there seemed to be something that you bonded over, and the friendship hadn’t looked back since. Before you both knew it, Jack got the title upgraded from friend to best friend to then roommate. 

The forward soon started bringing you along to the lake house during the summer. Which most people loved, you knew how to hold your own in both drinking and banter. And it did help that you also were surprisingly good at pool. 

Trevor, on the other hand, wanted to send you the quickest thing to get rid of you. He didn’t care if you had to catch a cab or even hitchhike to leave, he just wanted you gone. But it wasn’t always like this, in fact, the first summer you were there. Trevor actually thought you were kind of cute. 

You were sat on the hammock as Trevor flirted with you “you sure you don’t got a man?” He asked as you let out a laugh “trust me, the only person in my bed is me.” You scrunched your nose as he looked at you. 

Trevor leaned in as he brushed the hair out of your face “think we should change that no?” His voice was soft as he let his lips dance over yours. 

The kiss was soft but as you heard the clear sounds of the boys inside you were reminded of where you were “we shouldn’t Trev.” You breathed out making him scoff “not like I would even want you.” His words were a clear dig at you, trying to be some personal attack as he got up and left you alone on the hammock. 

Now Trevor wasn’t that childish, you rejecting him wasn’t the only reason for his newfound hatred of you. Sure it hurt his ego but there was more to that than just a simple I’m not interested in you.

That night the boys had thrown a party and invited all of their friends along from the area. As fun as the night was as well, you were starting to feel the effects of one too many vodka red bulls as you made your way back to your room. 

With Jack downstairs you knew you could just walk right in “what the fuck!” A girl screamed from your bed as she immediately dropped down to lay flat against your sheet in an attempt to cover herself. 

Your eyes were wide as you froze “Z get her out.” She added looking up at the boy where your eyes finally stopped “why are you fucking someone in my bed?” You scoffed trying to ignore the fact that you had definitely just seen his dick and that he was a lot bigger than you thought he’d be. 

Truth be told he didn’t know it was your bed, but now that he did it made the whole thing just a little bit sweeter “Cole got a girl in our one.” The way he said it made it sound as though you were the weird one for bringing it up “you gonna just stand there or you wanna join us?” Trevor smirked as he saw how your cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. 

Words struggled to get out of your mouth “fuck you!” You spat as you let the door shut with a slam as you opted to go downstairs instead of dealing with him in that moment. 

Jack somehow knew not to question you as you ended up sleeping top to toe with him that night. 

It seemed from that moment on, you were both destined to hate each other. The majority of it came during those two weeks at the lake but even the roadie to New York and New Jersey seemed to fall victim to it. 

Trevor bursted into the apartment Jack never did seem to lock the door “Hughesy you will not believe who I sa-” he cut himself off as he walked into the kitchen to see you stood in front of him. 

You had woken up a few minutes before and decided to leave the warmth of your bed, for a cup of coffee “since you’re so excited why don’t you share it for the group?” You sipped at your coffee as you smirked when his face dropped “Jack is in the shower.” You explained as you placed your cup on the counter. 

You knew your nipples were hard as your body was cold. Trevor’s eyes stared at the red fabric of your top that fully encapsulated the two stiff peaks “you excited to see me?” He teased as you crossed your arms, doing your best to cover them “perv.” You grumbled grabbing your coffee to go back to your room. 

Trevor laughed “c’mon ain’t you gonna make your guest a coffee?” He honestly didn’t even want one but when you sent him a glare he knew it was worth it asking “if you’re gonna walk into this apartment like that then you can get your own coffee.” You spoke in a duh tone as you walked past Jack who had just come out of his own room. 

He frowned seeing the irritated look on your face “did you really have to be a dick to her?” He groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose “ain’t my fault she is so easy to screw with.” Trevor shrugged as he got himself a cup of coffee. 

Things never got better for the two of you because you couldn’t even learn to put up with each other. Each time the two of you were in a room, you were bound to argue at least once “why does she have to come?” Trevor whined knowing that you were stood downstairs helping Jack with drinks “because she is Jack’s friend and most of us get on with her?” Cole answered with an obvious statement. 

Of course, everyone had to love you. So as Trevor huffed as he threw his head down onto his bed, “so you all like Jamie, and I don’t bring him along to the lake.” Honestly, if Trevor was given the chance he would have asked Jamie to come along, but that wasn’t the point in that moment. 

It made Cole laugh “when you are done with whatever this is would you like to come down?” Cole’s words reminded Trevor of his mom when he was having a tantrum as a child “yeah, yeah I will.” Trevor rolled his eyes as he stared at the ceiling. 

You were downstairs playing a broken game of catch with Alex as he attempted to throw a grape into your mouth “you do know that my eyes are not where my mouth is right?” You asked as another hit the bridge of your nose “it’s not my fault you’re just short.” Alex shot back as he stuck his tongue out as you. 

Trevor came down to see how another grape had this time hit your forehead “can you seriously not find a way to entertain yourself that doesn’t involve our snacks for the boat?” Trevor’s question was logical but the way his eyes stared at you made you irritated. 

He watched you clench your fists “I mean I could throw them at you and actually make it hurt too if you’d prefer.” He offered finally making scowl at him “I will shove this up your ass if you’re not careful.” You warned making Quinn finally place his hands on your shoulders. 

The older boy clicked his tongue “and on that note why don’t we get to the boat?” Quinn mumbled guiding you out of the door.

It was meant to be a space that Trevor could finally be in peace during, but now he had to be sat there watching you get a deeper tan in the new red bikini you had brought along for the trip “just play nice Z.” Cole warned seeing how the boy had looked at you. 

But this time it didn’t seem to be that he was mad or even in the slightest bit annoyed at how you threw your shirt into a chair before you ran up to Jack who helped you onto the boat “said that I am not the problem.” Trevor muttered as he followed out to the boat. 

You had been helping Jack set up the stuff for the waterskis when the Ducks player stopped by the side of the boat “you sure this is going to be enough for you?” You asked as you held up the life jacket “pretty sure I know how to swim.” Trevor shot back as you smirked watching him get onto the boat. 

A sigh left your lips “well you know with a mouth as big as yours you might drown.” You shrugged going back to what you were doing “you been looking at me y/n?” There was a teasing sense in his voice was he clearly wanted to taunt you. 

A warmth spread across your cheeks “no-I-” you were cut off by Jack “Y’know I’m pretty sure that I can find an old getting along T-shirt that my mom used to use on Quinn and I if you two want to fight again.” His warning was enough for both of you to send each other a glare. 

If this was an action movie playing out there would have been a split screen scene that only showed your eyes turning into sharp glares “I am not fighting.” You both spoke at the same time 

Cole looked over to Alex who sighed “if I didn’t know any better I could say they had a chance.” He mumbled knowing that their words were not going to match their actions “hey as long as we’re not bringing a body back to shore then we should take it as a win.” It was clear the older boy was laughing but his words almost manifested that scene. 

There were many times that everyone thought you and Trevor were about to throw each other off of the boat, so much so that, they genuinely wondered if they were going to have to be fishing someone out of the water. And the explosiveness of the afternoon meant that everyone assumed they were dreaming as the night actually managed to calm down.

The familiar crackle of burning wood echoed in your ears as you found yourself falling asleep as the boys voices became mere background noise “I will see you in the morning.” Luke squeezed your shoulder softly waking you up. 

Your eyes blinked as nobody else seemed to notice “is it past your bedtime grandma?” Trevor teased seeing you let out a yawn “ain’t my fault you’re boring me.” You grumbled sending him a glare. 

It made him laugh as he looked at you “we can talk about all the reasons you are going to die a-” with that you cut him off “on that note I’m going to bed.” You clapped your hands together as you saw Cole come out of the house “guys this fire is dying let’s do something in here!” He called out wanting to go back inside.

You ignored the conversation opting to follow Luke inside as you wanted to go to bed as the rest of the boys went to play pool “why are you looking at me?” Trevor asked as he sipped at his beer. 

Jack was clearly beyond irritated “because could you not just try to be nice to her for one week?” Jack felt as if he was asking a shark to walk on water “if she wasn’t such a pain then maybe I would have something nice to say to her.” Trevor shrugged as he looked down at his phone. 

The middle Hughes boy realised that he was going to have to do something to put this all to a stop. Sure you and Trevor did not have to like each other, but the least you could both do is put up with each other “I think I am going to go to bed too.” Jack announced chugging back the remainder of his beer as he finally got up. 

Cole and Alex both tried to send him protests “boys we have an early start after all.” He pointed out making the older boys go quiet. As Jack let the door shut behind him, he knew he was going to have to get to plotting if he was going to enact a plan before you left for the apartment again in five days.

After you spent your morning enjoying a lie-in as the boys went for a morning skate you got to do some of the mundane luxuries that the boys didn’t give you the time to enjoy. It wasn’t even tasks that you longed for but after a coffee in silence and a bubble bath, you finally felt as if you were ready for the day and whatever arguments that Trevor would now throw your way.

The boys were setting up for the afternoon as you walked onto the deck, Jack, Alex and Cole all seemed to have mischievous looks on their faces as they saw you “do I want to know?” You asked as you placed your hands on your hips making Jack jump away “we are just talking about possibly going for a skate tomorrow.” He was quick to send you a smile as you raised your eyebrows thinking that he was hiding something from you. 

It was clear that Jack could read your suspicion on your face as he rubbed the back of his neck “I was wondering if you could go get us some more chairs from the shed though?” The question made you nod as you placed your phone on the table in front of you “I’ll come with you.” Quinn was quick to offer as he figured you could use a hand. 

Jack raised his hand to stop his brother “you can’t!” His raised voice made you both look at him, confused “I just need to ask you a question before we start grilling.” Now, this was enough to fully distract Quinn as Jack was useless with a grill and Quinn wanted to eat edible food that night. You carried on down the grass as you didn’t mind grabbing them all yourself.

You walked into the shed wanting to find more chairs “god this place is a dump.” You let out a laugh as you ran your fingers along the dusty shelf. If you wanted to find a visual definition of organised chaos that needed a clean, it would have been this place. 

You made your way to the back of the wooden building, remembering that Jack thought Quinn was stupid for putting them in the back when they’re often used. 

Unbeknownst to you, with the further you went Trevor walked in “what are you doing in here?” He scoffed seeing you through the shelf “I came to get chairs.” You spoke in a duh tone. 

It made Trevor laugh “no Jack told me to get them.” He corrected you, as if you were the idiot for already being in there. Sounds of people walking outside made your eyes go wide “Jack!” You yelled seeing the door to the shed shut with a lock. 

Cole’s laugh could be heard from out there too “I’m sorry but you two have to talk!” Jack apologised as he looked into the window seeing a sorry look in your direction. 

Trevor hit at the door as he groaned “y’know that’s not gonna work right?” You remembered the one time when you and Luke got stuck in there when the door got jammed, a locked door you assumed would come with the same or even more difficulty “how do you know?” Trevor turned and sent you a glare. 

You sat on the floor as you had also seen that the boys also took out all of the chairs “you know the door opens towards us right?” With those words, it seemed that the boy accepted defeat. 

He sat on the opposite side of you as he sighed “so how is the boyfriend?” Trevor asked as he tried to make up some kind of conversation. 

The boy was never one to shy away from just his bad he thought your boyfriend was “broke up with him in December.” You confessed “yes you can laugh all you want about my taste, get it out now and I won’t even be mad.” You motioned to him to taunt you like he loved to do so. 

But Trevor instead frowned “thought you really liked him.” You had been with him for almost four years now so it was assumed you’d be with him for even longer “well it’s hard to like someone after you catch him in bed with the biggest pain in your ass.” You were surprised that Jack hadn’t told Trevor that your boyfriend was gone, the Hughes boy hated him too. 

Trevor placed his hand on his chest “I don’t remember sleeping with a guy.” The comment made you erupt into laughter “seriously, I think I should be hurt that I am not your number one.” He added which made you laugh even harder. 

He hadn’t been someone who ever did get to say that he got to make you laugh “I have to say that you sleeping with someone on my bed and just being irritating doesn’t make you all that bad compared to some people.” You nodded as you cringed, thinking back to that time. 

Trevor sighed as he shook his head “the look on your face when you walked in.” A smile formed on his face, remembering it like it was yesterday “I made Jack let me sleep in his bed for the rest of that trip really.” Your confession made him laugh.

The boy looked at you as he thought back to the earlier conversation “why are you still single?” His question made you furrow your eyebrows “hey if we are looking into my love life let’s look at yours too.” You knew he hadn’t had a girlfriend since the weekend you met him, four years ago. 

Trevor rolled his eyes “I have been busy with hockey, what’s your excuse?” You knew his words were bullshit, Jack had his fair share of partners whilst he was in the room across from you “I want someone who makes me feel like we are perfect for each other.” The confession made your cheeks turn red. 

The boy again let a laugh escape from his lips “I knew this was stupid.” You sighed getting up as you wanted to find another way out of there. 

God he knew he was an ass “think you’d have better luck shoving your head into one of those books of yours.” The words struggled through his giggles as his chest began to hurt “hey at least I know what I want!” You snapped, letting your hand hit the wall next to you. 

It made the boy raise his eyebrows in surprise “and I’m focusing on my career!” Trevor didn’t like how your voice got so much louder “thats bullshit and you know it!” You grumbled pointing your finger at him as he got up. 

He now towered over you “god there you go bitching again.” It seemed that a switch had been flipped as you were both back to arguing with each other “and to think I was genuinely caught up about you.” The words made you laugh as it suddenly dawned on you, just how stupid you had been. 

The words made the boy freeze, “no you weren’t.” Trevor shook his head, refusing to believe you “watching you fuck someone in my bed was actually a pretty good way to shut that one down fast.” You pushed your hair out of your face. 

He managed to make you so mad “I should have fucking hated you.” Your voice was cold as you sent him a glare.

His silence you met by turning back to the door as you wondered if there was a spare key on the shelf that Jack often left his copy of “you should.” Trevor nodded, sucking at his teeth “because I hate you.” The words made you scoff as you shook your head, ignoring him. 

But Trevor didn’t stop there as his hands formed fists “I hate you so damn much.” It was then enough for you to stop searching for that ring “look I might be stupid but I am most certainly not deaf, heard ya the first time.” You snapped wanting to turn around and hit him truthfully. 

His hand gripped at your arm, finally turning you around “I hate you so much because somethings you are all that I can think of.” Your mouth went dry as he walked closer to you, making your back push up against the shelf behind you “you’re lying.” You squeaked out letting your eyes scan his face. 

There was a level of hunger in his eyes as he let out this low growl, “you’re right.” He nodded, licking his lips “you consume my damn thoughts till there isn’t any space for anything else.” Trevor’s confession made your legs feel like they turned to jelly. 

You tried to use your strength to push him away, but Trevor counteracted it as he kissed you when his hands gripped your waist. The taste of your lipgloss was still the same on his tongue as the first time that he kissed you, “tell me you still think that I’m some pain in the ass.” His words taunted you as his lips ghosted over your neck. 

A breathy moan escaped from your lips as he forced his knee between your legs “c’mon, you think you can hurt my feelings, doll?” The hockey player sucked at your earlobe “god you are insufferable.” You scoffed making him smirk. 

Trevor tucked your hair behind your ear “there's, my sweet girl.” He mumbled, dropping his lips back down to kiss yours as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Trevor squeezed your ass, allowing him to slide his tongue into your mouth as you moaned. His cock grew hard as he picked you up, locking your legs around his waist so he could bring you away from the door. 

Unbeknownst to you both, on the deck, the boys sat “you think we should go check on them?” Jack asked as he cracked open another beer “nah it’s about time that they sort out their shit.” Alex shook his head as he looked down in the distance, not hearing any alarming noises. 

Cole sat there in agreement “besides what’s the worst thing that they could do right?” Oh if only he knew…      

[sweetchillipeppers]

Jason Todd x Reader - Teacher AU

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral!Reader

A/N: Y’all what if I actually got back into writing fics? I didn’t know I could do that. But write what you want to see. And I want to see English teacher by day, Red Hood by night Jason Todd with History teacher reader so sue me. More importantly, I want to see Damian in reader’s classroom at lunchtime bitching about his brother. I already have part two, so that will be posted soon. (And y’all get to have a look at the Red Hood!)

Also I believe this is gender neutral if anyone sees gendered language let me know and I'll fix it.

Tags: Rivals to lovers, kind of mutual pining, Teacher AU Word Count: 3368

Pt 1 Pt 2

You were warned that teaching would be just like high school all over again. The same cliques and bullies and drama that plagued the halls when you were 15, to be repeated now that you’ve returned to the school as an adult. To think that fully grown human beings are still caught up in the same scandals, doomed to the same behaviour 10 years after they should have grown out of it. You never would have believed it until you saw it yourself. Until even you devolved to your teenage years, developing a deep hatred for a fellow colleague. Okay. Hatred was a strong word for the rivalry but the dislike you held for a certain English teacher was real. And right now, he was the reason you’ve had to delay a test for your students. The email you’d received less than 10 minutes before your class was due to start did nothing but add to the rage you felt.

“10th grade English stream A2 is running over. 7 kids still need to present their projects. They’ll be late for their next class. Sorry for the delay.” 

Attached was a list of students in the class who would be late. All unsurprisingly in your history class. Mr Jason Todd had no respect for you, no respect for your time and no respect for your subject.

As the two youngest teachers at the school, you were often paired together: volunteer work, lunch duty, after school workshops. It didn’t help that your two departments, history and english, also worked closely with one another. You hated that the kids adored him. You hated that the other teachers still adored him, especially after all his flakiness. You knew that he hadn’t appeared at over half the after school volunteer work you had to do, and that he likely had an active social or dating life that was the cause, something you missed since becoming a teacher. So maybe, the hatred was all just jealousy. NOT. As if you’d be so petty.

When you first met Jason, you liked him. Like really liked him. He was pretty and smart and you are oh so attracted to competence. You trapped him in literary discussions from the Brothers York to the Odyssey but he never minded. You threw a couple joint trip ideas around to go see a local Shakespeare play after Christmas or the early 19th century writers exhibition at the museum. He was also the rugby coach and his practice on the field coincided with your volleyball team’s in the hall so twice a week you tidied the equipment cupboard together. You were so certain the two of you would be fast friends. Maybe more. So when the librarian went on paternity leave in October and Jason needed help re-cataloguing the entire library onto the new system you volunteered. A chance to spend time with someone you liked and helping out the school: a win-win. What you hadn’t expected was that what should’ve been a couple hours at most after school for a week turned into a month-long endeavour for you. Only you. Jason would stay for at most 20 minutes before running away with some kind of excuse and vanishing for the rest of the night. By the third week, you’d started cataloguing during your lunch breaks to try speed up the process (and to avoid spending any time with him while your temper simmered under pleasantries). After that you distanced yourself. He clearly had no respect for your time and you by extension. No more literary discussions in the staff room. No more joint tidies in the equipment store and no more library cataloguing. Mr Jason Todd was the most unreliable colleague you had. The bane of your existence. And yet, everyone seems to forget this fact when he flashes a smile or starts talking about classic literature. But not you. No, you could see through his gorgeous face, past those good looks into the depths of his terrible personality. And unfortunately, the only person who agreed with you was a child.

“Todd irritates me far too often. I put in a request at the start of the year that I would not be in any of his classes.” Damian states matter of factly. The two of you were sat in your classroom eating lunch. The youngest Wayne opting to spend time surrounded by history displays instead of braving the lunch hall and eating alone. And, as the teacher, it was your responsibility to encourage him to make friends. After the two of you bitch about Jason of course. 

“I wish I could put in a request to stop seeing him in the staff room. But no, he wanders in with his fancy books and his fancy teas-”

“Those would be Pennyworth’s” He confirms.

“-Flashes a smile and expects me to be nice to him after how flakey he’s been. Can you believe it?”

Damian swallows a bite of his sandwich and nods solemnly. “I can.”

“He’s incredibly unreliable. I mean how do people give him any responsibility after this?” Your arms gesturing wildly.

“Perhaps this is weaponised incompetence. I always say to Father that he is too incompetent for his job.” Damian suggests, shaking his head. “But Father says that he is one of the most competent people he knows”

It’s not too hard to be competent in front of ‘Brucie’ Wayne. But you don’t tell Damian that.

“No, he's definitely competent enough. I know he’s incredibly intelligent and I sat in for one of his classes. He clearly just has zero time management skills.”

“And he lacks respect.”

“And he lacks respect!” You shout, then realise you should probably calm down and sheepishly rub the back of your neck. Although it seems that Damian hadn’t cared about your outburst.

“I am the blood son, he should at least be respectful to the rightful heir. But no, he and Grayson make a habit of tossing me about like a basketball.”

That sounds quite sweet to you, that Damian’s older brothers treat him so nicely and the disagreement must show on your face because Damian scoffs.

“Pennyworth tells me it’s ‘Sibling Bonding’. I do not wish to think of those two imbeciles as related to me.”

“The curse of being the youngest.” you offer in response, “Although it sounds like they want to be playful with you. That they want a good relationship.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending Todd right now.”

You huff at that, changing the subject. “Maybe you should make some other friends, that way you can spend less time with your brothers. Think of it as an escape plan.”

“Are you not my friend?” 

“Um well, yes, but I meant some kids your own age.”

“Ah. Father agrees. He says that Jon is not enough. That I need more than one friend. How many friends do you have? I will achieve the same.” Damian looks determined, which means you’re at least getting through to him. You, on the other hand, feel like a deer in headlights. Honestly you can count the number of friends you have from outside work on one hand. 

“I have lots of friends.” You brag. Damian does not look convinced. “How about you aim to make two more friends? Maybe you should join a club. Ms Song says you excel in her art classes. The art club meets on Tuesday lunchtimes and after school on a Wednesday.”

“I enjoy my lunches in the history room.”

“But this would work for both of us Damian. I start lunchtime duty next week on Tuesdays. I won’t be in my classroom.” A lie, of course, but you really want Damian to make some friends and be more social amongst the other students. You’re not sure who’s timetabled for Tuesday lunchtime duty but you’ll find a way to swap. And luckily, Damian doesn’t call your bluff.

“Fine. I shall join the art club. I suppose it is only fair that I do something uncomfortable as well.”

You have no idea what Damian is talking about but he’s joining the art club so that’s a win for you. He’s putting himself out there socially and that’s all you can hope for. The bell rings and Damian packs up his things, leaving you to get ready for your next class. 

By the end of the day you were still thinking about how much you hated Jason. It’s not like he was the only thing on your mind though. In all honesty the only thing you had learnt from the earlier half of your conversation with Damian is that you were acting like a 14 year old. Not to say neither of your grievances were invalid but you suppose you should maybe give Todd slightly more grace than you do currently. Especially if he already has one enemy in Damian. You think back to the incident this morning. Maybe it really was an accident. Sometimes projects and classes over run. You have to be flexible in teaching. You gather your materials together when the bell rings and your last class rushes out the door. 

“For those of you coming on the trip on Saturday, meet outside the school bright and early!” You call, “The coach leaves at 8.30!”

You sit back down and stretch your arms out as you log into your emails, sending one to the maths teacher asking to switch to her lunchtime duty on Tuesdays. She replies yes and you smile in success. Plan ‘help Damian make friends’ has finished stage one. Wonderful! Scanning the latest reminder from your principal, someone knocks at the door, drawing your attention away. You figure it might be Janice, one of the cleaners or Alejandro the receptionist. “Come in.” you say, and turn back to your emails.

“Where’s good to start setting up?” You would recognise that grating voice in a heartbeat. Jason Todd. You swivel so fast in your chair you almost fall out of it. 

“What are you doing here?” You try to sound as neutral and as unaffected by his very presence as possible. 

“Parents' evening. We’re sharing a classroom. The email went out three weeks ago and a reminder today?” You turn back to the monitor. The last unread email. Damn. You’d agreed to share a classroom when you were still on good terms. 

“I must’ve missed it. I’m ready to start setting up right now.” You smile through gritted teeth.

You were so wrong about giving grace. That man has done nothing but step on your toes all afternoon. That display should be changed, these books should be out, example essays from each subject should have no overlap. And the worst part is that he was right on most counts. But you don’t take lightly to being ordered around by a man who does nothing but infuriate you. In less than an hour the parents will be walking into your room and judging you and the school and you again and Jason still isn’t back. He better be in the toilet having a case of explosive diarrhoea or so help him god, the principal will have to scrape his remains off the teacher car park. It’s been 20 minutes. You suppose the classroom is prepped and ready for the parents so you could just wait anxiously by yourself. You suppose nothing was tethering him here when the displays were done as long as he made it back before the parents. You suppose he wouldn’t want to spend time with someone who had become so hostile and jagged towards him. Maybe he was talking with some of the other teachers, you reasoned. He hadn’t abandoned you again. Not after the promises about turning up and being here. And certainly not after the principal’s second reminder email that seemed more like a warning. Perhaps you should go see if any other teachers needed help last minute as well. To keep your mind busy and away from the failure Jason was setting you up for. You lock your classroom and walk towards the art room.

Jason was running late again. Dick had called in an SOS and he was closest. And to make up for it he figured it wouldn’t matter if he stopped to grab a coffee for you each as a peace offering. He did enjoy your company after all. He knew that your iciness these past few weeks had been well deserved. He didn’t mean to miss all the cataloguing but it was a particularly active week for Black Mask and Penguin and then the week after that he was recovering from a stab wound he’d gotten during a routine drug bust. Getting a second job had taken some getting used to. So he could hardly blame you for your hostility. He knew he deserved it. So in order to make amends, he grabbed you a drink from the cafe two blocks from the school before he joined you in your classroom, ready for parents evening. He signed back into the office before catching a glimpse at the time. Shit. You were going to be so angry if he was late again. So he sprinted like a madman, ignoring all his very new teacher instincts about running in corridors. As Jason rushed towards your classroom he didn't notice the art room door open and you step out, waving goodbye to Ms Song. 

The apology coffee ended up all over you. Seeping through your sweater and your shirt. Your nice, white shirt, ironed and pressed for parents' evening. You take a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to-” Jason starts.

“It's okay Jason, really.” You swallow and turn to keep walking to your class. You were trying not to lose it. Not to cry or yell, when parents could walk through the door at any moment. Jason trailed behind you. When you walk into your classroom he calls your name. 

“What?” You snap. You have run out of patience and out of grace for him. He takes off his knit jumper, passing it to you.

“It’ll help cover the stain.”

“It’ll be weird though won’t it?” You question, eyebrow raised. You knew exactly what the staff room would sound like on Monday if anyone saw you. 

“Is that worse than letting the principal see you talking to parents covered in coffee?”

You don’t reply. He was right, per usual. You take the jumper, unenthusiastically and pull it on. It smells like him. Not that it would mean anything to you of course, it’s just a smell. It has absolutely zero effect on you. Jason was also not faring too well. Seeing you in his jumper was quite endearing. But it had no effect on him either. Everyone looked good in knit. Thankfully, you both hear the parents walking around the corridors and are able to break the awkwardness. 

“Ready to go?” He asks.

“People will like history way better than English.” You promise in response, looking at your display on ancient civilisations, matching your 9th grade class’s current topic. The bright colours and big posters were sure to catch everyone’s eyes.

Jason smirks, “More people like Shakespeare than you think.” He references his own display: a large, badly drawn, picture of Shakespeare with literary technique thought bubbles surrounding him. You roll your eyes, desperately trying to stop any trace of a smile. You were still angry at him. But right now, the parents need your attention.

The two of you finally finished the evening. It had been taxing, no thanks to your revived rivalry. You spent the entire evening one-upping each other to parents, as subtle as possible of course. When the principal had checked in on your pair, you were sweet as saints. No matter how much you disliked the man, even you couldn't deny how well you worked together. He apologised multiple times about the coffee. He really did feel bad about it all. The spill really was an accident. He also apologised for his flakiness, but gave no explanation as to why he had abandoned you for weeks on end. You found no reasonable explanation incredibly hard to believe. So you still didn’t trust him. 

When the final parents left and the two of you began the tedious task of tidying, you walked up to him. “Just because we’ve worked well together tonight does not mean I forgive you. I know you’ve said sorry but until you prove it I don’t believe you.” You used your teacher voice but kept it low enough that the few listening ears wouldn’t have the chance for any gossip. Jason nods, gulping. You continue to work in silence. When the two of you finished packing everything away, highly efficiently you might add, you knew you ought to talk to Jason about Damian. No matter how much his brother disliked him, you knew you needed to talk to him about Damian. You wanted his family to encourage his creativity as both an outlet and a means to relax and socialise. You casually leant against a desk and spoke up. 

“This might be too personal-” Jason perked up at your voice. “-but I was wondering if you could ask your family to encourage Damian’s art and creativity. I’m aware he doesn’t really have many friends-” Jason scoffs and you stare him down. He was a grown man. He needed to act like one.

Jason breaks the silence, “He has one friend, Jon. He lives in Metropolis. They see each other pretty regularly.” Jason shrugs. “Does he really need more?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You need to think like a teacher. Stop looking at him like your kid brother and see him as a child having trouble connecting with his peers. I want him to have someone to talk to while at school. Someone who is not me. And not you.” You add, even though you know Damian likely ignores his entire existence. “I’ve asked him to join the art club and go on Tuesday lunchtimes. I’m sure Ms Song has told you about how talented he is.”

“She hasn’t. You’re the only teacher who knows we’re related.” Jason shrugs again. His nonchalance was getting on your nerves. 

“What?”

“The school board and principal know, obviously. But we thought it would be better that his peers didn’t. We didn’t want him being accused of favouritism.” You suppose that makes sense. That could have isolated him further. Jason stepped towards you. “And you only know because of your bitching sessions.” Your eyes widen. “Yeah I know about those.” Jason taunts. 

This man. The nerve! And after you had graciously half-forgiven him. Surely Damian had not spilled the beans to his asshole brother. No. Jason probably found out by spying or some very nefarious plot. Why would he care anyway? Everyone else at this stupid school adored him. You were indulging his kid brother and helping him talk about his feelings. You were not in the wrong here. Jason was. And he was also far too close to you now. You don’t even know when he got so close. So close to one another that you could see every freckle. Every scar. Every pore on his gorgeous face. You were too close. And you knew you were flushing. You felt so hot. FROM REVITALISED LOATHING AND HATRED OF COURSE. Not from embarrassment. Or any other emotion. You steel your eyes. He would not know how much he affected you. Stupid smirking men do not get to win. You stand up straight and look him eye to eye. “Encourage Damian’s creativity. Your brother deserves more friends.” You dodge past Jason and grab your bag from under your desk. You motion for him to grab his shit. He does so and walks out, heading straight for the office to leave. Allowing you to lock up your classroom by yourself, in the empty school, not thinking about how close the two of you had been. Never thinking about his eyes or his hair or his lips. Peeling off his jumper and staring down the ugly brown coffee stain on your shirt, only thinking about the ways Jason had wronged you.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[ctrlhope]

Lily pleaseeee share your favorite ot7 hybrid fics, i can’t find any 😭😭😭😭

OMGGGG BB YOUVE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE OKIEEE I LOVE OT7 FICS REAL BAD

I’ve been reading hybrid fics p much since I started reading bts fanfics so… I can hook u up dastardly style 🤩 links under the cut <33

so before I start listing ima be so fr and say I like most of my hybrid fics verryy formulaic. i p much only ready hybrid bts x human reader and I really enjoy the whole plot of ‘y/n inherits bts and doesn’t know what to do!’ Or ‘y/n sees 7 hybrids at the shelter who need help and doesn’t know what to do!’. It feels sooo chicken noodle soup to me and it feels good for my soul <33 so I hope these fics feel like chicken noodle soup for u too and that you love them as much as I do <33

Series

Abundance ✰ @angelicyoongie

HYBRID CLASSIC FICCCC actually one of the first hybrid fics I think I ever read?? Def the first hybrid ot7 which is kinda crazy 😭 perfect chicken soup for the soul <33 probably the basis for the way I like hybrid fics I read formatted now!! you can really see how the authors writing grew with this fic. Was the fic that made me fall in love with hybrids, actually. I love all of her work so bad man [last updated: 10/4/24]

Trouvaille ✰ @spookyserenades

on my main recs list for a REASON!!! MODERN OT7 CLASSIC FIC!!! if you like the slowest of burns… you’ll enjoy this fic heavily. once again my favourite chicken-soup style so I can’t help but recommend it <33 I have… so many words id like to say about coyote jimin and hoseok… but I will remain silent for my own dignity 😔love all of her work terribly <33 [last updated: 8/17/24]

SeVen Uncaged ✰ @/missing_min_meowmeow (ao3) and @/polaritae (ao3)

two part series (first half completed, second half not) detailing the difficulties of adopting 7 hybrids reader was completely unprepared for 🙂‍↕️ YESSS MA’AM!!! LOVE LOVE LOVE!!!! I love how this fic goes into the details of how difficult mentally and physically this kind of change would be for the hybrids. I love the characterisation of each of the boys. I LOVE IT!!!! pls give this series a chance it is so definitely worth it even though it’s unfinished. A love it terribly, in its entirety. I LOVE FLAWED CHARACTERS!!! [last updated: 9/11/23]

Restitution ✰ @/cloudtea (ao3) @cloudteawrites (tumblr)

like I said I REALLY like fanfics where reader comes into a bunch of hybrids and has to deal with the consequences 😭 that being said, this has exactly everything I love in a hybrid fic, I absolutely love the concept, and the stories of where each of the guys came from before. THIS is exactly what I mean when I say a chicken soup fic— warm and comforting. Hopefully the author will come back to it someday <33 it’s so good even though it’s just the beginning [last updated: 4/19/21 — permanent hiatus]

Loving You Isn’t Hard to Learn ✰ @/arduouslove (ao3) @arduouslove (tumblr)

MANNN ITS SO WARM AND COMFORTING!!! like,, i know i keep saying chicken soup and IM SORRY BUT THATS WHAT THESE ARE FOR ME!!! I absolutely adore the concept of a motel for hybrids to go when they need help. And I really love the development we’ve seen so far between Hoseok and jimin. Another fic that was left at the beginning, but truly lovely. Another one I hope the author updates again someday <33 [last updated: 03/07/23]

Still Life ✰ @/king_myg (ao3)

OKAY NO YOU DONT UNDERSTAND THIS IS ACTUALLY LIKE,,, ONE OF MY FAVOURITE HYBRID FICS IVE READ!! The concept behind it is just so,, intriguing. It’s a yandere fic, so it has that edge to it but the way jungkook just *is* is so…. No you actually just have to read it to understand. I love this fic sooo bad actually. And Yoongi who pretends not to be a hybrid… and!! I really can’t express in words how exciting this was for me to read. I can’t wait to see how the rest of the guys relationships develop with the reader. [last updated: 5/22/24]

Home Calls the Heart ✰ @anonnie-in-wonderland

verryyy cute ot7 fic <33 the first chapter just feels very warm and soft. its adorable how tae wants to 'adopt' a human for his family even though he doesn't quite understand the repercussions of it [last updated: 12/17/22]

About love ✰ @mochiimac

One of my favourite tropes of reader coming into hybrids and them all hating each other right off the bat!! The writing style feels so safe too <33 [last updated: 04/24/3]

A Hundred Percent Human ✰ @/wrienne (ao3) @wrienne (tumblr)

Another CLASSIC ot7 hybrid fic!! I remember reading the first few chapters before I took a break from fanfics back in the day. Each of the characters (bts memebers) are so interesting and I love the personalities the author made around them as well as all the world building they did within the fic. The class system was so interesting to me and TAEHYUNG??? God, such a fun and dynamic story!! Highly recommend you check it out [last updated: 7/24/23]

Daddy’s Money Makes the World Go Round ✰ @/That_Author (ao3)

SOOO warm and comfortable. Guarddog Namjoon rlly just wants to keep the reader safe even though her parents are mean. Their relationship (as well as the rest of the guys that come into the home) is just SO sweet n gentle <3 [last updated: 10/28/22]

Oneshots

Secret Story of the Swan ✰ @purpleyoonn

one of the few yandere fics on the list and oh so sweet <33 the way they gently lure reader is so 🥺 and she gives in easily to their charms 🥺 v cute little oneshot <33 love her a lot

Beastly Gods ✰ @lemonjoonah

A CLASSICCCCCC one of the only (other) yandere fics on this list. mostly taehyung x reader w/ implied ot7 x reader ++ drabbles featuring ot7 x reader. I love this fic so much actually you don’t understand. It holds such a special place in my heart PLS READ IT!!

Tangled Hearts ✰ @writersrealmbts

Adorable look into readers life with 7 hybrids <33 truly love how this fic played out and the interactions the members had with eachother and the reader. ITS JUST REAL CUTE OKAY!!!! Makes me all soft nd gushy!! Very cute <33 i love it.

To Be Read / Currently Reading

Kindness ✰ @/angelaronin (ao3)

Stray Cat Strut ✰ @/typhloticharuspex (ao3)

Meritocracy ✰ @/saylilirose (ao3)

The Dog Days are Over ✰ @/mintedmango (ao3)

Redamancy ✰ @/dalgi_jungoo (ao3)

A Sweet Change ✰ @/kagsii (ao3)

Peculiar Pack ✰ @/dollremi (ao3)

If anyone has any reads I didn’t mention comment them or message me them!!

** I’ll update this as I read more / find more fics I’ve read in the past that I enjoyed!! By no means is it complete, these are just the fics I’ve read/reread recently nd enjoyed <33 Currently going through my tumblr likes to see if I’ve missed any <33 ✰ last updated: 01/19/25

Main Rec List | individual/poly hybrid rec list (coming soon)

[the-traveling-poet]

House-Husband’s Love

When life becomes too overwhelming, maybe even simultaneously underwhelming at times, sometimes you just need a break. Just a day off to lay around and do nothing; give your brain a chance to calm down and reset. With Levi as your partner, you can bet he would be the one to ensure you got your breaks. And some attention, of course.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x gn!Reader (relationship isn’t specified, so imagine how you prefer!)

Warnings: SFW, hurt-to-comfort kinda, themes of depression/disassociation/sensory overload, fluff ending

A/N: Needing some modern!househusband!Levi rn cause I’m nearing my breaking point again and needed to write some brain rot to completely disassociate again. I guess also to distract myself from writing my fics? I dunno man.

1.2k words

It must have been one of those days; where everything felt off-balance. Levi always saw. He could tell by just a glance your way the morning before.

Another day of feeling as though every sight before you became dull and muted in appearance. Unnoticeable, nearly, while you disassociated. And yet somehow, all at once, the more noticeable everything became, making you paranoid and panicked.

He could figure out your tell-tale signs well enough by now, from his own curious observations over time. Occasionally, after some time of letting you sort it out yourself, he’d talked it over once or twice with you. He’d asked you how exactly you felt on days like these; days where your eyes stayed wide and brows raised in an expression of alertness, even as your jaw clenched and hands shook, your eyes glazed over as you kept yourself in near constant motion. He knew the signs, and what they meant.

You were spiraling again. Sensory overload, dissociation…He hadn’t seen it so bad in you before.

Always moving, always forcing yourself to focus no matter how shallow it made your breath...He hated seeing you in such a state, when you wanted to focus on anything but your own thoughts.

Sometimes these moments lasted a few hours, sometimes even just one. But often, they progressed into days of forced hyper focus and constant activity to draw yourself away from your own mind, busying it with tasks and work.

But this time…this time, it had been weeks.

It hurt him to see you so stressed, no matter the situation.

And so, one such morning, following another rough night, he took the liberty of disengaging your alarm for the morning. The simple press of a button, he hoped, would keep you asleep for just a tad longer. Your mind needed the rest of a couple more hours, he reasoned.

After only a second’s hesitation in which he still held your phone, he also sent a quick email to your employer; some excuse about being unwell enough to not clock in today, and warning about a possible similar hinderance for the following day.

'If you need more information, feel free to message my emergency contact, as he's looking after me today while I recover.'

He sent the email, slightly smirking to himself as he turned your phone off and set it back onto the nightstand.

He would handle it for you, as much as he could.

Pulling the covers up over your shoulder, Levi slid out of the bed soundlessly.

With you still soundly asleep, he went about tidying up what he could around the apartment, keeping any noise to a minimum to ensure you stayed asleep.

'A clean space helps clear the mind,' he'd always believed, and as such he wanted to provide you with such a fresh start today. Whenever you chose to wake up, that is. He wouldn’t enforce it today.

It wasn't until late morning he heard movement from the bedroom, your weight shifting over the creaking bed as you stumbled out in a panic moments later.

"My alarm, I must not have set it-" You'd started, obviously anxious as you raced to throw on a new top and a pair of jeans.

Before you could get to slip anything off, Levi’s hand found your shoulder, softly holding you in place.

"Don't worry about it, love. You have today off. Maybe even tomorrow, unless I get a call."

He mumbled, gently taking a jacket from your shaking hands.

You stared up at him blankly for a moment, completely in disbelief.

"...It's Wednesday. I work a 9-5, babe...I'm not off today; it's not a holiday." You tried to protest weakly, but once again were silenced by a slender finger against your lips.

"I know. I called off for you, though. Besides, the shift started three hours ago, so there's no need to bother going in now. Just take a seat, breakfast is half done."

Still regarding him in complete bewilderment, you hesitantly took a seat on the couch and watched him meander back towards the kitchen, returning his attention back to the stove. It was only then you noticed the array of pans neatly set on the hot surface, and the toaster on the counter already slotted with bread. The smell of frying foods wafting over to you, causing your stomach to protest weakly.

When was the last time you’d focused on a full meal, instead of eating a few small bites here and there throughout the day?

It wasn't long until he'd plated the meal, and brought you a plate with a cup of tea to pair it. Once you were settled in with your plate and utensils, he sat down on the couch beside you with his one of his own. He'd never been fond of eating on the couch, you knew, so this must be a 'special occasion' of sorts.

"...Why?" You eventually mumbled between bites of toast and sips of tea, digging in the moment he’d sat.

He swallowed the bite of scrambled eggs from his own plate before answering, a napkin already in hand to wipe away any invisible cooking greased from his lips.

"You're stressed out, baby. I've seen it for several days now. Relaxing evenings after work weren't doing it, so I wanted to give you a full day's worth, instead."

"...I'm fine. Life is just rough sometimes-"

You'd started, setting down your mug to weakly protest his concerns; but he easily held a hand over your wrist, lowering the warm beverage from your lips.

"Then isn't it my job to try and make life a little less strenuous? One day off won't kill you, and won't impact the income too greatly. We can manage; but your mental health can’t, not like this.”

He sighed, setting your mug down onto the coffee table for you.

“Just relax, yeah? Relax, and let me handle today for you. It’s the least I can do, for all that you always do.”

Huffing quietly in muted amusement, you smiled his way, eyes welling with unshed tears. Tears of silent relief.

“…I haven’t had a work day off in ages, maybe months. Two days a week are nice, but…”

“…But not enough sometimes. I know sweetheart. I know. I can see it in you. So just relax today. We don’t have to be productive every day.” Levi reassured softly, keeping his hand around yours.

“Hell, I’ll bully your boss into giving you another day off-“

“Levi I need this job, you can’t,” you giggled, leaning against his side and curling up onto the couch.

“…But thank you, my love. I think I needed this,” you finished in a whisper, briefly closing your eyes.

“I know you did.” Levi stated calmly, running his free hand’s fingers through your hair.

“Just rest…I’ve got everything else. I’ll deal with it for you.”

(A/N: I’m a whore for the idea of Levi calling us ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart’ leave me alONE-)

[sheepscot]

You know a fandoms gotten to you when you dream up a fic: In dream I loaded my Danny phantom DVD and saw a new episode? One I hadn't watched before and selected it.

It starts with Batman sitting in the back of a theater waiting for whatever it is to start, people around asking him why's he hear in this rinky-dink town? And Batmans like "what, a man can't enjoy a night without it getting interrupted by villains?" And people accept this

But then we learn the real reason is when the screen rolls down and a silent film starts playing with Cassandra Wayne playing the heroine. Cass who had been kidnapped by magical means.

Guess who plays the leading man? Danny Fenton. But notice how I didn't call him the hero- that's because this story is a tragedy where the girl is ripped away from the young man by a vampire villainess (played by the irl kidnapper) and is haunted by his failure.

For some reason this story is split into a trilogy and played over a week cause after the first show Casper high and the rest of Amity Park (where this is taking place) are obsessed (like Ember McLain levels obsessed)

And for some weird reason outside of the silent film trilogy my dream was a musical? Like all the kids are getting to school and having a musical number about how great and amazing the silent movie was. Dash Baxter specifically sings that he chose a grayscale outfit because of how cool the movie is.

Danny manages to astral project himself to Sam and Tucker and explain that it's a ghost that's done this, like the ghost writer but for film. And that his body is trapped in a ghost lair film studio where the story is actually being filmed live when the audience sees it so the only way to save him and Cass is to mess up the ghost directors story so could they please save them? Because the story has Cass get turned into a vampire by the villainess and Danny really doesn't want to find out if the vampirism sticks after the story is done.

Sam is like "I volunteer as tribute"

Danny protests like "I know it's your dream to be a goth vampire but the story also continues to follows me as an 80 year old man being depressed about losing the young love I once had and being confronted by said lost love being a vampire. Please just get the specter speeder and the boo-merang and save us!" Because Danny's body gets locked into the roll of tragic lead once the cameras start rolling

And then I woke up (⁠ノ⁠ಠ���益⁠ಠ⁠)⁠ノ⁠彡⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

So I imagine how the story ends is with Batman teaming up with Sam and Tucker to go into the ghost zone and save the day. But how? And does Sam get her dream of becoming a vampire?

I might continue to work out the ending and write the fic

[umamaki]

ELECTRIC TOUCH

caleb's hurting, and the only thing he needs your help with is distracting him from his pain.

l&ds caleb x reader

CW BIONIC CALEB SEX, female reader, explicit smut, porn with plot, lowkey angsty lol, he’s in pain, handjob, accidental orgasm denial lol, language, fingering with bionic arm, spanking with bionic arm, lowkey temperature play, not fisting but we get close, praise, pet names, squirting, p in v, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, playing with squirt idk, lmk what i miss, proofread once. wc 2.2k

NOTE almost died twice but here it is. thank you transformers fanfic for preparing me for this exact moment. somewhat. i started this an hour after the trailer came out so it’s very inspired but with some creative liberties 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕. i hope this fic is ok idk idk idkkk. ambivalent towards the plot bc i needed something to lead up to the smut and give it some SUBSTANCE. n idk anything about science robotics engineering. those are all just words to me. something about calebmc that makes me put some sort of angst into everything i write for them. making him right handed so then he can’t jork it without ur help 🥹lol jork it

gif divider

Caleb’s temperament had always brought out the concern in you. Something’s changed recently; gradually, but surely. He’s always tired, but also always restless. He’s neither quite enthusiastic, nor ever snappy towards you. You aren’t able to pinpoint the moment that the shift occurred. 

So naturally, you’re concerned when you find out he’s now in the hospital for some repair. Some malfunction or breakdown? Unusual, but worrying nonetheless. You knew anything was possible with the Farspace Fleet. 

You find yourself before an abandoned—perhaps repurposed, warehouse. The lot was empty save for stacked cargo bins, and there wasn’t any visible light coming from inside. No signs of life. Anyone else with half a mind would turn away for their own safety, but you aren’t thinking about yourself right now; it was caleb who is in need, he’s the reason you’re here and the reason you advance further into the property. 

You nearly miss the small door around the back of the building. It blends into the wall, clearly not meant to be noticed by a regular person. Whatever was going on here was private, illegal even. It’s unlocked, the door effortlessly swings open when you push down the handle. You wonder if it’s a trap. But no one greets you when you step inside, you only come face to face with what seems to be dozens of projects involving heavy machinery and tools that you can’t quite name. The smell of burnt metal stings your nose. 

There’s something different about the air in here; your gut is telling you that Caleb is close, it’s a feeling you can’t ignore. You proceed down a corridor, the cold concrete walls keeping you company, though unwelcoming. You’re cautious for anything lurking around, but there’s no feeling of being watched. So far, the place is empty. 

And then you hear it, a hiss of pain followed by a low curse.

“Caleb?” 

You pull back the curtain separating you and the sight is otherworldly, almost monstrous, had it not been on the boy you attach all your childhood memories to. He looks all jacked up, which is worrying in itself, but you were more so focused on the piece of biotechnology that was there in place of his entire right arm. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” He speaks with his back to you, but the pain in his voice is unmistakable; you don’t need to see his face to know how he was feeling. You’re speechless, confused, but most of all scared for him. “But you’ve already come, it’s not safe to go back alone, but… I didn’t mean to hide it from you. I swear I—”

“Does it hurt?” You interrupt. You interrupt him because his explanation means less to you than his well-being. You’re already at his bedside when his head follows the sound of your voice, you lock eyes, then lower yours to take in the image of the man before you. 

He spares a small smile, you were always so worried for him. “No, I barely feel anything, really. It doesn’t hurt more than it’s unfamiliar.”

It isn’t sincere. He’s reassuring you and telling you that he’s fine but here he is sitting alone on a warehouse cot, covered in bruises and bandages and only then do you see it for what it is. Because if it’s not physically, which you know it is, then he has to be hurting emotionally. A part of your heart breaks for him; you can’t help but let tears blur your vision. It’s not that you pity him, but it’s as if his pain is becoming yours too. 

“Oh, Caleb.”

“C’mere, baby.” He pulls you onto his lap and lets you cry into his left shoulder, holding you close with that same arm. You stay there for a while, listening to the beat of his heart and matching your breathing to his. “I can’t feel you anymore, you know, not from my right side.” The words tug at your heartstrings. He flexes his fingers as if testing them for the first time. He feels nothing.

You pick up the dog tags resting on his chest and press them onto his heart. The warmth from his body transfers to the metal charms and then to where your fingers still pressed on them. He shakes his head.

“I need you, all of you. It’s useless,” he’s weak with desire and it kills him that he can’t do anything about it. 

You place both palms on his cheeks and press your lips hard onto his, “you feel me now, Caleb?” He only nods in response, his pupils are blown wide and he’s turned into putty in your hold. Your fingers lightly travel across the expanse of his exposed chest, drawing out goosebumps from his skin. You pause where his skin meets the waistband of his pants. “How about this?”

He hisses, and it’s different from before. Pleasure has replaced the discomfort he once felt. “Yeah, baby. Keep going just like that, don’t stop.”

You slot your lips to his again, this time with intense passion. His left hand makes its way underneath your shirt to hold the curve of your waist, keeping you close, while his right hand goes to free the tent in his pants. He gives his hard cock a few pumps with the hand to temporarily relieve the ache, but eventually gives up, a groan of discomfort slips from his mouth and into yours. 

You look down at his neglected boner and put the pieces together. “Lemme help,” without waiting for his response, your thumb begins to spread his leaking precum around the tip of his dick.

His hips instinctually jerk up into your hand and he chokes on his spit. “D’tease me, darling, please. I’m weak n vulnerable. S’basically torture,” he begs, his brain is malfunctioning, only filled with the thought of your hands on his length. 

Even in his most painful moments he manages to be insufferable. Okay, maybe you’ll allow it just this one time. Your fingers wrap around his heavy cock, jacking him off the same way you know he likes it. 

“That’s good. Hahh—feels s’good, fuck,” you both continue your pace, him rutting uncontrollably into your palm and your hand sliding along his length. 

��Still don’t hurt?”

“Only hurts when you stop,” his moans echo around the concrete room, he’s not holding back at all, showing you exactly how good you’re making him feel. His dick twitches in your hand as he gets closer to his release; you don’t plan on stopping. 

Then suddenly, a loud whirring noise followed by screeching metal from behind him interrupts the symphony of moans. You immediately pull away and jolt backwards, startled, eyes wide out of fear that you hurt him, took it too far. Though, he catches you before you fall. 

Orgasm denied, the unexpected loss of contact makes him whimper, but nonetheless he comforts you. “Hey hey, look at me. You’re okay, baby. I’m okay, see?” He bends his bionic arm, faking another smile.

But it’s not okay, you realize. You’re not used to this and you were too caught up in the moment. You know he’s hiding his own fear to protect you, console you. He shouldn’t have to. This shouldn’t be your shared reality. 

“S’not okay, Caleb. Don’t like it one bit.” You begin to pout again, eyes welling up. 

“I know baby, I know.” His hands grip your waist, thumbs massaging circles on your stomach, “I’ll make it better, promise. Here,” his mechanical fingers rub the wetness between your legs and you moan his name. The appendages are rock solid as they press harder against your clothed cunt, providing you with some much needed friction. You hold onto his shoulders to not fall; your knees are planted beside each of his thighs but in this moment you feel like your legs are made of jelly.

“Can’t even feel how wet you are, what a shame.” Your pants and underwear are pulled down simultaneously with a single tug, exposing your soaked cunt to face. “What a pretty little thing you’re hiding, hm? Gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod. He starts slow, inserting only a single digit into your hole. It’s cold, intrusive, but not unwelcome. The smooth metal strokes your walls from the inside, eliciting more sweet sounding moans from your lips. He soon adds another finger into you, and another, filling you up to the brim with the artificial appendages. 

“Mmpf—s’too much,” you wriggle in Caleb’s hold but he keeps you still with the strength of his left arm. 

He clicks his tongue in disapproval and your eyes fly open to meet his. It contrasts the praise you were receiving only moments before, and this felt like a step back. You want to make him proud again, “tsk, you can handle one more, can’t you?” 

So you agree. You agree even when all four of his fingers are fully inserted and you don’t think you’ll be able to stretch to accommodate anything else. You’re out of breath from the arduous feat, using all of your restraint to not clench down on his tendrils. 

He plants a soft kiss on your forehead. “There you go. Good girl. Knew you could.” Slowly he slides his fingers out, then back inside. “You like this?” Yes, “want me to stop?” No.

Caleb easily reaches your g spot, assaulting your sensitive spot over and over. He alternates between fast and slow, teasing you, slowing down when you’re feeling good and speeding up again only once you’ve already adjusted to the tempo. You feel the coils in your stomach tighten, his steel thumb catches onto your clit, stimulating you to the extreme. 

“Caleb—haah, gunna come,” you mewl in between pants. 

He sets brutal momentum. “Yeah? Come for me baby, come on my fingers. That’s it.” He reconnects his mouth to yours and that’s all it takes.

Your climax crashes over you; you convulse around him and his fingers, screaming out in pleasure. You allow your body to fully relax as he finger-fucks you through your orgasm. You don’t even notice the clear liquid gushing from your pussy until you hear it, squelching flesh on flesh. You look down. Caleb’s hand and his entire lap is covered in your slick but he’s smiling. He thinks it made him even harder. 

Both of you stare at the squirt-covered mechanism on his arm. Neither knowing if the threat of electrocution will arise. Answer seems to be no.

Hes out of breath and looking at you like you’re his world, “holy shit, baby. That was fucking hot. Think you can do that again? Squirt on my cock like that?”

“Still so sensitive,” and it’s true, you were, but aroused more than anything, “gonna try, though.”

“Atta girl. C’mere.” He scoots back on the cot so you’ll be able to sit on his lap comfortably. You take his dick and sheathing it smoothly to the hilt, still stretched out from his fingers. The feeling of him being completely inside evokes synchronous moans from the both of you. 

Both his hands find their place on your ass, beginning to move you up and down. You let him maneuver you, using his biceps to steady yourself. It doesn’t take long until you feel the heat pooling in your lower stomach again. This time he feels it too, the way your pussy clenches around his cock, the way your heat grows increasingly hotter. He runs a cold metallic finger down your spine, soothing you in the process.

“Come f’me darlin’, squirt all over my cock like you just did on my fingers. Do it.” You whimper at the authoritative tone in his voice and follow his command nonetheless, coming undone to his relentless stamina. Your second round of squirt spills onto the floor and ruins the sheets but Caleb doesn’t care, he’s preoccupied with chasing his own high. 

“Caleb, Caleb, Caleb,” his name repeats from your mouth like a mantra, the only word in your vocabulary, it seems.

“Good. Fucking. Girl.” He grunts in your ear, each thrust serving as punctuation. 

Your essence mixes with his when he finally fills you with his sticky load, keeping his cock snug inside. You’re absolutely spent, post-orgasmic eyes lidded and you rest your forehead on his bare shoulder. 

“Did it work?” You mumble using all the effort you had left.

“Hm? Did what work, love?” He’s spaced out, but still listening, gliding his hand along your spine.

“It distract you enough? Doesn’t hurt anymore?”

His attention comes back when he hears you utter the words. Ah, that.

With his right hand he scoops up a combination of your squirt and his cum. You yelp when he slaps it across your ass; the wet slick reduces friction had the bionic hand been dry. It’s less painful, but you’re already expecting bruises in the morning. He hisses when you instinctually clench down on him. He spanks you again, anyway.

“Nah, I think the pain is already starting to come back. Down for a few more rounds?”

ok thank you for reading. this is the most insane thing i've written. not my proudest work n itd be better if i had another day to think over it but i have never been a patient person. that’s not me excusing anything btw i take all responsibility for this mostrosity

[bitchface24-7]

Also I feel like you’ve had that Silco fic ready for a while- I sent that ask, took a nap and woke up to a fic. BUT ITS SKYVIK X READER TIME! Sky and reader are besties (and they were roommates..) and one day they go to each other and are both super blushy and excited. Both talking about cute interactions they’ve had with their mystery crush. Finding it too much of a coincidence they expose the fact that they had been crushing on the same man for weeks. Both of them have been receiving hints of affection and romantic interest from Viktor. Both confused and kind pissed off thinking they're getting led on. Only to confront Viktor and find out that he is aware of what he’s been doing and he stands by it. (He’s got two hands LMAO) Could it be spicy? Jaybe. Jaybe not. Up to you girly- ALSO DON'T WORRY! TAKE YOUR TIME!!!! I’ll be sitting here looking pretty. :333

I’VE GOT TWO HANDS FOR A REASON - SKYVIK X READER

synopsis: you and your best friend Sky have always had each other's backs, especially in the department of love. You two are as close as can be (maybe even too close some might say), and you both have a crush on someone; finally! Except… he's starting to sound familiar. Very familiar…

warnings: sky and R come to the conclusion they both have a crush on Viktor and Viktor’s been flirting with both of them, irritation, slight miscommunication (S and R think V is playing them, he's not), feelings realization for S and R, getting together, smut, oral sex (m receiving), Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f/f or m/m/f

p.s. Yay, a Skyvik request!! My poor baby is slept on and deserves love. So, she'll be getting double the amount here (and in another request 😏😏) hope y'all enjoy!

p.p.s regarding the Silco fic, I came up with it on the spot after reading your request and speed-wrote it LMAO; that's how the requests go typically. Or I write the top portion before the first divider, save it, and come back to it when inspiration strikes me when I re-read it, and write the whole fic and post it 😭😭

You and Sky, your roommate and best friend are sitting in the living room, gushing over your crushes. But as the conversation goes on, the both of you start to have a startling realization.

You both have a crush on the same man, and he's flirting with the both of you.

"He's so handsome, the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. Like molten gold."

"His accent is addictive. He could read a dictionary and it'd sound hot."

"He's sweet--"

"He's sarcastic--"

"He's--"

The two of you glance at each other. Sky is nervously fixing her glasses and you furrow your eyebrows. "Sky... I think we're talking about the same man."

Sky sighs as she slouches against the back of the couch, "I do too." You shake your head in frustration, "Say his name at the same time?"

Sky nods and the two of you simultaneously count down from 3... 2... 1...

"Viktor."

The both of you look to each other in shock, then despair, then irritation. Who does Viktor think he is?! He's been toying with both of you, playing you two like toys! You feel like a fool, a loser. You keep ranting as you pace back and forth, Sky just sits on the couch; dejected.

"He's not getting away with this! Sky, c'mon, we're going to the lab." You firmly sate, grabbing her wrist gently and ushering yourselves out of your home. She's flustered but follows you, just as irritated as you are.

Viktor's just caused a hurricane, and it's rapidly coming towards him.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Viktor is casually working in the lab in silence. Jayce has a council meeting, and you and Sky have gone home hours ago. It's late at night; and Viktor is enjoying the peace.

He thinks of you two, how attractive the both of you are. How receptive you two are to his words, his touches, his glances. Sky gets shy, flustered. But preens under his attention and praise.

You on the other hand bite back, make flirty remarks, and perfectly timed innuendos. He adores the two of you. He doesn't expect the both of you to barge into the lab and break his peace.

Speak of the devil and they shall appear.

Viktor jolts at the shout of his name, he turns in his chair removing his eye-protection and stares dumbly at the two of you. You look angry, Sky looks upset, and Viktor knows he's messed up.

"You're awful, you know that?! Flirting with both Sky and I, toying around with our feelings! Do you even like us?!" Your voice is firm, sharp as steel. Sky just looks dejected, her eyes red with unshed tears.

Viktor's fucked up. Badly. He needs to fix this, STAT.

"I do. I adore both of you, so I showed my interest. I was going to tell both of you later this week but... it looks like you both came to a conclusion. A wrong one, but a conclusion none the less."

Your anger seeps away and confusion is left in its place. Sky looks curious, her dejected face long gone.

Sky's voice is quiet, but curious, "You like... both of us? Isn't that odd?"

A light laugh escapes you as you glance at your best friend, "This is a good thing Sky! We both have a shot! And--" Viktor cuts you off, his voice low and rumbly, "I have two hands."

Both you and Sky startle, the both of you flustering at Viktor's words and tone. He's... a very handsome man, and his tone of voice and look he's shooting you two is amplifying it.

He continues on, unfazed, "Besides, I thought we were all on the same page. I thought you two were together; and you we're trying to add me into your relationship."

Sky sputters a bit and your face morphs into a contemplative look, "I can see why he thought that." Sky whips around to look at you, her doe eyes wide in shock, "You can?!"

You nod, "I can. Sky be honest, we don't act like friends. Not really. We live together, cook together, typically share the same bed at night, are constantly with each other and touching each other. We have even showered together. Or have been in the bathroom getting ready, or just sitting on the toilet talking while the other bathes. That's not friend-like behavior Sky. We're essentially unofficially dating."

Sky looks dumbfounded as you and Viktor chuckle. That's... no. Well? Is it? Sky re-evaluates your relationship and realizes-- yeah. You two are dating.

Sky groans in embarrassment as you kiss her red cheek. Viktor laughs as Sky shoots him an unimpressed look. "The two of you are so bad at emotions." Sky and Viktor look at you, "Am not!" The two look to each other, they didn't mean to say that at the same time."

You laugh, "So... now that we're both on the same page; what do we do now?" Your two scientists look to one another and grin, "I have a good idea." Viktor states as he looks darkly at the two of you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The three of you make your way to the lab couch, Viktor sits down as he watches you and Sky kiss. The two of you are so beautiful, he can't imagine he made it this far.

This is one of his main fantasies.

The two of you pull apart and rush Viktor, the poor man startled at the the enthusiasm. You both take one side of the pretty man, kissing all over his face and pulling his face each way to properly kiss his lips. The man sits there panting in shock.

You unbutton his shirt and both you and Sky continue your assault of kisses and nips on Viktor's body, eventually making your way to his belt.

The two of you now on your knees in front of him, looking up with big pleading eyes makes him groan, his head going back in lust. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

"Yes. Please. Fuck, take it off."

You and Sky beam a grin up at him as you both go for his belt buckle, undoing it, and pulling his pants down. His cock bounces lightly as his boxers got caught on his cock due to your eagerness.

It's pretty in all honesty. Neatly groomed, about six or seven inches in length, a good girth, a pretty pink head. Fuck it's perfect, it's actually quite big in your opinion.

Sky bites her lip and you wrap a hand around the base, "Where've you been hiding this beast, huh?"

A moan in what you get in return, "My pants." You roll your eyes and lick the tip, Viktor's hips jolt. You rub your hand up and down the base as you angle his cock to Sky, "You wanna?"

"Fuck yeah." Both you and Viktor jolt at the swear coming off of Sky's lips. You've never heard her swear before. Sky sucks the tip into her mouth and you remove your hand from the base, putting your lips there instead as you kiss the side of his cock.

Viktor just sits there, his eyes wide as he blinks in shock and whines. Fuck, he's so overwhelmed he doesn't know what to focus on; his mind is silent for once.

The two of you switch positions every so often, you even suck his balls into your mouth at one point. Viktor just gets louder and louder in his pleasure. You two are gonna kill him one day.

A loud moan escapes his pretty lips, "I-- I-- I'm going to cum. Fuck! I'm going to cum!"

A few bursts of cum enter your mouth as you whine, Sky continues to pump his cock to prolong his orgasm. When Viktor whines in overstimulation, you and Sky stop your pleasure and pull away from the panting man. You pull Sky into a kiss and push some cum into her mouth. The two of you kiss passionately, full of filth as Viktor just looks at the two of you.

He pulls himself together, putting himself back into his pants, zipping them up, and re-buttoning his shirt, "You two are filthy. No one would ever expect that."

The two of you go back to sit on the couch, the both of you kissing his cheek. His face squishes a bit due to the force.

"We're only filthy for you Viktor. Only for you."

Viktor's called it. You two are going to kill him one day.

RAHHHHHH!!! I'm so proud of this, I hope all y'all enjoyed watching Viktor get overwhelmed with pleasure ❤️❤️

[jetii]

Light in the Dark

Pairing: Hound x fem!Reader

Words: 13,250

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, hurt/comfort, coworkers/friends to lovers, black cat/golden retriever dynamic, reader is a medical examiner so there's some gore/corpse talk, anxious/insecure reader, we love men who respect boundaries, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f recieving), biting/marking

Summary: On a bustling planet like Coruscant, you enjoy the comfort and solitude of your profession, even though it can be lonely. The only one who can't seem to let you be alone is Hound.

A/N: First fic back after my little break from one-shots! I've been kind of trapped in a rut with life stuff and struggling to adopt the "write for yourself and not for others" mindset, and this is the first fic in a while I wrote truly just bc I wanted to and it felt good. Hope you enjoy!

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

Coruscant has never been your favorite place. It's not the people, though they are numerous and can be rather rude, or the architecture, though it is both imposing and suffocating. No, you’ve decided, the reason that you hate Coruscant is the fact that it is so damn bright all the time.

A hundred sunrises are reflected by a hundred different buildings, a hundred sunsets by a hundred more, and even when the clouds are thick enough to obscure the sky, the city still glows with an unnatural, garish light that’s almost impossible to adjust to.

It's why you prefer to spend your time in the lower levels of the planet-wide metropolis, where the shadows are as thick and comforting as the air is stale and the smells are unpleasant. You don't care. The neon signs, the advertisements, and the glow of the holonet broadcasts keep the streets and walkways lit well enough for you to see what's in front of you. The dimness suits your mood better than the glaring brightness of the upper levels.

It's also why you found yourself in perhaps the most undesirable profession on the entire planet, despite the fact that your talents could have seen you gain a much better one. When the only place you're comfortable is in the quiet dark, why not work there, too?

Being a medical examiner might not seem like a glamorous job, but there are days when it's better than having to deal with living patients or, Force forbid, their family members. In the end, the dead don't judge. They also can't complain. It's a win-win situation.

It's nice. On a planet where you have no space, no quiet, no solitude, you're grateful for the morgue and its constant stream of silence and stillness. You don't need to be around others when they're alive, anyway. They just make things complicated.

Most of the time, you're left alone to your own devices. No one's eager to hang out with the corpse doctor in the basement of Coruscant Guard precinct. That's fine. You like your solitude, your peace and quiet, your personal space. 

And the only problem, the only disruption, is Hound, who also happens to enjoy your personal space.

The clone is... odd. He's tall and broad, his skin a rich, earthy brown and his hair a dark, curly mass that always looks unruly. It's hard to believe that he's a member of the Republic's military, what with his lopsided smile and easygoing manner, but you've seen him in action. He's fast and deadly, with a calm, steady gaze that is belied by the manic gleam in his eyes.

And he likes you.

You aren't sure why. It's not as if you're particularly friendly, or that you've gone out of your way to befriend him. In fact, you're pretty sure that your attitude toward him has been less than warm. You aren't sure how it happened, but you're fairly certain it started the first time he'd visited the morgue.

There's a door at the top of the stairs that leads directly into the lab, a metal slab that swings open with the slightest touch, and he'd stepped inside, glanced around, and flashed a crooked smile that made your stomach flip-flop. It had taken him less than a minute to locate you, and the next thing you knew, he was standing beside you, watching you work.

At the time, you'd barely spared him a glance. He was a new face, and not one you were interested in looking at. There were things that needed doing. Reports that needed writing. A body on the table that needed cutting open and dissecting. All of those were more important than a stranger, and so you'd ignored him until he spoke.

"What are you doing?"

You'd answered without looking at him, your hands deep in the cadaver's abdominal cavity, your fingers wrapped around a lung. "My job."

"You're the new M.E.?"

"No, I'm a serial killer who's pretending to be a medical examiner so that I can have access to the morgue."

He’d laughed. You didn't. It had been a long day, and you weren't in the mood to deal with some joker who didn't have the sense not to interrupt a forensic pathologist while she's in the middle of an autopsy. 

Your answer had apparently been the right one, though, because he'd nodded and said, "Good. The last one was an idiot."

You'd blinked at that, your head slowly turning to look at him. It wasn't a joke. He was serious. You'd had to swallow the smile that threatened to surface, and instead gave him a cool, polite nod. 

"That's good to know."

You'd returned to the autopsy then, but not before seeing the way his eyes had lit up. Not before seeing the spark of interest, the challenge, the interest. It wasn't the kind of attention you wanted, and it certainly wasn't the kind of attention you expected to keep. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, he kept coming back, and somehow, you'd found yourself looking forward to his visits.

That had been a year ago. A year, and every few days, he was back.

You're in the middle of the autopsy of a man who was found dead in an alley when you hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind you. You don't have to look up to know that it's Hound, because his gait is unique to him. He walks heavy and fast, not because he's in a hurry, but because he's too large and too solid to do anything else.

Biting back a sigh, you look up. 

"I thought I told you I'm busy today."

"Hello to you too," Hound laughs. He's still peeking around the doorway, watching you, his head tilted to the side. He looks like an excited puppy. Fitting for his namesake, and, unfortunately, quite endearing. "Can I come down?"

You set your scalpel down and give him an exasperated look. "Since when have you ever asked?"

"Since you told me to," he replies as he pulls off his helmet and fixes you with a grin so blinding, you nearly flinch. Against your will, a flutter of butterflies rises up in a wave in your stomach, and you look away from him to try and hide your blush.

"I did?" you ask. You think back to your conversations with him. Had you asked him not to barge into your workplace and distract you with his... Hound-ness? You honestly can't remember. "Huh."

"So can I come down or not?" 

He's still grinning, and he's still standing half-in, half-out of the doorway. His dark eyes are fixed on you, and there's no denying the excitement in them.

You pause, both to gather your thoughts and to make it seem like you're deliberating. You don't need another distraction right now. You really, really don't. But the longer you hold out, the more his eyes light up and the wider his smile gets, and, damn it, you can't help it.

"Where is she?" you ask instead, pulling off your gloves and crossing your arms in front of your chest.

Hound gives a dramatic sigh and steps aside, and Grizzer comes bounding down the stairs straight for you. Her nails scrape and clack against the floor as she skids to a stop at your feet, and before you can even kneel down, she's on her side with her legs kicking in the air, tongue lolling out of her mouth full of dagger-sharp teeth. She's begging you for belly rubs, and how are you supposed to deny that?

"What am I, chopped liver?" Hound asks, sounding put out.

You look up at him, one hand scratching the spot under Grizzer's chin that makes her leg twitch, and raise a brow. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, his helmet dangling from his fingertips, and his hair is wild and curling from being confined for so long.

"You aren't here for a belly rub," you reply, and a flush rises up on his cheeks. You bite back a smile. "Or are you?"

"No, but I wouldn't mind one."

His grin is back, and you roll your eyes.

"Get out of my lab," you order, pushing Grizzer's shoulder gently until she rolls over onto her feet and stands, panting happily. 

"But I brought you lunch!" Hound protests.

"You did?" 

Your eyebrows raise in surprise as you glance up at him, then at the paper bag in his hand. You hadn't expected that, and it throws you off a bit. You'd assumed he'd come down here because he was bored. And you weren't entirely sure how he'd managed to afford food for the two of you on the Guard's budget, either.

Your confusion must show on your face, because he laughs. 

"Grizzer and I saved a tooka from a high-rise balcony today," he explains. "The guy owned a restaurant and gave us lunch in thanks. I thought you'd be hungry, so..."

His sentence trails off, and he looks suddenly unsure of himself, as if he's made a mistake. Your heart flutters and then does a double-take, and the warmth in your cheeks spreads down your neck. He'd bought lunch for you? How is this the same man who had been so obnoxious and annoying the first time you'd met him? How is it possible that he's still here, still trying, when you're convinced you haven't given him an inch of encouragement?

You quickly stand and reach out to take the bag from him. You don't miss the way his eyes widen slightly at the gesture, and his fingers brush against yours as you take the food.

"Thanks, Hound," you mutter. You muster a small smile for him, and you're rewarded by the sight of a blush creeping down his neck and the tips of his ears. "That was really thoughtful of you."

He shrugs and looks away, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "Yeah, well, it's not a big deal or anything."

It is a big deal, though, and the realization settles over the two of you like a blanket. It's not often that someone goes out of their way to do something nice for you. You can count on one hand the number of people who've done so since you moved to Coruscant, and Hound is at the top of that list.

"Anyway, we've got the afternoon off, so I thought I'd swing by and see what you're doing," he continues. He's clearly eager to change the subject, and you can't blame him. This whole situation has suddenly become awkward.

"Well, right now, I'm in the middle of an autopsy," you say, gesturing vaguely at the dead man lying on the table between you. Hound leans over and takes a long look at him, then wrinkles his nose.

"He smells bad."

You roll your eyes.

"Dead people tend to," you point out, and he laughs.

"I noticed." He gives the cadaver a long, hard stare, and after a moment, says, "Stabbed in the back."

"I haven't started yet," you protest, and he shakes his head.

"Didn't need to," he replies. He points at the body. "Knife went in here, hit the kidneys. It's messy, and whoever did it was either in a hurry or didn't know what they were doing. My guess is the latter."

"What makes you say that?"

"No defensive wounds." He's pointing at the hands now, the fingers still curled as if they were grasping for something. "He was caught by surprise."

"You're right," you say, impressed. "Maybe I should get you to do this instead."

He grins at you, all cocky confidence and charm.

"If you wanted to spend more time with me, you could have just asked."

"Don't flatter yourself," you retort. You're fighting back a smile, though, and it's a losing battle. "Go sit over there and leave me alone."

"Fine, fine."

He raises his hands in surrender and goes to sit at the table in the small kitchenette, Grizzer at his heels. While you clean your hands and put away the equipment you'd been using, he pulls off his gloves, sets his helmet on the table, and pulls the food out of the bag.

"There's a lot of food here," you remark, and Hound nods.

"Yeah, the owner insisted. I think he felt guilty that his tooka almost fell."

"How did that happen, anyway?" you ask. Hound looks down at Grizzer, then back up at you, and smiles sheepishly.

"Grizzer may have chased it up the side of the building," he admits. You snort. Of course she did.

"Well, it's good to know the Guard is keeping the people safe," you tease, and he grins.

"We do our best."

"Mm."

You settle across the table from him and begin to unpack the food. You pull out the cartons and containers and spread them out on the table between you, and you can feel Hound's eyes on you the entire time.

"So, how's it going?" he asks, and you give him a flat look.

"What do you mean, how's it going?" You pick up a dumpling and bite into it, pointing at the other boxes of food with the remains. "Eat."

He picks up the container of noodles and fishes around for a piece of meat with his chopsticks, then shrugs.

"I dunno, you've just seemed kinda down lately."

"Down?" you echo. You raise an eyebrow at him. "I'm a forensic pathologist, Hound. How exactly am I supposed to be 'up'?"

"You know what I mean."

He's giving you a look, and you sigh. Yes, you know what he means. You know that he knows when you're upset or anxious, and you know that he can see right through the mask of cool indifference you wear when you're trying to hide it.

"It's just a little crowded up here," you say. You're not going to talk about this, not with him, not now. Maybe not ever. But you can tell him a little, just enough to ease his worry.

He nods. "It's loud."

"Loud," you agree, and take a sip of your water. It's loud, yes, and there are far too many people. Sometimes, you want to scream. The sheer amount of life pressing down on you can be overwhelming, and the silence and stillness of the morgue is a balm on the ragged edges of your psyche. "And bright."

"Too much light," he agrees, and you give him a wan smile.

"Right."

He's quiet for a few minutes while you eat, and you're grateful. It's nice, sometimes, to have someone to share the silence with. Nice, too, to not have to fill it with unnecessary words. Sometimes, just the presence of another person is enough.

After a while, though, the quiet becomes too much for him, and he speaks.

"Are you not happy here?"

The question catches you off guard, and you nearly drop the dumpling you're holding. "Happy?"

"Yeah." His brow furrows, and his frown deepens. "Do you not want to be here?"

"Of course not," you say automatically, and he winces. The look on his face sends a jolt through you, and you realize your mistake. I mean, I do! But..." You pause, thinking. How can you explain this? How can you put it into words? "I don't fit here, Hound."

"You fit fine."

His response is quick, almost desperate. You can see the worry in his eyes, the uncertainty, the fear. Does he think you're leaving? Do you want to leave?

That's a question you've been asking yourself for months now. You'd left Eadu, and the only place you'd known as home, in order to start a new life. You'd chosen a career, a city, a place to live, and a path that would make your parents proud. And you're here, but you're not. You're just floating through life, going through the motions and keeping yourself busy, but it doesn't mean anything. Nothing has purpose, and nothing is permanent. You don't even have any friends.

Except...

You look across the table at Hound, who is still frowning. He's worried about you. The realization makes your stomach flip-flop again, and the dumpling you'd just eaten suddenly feels like a stone.

He's actually, genuinely, truly worried about you. He's the first person to actually care about your wellbeing in a long time, and it's not just him. He brought you food. He's always trying to make you laugh. He brings Grizzer down every chance he gets. He wants you to be happy.

"I don't know," you finally say, and your voice is soft and uncertain. "I just... feel like something's missing."

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" he asks, his voice soft.

You don't have an answer. You've been here for a year now, and yet, you feel as if it's only been a few weeks. As if it's still the beginning. Maybe you've gotten a little further, but not enough. 

You haven't settled in, but the thought of leaving Coruscant is a terrifying one. There's nothing left for you back home. Your family doesn't want you there. The planet is too cold, and it's too wet, and the skies are too dark. You prefer the artificial sunlight and the artificial warmth and the bright lights that never turn off. 

The only problem is the people. They're everywhere, all the time. In your apartment building. In the precinct. In the cantinas. On the speeders. And you hate the crowds. You hate the noise. You hate the way everyone is always talking, and the way they walk with no regard for anyone else, and the way they never seem to shut up, and...

Hound is still watching you, his expression worried. You shake your head and manage a smile.

"No," you say, taking another bite of the dumpling. "I think I'll stick around a little longer."

"Good."

His relief is palpable, and a wave of guilt washes over you. How did he manage to wriggle his way into your life? Why does he care about what happens to you? How does he even know what's wrong?

You don't have any answers, and the more you try to figure it out, the more confused you become. It's just Hound. He's just a clone. He's a good guy, a kind man, a decent human being, but why is he different from the others?

You've met other clones. You've met other guards. They're all polite and courteous, but none of them have gone out of their way to befriend you. None of them have spent the time and energy Hound has, and none of them have ever given you a reason to trust them. Not like Hound has. Not like he continues to.

He's always around, always ready to lend a hand. He's a constant presence in your life, a constant source of comfort and support. You didn't ask for him, and yet, there he is, a bright light in the darkness that surrounds you.

"I mean, I don't have a reason to go anywhere," you say. You're trying to sound casual, but you're failing. His eyes are focused on your face, and he's not blinking. You're not sure what's happening, or why, but it's making you uncomfortable. "But if I did, it'd be too much trouble to uproot everything and move, right?"

"Right."

"Besides, I have a job. And an apartment. And my boss isn't a complete dick, which is more than most people can say." You smile at him, but his expression doesn't change. He's still looking at you, his dark eyes intense, and the feeling of unease grows. "And I like my work. Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes it's boring."

"I understand," he says, nodding. He doesn't smile. You swallow hard, then look down at your plate.

"And... I don't know, there are perks." You give a small shrug, trying to seem nonchalant, and hope that the sudden heat in your cheeks isn't noticeable.

"Perks?" he asks. His eyebrows rise, and the corner of his mouth quirks up. "Like what?"

"You know," you say, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Things."

"What things?"

He's teasing you, now, and you're blushing.

"Just things." You shove the rest of the dumpling into your mouth and chew slowly, trying to buy yourself some time. "Grizzer. And, um..."

"And?" 

Hound is smiling at you now, and it's hard not to return it. It's just so damn contagious. It's like looking at the sun, or standing next to a star. It's hard to look away.

"Don't make me say it."

"I wanna hear you say it."

"Hound..."

"Please?"

"Ugh, fine," you sigh. You roll your eyes and set the empty dumpling container aside, then lean back in your chair. "You, okay? Happy now?"

His smile widens, lighting up his entire face. It's impossible not to smile back. You can feel it spreading across your face, and there's nothing you can do about it.

"Yeah, actually. I'm pretty happy," he says, his voice soft. "Thanks."

"Good. Now shut up and eat."

You look down at the remaining food, but suddenly, you're no longer hungry. Instead, you find yourself glancing at him from beneath your lashes. He's digging back into the noodles, and Grizzer is sprawled out at his feet, chewing on a bone.

Maybe it's not so bad.

It becomes a routine after that.

Hound comes down almost every day after his shift to hang out and have lunch with you. Sometimes he brings Grizzer, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he has food, sometimes he doesn't. It's not much, but it's something. It's a bit of comfort, a bit of normality, a bit of light in the otherwise dull, colorless life you're living.

And once, when you're knee-deep in a complicated case and you forget to eat, he brings food down for you anyway. He doesn't stay. He just leaves it on the table and goes back upstairs, but not before making sure you know it's there. It's a simple gesture, and it's sweet, and it makes your heart flutter.

You aren't used to that. You aren't used to people going out of their way to make sure that you're taken care of. It's not something you've ever really experienced. But now that you've seen it, felt it, you aren't sure if you'll be able to live without it.

The next time he comes down, you're not surprised. You're expecting him. Hound still waits for permission to enter your space, and you're secretly pleased by that. You're grateful that he respects the boundaries you've set, especially since most people don't. They think they can intrude, can walk right into the lab, because they have clearance. Hound, however, does not, and so he always knocks. Always waits. Always gives you a moment to prepare.

You've also gotten used to his presence, and it's easy enough to keep working while he chats away.

Today, though, the conversation has died, and you've gone back to your paperwork. He's quiet, and there's an odd tension in the air that you can't quite pinpoint. You can feel it, and you're fairly certain that he can, too. You want to ask, but you don't. You know him well enough by now to know that he'll tell you if something's bothering him.

"Hey," he finally says, and you look up from your work. He's sitting across the room, still eating his food, but he's not looking at you. His attention is fixed on the table, his jaw clenched.

"What's up?" you ask, trying to sound casual. Trying not to show your concern. He's fidgeting with the lid of the empty food container, his hands moving faster than usual.

"Are you busy later tonight?"

"Probably," you say. "Why?"

"Just curious," he says with a shrug, and he turns his attention back to his meal.

He's lying. He's a terrible liar, and the fact that he's refusing to make eye contact only proves that something's wrong. You put down the stylus you'd been using and turn your chair to face him, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Why?"

He shrugs again and shoves a large bite of noodles into his mouth.

"Hound."

He chews and swallows, and the frown deepens. He doesn't answer.

"Hound," you repeat, a bit more forcefully. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're obviously upset about something," you point out. You lean forward in your chair and rest your elbows on your knees, watching him. "Did I do something? Did I piss off someone in the Guard again? I swear, they can't handle constructive criticism."

He shakes his head, a small smile playing across his lips. "No. It's nothing like that."

"Then what is it?"

He opens his mouth, closes it, then shakes his head again. His dark curls bounce around his face, and you're distracted for a moment. Then, before you can ask again, he stands. He gathers the garbage from the table and puts it into the recycler, then heads for the stairs.

"Hound."

He freezes in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening. He looks like he's debating whether or not to leave. Finally, he turns and gives you a sheepish smile, his face turning red. 

"There's an officer's gala tonight," he says, and your brow furrows. What's so bad about that?

"Okay," you say slowly.

Hound stares at you, his jaw clenching and unclenching, as if he's waiting for a response. You have no idea what he wants you to say, or how you're supposed to respond, and so you wait. You sit and stare, and his discomfort grows.

"I'm invited," he says. He's starting to fidget again, and his voice is quieter. "They're supposed to have good food and decent booze. It'll be a nice night out."

"Sounds like fun," you hum, nodding. Not for you, but that's not the point. He's a social person, and you're not. It makes sense. "I'm glad you're going."

"So, are you coming with me?"

Your jaw drops, and you nearly fall out of your chair. It takes a second for the question to sink in, and even longer for it to register. Is he serious? Does he really expect you to go with him? To an event where there will be dozens, if not hundreds, of people? You're not sure if he's joking or not. If this is a trick, it's a cruel one.

"Wait, what?"

Hound looks like he wants to disappear, and the flush on his cheeks has darkened.

"I mean, you don't have to," he says, shaking his head. "It's fine. I know it's not really your scene, but I thought maybe—"

"You're serious?" you ask. Your heart is pounding. You can feel it in your throat, and in your chest, and in your ears.

"Well, I figured, y'know, since I have to go, I might as well make the most of it. So I was wondering if you'd like to come with me," he says, his voice a low rumble. He's practically mumbling, and you have to strain your ears to hear him. "As, y'know, a date. Maybe."

"Me?" you ask, barely able to find your voice.

"Yes, you," he laughs. It's a bit forced, and the nervousness in his voice is obvious. "No one else is down here, so I'd have to be talking to them."

"Right, but..."

"Look, if you don't want to, it's fine," he says. "I know this isn't your thing. I just thought, y'know, we could spend some time together, outside of this place."

You stare at him, unsure of what to say or do. He wants to take you out on a date? He wants you to be his date to the gala? He wants to spend time with you outside of the morgue, when there are other things that could easily catch his attention? He actually wants to spend time with you, of all people?

"Hound, I... I don't think..." Your voice trails off, and you clear your throat, trying to find the words. How do you tell him that it's not a good idea without hurting his feelings?

"Oh." His face falls, and he looks so disappointed that you immediately feel guilty.

"No, I didn't mean—"

"Nah, I get it," he interrupts, waving his hand. He forces a smile. It's fake, and it doesn't reach his eyes. "You're right, it's a dumb idea."

"That's not what I meant," you insist.

"It's cool, don't worry about it."

"Hound, I'm sorry—"

"No, it's fine. It's my fault for bringing it up."

"I don't—"

"It was a stupid idea. Just forget about it. We can—"

"I want to!”

You blurt the words before you can stop yourself, and the moment they're out of your mouth, you wish you could take them back. Your face is hot, and your hands are trembling, and the butterflies are beating their wings against your stomach, but the damage is done. You've already said it, and the shock on Hound's face only confirms it.

"You want to?" he asks, his brows raised.

"Yeah." You duck your head, staring intently at the floor. It's easier than looking at him. "I want to. I'm just... Not good with social stuff."

"You're better than you think," Hound says, his tone soft and warm.

You give a small shrug, and a heavy silence falls over the room. After a few seconds, he speaks again.

"Look, the gala is gonna be boring as hell," he says, and you peek up at him through your lashes. He's grinning, and the warmth in his gaze makes your heart skip a beat. "Everyone there is just gonna be kissing each other's asses, and it'll be the same people as always. The same stupid conversations, the same stupid stories, the same stupid shit. And it's not gonna be fun."

"Wow, sounds like a great date," you say sarcastically.

"But if you're there, then it'll be bearable," he finishes. "You'll make it fun. You're always funny, and interesting, and... And..."

His voice trails off, and his face is beet-red. You bite back a smile. He's never this flustered. It's adorable, and it's also a boost to your ego.

"Are you sure?" you ask. "I mean, I don't exactly have a pretty dress, or anything like that. I'm not exactly high-society material."

He laughs and shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. Wear whatever's comfortable."

"You're sure I'm not gonna be in the way?"

"I'm positive."

"And if I get bored or overwhelmed?"

"Then we can leave and do something else."

"Really?"

"Really."

You pause, thinking, then nod. "Okay. Yeah, sure. I'll come."

"You will?" He looks excited, and his smile widens. "You really will?"

"Yeah," you say, laughing.

"Alright!"

Hound pumps his fist in the air and gives a whoop of victory, then bounds over and wraps his arms around you. Before you can protest, he picks you up and swings you around.

"Hound, put me down!"

After one more swing, he does, and you nearly collapse into his chest. You're dizzy, but his grin is infectious, and soon, you're smiling back. 

"Sorry," he laughs.

"You're ridiculous."

"You're amazing."

The compliment is given so easily, and it's so earnest, that your face heats up. You look away from him, not wanting him to see how much the words mean.

"Anyway," you mutter, pushing him away. "Go do something useful, and let me get back to work."

"Yes sir," he says.

He snaps a salute, his expression still bright, and then turns and runs up the stairs. Grizzer chuffs once, then follows him. He looks so excited that you can't help but smile, and the butterflies finally settle.

It's going to be fine.

It's not fine.

As soon as your shift ends, you race back to your hole-in-the-wall apartment and tear through your closet, looking for something, anything, that doesn't scream 'I'm socially awkward and I have no idea what I'm doing.'

But the clothes that you brought from Eadu are simple and functional. You hadn't been planning on attending any galas or balls or fancy parties. There's nothing here that screams classy or elegant or sophisticated. It's all cheap, practical, and serviceable, and you're quickly losing hope.

You're about to call the whole thing off when you see a dress tucked into the corner, hidden beneath a stack of towels. You frown, unsure how it got there, then snatch it up and hold it up in front of you.

It's a nice dress, one that your mother had forced you into for a cousin's wedding several years ago. It's a dark, deep blue that fades to black, and the sleeves are long and sheer. The fabric is soft, and it's still in good shape, which means you probably shouldn't have left it buried in the closet for so long.

Sighing, you carry the dress to the bathroom and change. The dress is a little loose, but it's not too bad, and you're able to tighten it enough so it fits. It's not as bad as you remember, and the longer you look at it, the better you feel. This is fine. You can pull this off. It'll be a lot better than the shapeless smock you wear every day, and at least Hound will appreciate the effort.

Your hair is a different story.

It's a mess, and your fingers aren't much help. You're tempted to cut it all off, but you'd promised yourself that you'd never go that route again, no matter how frustrating it is. You need help, and you've got half a mind to comm the office and ask the receptionist for some advice, but she's not much better off than you are. You're just going to have to improvise.

An hour later, you're ready. Or as ready as you're going to be.

The dress fits nicely, and the makeup is the same dark shade as the dress, so at least it goes well together. Your hair is still a bit messy, but you've managed to get it into a bun and pin it down so that most of it is out of your face. You've even found a pair of heels in the back of the closet, and though they pinch a little, they're not unbearable.

When you step outside, the first thing you notice is that the sun is setting. That's not a good sign, because it means that you've already wasted an hour and a half doing nothing.

The second thing you notice is that Hound is leaning against the wall opposite your door, wearing his formal uniform.

He looks gorgeous.

You've never seen him dressed up like this, and it takes a few moments for you to register the sight. The uniform is crisp and clean, with gold buttons and a high collar. There's a single stripe across his chest, signifying his rank, and he's got a medal pinned to his lapel. His hair is slicked back and tidy, and he's even taken the time to polish the mud and dirt from his boots. He looks professional and commanding and sexy.

"Wow."

The word slips out before you can stop it, and Hound's head snaps up. He blinks at you in surprise, then slowly smiles, his eyes roaming over you with blatant appreciation.

"Wow," he echoes, his voice a low rumble.

A flush rises up your neck, and you swallow hard. "Is this okay?"

"Are you kidding?" Hound laughs and crosses the distance between you in a few long strides. He towers over you, but he doesn't feel threatening. In fact, the closer he gets, the safer and more secure you feel. "You look amazing."

"I look like a mess," you say, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"You look great." He reaches out and tucks the hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your skin, and the blush spreads further. His touch is surprisingly gentle, and his fingertips are calloused and rough. "You always do."

"Thanks," you mutter.

He tilts his head to the side, and his smile widens. "You're beautiful."

"Stop,” you whine, ducking your head. You're used to Hound's teasing, but not this kind. Not the kind that makes your pulse quicken, or makes your heart stutter.

"No, really, you are."

"Hound..."

"So beautiful."

"I mean it. Stop."

"Gorgeous."

"Hound!"

He laughs and holds his hands up. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself."

"Uh huh." You give him a dubious look, then roll your eyes. "Let's go."

"Yes, ma'am," he says. He offers his arm, and you hesitate for a moment before taking it.

It's an odd sensation, touching him. Not bad, necessarily, just odd. You're used to his casual manner, the way he always brushes his shoulder against yours, or the way he nudges you when he wants your attention. But this is different. It's intentional. Intimate.

You're not sure how to feel.

"Shall we?" he asks.

"Yeah," you reply, and your voice comes out soft and breathless.

He leads you out of the building and down the street towards the main avenue. He's tall and solid and sturdy, and his stride is long and confident. The two of you look like an odd pair, and you feel a bit self-conscious. He, on the other hand, seems completely unfazed. Hound keeps up a steady stream of conversation, and you're grateful. It distracts you from the fact that his arm is pressed firmly against yours, and it's difficult not to lean against him.

By the time the two of you reach the venue, the sun has set and the city is lit up with artificial light. You can see the gala from blocks away, and Hound is quick to point out the various dignitaries and important officials who are milling about. He's not particularly interested in politics, and you suspect that the only reason he knows so many names is because it's required of his job. He does, however, enjoy making fun of them behind their backs, and his comments have you in stitches by the time the two of you are in line to enter the hall.

"Ready?" he asks, glancing down at you.

"No," you admit, but there's no point in stalling. It's not like you can turn back now. You'd agreed to come, and the least you can do is stick to it.

"Good," Hound laughs. "I'm not, either."

"Somehow, that's not reassuring," you mutter.

"C'mon, let's go."

He pulls his arm away from yours, and your skin immediately grows cold. Before you can protest, he places a hand on the small of your back and leads you inside. The warmth and security are immediate, and you lean into his touch without thinking. He stiffens for a moment, but he doesn't complain. Instead, he leans closer, and his thumb brushes against the fabric of your dress, stroking in slow circles.

As soon as the two of you step inside, the noise levels increase tenfold. People are shouting, talking, laughing, and dancing, and the band is playing a loud, boisterous song. Everything is bright and loud and colorful, and the smells and sounds and sights are overwhelming. The panic returns, and you freeze. Hound must notice, because he squeezes your waist.

"Breathe," he whispers.

You do as he says, and the tension eases. The noise fades to background static, and the colors stop spinning. Hound doesn't remove his hand, and it's a welcome weight, keeping you anchored to reality.

"I don't know about this," you say, your voice so small and so quiet that it's a wonder he hears you at all. But he does, and he gives you a reassuring smile.

"We don't have to stay," he promises. "If you get uncomfortable, we'll leave. It's not a big deal. We can do whatever you want."

"Really?"

"I mean it." He gives a small shrug, and a slight flush colors his cheeks. "If you wanna ditch, we can ditch. It's no big deal."

You stare at him, dumbfounded, and wonder how you'd ever gotten lucky enough to meet someone like him. Someone who is patient and understanding, who never judges or pries. Someone who just wants you to be happy.

"Thanks," you say.

"Don't mention it," he replies, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Wanna grab a drink?"

"Sure."

He guides you over to the bar, and the two of you order your drinks. He chooses something strong, while you opt for a glass of wine. As soon as the bartender sets the glass in front of you, Hound snatches it up and takes a sip.

"Hound!" you yelp, smacking him lightly on the arm. "What the hell?"

"Sorry, force of habit," he laughs.

"Why the hell are you so used to stealing other people's drinks?"

"Because my brothers are assholes," he says. He puts the glass down and raises his hands in surrender. "I promise, I'll let you drink the rest."

"Damn right, you will," you grumble. You pick up the glass and take a sip, eyeing him over the rim. "I'm watching you."

"I'd expect nothing less," he says, grinning. He reaches over and grabs his own drink, and the two of you clink glasses. "To... I dunno. To whatever the fuck this is."

"To us," you reply, and he laughs.

"Yeah. To us."

He downs the entire glass, then turns and watches the crowd. Couples are pairing off, and the band has started a slow waltz. You spot Commander Thorn with the Senator of Atrisia in the middle of the dance floor, looking rather pleased with himself, and your stomach does a nervous flip. How the hell is she able to wear those heels without tripping and falling? It looks exhausting. And painful.

"Do you wanna dance?"

The question startles you, and you whip your head around. Hound is looking down at you, his brows furrowed, and he seems hesitant.

"I'm sorry?"

"Do you want to dance?"

"Dance?"

"Yeah." He nods towards the floor, and the couples swaying back and forth. You let out a breath, shaking your head, and you take a long sip of your drink.

“Not really, no," you admit.

You watch his shoulders slump, but the look on his face is more relief than disappointment.

"Okay, good," he says, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Oh, thank the Force," you mutter, and he grins.

"Didn't think you'd say yes, honestly."

"And what if I had?" you ask. You arch an eyebrow at him, and the grin widens.

"Then I'd have made an ass of myself trying to impress you," he says. His dark eyes shine with amusement, and the corner of his mouth twitches. "Not that I don't normally do that, anyway."

"Mm," you hum. "You do alright."

"Yeah?" he asks. He cocks his head, and the smile disappears. "Really?"

"I mean, yeah." You take a sip of your wine and try not to think about how warm and safe and secure he makes you feel. Or how handsome and charming he is. Or how much he actually cares. "You're not too bad."

"High praise," he laughs, his tone dry. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"I can't tell if you're serious or not," he says, giving you a wry smile.

"I'm very serious," you retort. You're smiling, though, and it's a struggle to keep a straight face. "Dead serious."

"You're awful," he snorts, shaking his head. "Absolutely awful."

"That's why you like me," you tease.

"Well, not the only reason," he murmurs. There's a faint blush on his cheeks, and the expression on his face is far too sweet for someone who is usually so gruff and unruly. "There's plenty of others."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says. He looks away, his eyes darting around the room, and a heavy silence settles over the two of you. He clears his throat, and his hand finds yours. "C'mon, let's go see what they've got for food."

"Sounds good," you reply. You let him lead the way, his fingers laced through yours, and his grip is strong and firm.

It's going to be a long night.

You end up staying for a couple hours.

The food is excellent, and the booze is decent, and Hound keeps his promise. You stay glued to his side, letting him lead the way and navigate the crowd. He introduces you to some of his friends, and it's not as awful as you'd feared.

You make polite small talk, and laugh at their terrible jokes, and they seem impressed. Thorn even goes as far as to say that you're good for him, and when Hound shoots him a warning look, he only grins.

It's not as awkward as you'd feared, but it's not exactly relaxing. Thankfully, Hound is good at picking up on your cues. When the chatter starts to die down, he knows to make an excuse and move on. When the crowd gets too thick, he pulls you away. When your anxiety starts to mount, he finds a place where the two of you can be alone.

At some point, the two of you find a quiet spot in the corner. He leans against the wall, and you lean against him. The two of you watch the people milling around, and the band strikes up another lively tune. He's still got an arm wrapped around your waist, and his hand is resting on your hip, his fingers tracing slow circles on the fabric of your dress.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice a low rumble.

"I'm fine," you say, and this time, it's the truth. "Thank you for this. I know I'm being difficult, and I'm sorry."

"You're not being difficult." He's smiling, and his fingers move from your hip to the curve of your spine, sliding down your back in a soothing motion. "You're perfect."

You snort, and the butterflies are fluttering madly, beating their wings against your stomach, rising higher and higher. You ignore them and roll your eyes. "Whatever you say, Hound."

"I mean it." He turns his attention away from the crowd and looks down at you, and the intensity in his eyes takes you by surprise. "You're incredible."

"Oh, come on."

"Seriously, you are."

"Hound, I've been a nervous wreck all night. If that's incredible, I hate to hear what you think of the other people here."

"Other people don't matter,” he says. His tone is soft and warm, and the way he's looking at you makes your heart skip a beat.

"Of course they do."

"Why?"

"Because... Well, because..." Your words trail off, and you frown.

That's a good question.

Why does it matter?

Who cares if someone else has a nicer dress or better manners or more friends or a more prestigious title? Why is it important? What does it matter, in the grand scheme of things? You're not even sure anymore, and you find yourself searching for an answer. A good, solid, valid reason that will make sense, but there's nothing. Nothing that isn't completely superficial or trivial.

"They don't," he says. His eyes are fixed on your face, and the intensity of his gaze is unsettling. He's so serious, and his expression is so tender, and it's so unlike him. But before you can respond, he smiles and shrugs. "I'm just sayin'. No one else matters."

"Maybe," you murmur, and your head falls to his shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promises.

You know he's right. He's never lied to you before. He's never been dishonest, or cruel, or uncaring. He's always been considerate and thoughtful and kind, and he's the first person who's cared about you since you left home. He's always there, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, with a smile and a joke and a friendly hello.

He's always there, and that's a good thing.

You take a deep breath and turn your attention away from the crowd and back towards him. He's still watching you, and his expression is soft and open and vulnerable. He's not trying to hide anything, and it makes your heart flutter.

"Good," you whisper, and he smiles.

And then his hand is on your cheek, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, his thumb stroking the soft skin just beneath your eye.

"I've got you," he murmurs, his voice rough. "You know that, right?"

You swallow hard and nod, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. Your noses bump together, your lips inches apart, and your breath catches.

"Thank you," you whisper.

He's still watching you, and the intensity of his gaze is almost too much. There's a flush on his cheeks, his breath coming out in short, quick puffs. You can tell that he's hesitating. Waiting. Giving you time to react.

You can't speak. You can barely breathe. But your fingers curl around the lapel of his jacket, and you pull him closer. That's all the encouragement he needs, and his lips brush against yours in a featherlight kiss.

The kiss is slow, and soft, and sweet, and the butterflies explode in a whirlwind of emotion and sensation and excitement. Your skin is on fire, the heat spreading from your face down your neck and chest and lower, lower, lower. He's not pushing or demanding. He's gentle and patient and caring, and it's perfect.

When the kiss ends, Hound pulls back, but not far. He's still close enough to press his forehead against yours, and his hand is still on the nape of your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair.

"Okay?" he whispers.

You nod, and his smile widens. He leans down and kisses you again, and this time, the butterflies aren't fluttering. They're flying.

It's perfect.

The rest of the evening is a blur.

Hound is by your side the entire time, keeping you grounded and safe and secure. His hand is on the small of your back, his fingertips gently stroking the fabric of your dress. He keeps his pace slow, matching your steps, and his voice is a low, steady rumble in your ear, whispering little bits of information and gossip and stories. It's easy to tune out the other people, to ignore the music, to focus only on him.

By the time the two of you leave the gala, the moon is high and the streets are mostly empty. Hound walks you home, his hand never leaving your waist. You're both a bit tipsy, and the walk seems much shorter than usual. It's not long before the two of you are outside your door, and he's reluctant to let you go.

"Tonight was nice," you say. You're leaning against him, your face pressed into his chest. His arms are wrapped around your waist, his fingers splayed across your back. His hands are warm, and the heat from his touch is spreading across your skin, sending tingles down your spine.

"It was," he agrees, and his lips brush against the top of your head.

You sigh and relax further, resting your cheek against his chest. The steady beat of his heart is a comforting rhythm, and the scent of his cologne is a pleasant mixture of spice and leather. He smells amazing, and you can't resist pressing a quick kiss to the base of his neck. He shivers, his hands tightening on your waist.

"We should do this again," you murmur. "But maybe next time, without so many people."

"Yeah," he chuckles, the sound low and husky. His lips trail along the shell of your ear, and the butterflies are awake again, fluttering lazily. "I'd love to take you out again."

"I'd like that," you whisper.

You want to tell him that you had a great time, that he was a perfect date, that you don't want the night to end. You want to tell him that he's amazing and sweet and kind and generous. You want to tell him that he's the only person who's cared about you in a long time. You want to tell him how much it means to you, and that you'd be happy to do it again.

But the words are stuck in your throat, and the butterflies are blocking the way, so instead, you tilt your head back and meet his gaze. His eyes are dark and hooded, and his face is flushed, but his smile is warm and soft. He's looking at you like you're the only person in the world, like he's happy just to be near you.

"Do you want to come inside?" you ask.

It's a risky move, and a bold one. You're not usually so forward, and the alcohol is giving you courage. But you can't deny the desire coursing through your veins, and the thought of him leaving makes you feel empty.

Hound blinks, his eyes shifting from your door and back, and he swallows hard.

"If you want me to," he says. His voice is soft, but there's an edge of desire to it, and it's a struggle to keep your hands from trembling.

"I do," you whisper.

He stares at you for a moment longer, then nods.

"Alright," he murmurs, his voice rough. He presses a quick kiss to the tip of your nose, and a flush rises up your neck and into your cheeks. "Then I'll come inside.”

His hands are still on your waist, and you reach up and grab his shirt, pulling him closer. His breath hitches as his body comes flush against yours, and his grip tightens. The kiss is more passionate this time, less hesitant and timid, and it sets your nerves alight. The butterflies are in full force now, and they're flying so fast and hard that you're sure they're going to escape.

The two of you stumble into the apartment, barely managing to shut the door behind you. Your hands are buried in his hair, and his are wandering up and down your sides, tracing the curve of your hips and the swell of your breasts. You pull away for a moment, trying to catch your breath, and Hound immediately starts pressing a series of quick, sloppy kisses along the length of your jaw.

"I've wanted to do this for a while," he whispers, his voice hoarse.

"Me too," you admit, a bit breathless.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I'm glad."

He captures your lips in another kiss, and his tongue slips into your mouth. The kiss is rough and wet and hot, and you moan into his mouth, gripping his shirt tighter.

Your legs hit the edge of the couch, and you fall backwards onto the cushions, dragging him down with you. He lands on top of you, and the sudden weight causes you to yelp in surprise. He catches himself at the last second, bracing himself with his arms, and he breaks the kiss.

"You okay?" he pants, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah, sorry," you mutter.

He grins and ducks his head, resuming his trail of kisses along your jawline and down the column of your throat. Your head falls back, and you moan, tugging at the hem of his shirt. His lips are searing, and the heat is spreading across your skin, setting every inch of you aflame.

He's intoxicating, and you want more.

You push him off, and the two of you scramble to your feet. He grabs the back of his shirt and tugs it over his head, tossing it to the side. You're not sure where it lands, and you don't care. Your attention is focused on him and him alone. You're staring, shamelessly drinking in the sight, and your mouth goes dry.

He's built like a mountain, broad and thick, and his skin is covered in a patchwork of scars and tattoos. You can't stop yourself from reaching out and running your hands along the smooth planes of his chest and the ridges of his abs. The muscles flex under your fingertips, and his eyes drift shut.

He's practically vibrating with anticipation, and when your fingers hook into the waistband of his trousers, he grabs your waist and pulls you close. He doesn't have to say anything, because his eyes are screaming. They're full of want, desire, need. You can feel it in the air between the two of you, heavy with anticipation, with promise.

You reach up and cup his cheek, running your thumb along his lower lip. He parts his lips, and his tongue flicks out, teasing the pad of your thumb. His teeth graze the sensitive skin, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.

The two of you move together, and your lips crash against his in a bruising kiss. You're a tangle of limbs, your bodies pressed so tightly together that you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. His hands are wandering, sliding over the curve of your ass and up the length of your back. He grabs the zipper at the top of your dress and slowly pulls it down, his knuckles brushing against your bare skin.

The dress pools around your feet, and he lets out a low whistle.

"Goddamn," he breathes as his gaze roams over your body.

You bite your lip and look away, suddenly embarrassed. Your face is burning, and you wish the butterflies would go away. But they're relentless, and they're not going anywhere.

"Hey, look at me," he says, his voice low and soft.

He places a finger beneath your chin and gently tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His expression is tender, and the smile he gives you is full of affection. He leans down and presses a feather-light kiss to the corner of your mouth, his hands sliding over your shoulders and down your arms.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs.

"You're not so bad yourself," you reply.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "You have no idea, do you?"

"What?"

"How gorgeous you are." He cups your cheek and traces the curve of your jaw, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "You're incredible."

"So are you."

"No, I'm not," he laughs, his hand sliding up your neck to tug gently at a loose strand of hair. "I'm just a guy who somehow managed to convince the most amazing woman in the galaxy to go on a date with him."

"Shut up," you scoff.

"It's true," he says, and there's a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "I'm lucky to have met you."

"Hound..."

"So, so lucky," he repeats. He leans down and brushes his lips against yours. It's a quick, fleeting kiss, but it's enough to make your heart stutter. "You're incredible."

"Hound, shut up," you groan.

He laughs, the sound rich and deep, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

"Make me."

You reach up and grab the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his hair, and you press your mouth against his. The kiss is hungry, desperate, demanding, your lips parting, tongues clashing, teeth biting, noses bumping. He growls, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating against your body.

When the kiss ends, he's still holding you, and his forehead is pressed against yours.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks, his breath hot against your cheek.

"Yes," you breathe.

"I don't want to rush—"

"Hound, if you stop now, I'll kick your ass."

He laughs and wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you easily. Your legs automatically wrap around his hips, and he carries you into the bedroom, his lips trailing along the column of your throat. The mattress hits the back of his legs, and he sits down, settling you in his lap. You straddle his thighs, your knees digging into the soft fabric of the bedspread, and you bury your hands in his hair.

He slides his palms over the curve of your ass, squeezing and massaging the supple flesh. His mouth finds yours, and his tongue slips past your lips, exploring and teasing. The taste of alcohol is still heavy on his breath, but beneath it is something else. Something stronger. Something darker.

You're vaguely aware of him reaching for the clasp of your bra, and it loosens, falling away. You break the kiss and pull back, and the expression on his face nearly undoes you. The raw, naked hunger in his eyes is enough to make the butterflies beat their wings wildly, and you can't help but grin.

"See something you like?" you tease, and he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Fuck, yes," he growls.

He cups your breasts, his fingers teasing and pinching, and your breath catches in your throat. Your hips shift as his thumbs rub against your nipples, grinding down against him. The first brush of your clothed pussy against his erection is electric, and the noise he makes sends a fresh wave of heat washing over you.

He's hard and thick, his cock straining against the fabric of his trousers. You roll your hips again, and his hands tighten on your breasts, his nails digging into the sensitive skin. The pain is delicious, and you moan, rocking against him again. He groans, his hips jerking, and his lips find yours. The kiss is rough and demanding, and his tongue is practically fucking your mouth, licking and stroking in time with the movements of your hips.

He pulls away, his eyes wild, and his hands leave your breasts, sliding down your sides to settle on your waist. He holds you still as he thrusts up, grinding his cock against your pussy. You gasp and moan, your head falling back, and his mouth finds the exposed flesh of your throat. He latches onto the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, sucking and biting. He's leaving a mark, and the thought excites you more than you'd like to admit.

His hands move lower, gripping the backs of your thighs, and he lifts you up, rolling the two of you over. He looms over you, his body a solid wall of muscle, and he kisses you, slow and deep. Hound shifts, and his knee spreads your legs wide, pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties. You whimper into his mouth, bucking your hips, trying to find some relief from the building pressure against the hard muscle of his thigh.

Hound pulls away, and you groan, reaching for him, trying to drag him back. He's too far away, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath hot against your skin.

"Last chance," he whispers. The husky tone of his voice, coupled with the sight of his eyes, dark and hungry, sends a jolt of pleasure through your body, straight to your core. "Are you sure?"

You nod, unable to find the words.

"Tell me," he says, and his thumb slides under the thin strap of your panties. He teases the edge of the fabric, tracing lazy circles over the curve of your hip. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you," you breathe, the words coming out as a needy whine.

His eyes widen, and a grin spreads across his face. It's not the playful, easy smile that you're used to seeing. It's wolfish and predatory, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

He hooks a finger into the waistband of your panties and tugs them down, tossing the ruined fabric aside. He takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, both of you breathing hard, chests rising and falling in sync, before he descends with a low growl. He licks a slow, teasing line up the inside of your thigh, stopping just shy of your aching pussy. His lips ghost over your mound, the lightest of touches, before moving to the other thigh, repeating the torturous action.

The first swipe of his tongue against your clit makes you cry out, the sound echoing off the walls. He laps at the sensitive bud, swirling around it, then presses the flat of his tongue against the folds of your pussy, lapping at the wetness leaking from your core. You buck your hips, desperately grinding against his face, but he holds you still, keeping his movements steady.

"Fuck," you gasp, your hips jerking involuntarily.

His tongue plunges inside you, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you open. His eyes are closed, and his expression is one of pure bliss. He's moaning, his tongue darting in and out, tasting every inch of you. You bury a hand in his hair, tugging at the short strands, urging him on.

He's relentless, devouring you, his tongue thrusting in and out of your cunt. His thumb brushes against your clit, sending shockwaves through your body, and you gasp, arching off the bed. You're close, the pressure building and building, and his tongue moves faster, curling and twisting inside you.

You're not going to last.

You're not sure if it's the alcohol, or his enthusiasm, or the sheer fact that it's Hound who's between your legs, but you're already close to the edge. The pleasure is overwhelming, flooding your body, washing over you like a wave.

"Please, Hound, I need to come," you plead. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop..."

His grip on your thighs tightens, his tongue thrusting faster, deeper, harder. He moans, the sound muffled by your cunt, his lips sucking at the sensitive bud of nerves. Your hips jerk, grinding against his face, the pressure building and building until it's almost too much. You can feel it, the orgasm just out of reach. It's just a matter of seconds. A matter of moments.

And then you're flying, your entire body trembling, shaking, pulsing. You're vaguely aware of the loud, ragged moan that escapes you, but you're too lost in the pleasure to care. The orgasm rips through you, crashing over you like a tidal wave, drowning out everything except the feeling of his tongue fucking your cunt.

You're panting, gasping, writhing on the sheets, every nerve ending on fire. Your body is shaking, your muscles twitching, and it takes several moments before the aftershocks finally subside. When the last one passes, you're left breathless and boneless, sprawled on the bed, struggling to catch your breath.

You feel a rush of cool air as Hound pulls away, the sound of his belt being unbuckled barely registering. Your head lolls to the side, eyes fluttering open. He's standing next to the bed, his pants hanging loose around his hips, his cock standing proud, flushed and achingly hard. He's looking down at you, his gaze hooded, his pupils blown wide.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that?" he murmurs. His voice is low, husky, full of desire.

"Probably as long as I've wanted it," you say. You reach up, fingers wrapping around his wrist, pulling him towards you. He hurriedly kicks off his pants, nearly tripping over the fabric in his haste, then settles over you, his hands planted on either side of your head.

"How's that possible?" he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Because we're idiots," you laugh. You reach up and grab his neck, tugging him down, and he dips his head, capturing your lips in a kiss. His tongue slips past your lips, and you moan at the taste of yourself.

"Maybe," he agrees, the word a soft sigh against your mouth. "But I don't care."

"Me neither," you whisper, a slight smile curling the corners of your lips.

You shift, spreading your legs, welcoming him into the cradle of your thighs. His cock brushes against your folds, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins, and the two of you groan. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his heart pounding against your chest, the scent of his cologne filling the air. He's everywhere, surrounding you, enveloping you, drowning you in his warmth.

Hound shifts, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock. Precum is leaking from the tip, and the head is flushed red, almost purple with need. He lines himself up, the head teasing your entrance, but he doesn't push inside. Instead, he slowly circles the swollen bundle of nerves, coating his cock with your slick as he leans forward and braces himself on his forearm. 

His mouth finds yours, kissing you deep, his tongue plunging into your mouth, mimicking the slow, lazy movements of his hips. The kiss is intense, possessive, claiming. He's branding you with his touch, his taste, his scent. He's marking you as his, and it's perfect.

The head of his cock slips inside you, and he moans, his body shuddering.

"Tell me what you want," he whispers, his voice rough.

"I want you," you whimper.

He thrusts, sinking in another inch, and you cry out. He's stretching you open, and the feeling is incredible. Your walls flutter, your hips bucking, but he's holding you in place, pinning you to the mattress.

"Say it again," he growls, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

"I want you," you moan, the words coming out in a breathy, needy rush.

He pulls back, the head of his cock just barely stretching your entrance. The sudden loss of his warmth makes you whimper, but before you can protest, he surges forward, filling you completely.

Every inch of you is burning, every nerve ending screaming. You're full, stretched to the limit, molded perfectly to the shape of his cock. His body is flush against yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His hips rock, grinding his pelvis against your clit, setting off another round of sparks.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans. "So fucking good."

His words send a thrill through you, your cunt tightening around his cock. He curses, his hips jerking, and his hand finds your stomach, pressing down.

"Easy," he murmurs. "Don't want to hurt you."

"You're not," you gasp, and your walls ripple around him again. He moans, his head dropping to your shoulder.

"Fuck," he hisses. "Don't do that. Not yet."

You can't help but laugh, breathless and lightheaded. He's being so sweet and careful, and you can't resist the urge to push him a little further. You contract again, squeezing and releasing, feeling every inch of him buried deep inside you.

Hound's head snaps up, his eyes wild, his nostrils flaring. There's a moment where the two of you stare at each other, neither one of you moving. And then, in one smooth, powerful thrust, he drives his cock all the way inside you.

Your back arches, and his mouth latches onto the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder, biting and sucking. His teeth graze the bruised flesh, and his hips snap, his cock slamming into you.

You cry out, nails digging into the hard planes of his shoulders. He sets a slow rhythm, each thrust deep and deliberate. He's not holding back anymore, and neither are you. His hands are on your waist, and he's slamming his cock into you, each thrust punctuated by a sharp slap of skin on skin. You're moaning and gasping, and his name falls from your lips, over and over.

You can feel another orgasm building as he picks up the pace, and the heat is spreading, coiling and twisting. His cock is hitting all the right spots, and you're so close, the edge just out of reach.

He leans back, his hands moving to your thighs, spreading you open. The new angle is deeper, and his cock is rubbing against the spongy patch of nerves. He's breathing hard, his chest heaving, and his eyes are dark and hungry.

"Come for me," he rasps. "I want to see you come on my cock."

You cry out, and your fingers twist in the sheets, gripping the fabric tightly. He's pounding into you, his hips slamming against yours, his cock driving you higher and higher. The heat is spreading, and the colors are blurring, and the only thing you can focus on is him, and the feel of him, and the taste of him, and the smell of him.

He's everywhere, and it's too much.

The coil snaps, and the orgasm rips through you, tearing a scream from your lips. Your back arches, and your cunt convulses, tightening around his cock like a vise. His breath hitches, and his hands grip your thighs tightly.

"Fuck," he grunts, his hips stuttering, his cock throbbing. "Where?"

It takes a moment for the question to register, but when it does, you manage to find your voice.

"Inside," you gasp. "Please, Hound—“

That's all the encouragement he needs. His cock pulses, and he moans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. The heat spreads into your core, his cum filling you, and the aftershocks wash over you, the waves crashing and rolling, leaving you boneless and spent.

His arms wrap around you, and he rolls the two of you over. He's still buried deep inside you, and the feeling of his cock pulsing and twitching is almost enough to make you come again. You're both shaking, and he's muttering something, his words jumbled and unintelligible.

You're not sure how long the two of you stay like that, his cock buried inside you, your bodies tangled together. But eventually, the pleasure subsides, and you can breathe again. You press a kiss to his collarbone, then his shoulder, and his grip tightens around you.

"I'm not sure if I'm dreaming," he says, and the admission is so earnest, so vulnerable, that it nearly breaks your heart. "You're real, right?"

"As real as it gets," you reply. You rest your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. "Promise."

He lets out a sigh, and his grip relaxes, his hands sliding over your sides, down your back, along the curve of your ass. You run a hand through his hair, smoothing the messy strands. He shifts to lean into your touch, and his softened cock slips free, leaving a trail of his seed across your thigh.

"You okay?" he asks, his breath warm against your ear.

"Mhm," you hum as you kiss his neck.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" His tone is soft, and there's a note of concern in his voice.

"No," you whisper.

He lets out a sigh, and his lips press against your cheek, featherlight.

"Good," he murmurs.

The two of you lay there, your bodies entwined until eventually Hound moves, rolling you onto your side before sitting up and stretching. He runs a hand through his hair, and the muscles in his arms and shoulders ripple. 

You watch, enjoying the view, but you can't help the way your heart sinks as he gets up. You know that he's going to leave, and the realization is a sharp stab of disappointment. You try not to let it show, and you do your best to keep your expression neutral.

But he must sense it, because he pauses and looks at you, his brow furrowed.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"I'm fine," you reply, not wanting to admit the truth. You don't want him to think that you're clingy or needy or dependent. That's not who you are. At least, it's not who you want to be.

"You sure?" He studies you, and the look in his eyes is thoughtful. "You seem a bit...tense."

"I'm fine," you say, giving him a smile. "Just tired."

He snorts and shakes his head. "Yeah, I'm sure."

He moves to the bathroom, and you hear the sound of water running. He returns a moment later with a wet cloth, and he sits down beside you, cleaning up the mess that he left. He's gentle, careful, and you can't help but notice the way his fingers tremble slightly as they move over your skin.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," he says, his tone apologetic. "I wasn't planning on taking things this far."

"I wasn't either," you admit.

"Well, shit." He tosses the cloth to the side, and the grin that spreads across his face is lopsided and endearing. "Now what?"

"We can pretend this didn't happen," you suggest, even though the idea leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Hound’s brow furrows, and his smile fades.

"Why would we do that?" he asks, his tone incredulous.

"Because..." Your words trail off, and your heart races.

Because you don't want him to think you're desperate. Because you don't want to scare him off. Because you don't want to ruin the friendship that the two of you have built. Because you don't want him to regret it.

He sighs and reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brush against your cheek, and the gesture is tender and gentle.

"Hey," he says, his voice low. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."

"But—"

"Listen." He takes a deep breath, and his hand falls to the bed, his fingers tangling with yours. "I like you. I really, really like you. And if you want to pretend this didn't happen, we can. But if you want to see where things go, I'd like that, too."

"Really?" 

"Really," he says.

You swallow hard, trying to find the words. He's giving you an out, a way to save face, a chance to take a step back. But you don't want to do that. You don't want to lose him. You don't want to pretend that this didn't happen. You don't want to go back to the way things were.

You take a deep breath, and his fingers squeeze yours.

"Hound," you begin, then pause, collecting your thoughts.

"It's okay," he murmurs, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "I get it."

"I like you," you finally manage, the words tumbling out in a rush. "And I'm sorry. I know I'm bad at this. But I like you. And I want to see where things go."

"Oh, thank fuck," he breathes, and the relief in his voice is palpable.

"What?"

"I was worried you were going to say you regretted it." He grins, and the tension drains from his shoulders. "I was worried you were going to tell me to leave."

"Never," you reply, your heart leaping. "I'll never regret this."

"Good."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It's different from the others. There's no urgency, no desperation. It's sweet, and tender, and full of promise.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispers when the kiss ends. Then his mouth twists, and he looks away, his voice turning sheepish. “Well, I can leave if you want. If you need some time alone, or some space, or—"

"Stay," you interrupt.

His smile widens, and he squeezes your hand.

"Okay," he says.

He pulls the covers over the two of you and lies down beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. He pulls you close, and you nestle against his chest, enjoying the warmth of his body.

"Thank you," you murmur, your voice thick with sleep.

"For what?"

"For tonight. For everything."

"Of course."

You're tired, and it's getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open. You can feel yourself starting to drift off, and the last thing you remember before sleep claims you is the feeling of his lips pressed against the top of your head, and the soft, steady rhythm of his heart.

You fall asleep with a smile on your face, the warmth of his body chasing away the last vestiges of loneliness.

And when you wake, he's still there, holding you tight.

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@capricornrabies

[hollowed-theory-hall]

sometimes I feel like we’re in the trenches as HJP fans, like wydm he gets flak from the marauder fandom for being mid compared to Jily, Marauders & Co, if not a convenient receptacle for only his parents’ traits, and he’s also getting bashed in the Next Gen fandom for being a bad dad? (again, fingers point to his hotheadedness or impulsive nature, like, what a lazy and unnuanced take but i digress) nevermind he’s undergone plenty flanderization in the general HP fandom!

Harry shaping up to be a terrible parent is plainly ooc for him imo, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually read Cursed Child, so I’m very interested in your thoughts on this!

I never read Cursed Child either, at least not in full. I read a summary + a few lines of dialogue and I felt that I didn't need to torture myself further with it.

Like, I mentioned in the past, a lot of fandoms have this tendency to completely change and mischaracterize main characters, usually for the worse. I think this tendency comes from a place of simplifications. A simplified character is easier to engage with and to place in different fanon scenarios so characters are stripped of their nuance and complexity to serve fanon. And there is an appeal in these simplified versions. They can be good for comedy, crack, and less serious stuff, but when you want to write really angsty shit, I find the lack of nuance disappointing more often than not.

Especially when it comes to Harry, who is often misunderstood by people who claim to love him. As I mentioned in the past, I don't think Harry is hot-headed the way most of the fandom thinks he is. I will die on the hill of Harry's explosive anger being a trauma response because the boy can't get a break.

In the case of Harry, I think it goes beyond just simplification though.

I used to read a lot of HP fic (stopped a few years ago) and Harry was a different character in each "genre" of fics. Like, depending on who he was paired with or the tropes of the fic, you'd get a completely different character who calls himself "Harry Potter".

It's becouse Harry isn't really written as Harry in a lot of fics, not really. See the story is about him. He's the main character who has the most interesting tale. The series is literally named after him. And everyone sees it. And fans want to write a story that won't work with Harry as a character, but they want the backstory — they want to write about a Boy Who Lived that isn't Harry — so we get OCs with the name "Harry Potter" even if I'd never call any of them Harry because they are not him. His story and name are used to make an OC the center of the story, essentially.

Now, I don't mind when people do this. People can do whatever, I'm just not gonna read or engage with it. What bothers me is when people try to pass a Harry who very much is an OC in Harry's skin (although their appearance is also often not that of book Harry, so it's not even the same skin. A pet peeve of mine is when Harry is drawn with brown hair, it just miffs me personally) as the canon one.

And I can somewhat understand where this mistake started, and like with a lot of things I'm not a fan of in this fandom — I blame the movies.

Movie Harry is passive and bland. I think he's a badly written character. But there is a reason for this huge downgrade in Harry's characterization between book and movie.

Movie!Harry was written to be an audience self-insert. Audience self-insert characters are more common in films than in books. In books, the POV characters have to have a personality to be interesting and to be able to carry the book with their internal monologue. They gotta be someone you want to read about. But in film, you can get away with a main character that has no personality at all. And that's what they did to Harry. They turned him into a character the movie audience could project whatever they wanted onto. And I think this was on purpose. So, of course, the audience projected whatever they wanted onto the bland template that is movie!Harry because that's what the movies were written to allow.

So, I think this is part of what caused a lot of the discrepancies in Harry's character. I mean, I'm sure there are a bunch of other factors, and I'm no fandom expert, but, I feel like this self-insert aspect of movie!Harry had a part in what happened to his character in the fandom.

(The negative effect movie!Ron on the portrayal of his character in fanon is similar. Though, this downgrade happened for different reasons called "the director(s) seemed to have shipped Harmony and hated Ron").

[zeppeli-reelstallbun]

The Exception

<- previous • Chapter 2 • next part tbd ->

<-<- click here to read from the beginning

[PAIRING] Bucciarati x Reader (afab-she/her)

[SUMMARY] After standing you up, Bucciarati attempts to make it up to you. Read previous chapters if you haven’t :)

[WC] 4.1k

[!!!] language, concept is inspired by goodfellas, so a lot of dialogue and narration has been picked straight from that. not cannon accurate, google translated Italian, pulling things out of my ass in terms of locations and such, lmk if I missed anything,

[A/N] HEY it’s been a bit, school started back up for me and this semester is intense!!! That being said, this is the part of the story I’ve been most excited to write, as the goodfellas scene was the reason I thought of this fic concept in the first place. The second part of this fic is pretty much a 1:1 of the film, and I will be linking the scene at the end because it is a WONDERFUL tracking shot.

Bucciarati was annoyingly punctual, his car pulling to a halt outside your house at eight on the dot. For the past fifteen minutes you had been preparing for another let down, but low and behold there he was, closing the drivers side door of his car with an absurdly gentle force.

Pulling the curtains shut, you instinctively scrambled to ‘act natural.’ Fine, he probably couldn’t see through walls, but it was at least good preparation for when you had to speak to the man in a moment.

If you even decided to speak to him, that is.

Sure, you had given him one more opportunity, but that didn't mean you weren't upset; he had stood you up, no matter how you chose to look at the situation. On top of that, there was the intoxicating way he had looked at you as you confronted him that evening, as if he had finally been presented with a challenge worthy of his time... as if you weren't worthy of it to begin with.

Last Friday had probably been one of the most embarrassing nights of your life, sitting frustrated and rejected on full display, all because of him. He just had to go and make it a more difficult situation by, what? Looking at you the right way?

You had to hold yourself to a higher standard. You had to hold him to a higher standard.

Did you even want to go on this date, really?

Three heavy knocks reverberated through the room before you could answer your own question.

Taking a deep breath, you took your time walking to the door; you didn't need to jump eagerly to him, after all. That was reserved for boys who respected you. Bringing your gaze to the peephole, you opted to indulge in an additional moment to really look at the man standing outside. He had made you wait for nearly an hour, surely he could handle a few minutes without an answer.

Besides, you hadn’t exactly decided to go with him yet, and the man in front of you would have to be ‘divine being’ levels of beautiful if he thought just showing up would be enough. You’d only seen Bucciarati on two occasions: the awkward first date at the restaurant, and when you were screaming at him on the street. Suffice to say, his attractiveness wasn’t your sole focus at the time.

Well, he might not have been a god, but he sure as hell was a sight to take in. Even obscured by the dusty glass covering the lens, you could recognize this objective fact.

Bucciarati’s face was defined, yet still maintained a sense of softness, despite the sharp features you’d noticed. His clothing, however interesting it might be, left little to the imagination in terms of his build, the cutout showing off a toned chest underneath what appeared to be… lace?

Before you could come to any further conclusions, however, he looked directly at you—no, at the peephole—making you take a step back in shock. He couldn’t actually know you were staring, could he?

No, he couldn’t. He just inferred that you had to be there.

Before he had the opportunity to knock again, your hand found the metal doorknob, methodically turning it as you took a deep breath to swing the door open. You had already decided to let him make a fool of himself before saying a word, eager to hear how he planned on initiating this conversation.

One thing was certain: If he didn’t nail these next two minutes, you would be enjoying a nice bottle of wine and the company of your favorite film. He was more likely to mess up if you neglected to set a tone, you realized, and you weren't exactly opposed to setting him up for failure.

It felt like you had been trying to brainstorm the countless ways he could misspeak for days now, ready to scold him for the way he might ramble outside your door. While you knew you couldn’t predict exactly what he’d say, you had realized there were only a few ways this situation could go.

One: He says something along the lines of, ‘Are you ready to go?’ In which case, you remind him that he had to convince you first. And then you would close the door and drink your wine.

Two: He asks you to go to dinner, in which case you inform him that he hasn’t apologized… and then you would close the door and drink your wine.

Three: He apologizes profusely, asks you to go to dinner, and you give him a chance to talk you into it. If he says something wrong… well, you know.

Perhaps your curiosity had gotten the better of you, as you had been truly pondering which one he would choose. Maybe that's the reason you agreed to give him another chance in the first place: you were curious to see how he could possibly make it up to you; you wanted another chance to make him feel small for what he’d done.

As you opened the door, his deep blue eyes met yours, snapping you out of the thought. And then, after taking a moment to compose himself, he deviated from the script entirely. Choosing not to begin with any of the predetermined options, Bucciarati simply pulled what appeared to be two tickets out of his pocket.

“I was thinking we could do something more formal after dinner.” He said smoothly, handing them over to you.

Not what you had anticipated. Not what you had anticipated at all.

You felt your heart skip a beat as you realized what he had given you, eyes widening unintentionally as you read the intricate graphic on the heading. Whatever you had done to detach yourself prior to this moment, it was all worthless now. Additionally, your first instinct was to look down at your outfit as opposed to questioning him, your dark jeans and going-out top now feeling underwhelming for the proposition.

“I think I’d need to change into something nicer- how did you even get these?” You asked, realizing that you had inadvertently accepted the offer. After looking back up, you noticed a hint of smugness in his smile as he held his hand out, gesturing for the tickets back.

As you returned them, he replied nonchalantly, “You have time. And, I bought them.”

Note to self, Bruno Bucciarati had money. You’d only been to the San Carlo once for a tour, and even then, the cost wasn’t cheap. You didn't want to think about how much your date had spent on these, let alone what the upcharge would have been for a last minute purchase.

His attire was considerably proper, you realized after another glance, casual enough for dinner but still adequate for the evening to follow. After taking a brief moment to contemplate how unexpected this was, you simply scoffed and shook your head, opening the door to let him into the entryway.

“I'll be quick then, sit wherever you’d like,” you said, turning to go to your room. You halted soon after, though, remembering the venue you’d visited with Mista and Lucia. “Won’t I stick out at dinner in a dress?”

“Not where I’m taking you, you won't.” He started, the authority in his voice calming you as he took a seat on your couch. “And you don’t need to worry about bringing anything.”

After a quick nod, you turned on your heels and hurried to get changed. While searching idly through your closet, however, you found yourself questioning the implication of his words; where exactly was he planning on taking you?

You had initially assumed Bruno planned on making it up to you in the most literal sense, repaying the one date he owed you at Mistas location of choice. But now, as you searched for a specific dress, you were piecing together how inaccurate that judgement had been. Within minutes, he’d subverted your expectations. Twice.

He was unattended in your living room right now, for fucks sake.

Maybe Bucciarati just had a natural talent in skipping past the hard parts of life, it would explain his dismissal of you a week ago if that were the case. Perhaps he was just the kind of guy others felt naturally drawn to… instinctively ready to trust him at a moment's notice. You certainly had felt that way.

The fabric you’d chosen flattered your figure, despite being a last minute change of attire. On top of that, the simple—and more importantly, rapid—hairdo you’d managed to scrape together would suffice. Jewelry was simple, shoes were comfortable, shawl was… atrocious.

Yeah, you ditched the shawl, it had been itchy anyways.

Taking one final look in the mirror, you deemed the outfit appropriate as you twisted your torso to examine it at every angle. For any other dinner, you might not have gone to this extent. But, if Bucciarati was taking you to the theatre of all places afterward, you weren't willing to risk looking foolish.

As you opened your bedroom door, the man stood up to greet you. Though you couldn’t exactly put your finger on it, the entire situation felt a bit uncomfortable at first, as if you were on display once more.

His gaze certainly didn't help, even blindfolded you probably would have been able to feel its weight prickling upon you. Despite how… attentive he was, it didn't feel disrespectful. It didn't feel like he was staring.

You honestly didn’t know how to feel about the entire thing, but you weren't about to let him know that. Besides, tonight was about having fun. It was not about the man paying for said fun. That much was assumed and—you hoped—mutual.

Crossing the room to close the distance, you even gave him the beginnings of a smile.

“What do you think? Will they turn me away at the door in this?” You joked, patting the skirt as if wiping dust off your lap.

You managed to muster enough courage to make eye contact with him in the moment, a sliver of connection you still considered uncomfortable, only to be taken aback by the way his gaze contained something unfamiliar entirely… something you couldn’t quite name. His head was slightly cocked to one side as he let the silence sit in the air, examining you for what felt like hours too long.

Finally, he replied in a lighthearted tone, “Only if I told them to.”

You rolled your eyes at his answer, laughing him off as you started towards the door, “Are you ready to go then?”

He nodded, following you through the threshold while allowing his hand to return to the small of your back, wordlessly guiding you to the car.

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

The drive itself was surprisingly short, considering how far away the last two venues had been. In fact, you hadn’t fully comprehended that you’d reached the destination before Bruno was putting the car in park, having pulled up to the curb of a crowded street without announcing its significance. Before you knew it however, he was opening your door, hand extended to escort you from your seat. Naturally, you accepted.

A quick glance at your surroundings left you slightly confused, despite how beautiful the sight might have been. The restaurant entrance was just across the street, a line of people extending for what appeared to be miles, waiting to get in. Aside from his own, only a handful of other cars lined the curb, each likely there for a pick up or drop off.

It’s like he was trying to get robbed, you thought to yourself.

Turning around, you noticed that he wasn’t just on any curb. The well lit awning above you revealed that he'd parked in the valet spot of a bustling hotel, and strangely, he seemed to be shaking the bellhop's hand.

Without drawing much attention to it, your date handed over his keys as well, before turning to escort you across the street

“What are you doing, you’re leaving your car?” You asked politely, trying to make sense of the encounter you’d witnessed. Bruno was already leading you away from the vehicle, hand hovering above your waist once more.

“He watches it for me, it's easier than leaving it at a garage and waiting,” he responded casually, guiding you out of the way of a small pothole in the ground. “You know what I mean? A lot quicker that way.”

Sure, you supposed, but regular people tend to put up with such inconveniences. Regardless, there wasn’t much else you could say to that. To a certain degree, it seemed as if the exchange had been orchestrated ahead of time in an effort to impress you. Even if he did frequent this restaurant, surely he didn't do this every visit.

As if this obscurity wasn’t enough, you also realized that your date wasn’t turning to take you to the back of the line, but he also didn’t appear to be cutting to the front, either—which you now wouldn’t have put past him. Instead, he led you about a third of the way from the entrance where there appeared to be a small alcove tucked into the wall, hidden partially by the line of people.

He said nothing, nodding his head down in a respectful, silent ‘thank you,’ as the strangers standing in line parted instinctively to let the two of you through. They moved with purpose, you noticed, as if they knew who Bruno was and what he was doing there. Did he really exude that much confidence? Were these strangers really about to let him cut in line without so much as a comment?

But your date wasn’t aiming for a spot in the queue, you registered as he kept walking. No, Bruno continued forward, now guiding you down the alcove’s unassuming staircase—towards what you assumed to be a service entrance.

“I like going this way, it’s better than waiting in line.” He explained as if anyone could do this, never wavering from his gentle authoritative tone as he walked you down the stairs and towards the door. The second he reached for the handle, however, a man in hosting attire opened it from the inside, as if he had been waiting eagerly for Bruno's arrival.

“How are you doing?” The stranger greeted with familiarity while your date reached into his pocket, his momentum unwavering as he continued to move you into the hallway.

“Good, good,” He smiled, nudging you further before handing the doorman… something… under the guise of a friendly handshake. “Here you go.”

New theory: Bucciarati had taken you to the restaurant where he worked, explaining this ability to cut corners as a way to impress you. After one of his shifts, he likely asked a bellhop if he’d be able to watch his car on this night. You must have missed the money exchange, or perhaps he slipped it when handing over his keys. The man at the door had to be a coworker, someone he’d asked ahead of time to let you in through the back in return for a bit of cash as well.

It could almost come across as pathetic, someone trying to use this as a means to impress you. As you remembered how long the line had appeared on the street, though, you couldn’t exactly say that his efforts weren’t working.

That being said, your theory would still be discredited in no less than five minutes.

That's right. In the time it took Bucciarati to navigate from the kitchens to your dining table, it became abundantly clear that he was not just someone who worked here. No employee would be given this level of priority, no matter how essential they might be to company productivity. No employee would be this universally adored.

As he guided you through the long service hallway, another host appeared to be taking a break, a half eaten sandwich in his hand.

“How are you doing, Gino?” Bucciarati asked, causing the man to look up and extend his hand.

The tone of his voice hinted that he wasn’t just making small talk, however. There was a genuine sense of care behind the question he’d asked the stranger, marked by the fact he’d used the man’s name.

The employee greeted Bruno politely and happily without holding him back from his destination, allowing your date to keep moving forward as he simply replied, “I'm good, Bucciarati. I wish you a good evening, Signore!”

“How couldn’t I have one? I hear Romano’s on tonight.” Bruno shouted over his shoulder, each step leading you further from the man who had burst into laughter at the seemingly normal exchange.

Perhaps it was an inside joke between employees, but what kind of person refers to their coworker with such formality?

Change in the theory: Bucciarati was someone of significance at this restaurant, perhaps a manager or the son of it’s owner. All other variables unchanged. Still a tad bit pathetic.

He turned you around a corner, the deep red hall winding back and forth as you passed another handful of workers.

“Every time I come here,” Bruno quipped naturally, gesturing to the man and woman having what seemed to be an argument near the kitchen entrance, “every time, you two.”

The couple laughed him off as your date grabbed your hand, now dodging and weaving between kitchen staff in a new section of the building. You were beginning to feel a bit disoriented by the unfamiliar halls, but then he turned once more, revealing the hustle and bustle of the restaurant's heart.

A man crouched by the freezer, filling a bucket of ice. Another squeezed past you wordlessly, holding a baking sheet with parchment lining. You narrowly avoided a stack of milk crates piled to your right, having missed them entirely while trying to take in the rest of the busy scenery. Brunos hands were now on either side of your waist, politely maneuvering you through the tight spaces as you continued towards the stovetops, only taking them away on one occasion to pat a chef on the shoulders.

It seemed every other person in the room received some variation of, “Hey, how are you, we have to catch up, how are the kids—” And each returned the greeting with a sense of familiarity, referring to him by name as they responded with gratitude for his acknowledgment.

Throughout all of this, Bruno did not stop moving, as if he were parading you for all these people to see. Finally, after turning another set of confusing corners, you had reached the actual interior of the restaurant, the lighting now warm and comforting instead of sterile. He shook another man's hand as he led you to another section of the room.

“We weren’t expecting you tonight, Signore Bucciarati, glad to see you.” The stranger had said, throwing your hypothesis that this had been predetermined completely out the window in one breath.

At this point, you had no other choice but to roll with it. You clearly had no idea where or what was going on, but it was obvious Bruno knew what he was doing. You only got a brief glance at your surroundings—the gorgeous candle lit tablecloths contrasting the grand nature of the crowded establishment, every table filled to the brim—before a man in a blue suit snapped his head towards your date, completely disregarding the two men he seemed to have been conversing with.

He extended his arms forward, but not before gesturing to another employee beyond your line of sight.

“Signore Bucciarati,” He smiled with a handshake as the second worker moved into the space, signaling to another that it was time to start moving, “Nice to see you.”

The man shook your hand as well, though his attention was fixed on the two men scrambling to his right. “It’s lovely meeting you.���

He waved his hand, instantly a table was picked up and marched to the main floor of the restaurant, placed gently in front of the stage as the other man followed with two chairs and a candle.

The man in the blue suit escorted you to your seats, ensuring everything was up to your date's standards.

Bruno shook his hand again, “Thank you, Signore, I appreciate it.”

Your chair was pulled out for you, but Bucciarati turned to the surrounding tables before taking a seat himself. Another chorus of ‘it’s good to see you’ and other various greetings rang through the air as you awkwardly took your gloves off, but another aspect of these interactions caught your eye.

“You gave them a stack of lire each.” You mused, no longer explicitly attempting to question his actions as he returned to your side.

He shrugged, now settling into the seat next to you with confidence. “It’s alright.”

Had he been doing that with every handshake this evening? By now, you were certain he didn’t work here. No service worker would throw away their money for such a spectacle, regardless of how much they yearned to impress a date.

You also understood that this level of respect and attention was earned over years of collaboration, even with a week of preparation time, it couldn’t have been faked.

Before you could dwell on it further, the man in the blue suit was back, a bottle of alcohol in his hands.

“This is from Signore Tomei, over there.” He said, placing it on your table before gesturing to another section of the restaurant.

“Where?” Bruno asked, looking around.

The man repeated himself. “There.”

At the neighboring table of five, you watched as one of the men raised his hand politely while nodding.

Bucciarati nodded in return, “Thank you,” he said.

“No problem.” The stranger quipped casually, returning to his own beverages and conversation as if he hadn’t just given away the most expensive looking liquor you’d ever seen.

Bucciarati gently patted your hand, but your mind was racing with a million different questions about the entrance you’d been given. Who the hell was this friend of Mista’s, and how was he able to support this kind of spending? What kind of twenty year old had this level of connections? Was he some local heir? Did he come from a family of wealth?

Another realization dawned on you: he wouldn’t go to this extent if he didn’t want to make a show of it. Bucciarati wanted you to ask. If he didn’t, you would have been sitting in jeans in the same restaurant as last week… you wouldn’t have been offered opera tickets before even leaving your house… hell, you probably wouldn’t have been on this date to begin with!

“What do you do?” You asked him with a hint of bluntness, careful to take any sense of accusation out of your tone.

“What?” He asked, turning his attention back to you, leaning in to hear better.

“What do you do?” You repeated, furrowing your brow and glancing around as the band began to warm up.

He smiled, instantly giving an answer that felt too practiced. “I’m in construction.”

Skeptical, you grabbed the hand he’d left resting on the table. As the lights in the room began to dim, you let your fingers examine his palm, running over the place where callouses should have been. But Bucciaratis hands were soft, well taken care of, and smooth.

“They don’t feel like you’re in construction.” You commented, causing him to pull the hand back, smiling still.

“Well, I’m a union delegate.” He replied, looking around the room instead of at you.

Before you could dispute him further, the patter of a drumroll filled your ears, and a man on stage was announcing the evening's entertainment: the aforementioned Romano.

Tonight was about having fun, you reminded yourself, it was not about the man—or whatever occupation he was hiding—paying for said fun. After guiding you into this environment with careful diligence, Bruno Bucciarati had given you every assurance that the concept was, in fact, mutual. You could relax.

Well, you could if you had the ability to ignore your intuition practically screaming for you to investigate what he was hiding. For now it might have been set aside, but you had no intention of staying in the dark forever.

Knowing that no theory could scratch the surface, you left dinner instead with a goal: Learn something about Bruno Bucciarati before returning home.

You’d have to cross your fingers, hopefully the trip to the San Carlo was longer than the car ride to the restaurant; theatres weren’t typically known to be the best places to talk.

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

blog masterlist ->

AN:

As promised, here’s the scene from goodfellas

Expect another jjba post soon, not sure if it’s gonna be more gyro or a new thingie with rohan, but it’s coming for sure

Also, I wrote a drabble for nanami kento because i have no self control so ig let me know if that would be of any interest…. may or may not contain smut

Taglist

Comment or dm to be added, and make sure your permissions allow for tags:

@mysticalzonkthingparty

@yunho-leeknow

[brawnsleloenigmadoublesonic]

I want someone to write a crack fic about this so bad

G1 Decepticons are such dumb goofy bimbos, I'm honestly surprised the show didn't end in season 1 with all the cons as pregnant slutty wives.

It could happen even without any effort or intent on autobot's part, it's fully in-character for Megatron to suddenly come up with some ridiculous plan that involves them all getting knocked up. I mean, these soft sparked, goody two shoes autolosers wouldn't dare to ever raise a servo against a carrying mech, right? Especially if the sparkling is theirs! They could raid all the energon, unimpeded! Perfect plan!

How would they go about getting sparked, though... Maybe some just choose different targets and jump them at the first opportunity, and others try seduction instead. (Insert megop with their cliche "oh no we're trapped in a cave-in guess we're fucking") Autobots are flabbergasted. Cons are suddenly hunting them for their spikes lol

Anyway, the plan is a huge success!! Not only these autonerds now can't fight them, they start bringing them energon themselves! (Autobots are even more confused now. They can't exactly harm a carrier, but they can't let them terrorize and steal from humans either. Plus, their morals wouldn't let them be deadbeat sires so providing for their new wives is no-brainer. Besides there's a lot of headcanons about g1 decepticons and autobots being different castes/constructs so the cultural differences could also be at play.)

Decepticons are so wrapped up in gloating about their "victory" they don't realise that autobots "servicing" them is just wooing and basic prenatal care lmao. From autobot perspective cons just got super horny and insisted on fragging raw for some reason. Now they have a whole faction of ditzy, whiny, demanding carriers. Oh well, anything is better than war. -🛝

Yes!!! They're such sweet wives, even if they're a little awkward about asking for what they need. Oh they're wonderful at demanding it, sure, but when you give them a little kiss on the forehead and ask them if they need anything else? They get so awkward and unsure, it's frankly adorable! Though, it does make the autobots feel a little bad that their poor pretty wives don't feel safe asking for things. They just want to be good sires and make them comfortable!

[thatonefanficwriternooneknows]

FoxQuin Week Day 6: Time Travel

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night!

It's here! My favorite fic of the week!!

I honestly had the bestest time writing this one, it was stuck in my head for AGES and I just needed an excuse to write it! Featuring Jaster Mereel, Kal Skirata, Feemor, and MORE!

I really hope you all like it <3 It is a bit of a read clocking in at almost 3.9k words!

Day 6: Time Travel/"Please refrain from kissing the commander while he is on duty, in front of a senator, or a shiny" @foxquinweek

--

“I have to be honest, this is definitely the weirdest osik to happen to me in my life.” Jaster kriffing Mereel, the Prime’s buir, laughed around the fire him and his ori’ramikad made. It was similar to watching his vode when it came down to competence.

Cody laughed along with him.

“Imagine how we’re feeling! One second we’re boots on the ground in the shebs end of the galaxy and next thing we know we’re in the middle of a Mandalorian civil war.”

There were toasts and mild roasting amongst the vode and the Haat Mando’ade and Cody thought for once it seemed like there was something out there looking out for the Vode.

“I’m simply curious as to what seems to be the criteria for platoons being pulled into the past.” Obi-wan hummed and took a sip of his shig, eyes lighting up at the flavor. That was Cody’s Jedi for you.

“Oh I am as well, Jetii. For the most part it seems almost random. You say you were all separated in your time correct?” Mereel leaned in, the same spark in his eyes that graced the General’s when they found a particularly old temple ruin.

Cody sighed as the two started talking a little beyond his comprehension and looked around at the gathered Platoons.

It wasn’t as many as he wanted, but more still were appearing.

Wolfe and his pack, their Jedi, Koon, Bly and his squad of commandos with their Jedi (whom Bly was guarding from interested Mando’s like he was being paid to), Ponds and his lot and, of course, High General Windu, Faie and his closet vode with the spy Vos (who Obi-wan was close to??), Mundi and Bacara and their ilk, Neyo and his Jedi that Cody really didn’t know the name of, Rex and his maniacs plus little Tano, and a few other brothers with their Jedi that Cody couldn’t see and therefore couldn’t name.

Wait a second.

“I think it has something to do with Jedi, General.” Cody piped up, effectively cutting off Mereel mid-sentence. Whoops.

Several Jedi and their commanders seemed to hear him, otherwise they were all convening on the fire for some other reason. Doubtful.

“Well, I mean, the Force, or the Manda, would have to be involved somehow, there’s no technology I’m aware of that could do this.” Obi-wan looked confused and it was definitely a good look on him. Not that Cody was looking. No sir.

Cody shook his head.

“No, General, I mean that it seems it’s only a Jedi and their assigned platoons that are showing up. I know for a fact the 327th is larger than just twenty troops yet that’s all there are, including Bly. And only the Ghost Squadron is here, and not even all of it. It’s just the vode that work the closest with their Jedi and said Jedi.”

Several heads were nodding around the circle, and Bacara gave him an assessing stare, judging Cody for every word that escaped his lips, before nodding slightly.

Always nice when the Marine backs you up.

“What about the rest of the vode? Is it just going to be the lucky shebs’palon’e that get to come back to a less fraught time?” Ponds frowned, Windu flinching like something was smacking him in the head repeatedly.

“Less fraught?” Kal kriffing Skirate asked, settling next to Mereel too close to be just friendly. Not something Cody would have guessed about Prime’s buir. “We’re in the middle of a system wide Civil War, how is that less fraught?”

Several Commanders couldn’t hold back giggles or chuckles at the question. A system wide civil war. Copikla.

“Well we came from a Galactic Wide Civil War, so yes, less fraught.” Secura snarked. Nice to know that there was a good reason that Bly was boots over buy’ce for her.

“Alright, let’s all stop saying fraught.” Mereel mediated, smiling at the vod who decided to take their buckets off, not even flinching at the face of his ad mirrored in several older beings.

Spine of beskar this one.

There was peaceful murmuring for a while as Cody’s Jedi started to ruminate over his first statement, sipping at his shig every few seconds. The Haat’ade delighting in conversations with various vode about their best battle stories, sharing shig and rations like it was second nature.

The baby Prime was no where to be seen.

Likely trying to hide from his future decision to make millions of children only to abandon them all and declare them non-sentient.

Hard truths.

The cheerful mood was split by Ponds suddenly gasping and looking to Cody with wide eyes. He cocked his head.

“If it’s only vode with Jedi then are we ever going to see Fox’ika again?”

Osik.

Fox was their batch baby and has been a pain to get in contact with since he was docketed as Marshal Commander for the Coruscant Guard. A battalion well known for not having a Jedi because it wasn’t as strenuous a posting as frontline ones.

Kriff if Cody wasn’t regretting feeling happy that their batch baby was going to be safe on Coruscant when the deployments came. Now it meant that he might never see his littlest kih’vod again.

Mereel perked up.

“Fox’ika? An ad?”

Cody shook his head, Ponds, Bly, and Wolffe echoing him.

“Our batch baby. He was the last decanted in our batch so he’s our youngest. Assigned to be the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard.” But kriff if Cody still wasn’t proud of that posting. Three Marshall Commanders in one batch, unheard of.

“The Guard famously doesn’t have a Jetii Commander.” Neyo piped up, grinning wickedly at Wolffe who snapped his teeth at the scout. Those two would never get over their tubie rivalry it seemed.

Obi-wan cocked his head.

“They don’t?” Several Generals echoed his confusion with sounds of their own, looking to their commanders with wide eyes.

“They’re flimsi pushers. Datapad handlers. They don’t need a Jedi for osik like that.” Faie scoffed and if Cody didn’t secretly agree with them then he’d take their head off himself for belittling his vod’ika like that.

It was an important posting.

Even if there was no fighting to be had.

A few of the Haat scoffed at the idea of such a responsibility, not shocking for a culture built around battle and victory.

Mereel just looked concerned.

The rest of Cody’s batch just looked sad.

“Did someone mention the Guard?” Vos popped up into the circle like a particularly stubborn weed, and several Haat’ade jerked in surprise at his appearance. Cody and his vode were not immune to the surprise, either, if the small jumps and dropped jaws said anything.

Faie rolled their whole head as they rolled their eyes.

“We don’t have time for your obsession with the flimsi pushers, General.” They scoffed.

Obi-wan looked at Vos like the Kiffar had grown extra limbs.

“Obsession with the Guard? Quinlan what in the Force?”

It was Vos’ turn to roll his eyes as he settled in between Obi-wan and Secura, shuffling his shebs to make room. Shabuir.

“Commander Faie is being facetious, Obes. I have a perfectly natural interest in the Guard and the image that the rest of the Vode seem to have of them.” Vos sounded relatively normal as he spoke, but he was shooting daggers at Faie the whole time.

Said vod looked shocked at the Mando’a coming out of his General’s mouth.

Not unheard of that some vode don’t feel comfortable sharing the little bit of culture they coveted with tooth and nail with their Jedi. Seems like Faie was one of them.

That brings the question: where did Vos learn it? Especially the preference they had for being called vode.

“Image? The kriff does that mean?” Wolffe growled, lunging for Vos only to be held back by the careful clutch of claws from his Jedi. Good being, that Koon.

“Just that, Commander. When I’ve been in my post as a General with Commander Faie, all I’ve ever heard about the Guard is that they’re flimsi pushers, datapad handlers, wouldn’t know how to handle a blaster with a step-by-step manual. It’s all very rude, honestly. Not my experience at all.” Vos shrugged, looking to Obi-wan with a particular glint in his eye that Cody didn’t like.

“Your experience?” Cody’s General asked, raising a single brow at his friend(?).

Vos opened his mouth, finger firmly in the air, when he was cut off by a shout from across the plains they were camping in.

“JASTER!”

Heads popped up from around the camp, various troopers and commandos in various state of undress looking with wide eyes at the Mando in blue shouting at the Mand’alor.

“Tor?” Mereel voiced to himself, very confused.

“What does that shabuir want?” Kal kriffing Skirata hissed, glaring at the other Mando with a gaze that could kill. “Kriffing Kyr’stad.”

Several vod perked up, looking at the offending Mando with squinted eyes and cocked heads. More blue-clad Mandos started to file up behind this Tor character.

“HOW DARE YOU GET AN ARMY OF JETII INVOLVED IN OUR WAR!”

“An army of Jedi?” Koon muttered, voice lilting slightly as he looked at Wolffe slightly.

“News to me.” Wolffe shrugged, several other Jedi murmuring their agreements.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Tor!”

It was as Jaster spoke that the first figure clad in a long brown robe appeared on the plains between the Haat’ade camp and the offending Kyr’stad.

“JASTER!”

It was like a signal, and several more figures joined the first, almost a head shorter than them, but all dressed in vaguely Jedi-esque robes, covering them from top to bottom.

Cody couldn’t tell their species considering the robes.

Idly, he noticed that Vos had perked up even more than he had when talking about the Guard. (The kriff was that about?)

“YOU JETIISE HAVE BEEN ATTACK MY CAMPS FOR WEEKS NOW! PREPARE TO FACE ME HEAD ON!” Tor yelled, pointing a lightsaber hilt at the hundreds of robe-clad figured.

It was a signal.

Several thousand Mandos started storming towards the hundreds of beings masking themselves as Jedi and Mereel and Cody’s Jedi made concerned noises.

“We were wondering who was taking pot shots at Tor the past few weeks.” Kal muttered.

Mereel noticed the vode and Jedi’s confusion and elaborated a bit.

“For the last two weeks or so every Kyr’tsad camp we got info on was already hit before we got there. It was uncanny their speed considering no one was there by the time we did.”

The Robed Ones didn’t even twitch at the army of Mandos running at them.

“I didn’t even know there were that many Kyr’tsad for Viszla to call on. Myles grumbled, carefully readying his pistols for the blaster fight that was about the break out. No way hundreds could take on thousands.

Several vode nodded and started shelling up when Vos chuckled, still relaxing in his place around the fire. What a cocky shabuir.

“Master?” Secura questioned, taking her ques from him instead of her troopers.

“Don’t worry, Aayla. I just enjoy watching some beings being forced to eat their words.”

Almost as if planned, as soon as Vos finished talking, music started to reverberate the air, starting low and rising in volume in rhythmic pounding beats.

The Kyr’tsad faltered as every single robed figure, except the first, spread their legs and braced carefully.

An eerie lilting voice started low vocalizations in the music as the tallest figure nodded their head, flexing their hands slightly.

Both figures next to them flourished their hands and blades appeared in them, just in time for the taller to pull his arms back and push them. Very similarly to how Skywalker liked to fling his troopers through the air.

Just the same, the two were flying through the air with more grace than Torrent ever managed, robes flying off to reveal colorful civilian clothing completely different from each other, but both with matching metal masks, not a lick of armor between them.

They landed onto of Kyr’tsad soldiers and downed them in seconds.

It was then the tallest figure started flinging their counterparts in waves, several wielding blades of some sort, some with blasters, and others with nothing but their hands coated in thick gloves.

Cody watched, entranced, as the smaller group decimated the larger, Kyr’tsad falling like bogflies left and right to viciously competent verde.

One memorable take down consisted of a red clad verd kicking the helmet clean off a Kyr’tsad Mando for one of their companions to shoot them in the head.

After the entire army (and it was obviously an army, though maybe not of Jedi) was launched, the larger figure jumped the distance in a single bound, right into a gathering of Kyr’tsad without his verde, and pushed them all out very much like a Jedi.

Within what felt like minutes, the Kyr’tsad force was down to a quarter of what they started with, and they were clearly nervous. Their leader fuming in the back.

It became obvious why when the herd was thinned out a little more.

The same red-clad verd from earlier was single handedly taking out scores of Kyr’tsad with their bare hands.

“YOU!” Tor yelled, “I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL OF SINGLE COMBAT!” he pointed his lightsaber hilt at the verd and ignited it.

The Haat’ade all took a sharp breath.

“The dha’kad.” Was whispered by enough Mandos that Cody took it to mean that it was important somehow. Wonderful.

“We only thought that dar’manda sleemo had it, now he confirms it.” Mereel sucked a breath between his teeth as the battlefield stopped.

Red lifted their head to the Kyr’tsad Alor and nodded decisively, the rest of the masked verde slamming their fists to their chests in a salute eerily similar to the Vode.

Red’s verde formed a long circle around them, pushing back the blue Mandos with glee to make a pathway for Tor to make his way to his challenge.

The larger, still clad in their robe, leaned down to talk quietly with Red, gesturing to something along their back before nodding and joining the circle.

As soon as Tor was inside the circle it closed behind him, still the music played from overhead, always something with a marching beat.

Cody looked up and spotted another masked verd up in one of the few trees on the plain. (He was never gladder that they were up on a hill and could easily make out the actions inside the ring.)

Tor spat at the feet of Red, glaring and putting his helmet on without turning off the lightsaber that he was wielding (badly it seems).

“You have a lightsaber.” Red’s voice was soft but it carried, niggling in Cody’s ear like he recognized it from somewhere he couldn’t place. It did sound awfully familiar.

“It’s the dha’kad, you insolent whelp.” Tor spat, vocoder doing little to hide the sneer in his voice. “Until death is how challenges for this kad generally go. So be good and die quietly.”

That was one angry Mando.

The masked verde didn’t even shift at the threat to their leader.

“Mandokarla.” Someone whispered from behind Cody and he couldn’t help but nod along. Those verde had some serious gett’se.

“Funny.” Red remarked, voice just as plain as it was earlier. “I agree.”

The masked ones saluted again, their reverberating sound changing the music into a loud chant with rhythmic pounding as Tor launched himself at Red. They dodged.

It carried on the same way for the next minute, possibly two, when Tor screamed and lunged again.

“FIGHT BACK, YOU HUT’UUN!” he screamed.

“Alright.” Red responded, and with the next swing of the dha’kad, the verd didn’t move, but with a very familiar swish there was a green lightsaber stopping the black laser sword.

Tor was visibly taken aback, even from as far away as Cody was.

“YOU-!”

Red pushed Tor back before reaching behind themselves and lighting up another ‘saber, this one a bright turquoise and twirled them both, a clear showing that they knew what they were doing and weren’t just mindlessly swinging a laser sword and hoping to achieve something. Coughcough Tor coughcough.

Maybe this one actually was a Jedi.

Or at least had training from one, their ‘saber work was impressively similar to Jedi katas.

It almost looked like Red was playing with the Mando, dodging, parrying, and deflecting, but not taking a single swing with either lightsaber.

“YOU-”

Tor over extended himself and with a swift kick, Red had knocked the dha’kad out of his hand and caught it with his own.

The Kyr’tsad leader was frozen.

With smooth movements, every ‘saber was extinguished and disappeared and an ordinary blaster was pulled and placed underneath Tor’s chin, primed and ready.

“You won’t do it. Shabla hut’uun-” he was cut off as Red pulled the trigger and the bolt sliced through the sparse covering and bounced around in the beskar buy’ce as Tor’s body fell to the ground.

The rest of Death Watch started running off.

A few members of the masked force took off after them, felling them all in swift takedowns and cleverly placed blaster bolts or flourished blades.

“What in the absolute haran?” Kal kriffing Skirata spoke and the rest of the camp was silent, in various states of dress, still.

Then Rex’s maniacs broke the stunned silence.

“Cyare!!”

Fives and Echo took off out the camp, heading for one of the masked verde, tackling them without slowing down an iota.

The mask was removed swiftly and Echo was enthusiastically kissing the revealed face while Fives was babbling excitedly, pausing every now and then to place a chaste kiss on waiting lips.

Wait a second.

Is that?

“I knew you’d show up here, baby.” Vos drawled out, sauntering his way down the hill towards the verd with the dha’kad. Obi-wan made a noise in the back of his throat, reaching out for his batchmate with one hand and holding his lightsaber in his other.

“Thanks for the loan, cyar’ika.” Red spoke, handing over one of the ‘sabers they battled with to Vos, looking up slightly to meet eyes with the Jedi.

Vos ignored the proffered ‘saberto move aside the mask with one hand, his other wrapping around Red’s waist to pull them flush to his body.

In a smooth movement he had captured the other’s lips, pulling them tighter and moving the hand not wrapped around a tapered waist into salt and pepper red hair.

The kiss deepened, and even as far away as Cody was now he could see flashes of tongue and silver metal as they both sank into the kiss, ignoring the Haat’ade who were staring at them, gob smacked.

Cody was certain that they might have gotten a little hot and heavy, had the tall figure in robes not cleared their throat pointedly.

Vos retreated from the verd, but not without a pointed lick at their reddened lower lip. Then he looked up at the other figure with a smile that wouldn’t melt butter, the shabuir.

Before the taller could speak, another verd the same size as Red popped up and jammed a gloved finger into Vos’ chest, growling under his breath.

This caused Vos to raise his hands and start to actually look contrite.

“What are the fucking rules, Vos?” (Cody tried not to flinch at the blatant use of Outer Rim swears, but he doesn’t think he was successful.)

“Come on, Hex, this is extenuating circumstances, surely.”

“What are the fucking rules, Quinlan Vos?” The verd repeated, stabbing into Vos’ chest again. Going by the flinch of the Jedi it was a forceful stab. Not that the shabuir didn’t deserve it, but Cody winced in sympathy.

Vos seemed to deflate.

“Let me start you off, please refrain…”

“From kissing the commander while he is on duty.”

“And?”  A stab.

“In front of a senator.”

“And?” Another stab.

“Or in front of a shiny.”

“And you?” Stab.

“Did two of the three.”

“You’re on thin fucking ice, Quinlan Vos.” The verd growled before they were pulled away by two others, feeling them up like they thought that was the hottest thing they had ever seen. (They were almost like vode in that way. Competence kinks, the lot of them.)

The tallest chuckled and Vos stared up at them with a kicked tooka expression.

“Don’t look at me like that, Quinlan, you deserved that. You were told the rules several times.”

“But this is an exception, Fee! It’s not every day you’re sent back into the past and your celo becomes Mand’alor!”

“I did what?!” The verd shouted, turning to Vos with a dropped jaw and looking down at the dha’kad like it killed their entire batch. Ouch.

“Babe. Please.”

“No. I fucking refuse, give it to Cody.” Red threw the ‘kad at Vos and growled when the Jedi threw it back. Wait. Why do they know Cody’s name?

“Pretty sure it can only be exchanged through trial by combat, hon, and we both know you’d wipe the floor with Cody if he challenged you.” Rude.

Hold on a second.

“Fox’ika?”

Cody’s batchers jerked to stare at him with wide eyes, but suddenly, with perfect clarity, Cody knew he was right.

The verd looked up to them and took off their mask. And sure enough, Fox’s mismatched eyes and red hair were clearly seen by all.

Cody didn’t even really care that his kih’vod was officially Mand’alor now. That was his baby batcher, and he’d be damned if he was going to let Quinlan kriffing Vos be that close to him.

His batch was right behind him as they hurried down the hill, piling on to Fox and pushing Vos out of the way.

The tall one caught him so it’s not like he was hurt.

“Thanks, Fee.”

“I don’t think your Commander’s batchmates like you very much, Quinlan.”

“That’s fine. As long as Foxy likes me then there opinions don’t really matter, do they?”

‘Fee’ hummed in response.

After Cody felt like Fox was appropriately smothered, he pulled back, looking him over for any extreme changes since he last saw him.

Apparently that was all Vos needed to slither back in and wrap his arms around Fox’s waist like he was welcome there whenever he wanted to be.

Cody glared at the Jedi even as Fox leaned into Vos’ grasp and kissed the Kiffar on the cheek with a twinkle in his eye that Cody hasn’t seen since Fox was a cadet.

Shabuir.

When Cody and his batch rushed down, so too did the rest of their camp and Cody was graced with a pinched look on Faie’s face like he bit into a sour jogan fruit.

And even though he also needed to figure out just how he felt about watching Fox fight with two lightsabers like a trained Jedi and became Mand’alor, mostly Cody was just glad his batch was complete.

 “So how often have you kissed in front of senators and shinies that one of your vod have specific rules about it?”

Force dammit Wolffe.

[mormtastic]

it makes me so upset when people act like writing is inherently an inferior art form to visual art (such as drawing and painting and whatever else)

and i say this AS a visual artist who doesn’t even post his writing. it just genuinely makes me so upset that you people don’t seem to care for writers anymore

i’ve two things i’d like to talk about on this topic, one being in regard to fandom, and the other being in regard to ai. so read more for a yap idk

1. in fandom

i hate when people act like fanart is more valuable— or respectable, even— than fanfiction in fandom spaces. you people act like because SOME fanfiction is “cringe” or “not well written” it makes the entire form of fan content embarrassing to talk about / engage with / create. it’s so upsetting to me. fanfic writers, in a lot of cases, are extremely talented people. the ability to understand a piece of media and the characters in it to the point where you’re able to create new stories from it is so cool. and a lot of fanfiction writers have quite literally spent years improving their writing, and learning how to phrase things in ways that best fit the story they’re trying to tell. it’s so so awesome to me and it makes me upset when people belittle fanfiction writers because of some predisposed assumption that fanfiction is inherently cringe or childish

2. in regard to ai

i’d like to start off by saying, ALL AI IS BAD. ai has terrible effects on our environment, with the energy it consumes and the waste it produces. it’s also just bad for society in general, promoting laziness, incompetence, and the spread of misinformation

however, i’m aware that certain people hold the view that ai is “only harmful in creative spaces”

this is objectively wrong, but to entertain that view for a moment, those of you who claim to hate ai “in creative spaces” and then turn around and hop on character.ai are SO ANNOYING.

at that point, by “creative spaces,” i’d assume you were for some reason only referring to visual art. which, again, is just so demeaning. what is writing to you if not an art form??

and the fact that you’d use artificial intelligence to generate written fan content rather than, i dunno,

-writing it yourself

-finding a real person to roleplay it with/write it with

-requesting a fanfic writer to write it

-looking for fics with a similar premise that already exist

is so evil and lazy. by supporting ai roleplay sites you are INHERENTLY diminishing creative writing spaces in fandom. i hope you know that.

it’s genuinely so frustrating, too, because i’ve met people who are literally on character.ai for multiple hours of the day. do you know how many fanfiction writers you could have shown support to within that time frame? real people? real people who put love and effort into creating written content, just for you to turn around and act like an AI is more worth your time??????

oh my GOD

ok sorry rant over 🙏🤲 for now

TL;DR written art is just as valuable as visual art. and especially in fandom spaces, you people really need to realize that. it’s genuinely so frustrating, even AS a visual artist, to see yall completely disregard the talents of writers in fandom