#commander fox is there for a hot second

[cc1010fox]

Rex: He's the worst. Dogma: How so? Rex: He's so rigid with the rules. Dogma: Oh? Rex: I swear he won't bend them for anyone... Dogma: You don't say... Rex: And he walks like he's got a stick up his shebs. Dogma: Does he? Rex, mocking the walk: Like this. Dogma: That is a nearly perfect march... Rex: Then I must not be doing it right. He always has to be perfect. Dogma: He sounds perfect. Rex: I know, right? He's so annoying... Dogma: So how would one get on this Commander Fox's good side? Rex: Tch. Who knows? He hates Jedi, so you'd probably have to kill one of them. Dogma, pulling out a blaster and shooting his Jedi without a second thought: Like that? Rex: ... Fox, lightyears away: Did someone drug me? My face feels hot and my codpiece feels like it's one size too small...

[theseinfernalangels]

A Guide to my Empyrean OCs

So! As I started writing my next fic™️ (Liam time!!), I realized that it would make absolutely no sense unless you all had more context for these OCs. Of course, fics will stay in second person, but I absolutely hate using “Y/N” and wanted room for specific characters with actual backstories and such. I might end up changing some lore in the future, but I figured this would be an appropriate start. Don’t be surprised when I come back to edit this a million times 🥲

Lieutenant Freya Levine – Bodhi Durran

Rider (Marked), Graduated

The daughter of Commander Erik Levine, a close confidant of Fen Riorson, who was turned in by a fellow Tyrrish officer, Major Leon Jarrell, in turn for a pardon from execution. Quietly seeking revenge and insists on aiding Garrick and Bodhi with their weapon smuggling (much to Xaden’s dismay). Quite traditional and forces herself to adapt to her new life without her parents quickly in order to protect Sloane, her foster sister. Enjoys drawing and has a photographic memory. She’s not the best at forming friendships due to the trust issues she faces, but Bodhi is stubborn and refuses to let her wallow in peace. They grew up together and he missed her terribly when they were split up after the Apostasy. 

SIGNET: Weather Manipulation (& Unweaving Wards)

DRAGON: Spéirling (Spéir) – Female Black Swordtail

Anya Holt – Dain Aetos

Rider, Third Year, Section Leader

Raised by her mother in Calldyr in one of the most crime-ridden areas until she dies when Anya is 8. Anya is very musically inclined and has perfect pitch, and sings on the streets for money with her adopted family until she is 18. She joins the Riders Quadrant and is initially looked down upon because of her upbeat, go-with-the-flow nature. She and Dain have their differences at first, but after an unlikely encounter, a couple of crash-outs, and an almost-fatal occurrence, the two find common ground. Anya is known for being sweet but overwhelmingly honest, to the point where it can make others uncomfortable sometimes.

SIGNET: Truth-Sayer

DRAGON: Fíochmhar (Fíoch) – Male Brown Scorpiontail

Ruby St. John — Imogen Cardulo

Rider (Marked), Third-Year, XO

The second of a set of triplets, Ruby grew up often feeling overlooked and under-appreciated. That was, until, she grew to be absolutely radiant and was almost married off before the Apostasy. Snappy and fierce with an underlying sweet side, Ruby is a fighter through and through and a breath of fresh air for Imogen, who can’t help but be drawn to Ruby’s best qualities.

SIGNET: Charmspeaking (& Crystallokenesis)

DRAGON: Maisefuachd (Maise) — Female Orange Swordtail

Faelyn Fox – Ridoc Gamlyn

Rider, First Year

The daughter of tavern owners, Faelyn grew up without a lot of attention, which resulted in her becoming very impulsive to try and get their attention. Recovering kleptomaniac. Snuck away from home to join the Riders Quadrant against her parents’ wishes. Kind of has no idea of what she’s doing but is fast as hell and ultra-stealthy, which she uses to her advantage to survive in the Quadrant. Especially good at hiding and finding things (and finds herself in hot water when she finds out some classified information). Her impulsivity attracts Ridoc like a moth to a flame. She didn’t see him as much more than a friend (with benefits) until she was almost taken out by a salty cadet in a would-have-been assassination attempt, and he keeps her alive. They grow closer after that, with him helping her emotionally recover from the ordeal.

SIGNET: Concealment by touch

DRAGON: Natharthaslíoc (Nat) – Female Green Scorpiontail

Kora Callahan – Sawyer Henrick

Rider, Second Year

Comes from a long line of military heroes and is secretly terrified of never living up to her family’s high expectations. The daughter of Major Raina Callahan and Colonel Dante Callahan, she is expected to be as deadly and unforgiving as them but is actually very gentle and hates violence. She should have enlisted in the Healers Quadrant given her abundance of medical knowledge, but after the mysterious death of her father, she enlists in the quadrant in order to fight for the truth. A lot of her squadmates defer to her for healing anyway because of her quiet nature and soft demeanor. She tries not to draw too much attention to herself, as she would definitely be a target of bias due to the ruthlessness of her parents. Poor baby just wants to brew her tea and help people – but she quickly realizes that her idea of helping should be traded for a different cause. Close to Eden (see below) and spends a ton of time in the infirmary when not busy.

SIGNET: Mending

DRAGON: Cridheteòm (Cridhe) – Male Green Clubtail

Iris Balaska – Aaric Graycastle

Rider (Marked), Third Year, Executive Officer

Literally had no idea of her parent’s involvement in the Tyrrish Rebellion until it was too late. They were among the first to be executed, solidifying Iris’ hatred for the Navarrian military. She doesn’t draw much attention to herself until she spars for the first time and breaks another cadet’s arm for bad-mouthing Imogen. A quiet bundle of grief and anger who just needs to punch something every once in a while. Aaric, our chill prince, has the odd ability to soothe her temper and get her to let loose for a little bit, but that’s only after they get over their prior tension: She knows who he is right away, and he tries to avoid her at all costs because she’s lowkey terrifying and he thinks she’s threatening him (she’s not – she’s just like that). She’s just suspicious of him, though, and thinks that his father sent him to keep an eye on the Marked cadets.

SIGNET: Luck-Bender…

DRAGON: Cinniúintcluain (Cinni) – Female Red Clubtail

Ronan Lovelace — Catriona Cordella

Flier, Third-Year, Seawing Drift

Ronan is the daughter of the leader of the royal guard and has been Cat’s best friend since they were children. Since the age of six, she’s trained to become a member of the guard and secretly protected Cat for their entire adolescence. Cat has no idea that Ronan has been given the task of protecting her with her life and subsequently always stays around her, even though Cat thinks it’s just because they’re friends. Had her heart broken in multiple places when she was betrothed to Xaden, but it’s nothing she’s not used to. Witty, sharp, and soft-spoken, she’ll stay on the sidelines forever if it means Cat will get her happy ending.

GIFT: Heightening and lowering the senses

GRYPHON: Theamarou (Thea)

Lieutenant Cosette Camden-Tauri – Garrick Tavis

Rider, Graduated

The bastard daughter of King Tauri, two years older than Aaric. She was raised as Halden’s and Alic’s sister (they look remarkably identical and are close in age anyway) after being taken in by the royal family, but she is always reminded that she is not accepted. The king, as a means of getting rid of her, banishes Cosette to the Riders Quadrant – he couldn’t stand the embarrassment he felt when looking at her, and her knack for running away infuriated him. What he doesn’t expect is that she flourishes there and has more potential as a rider than a royal. Exceptional with knives and collects them over the years. Garrick is not aware of her royal status at first and defends her when other, more aware cadets harass her for being illegitimate. Once they get a little closer, she tells him who she actually is, and he vows to protect her with his life. The big sister/mom friend to pretty much everyone.

SIGNET: Light Summoning

DRAGON: Seachranréalta (Seachran) – Male Orange Morningstartail

Eden Kiyoko – Liam Mairi

Healer (former Rider), First Year (repeat)

Was originally in the Riders Quadrant until she was brutally attacked by another cadet for resisting his advances, leaving her permanently disabled and unable to continue to Threshing. Luckily, her high intelligence allowed her to transfer to the Healers Quadrant with ease. Uses a cane and is always armed – even though she’s safe with the healers, she can’t help but feel the need to protect herself after her attack and develops great anxiety about being injured again. She has the uncanny ability to feel the pain of others as if it was her own, which makes her a formidable healer and allows her to get close to leadership even as a First Year cadet. Close with Kora and studies ‘under’ her to advance her medical knowledge. Met Liam purely by coincidence – she just happened to be in the same room as him and was introduced through Iris. His gentleness and her strength compliment each other greatly. Only time will tell how great her strength truly is…

Rosarie Fuentes — Sloane Mairi

Rider (Marked), First-Year

Rosarie is the daughter of two Tyrrish military officers who were felled by General Melgren during the Rebellion. Her older sister is killed during the Calldyr Executions, which a lot of other marked cadets hold against her (because, in their opinions, she had it easier). She tends to keep to herself for fear of getting too close to people who may leave her, but who says that all friends have to be alive to be present? A childhood friend of Sloane’s who decides to reunite with her following the advice of a new (?) companion.

SIGNET: Medium (& Mirror-Walker)

DRAGON: Taibhseláidir (Taibh) — Male Red Scorpiontail

Commander Sabine Ambrose – Brennan Sorrengail

Rider, Graduated, former Wingleader

Graduated Basgiath before the Rebellion started. Her adoptive moms, scribe Elora Ambrose and Commander Danica Sharpe, adopted her and her clumsy little sister when they were small children. They raised Sabine to be intelligent and quick-witted, to never accept anything half-assed, and to be loyal to those she loves. Saves Brennan when he almost gets thrown off the Parapet by sticking his assailant in the back with a remarkably small glass knife. She’s definitely the Wine Aunt of the group, although she generally presents herself to be quite the stoic in the beginning for fear of being targeted. He is able to push through her walls, though, and allows her to feel comfortable in her own skin. Sciath, her dragon, is Marbh’s mate, forever binding her to Brennan. She follows him to Aretia and is more than keen on shielding him after he (kind of?) died – doesn’t exactly coddle him per se, but is definitely protective of him – not that he minds.

SIGNET: Shielding 

DRAGON: Sciathcion (Sciath) – Female Blue Swordtail

Lieutenant Talyn Rush — Mira Sorrengail

Flier, Graduated, Summitwing Drift

Started training to become a flier shortly after her mother and sister were killed in a skirmish against the venin. Laidback, lethal, and always equipped with an infuriating smile that grates Mira’s nerves at first. Between chasing each other around Tom & Jerry style and facing quiet evenings alone, Talyn soon finds herself entranced by the deadly daughter of General Sorrengail — and ready to give her hell for it.

GIFT: Projecting images into one’s mind

GRYPHON: Machiraine (Machi)

[celebrityfanfictionblog]

The Trade Secretary's Indiscretion

Featuring Sir Liam Fox

In the sweltering July of 2017, Sir Liam Fox, then serving as Secretary of State for International Trade, found himself in the thick of a political season. Yet, his thoughts were far from trade agreements as he met Thomas Jones, a 31-year-old lobbyist whose towering 6'1" frame and stocky, athletic build reminded him of none other than his former best man and flat mate, Adam Werritty.

The rendezvous was set under the guise of discussing policy, but the real agenda was clear from the moment Thomas’s deep blue eyes met Liam's. After a brief, formal exchange at a public venue, they retreated to Liam's London flat, a place kept secret from his wife, Dr. Jesme Baird, intended for the solitude of a 'second home' funded by the taxpayer.

Once inside, the atmosphere shifted palpably. Clothes were shed with urgency, littering the floor like autumn leaves. Naked on the bed, their bodies contrasted sharply; Liam, at 5'8" with an average build, next to Thomas's more imposing figure.

Thomas took his time, his mouth exploring every inch of Liam’s body before settling on his lips. Their kiss was slow, deep, and languid, tongues mingling in a dance that mirrored the rhythm of their hips. Thomas's hands roamed, one cupping Liam's cheek while the other slid down to grasp his ass, kneading the flesh with a possessive grip.

They moved from kisses to more; Thomas’s mouth found Liam’s, engaging in a fervent exchange of oral pleasure until both were panting for more.

Fox, now lost in the throes of a taboo desire, felt the sweat bead down his back as Thomas Jones, his muscular frame a stark contrast to Liam's more modest build, maneuvered him onto all fours. The scent of arousal was thick between them, a heady mix of musk and cologne, as Thomas positioned himself at Liam's entrance, his hard length throbbing with need. He paused, taking in the sight of Liam's ass, the skin smooth and inviting. With a firm grip on Liam's hips, Thomas slapped one cheek, watching it jiggle slightly, asserting dominance in this clandestine affair.

Thomas paused, his cock pressing against Liam, teasing the entrance with gentle, circular motions. Liam moaned, his body trembling in anticipation. With a slow, deliberate thrust, Thomas entered him, and Liam felt every inch. The sensation was overwhelming, a combination of fullness and friction that made his toes curl.

"Fuck, you're tight," Thomas growled, his voice low and husky, as he began to move, each thrust causing Liam to moan, the sound echoing off the walls of the flat.

Thomas moved with a pace that was almost torturous in its slowness, each thrust drawn out to savor the feel of Liam's heat around him. Thomas's hand reached around, finding Liam’s cock, hard and leaking, and began to stroke him in time with his thrusts. For the next twenty minutes, Thomas took Liam with a fervor that left no room for gentleness. The rhythm was primal, animalistic. Thomas's balls slapped against Liam with each deep penetration, the sound obscene in the quiet of the room. Thomas's whispers were like velvet, "You feel so good, Liam," his breath hot against Liam’s ear, sending shivers down his spine.

He pulled Liam back onto him, ensuring he felt every inch, every vein of Thomas's cock. Liam, overwhelmed by the sensations, pushed back, meeting Thomas thrust for thrust, their bodies slick with sweat and desire.

"Harder," Liam gasped, his voice a mix of command and plea. Thomas complied, his movements becoming more forceful, his other hand now reaching around to tweak Liam’s nipples, adding another layer of sensation.

The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, punctuated by Liam's cries and Thomas's grunts.

Suddenly, Thomas flipped Liam over, wanting to see his face contorted in pleasure. He entered Liam again, missionary style, watching as Liam's eyes rolled back when Thomas hit that sweet spot inside him.

Liam’s legs were splayed wide, his feet hooked over Thomas's back, pulling him closer, deeper. The pace gradually intensified, but the sensuality never waned. Thomas’s hand found Liam’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, his thumb spreading the beads of precum over the head. Liam was lost in the sensation, his body an instrument played by Thomas's expert touch.

Thomas leaned down, capturing Liam's lips in a bruising kiss, their tongues clashing as he fucked him with abandon. As Thomas rocked into him, his lips found Liam's neck, kissing, sucking, leaving marks that spoke of their secret. Liam's hands roamed Thomas's back, nails leaving red trails, urging him deeper. Their bodies moved in sync, a slow, sensual dance of push and pull, the sound of wet skin against skin a symphony in the quiet room. As Thomas neared his climax, Liam, caught in the throes of ecstasy, begged for more, his legs spread wide, inviting Thomas deeper.

As Liam's orgasm built, his prostate being relentlessly stimulated, he felt his balls tighten. His cock, with pre-cum dripping down its length, was a testament to his arousal. Thomas, sensing the urgency, intensified his thrusts, angling to hit that spot inside Liam that would send him over the edge.

With a loud cry, Liam called out, "Adam!" in the heat of passion, his body convulsing as he came, painting his chest and stomach with his seed, the sheets gripped tight in his fists.

The intense contractions of Liam's climax around Thomas's cock were too much. With one final, deep thrust, Thomas released, filling Liam with his own heat, his grunts a clear testament to his release, ensuring Liam knew he was being claimed in this moment of vulnerability.

"Take it all," he hissed, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his release.

As they lay there, the aftermath of their actions settling around them like dust, the reality of their choices began to seep in, mingling with the sweat and the scent of sex in the air of that secretive, taxpayer-funded flat.

This narrative is purely fictional, crafted for entertainment purposes, and does not reflect any real events, personalities, or their actions.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hi! I saw you took requests and I was wondering if you could do a Command Squad x Fem!Reader where she’s a general but not because she’s a Jedi but because she actually served in wars before this and they want her respect and flirt with her. And of course any of your flourishes ;)

You’re the best! Xx

“Steel & Stardust”

Fem!Reader x Command Squad (Cody, Wolffe, Fox, Neyo, Bacara, Gree, Bly, and Ponds)

⸻

You weren’t a Jedi. Never wore the robes, never had the Force. You didn’t need it.

Your command had been earned the hard way—blood, shrapnel, and scars in wars no one even bothered to archive anymore. When the Republic came knocking, you told them you didn’t serve causes—you served soldiers. And somehow, that landed you here.

Not in front of them. With them.

The elite. The best the Republic had to offer.

And from the second you stepped into that war room, every helmet turned your way. And when the helmets came off—yeah, that was a problem. Because they were all infuriatingly hot, and even worse, they knew it.

Cody was the first to speak, his voice calm, neutral, but his eyes sharp. “General. You’ll forgive the question, but… what exactly are your qualifications?”

You just smirked, tossing your old service jacket onto the table with a dull thud. “Two border wars, five urban insurgencies, and a ten-year campaign in the Outer Rim before the Jedi decided the galaxy needed saving. That enough for you, Commander?”

Wolffe snorted, amused. “She’s got more battlefield time than half the Jedi Council.”

“She’s not wrong,” Bacara grunted, arms crossed, voice gravelly. “Seen her file. Most of us got bred for war. She just never left it.”

“I like her,” Bly grinned, leaning on the table with a little too much casual charm. “Can we keep her?”

“Not like that, Bly,” Fox muttered, though he didn’t exactly disagree.

“I didn’t say anything,” Bly said with a wicked grin. “Yet.”

You sighed. “Are you always like this, or is it just when there’s a woman in the room who outranks you?”

Gree chuckled. “You outrank us technically. Not in spirit.”

Neyo hadn’t said a word yet, just stared at you like he was dissecting your tactical potential, or possibly imagining your funeral. Could go either way with Neyo.

Ponds gave you a respectful nod. “We’ve worked under a lot of Jedi. Not all of them know what they’re doing. We’d follow you, General.”

And that—that was what mattered.

⸻

You caught them watching you more often than not. In the field, in the war room, during briefings. It wasn’t just the usual soldier-to-general dynamic. No, it was different. Heat in Cody’s gaze when you gave orders. That glint in Wolffe’s eye when you called him out in front of the others. The way Fox lingered just a bit too long when you handed him back his datapad.

Even Neyo—cold, calculating Neyo—started standing just a little too close.

“You know they’re all trying to impress you, right?” Gree asked one night while you were cleaning your gear, his voice low and amused.

You didn’t even glance up. “Trying and failing.”

Bly leaned against your doorway. “Is that a challenge?”

⸻

After you saved their shebs in a firefight—ripping a blaster from a fallen commando and dropping six droids in twelve seconds flat—you were pretty sure something shifted.

They wanted your respect. You already had theirs.

But they wanted more.

So they fought beside you. Ate with you. Got protective in the field. Made excuses to talk to you after hours. Fought over who got assigned to your team. And every now and then… they flirted like it was a competitive sport.

Cody did subtle praise and brooding glances. Always has your back.

Wolffe. The grumpy softie. Pretends he hates you. Would kill anyone who hurt you.

Fox was stoic, but flirty in a dry, sardonic way. Deep down, he’s soft, but you’d have to earn it.

Neyo protective in a weird way. Doesn’t speak much but always notices when you’re off. Secretly touched you remembered his name.

Bacara extremely blunt, intense. A man of few words—but his loyalty is loud.

Gree slightly flirty and professional. Gives you space but always drops a line like, “You ever need a break, General… I know a place.”

Bly was shameless. Teases you endlessly but respects you deeply. Would absolutely fight anyone who disrespects you.

Ponds was quiet support. Loyal. Observes everything. The first one to ask how you’re doing when no one else notices.

And you?

You don’t fall easily. You’ve seen too much.

But if you were going to fall—

It might just be for one of them.

Or all of them.

⸻

79’s was already loud when you walked in. Music thrumming through your bones, the low hum of clone banter and laughter rising and falling like waves. You hadn’t planned to come here. You’d just wanted one damn drink. One moment not steeped in war, planning, or death.

You ran right into Commander Bly. Well, more like his chest.

“General,” he said, and the smile that bloomed on his face was entirely too pretty. He looked you over, gaze lingering just a little too long. “Didn’t know you came here.”

“I don’t,” you replied, stepping back. “Just needed to breathe.”

“You came to a GAR bar to breathe?” Gree chimed in from behind him, drink in hand and eyebrows raised. “You’re worse at relaxing than Fox.”

Speak of the devil—Fox was at the bar, sharp suit shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. He lifted his glass in greeting and turned away to order another round. You could feel his eyes on you though, like a sniper sight you couldn’t shake.

“You here alone?” Bly asked, leaning against the wall like he knew what he was doing.

“I was,” you replied flatly.

“Tragic,” Gree said, stepping closer, voice smoother than it had any right to be. “This place is full of trouble tonight.”

“Is that what you are, Gree? Trouble?”

“You’ll have to find out.”

And just like that, Cody, Wolffe, Bacara, Ponds, and Neyo filtered in from the second level, coming down the steps like they were part of a slow-motion holodrama.

Cody looked you over once, eyes flickering to the drink in your hand. “Didn’t think we’d see you here.”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t see you here,” you replied, teasing, heat behind the words.

Wolffe smirked. “Too bad.”

Ponds gave a low whistle. “She’s gonna kill one of you tonight.”

“I volunteer,” Bly said without hesitation.

Bacara rolled his eyes and took a slow sip of his drink, staring at you over the rim of the glass like he was thinking something entirely inappropriate—and probably correct.

And Neyo—stone-cold, unreadable—just nodded. “You clean up well, General.”

That made a few of them pause. Compliments from Neyo were about as rare as a Tatooine blizzard.

You were suddenly hyper-aware of how your shirt clung to your skin, how the lights in the bar made everything seem lower, warmer, closer.

Fox appeared beside you without a sound, holding out a drink. “On me.”

You hesitated. “You trying to get me drunk, Commander?”

“If I were, I’d start with something stronger,” he said, voice low, his knuckles brushing yours as you took it.

“Careful,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You might be starting something you can’t finish.”

“I always finish what I start,” Fox replied smoothly, dead serious.

The tension snapped tight like a tripwire.

Cody moved closer behind you, his breath brushing your neck. “You should be careful with us, General.”

Wolffe stepped in next to him, eyes gleaming. “Or don’t. We like dangerous.”

Gree leaned in from the other side. “And we play well together.”

“You all are shameless,” you muttered, taking a sip just to hide your smirk.

“No,” Ponds said with a shrug. “Just very, very interested.”

You looked around—at eight sets of eyes, different in every way except one thing: they wanted you. Wanted to impress you, challenge you, make you forget—if only for one night—that the galaxy was falling apart outside these walls.

You downed the rest of your drink and smiled, slow and dangerous. “Alright, boys. Try and keep up.”

The night was just beginning.

The music had shifted. Slowed. Lower bass, seductive rhythm. Clone troopers were still everywhere, but the spotlight wasn’t on them anymore.

It was on you.

You hadn’t planned to be the center of the room, but when you started moving through the crowd—hips swaying just enough, eyes catching every glance—you had their undivided attention. Especially when Commander Bly snuck up behind you and took your hand.

“Dance with me,” he said, already guiding you onto the floor like he’d waited years for the excuse.

You let him.

Bly danced like he fought—confident, smooth, close. One hand gripped your hip, the other held yours. His gold armor was traded for casual blacks, but the heat rolling off him was all battle-born adrenaline and want.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you murmured in his ear, “and I’ll start thinking you’re falling for me.”

He faltered—actually faltered. Blinked once, then twice.

You leaned in, lips grazing his jaw. “What’s the matter, Bly? Didn’t think I could flirt back?”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

You slipped away with a smirk.

Gree was next—casual, clever, always too smooth for his own good.

“Careful,” you said, nursing a drink beside him at the bar. “You look like you’re planning something.”

“Just wondering how someone like you keeps every commander in the GAR wrapped around your finger.”

You leaned in, gaze dark. “Who says I don’t already have you wrapped around mine?”

He choked on his drink.

You patted his back, sweet as sin. “I’ll be gentle.”

⸻

Fox looked like he was ready for a war crime when you sat beside him.

“I thought you hated attention,” you said, sipping from your glass.

“I do.”

“And yet,” you murmured, brushing your knee against his, “you keep watching me like I’m a damn threat.”

Fox’s eyes flickered. His jaw clenched. “You are.”

You leaned close. “Then do something about it.”

He looked away. Tight. Tense.

Flustered.

⸻

Neyo didn’t flinch when you approached—but his grip on his glass tightened when you laid your hand lightly on his chest.

“You don’t say much,” you whispered, “but I bet you think about me more than you should.”

His eyes were locked on yours. Still silent.

“You going to prove me wrong?”

He looked down, just for a second. Then turned and walked away—only to stop, just out of reach, and glance back like he wanted you to follow.

God, he was dangerous.

Ponds approached and gave you a smile like calm water hiding a riptide.

“Having fun?” he asked.

“I am now.”

You rested a hand on his arm, feeling the strength there. “You ever going to stop being the sweet one?”

His smile dipped just slightly, darker now. “Only if you ask nicely.”

You stepped closer, voice low. “What if I beg?”

He stared at you like you’d kicked him in the chest.

Bacara barely moved when you brushed his hand at the table, except for the twitch in his jaw.

“You don’t talk much either.”

“I talk when there’s something worth saying.”

You tilted your head. “Then say something. Right now.”

Bacara met your gaze for a long, charged moment. Then—

“You’re dangerous.”

You smirked. “Took you that long to figure it out?”

He shifted in his seat, suddenly needing a long drink.

⸻

Wolffe was already grumpy when you got to him, sitting in the corner like he’d rather be anywhere else—but the second you sat on the arm of his chair, his whole body went rigid.

“What?” he grunted.

“Nothing,” you said sweetly, playing with the edge of his collar. “You just always look like you want to throw me against a wall.”

He inhaled sharply. “Don’t test me.”

“Oh, I am.”

And just for fun, you kissed his cheek. Quick. Sharp. Possessive.

Wolffe went absolutely still. “You’re a menace.”

“You like that.”

⸻

Cody found you at the end of the night—when your guard was just a little lowered, your drink half-finished.

“You were playing us all along,” he said, leaning on the bar beside you, eyes burning.

“Not playing,” you replied. “Just reminding you who’s in charge.”

He chuckled, low and slow. “Then dance with me.”

You didn’t resist when he pulled you back onto the floor, slower this time. Closer.

“You like control,” he murmured in your ear.

You turned in his arms, meeting his gaze dead-on. “Only when they’re strong enough to take it from me.”

Cody stared at you like he wanted to drag you out of the bar and ruin you.

And maybe… just maybe… you’d let him.

You hadn’t meant to start a war in 79’s—but then again, you’d never played fair, had you?

The music was sultry, all slow bass and sin. The lights were low. You’d been dancing with Cody for all of three minutes, and you could already feel the eyes on you. His eyes.

Fox had been brooding at the bar, nursing his whiskey, watching you like a hawk all night. You’d shared a moment earlier, sure—a drink, a brush of skin, words that lingered.

But now you were wrapped up in Cody.

Hands at your waist, lips near your ear, warm breath as he murmured, “You’re playing a dangerous game, General.”

You looked up at him, smug. “Only if someone plays back.”

Cody smirked. “Oh, I’m playing.”

He pulled you in tighter, hand trailing down your spine, and that was it—that was the trigger.

You didn’t see Fox at first—you felt him.

Storming across the floor like a man possessed. Controlled, measured fury wrapped in sleek civilian clothes. A few troopers nearby saw him coming and stepped aside like instinct told them don’t be in his way.

You barely had time to blink before—

“Enough.”

His voice cracked like a blaster shot.

Cody’s hand stiffened at your hip. You turned slowly—heart pounding—to find Fox right in front of you.

Eyes dark. Jaw clenched. Dangerous.

“What’s your problem?” Cody asked, tone calm but wary.

Fox didn’t look at him. Not once. His eyes were on you. “This what you came for?” he asked, voice low and bitter. “To play us against each other like it’s all some kind of game?”

You tilted your head, meeting his fury with wicked calm. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Commander.”

His hand shot out—not rough, not cruel—but demanding. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged you a step closer. “I’m not jealous.”

“No?” you asked, breath catching slightly.

“I’m done pretending you’re just another officer.” His voice dipped, raw and sharp. “I see you dancing with him like that and I want to put my fist through the wall.”

A slow hush had fallen across the floor.

You stepped into Fox’s space, bodies nearly touching. “So do something about it.”

For a second, he didn’t breathe.

Then—

His hand slid to your waist. Possessive. Hot. “Dance with me,” he ordered. Not asked. Ordered.

You could have said no.

But you didn’t.

You let him lead you back to the center of the floor, every trooper watching now, every step like a declaration. Fox danced like he wanted to erase Cody’s hands from your skin. He kept you close. Too close. The kind of close that whispered mine without ever saying a word.

“Next time,” he growled in your ear, “I won’t be so polite.”

You smirked against his neck. “That was polite?”

He held you tighter. “You haven’t seen me lose control yet.”

And part of you—twisted, wild, aching—wanted him to.

⸻

A/N

No idea where I was going with this tbh, think I went down my own little route and it ended up liked this 🫤

[thatonefanficwriternooneknows]

FoxQuin Week Day 1 - Shovel Talk

Good Afternoon/Morning/Evening/Night!

Here for your reading pleasure is day 1 of FoxQuin Week! I decided to be extra (and hate myself) and work in both the quote prompt and the writing prompt because why not :D

So this one is Fox's Batch Giving Quinlan the Shovel Talk and "What do you mean you're married?" (@foxquinweek )

It is a little over 1k so enjoy :D

Quinlan is having a rather odd day.

It started with Commander Wolffe trying to corner him in the halls of the Temple, it continued with Commander Ponds staring at him during the council meeting he was asked to, and it kept up with Commander Cody trying to get his attention in the mess hall.

Now, when Quinlan was trying to spend some quality time with his padawan, that may or may not include some recreational murder, Commander Bly kept swerving the conversation around to Fox.

That’s when the dots started to connect.

“Why exactly do you keep bringing Commander Fox up, Bly? Is there something you want to know?”

Aayla’s head perked up, looking at Quinlan and Bly with her wide eyes, smelling gossip no doubt. Bly stuttered through some word vomit before caving and muttering “never mind”.

They didn’t get to their recreational murder, but Quinlan had a great time making Bly uncomfortable with random mentions of what Fox and him get up to in their spare time. Without specifically saying Fox’s name.

It was quite fun.

Odd, but fun.

As the day passed, the Commanders tried more and more interesting ways to corner him. It didn’t work because, one, Quinlan grew up here and knew every hiding place, and two, he was a kriffing Shadow. If they wanted to corner him they’d have to get up to Fox’s level.

But, all good things had to come to an end, and it ended with Quinlan sitting at the Jedi Commissary with Captain Rex sitting across from him…cleaning his blaster while pointedly staring at Quinlan.

Not subtle, this lot.

Quinlan smirked at the blond captain and kept eating his food like he didn’t have a single care in the world.

Which he didn’t, because Fox’s batch’s approval meant nothing to him.

Fox’s opinion was the only opinion when it came to their relationship.

Soon enough, every single Commander that tried to corner him today was on Rex’s side of the table, staring Quinlan down, their Jedi were sitting on Quinlan’s side radiating concern.

Considering the only beings that knew about him and Fox were Tholme and Aayla that was fair.

“So…Jedi Master Quinlan Vos.” Wolffe started and Quinlan chuckled at the concerned sounds coming from Plo.

“So, Commander Wolffe.” Quinlan was nothing if not an asshole.

The one eyed commander glared at him with his one good eye, likely hoping Quinlan would spontaneously burst into flame if he glared hard enough.

Jokes on him, though, Quinlan has been glared at harsher by worse.

“Let’s just cut the chase, what are your intentions with our kih’vod, Vos?” Cody cut in on the staring contest.

Quinlan chuckled at several Jedi Councilors choking on their food.

He leaned back in his chair, smirking happily at the group of angry vode glaring at him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you mean.” Quinlan shrugged and kept eating, moving his attention to his wrist comm and the message from Fox on it.

The Hot (definitely) One: please ignore my batchers

                Thorn told them

                he’s being properly punished

The Smart (allegedly) One: lol

no worries, babe

                this is kriffing hilarious

The Hot (definitely) One: you have an odd sense of humor

                are you in the Temple?

The Smart (allegedly) One: commissary

The Hot (definitely) One: be right there

Quinlan smiled and returned to his food, smiling at Wolffe who was ignoring his food in favor of stabbing it menacingly.

Hex definitely did it better.

(Fox’s batchers attempting a compactor talk was infinitely amusing. More so when one considers the fact that no one could possibly be scarier than the CMO of the Guard, and Hex had cornered Quinlan seconds after he convinced Fox to give them a chance.

That man was terrifying.

Quinlan was convinced the war would be over if they just set the Guard CMO on the Separatist Senate.)

“We know you know who Fox is, General.” Ponds finally piped up. Good for him.

“Oh I definitely know Fox. What does that have to do with your kih’vod?” Quinlan was definitely being a shit right now. He was entitled.

Wolffe slammed his fists onto the table top, rattling the dishes and startling everyone not involved in this conflict.

“Stop being obtuse, Vos. What are your intentions with Fox?” Wolffe hissed out, Bly placing a placating hand on his shoulder and muttering under his breath about tempers.

Quinlan rested his cheek on his fist and hummed.

“My intentions are between Fox and I, Commander.” He couldn’t help but purr out, tempted to see how worked up he could get the batch before they caved and started threatening him outright.

Wolffe let out a strangled scream and made to launch across the table at Quinlan, only to be held back by Bly and Cody and slammed back into his seat.

“Fox is a grown vod, he can make his own decisions. But Vos, if you hurt him…well…” Rex trailed off and started putting his blaster together with emphasized movements.

Quinlan couldn’t help but laugh.

“Your compactor talk is so cute, Commanders, Captain. But CMO Hex already beat you to it. And ARC Captain Lex, Lieutenant Tina, Commander Thorn, Stone and Thire, even Sargent Apex. His was the funniest honestly.” Quinlan chuckled, remembering the scarred Sargent nonchalantly assembling a bomb while telling Quinlan all the things Fox has done for him and his batch.

It was almost the opposite of a compactor talk, actually.

The Commanders blinked in unison before their brows furrowed and their lips pursed.

Not his fault Fox’s batch weren’t up to date with the Guard personnel.

“Who is Fox?” Obi-wan was looking at Quinlan with his kicked tooka eyes and he vaguely felt bad for not telling his best friend about Fox, but also…things have been happening pretty fast.

He opened his mouth to answer, honestly for once, but a gloved hand slid around his neck and lightly tilted his chin up and Quinlan smiled as Fox pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

Fox’s answering smile was stunning.

“Me’vaar ti gar, riduur?” Fox asked against his lips, pulling back just far enough for Quinlan to have space to answer.

“Naas, ner riduur.” Quinlan responded before snaking his hand into Fox’s lovely locks to pull him in for another kiss.

Idly he heard the clattering of glassware and a strangled scream.

Quinlan looked over at their audience, smirking when Fox brushed his lips against his cheek while burying his face into Quinlan’s shoulders.

Everyone seemed to speak or shout at once and it echoed into the commissary, Fox’s shoulders shaking as his laugh echoed Quinlan’s.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE MARRIED?!”

[peachbubbless]

Hello, how are you? Well, I wanted to request a Joseph Joestar (Stardust Crusaders) x female reader (a few years younger than him, Maybe about 40 years difference? Well no hahaha?)where she joins him to defeat Dio after losing a fight with one of them. That she starts flirting with Joseph about her liking for older men, I don't know if it's understood, I hope so hahaha, well I hope you can do it and if not, no problem, thanks!!

Omggg anon are you trying to create another Josuke situation?? 🙈 Hope you enjoy it, it's another long one!

Silver fox - Joseph x Reader

Word count : 3086 / Reader is written with they/them

The air over the Nile shimmered with heat.

Sunlight pooled like molten gold across the sandstone banks, and even the shadows were sweating. Egypt stretched out before them but the Crusaders weren’t looking at the horizon.

They were looking at you.

“Another one,” Jotaro muttered, the brim of his hat tipping low over his eyes. His voice was flat, unimpressed. “Great.”

You stood across the riverbed, surrounded by rustling palm trees and a menacing glint in your eye. Dio’s command still echoed somewhere deep in your brain, soft as a psalm, firm as a vice.

Kill the Joestars.

A slow smile curled your lips.

“Which one of you is the Joestar?”

Joseph stepped forward, half-curious, half-annoyed. “Who’s asking?”

You didn’t answer. Your stand erupted behind you, a boom of light and violence. It twisted the air around you like a mirage made flesh.

Avdol stepped between you. “Get ready.”

You didn’t give them the chance.

Your stand surged forward. Sand exploded underfoot as your power cracked the earth open, rushing at Joseph first. Kill the Joestars.

He sidestepped at the last second with an agility that shouldn’t have belonged to someone with silver hair, gritting his teeth as your stand slashed across his coat instead of his ribs. “Shit, they’re fast!”

Polnareff moved to flank you, Silver Chariot gleaming in the sun. He grinned. “I like their style, daring.”

“You won’t like the dismemberment,” you muttered, and flicked your fingers. Your stand spun in a tight arc, cutting upward with enough force to split metal.

Jotaro caught it mid-strike, or rather Star Platinum did. The impact cracked the air like thunder. For a heartbeat, no one moved.

You slid back, snarling. The flesh bud pulsed amidst your hair. Your heart thudded in beat with it, sick and hot.

Kakyoin’s voice cut through the dust. “That movement - they’re definitely being controlled.”

Joseph wiped the sweat off his brow. “Yeah. I’ve seen that look before.”

You charged again.

The world blurred. Fists, steel, sound. Your stand met theirs in a flurry of vicious strikes, movement honed not by training but by sheer force of will. You weren’t fighting smart. You were fighting hard. Messy. Ferocious. And entirely too reckless.

You were going to kill them, or die trying. That was the order. That was the plan.

And then Jotaro punched you in the face.

Hard.

You slammed into the sand and everything tilted sideways. You tasted blood. Your stand flickered, shuddered, and faded. You didn’t pass out, not right away. You heard them talking somewhere far off.

“There’s a flesh bud in their hair,” Kakyoin said grimly.

“I can get it,” Jotaro replied, voice low. “Same as last time.”

“They might not survive it.”

“They’re not going to survive if we leave it in,” Joseph snapped.

Something cold and sharp pressed at your temple. You tried to move but strong hands pinned you down.

And then - nothing.

You woke up with a headache the size of Egypt and a throat like sandpaper.

Everything hurt. Your skull throbbed like it had been used to test blunt weapons, and your limbs felt boneless, too heavy and too empty all at once. For a few blessed seconds, you didn’t know where you were or why your body felt like it had been disassembled and put back together wrong.

Then the memories hit.

The fight. The sun. The voices.

Your stomach turned.

You jolted upright with a gasp and immediately groaned as the world spun.

“Oh good,” came a voice. “Sleeping Beauty’s awake.”

You blinked the blur out of your vision. The guy sitting next to you was huge, tanned, and wearing sunglasses indoors like a goddamn rockstar. His hair was silver, his smile was cocky, and he was crouched low with his arms resting over his knees like he was waiting to offer you a job you couldn’t refuse.

Joseph Joestar.

Of course.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Swallowed. “Did I… kill anyone?”

“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “You tried though.”

You squinted at him. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

He spread his hands like it was obvious. “Because I’m a benevolent man. And my grandson here punched you really hard.”

Ah, right. The hat kid. Fist like a freight train.

You sank back onto the sand with a groan. “Tell your grandson he hits like a-”

“He knows,” Joseph said dryly. “Believe me.”

There was a pause.

You lifted your hand to your temple, felt the faint trace of something there. Something missing. “The thing in my head.”

“Gone,” he said. “Flesh bud. Nasty business. Almost took your brain with it on the way out.”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t know how to. He didn’t press.

Instead, he stood up, stretched with a theatrical crack of his spine, and added, “You’re lucky. Another hour or two with that thing, and you wouldn’t be you anymore.”

You stared at the ceiling. “Who said I was ‘me’ to begin with.”

Joseph chuckled. “Touché.”

Another voice piped up from the corner.

“Should we be trusting them?” That one sounded French. And skeptical.

You craned your neck. Yep. There he was. Couldn’t miss that hair.

“Bonjour to you too,” you muttered. “I liked you better when I was trying to kill you.”

“I liked you better unconscious,” he shot back.

Joseph raised a hand. “Alright, alright. Let’s keep it civil. They’re not an enemy anymore.”

“You don’t know that,” the French one snapped.

“They could’ve exploded,” another voice added.

Oh good. Now the whole gang was here.

You looked up to find five faces staring down at you.

You gave a raspy little laugh. “Wow. You guys really are the weirdest boy band I’ve ever seen.”

Joseph beamed. “Thank you!”

“Not a compliment,” you muttered, trying to sit up again. “Where the hell are we?”

“Camp,” said the school uniform. “For now.”

“‘Camp,’” you echoed, “like… sleeping on the ground, bugs everywhere camp?”

“We’re not exactly staying at the Ritz,” said the one with the tarot.

You let your head fall back. “Cool. So I went from assassin to mosquito bait.”

“You also nearly impaled Joseph through the ribs,” said Frenchie.

“Did I?” You blinked at Joseph. “That was you?”

He gave you a lazy wink. “Don’t worry. You missed.”

You coughed. “Shame.”

A pause.

Then Joseph clapped his hands. “Well, glad we’re all feeling chummy. You can rest for another hour, maybe two. After that, we’re moving.”

“Moving where?”

“To kill the vampire who put a flesh bud in your brain,” Jotaro said flatly from the doorway.

You met his eyes. Cold. Sharp. Familiar.

“Oh,” you said, dry as the dust around you. “So just the usual Tuesday, then.”

He didn’t smile.

But Joseph did.

And that, against all odds, was your introduction to the Stardust Crusaders.

You had sand in your mouth. Again.

Waking up was slow, messy and reluctant. Like your body couldn’t quite commit to the idea of consciousness. You’d been in a state of half-dozing for what felt like hours, drifting in and out with the wind scraping against the tent and the murmurs of voices outside.

By the time you sat up fully, your hair was a mess, your spine a question mark, and your entire soul aching with the knowledge that you’d been made to look extremely uncool in front of some very attractive strangers.

“You’re up,” said a voice behind you.

You turned painfully and squinted at the silhouette by the tent flap.

Joseph Joestar, this time without the sunglasses. The light behind him was doing strange things to his hair, like he’d just walked off the set of a rom-com.

He was holding a metal mug and tossed it toward you.

“I’d say drink up, but you might want to rinse the sand out first,” he said, grinning.

You glared at him over the rim. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, tremendously.”

You didn’t say thank you, but you drank it anyway.

The inside of the tent was bare - just blankets, packs, and what looked like an extremely weathered tarot deck lying on the floor. The air smelled like leather and old dust, and the wind outside kept pulling intently at the edges of the canvas.

Joseph crouched by the entrance, forearms resting casually across his knees.

“So,” he said, casually conversational, “still feel like murdering us?”

You wiped your mouth on the back of your hand. “Not unless someone starts talking about fate again.”

“Noted.” He nodded, mock-serious. “We’ll keep the philosophical nonsense to a minimum.”

Another pause.

“You’re handling it better than I expected.”

“Expected me to cry?”

“Or scream. Or try to throttle Jotaro. That one happens more than you’d think.”

You leaned back, wincing slightly. “I think the attempted murder quota’s been filled for the week.”

Outside, someone laughed. You caught a glimpse of the others - Polnareff doing lunges, Kakyoin sitting on a rock, and Jotaro pretending they didn’t exist.

The whole squad gave off strong field trip energy.

You sighed. “Is this what I signed up for?”

Joseph’s smile widened. “You haven’t signed anything yet.”

You looked at him. Really looked. There was a scar across his cheek. Dust on his sleeves. Calluses on his fingers. He was older than the rest of them. Not just in age, he carried himself differently. Like he knew exactly how bad things could get and still got up every morning to punch fate in the mouth.

“Do you really think you can beat him?” you asked quietly.

Joseph didn’t ask who you meant.

He just leaned back on his heels and said, “We have to.”

No bravado. No wink. Just that.

The tent flap opened. Avdol poked his head in.

“They’re awake?”

“Very much so,” Joseph said. “And only slightly homicidal.”

You raised your mug in a toast. “Progress.”

Avdol gave a noncommittal grunt and disappeared again.

Joseph pushed himself to his feet with a dramatic groan and offered you a hand. “Come on. You’re not gonna win the next fight from inside a tent.”

You stared at his hand.

Then took it.

His grip was warm, firm, steady and annoyingly confident.

As he helped you up, you muttered, “If I collapse in front of everyone, I’m haunting you.”

He grinned sideways. “So dramatic. You’ll fit right in.”

You gave him your most unimpressed glare. “You’re unbearable.”

“Better than unprepared,” he said, brushing the flap aside as sunlight spilled in.

And with that, you followed him out.

The fire was small, but it did the job.

Dinner was some unholy combination of canned beans and what Avdol claimed was “seasoned jerky,” though you were reasonably sure what it was. Polnareff had already made three separate complaints. Jotaro hadn’t spoken since the fire was lit. Kakyoin was poking at his food.

You, meanwhile, were just grateful you hadn’t been stabbed again yet.

Joseph Joestar sat across from you, legs folded loosely, hands moving easily as he talked about something - stand theory, maybe, or his travels in Italy. You weren’t really listening.

You were watching the way his sleeves were rolled up.

Which was fine. Totally fine. You were allowed to have eyes.

You took another bite of beans you didn’t taste.

“Something wrong with the food?” Joseph asked.

You blinked. “What?”

“You made a face.”

You did not, in fact, make a face. Probably.

“Just thinking,” you said vaguely, gesturing with your fork.

He tilted his head a little. Not quite smiling. “Dangerous.”

“Try it sometime.”

“Ooh,” Polnareff called out from somewhere behind you, “first banter of the night goes to the new kid!”

“I’m not a kid,” you corrected. Then, for Joseph’s benefit: “Lets go for ‘mysterious drifter.’”

He grinned, teeth flashing in the firelight. “You don’t seem like the mysterious type.”

“And you don’t act like the retired type,” you said with mock-sweetness. “You look it though.”

“Ouch,” Joseph said, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “Direct hit.”

“You’ll live.”

“Can’t guarantee that,” he muttered, half under his breath, and the air shifted a little - not colder, but closer. Like you’d brushed against something raw and still healing.

You looked at him again. Really looked.

The lines at the corners of his eyes. The way his hands never quite stopped moving, even when he was still. That wild, brilliant recklessness.

You cleared your throat. “So.”

“So?”

“If I tragically die here tonight,” you said slowly, “can I at least pick the next meal?”

Joseph raised an eyebrow. “You planning on dying before breakfast?”

“Not if I can help it. But this-”you jabbed your fork at the mystery stew- “feels like a test of endurance.”

“Yeah,” Joseph said. “That’s kind of the theme.”

You held his gaze a second longer than necessary.

Then you looked away.

The conversation kept going - Polnareff telling some ridiculous story, Kakyoin chiming in, Avdol trying to bring the topic back to tactics.

But your focus kept slipping.

Back to the way Joseph’s voice roughened on certain words. The way his hair caught the firelight. The way he looked at you, sometimes, like he wasn’t quite sure what you were yet.

Something new. Something sharp.

You weren’t sure either.

Your shoulders had loosened. The fight had finally drained from your hands. And when your eyes met his across the fire, steady and unreadable, something shifted.

After breakfast - which was, as expected, an abomination - everyone split off to prep for travel. You found yourself helping Joseph sorting supplies, mostly because Polnareff had already wandered off to do God knows what and the rest of the crew had learned to leave Joseph to packing.

“Is there a reason this blanket is wrapped like this?” you asked, tightening the straps.

He huffed. “It’s a space-saving technique.”

“It’s a disaster.”

“You’re a disaster.”

“That’s not even a comeback.”

Joseph glanced over at you with a crooked grin. “You’re fun when you’re mouthy.”

You leaned in, voice sweet. “You haven’t seen me at my worst.”

His hands faltered slightly on the rope. You caught it. He knew you caught it.

You didn’t press. Just smiled to yourself and moved to the next bundle.

The sun rose higher. The crew grew restless. Somewhere behind you, Kakyoin and Jotaro were arguing over map directions. Avdol sat serenely in the shade.

You moved to the water flasks, giving them a shake. Nearly empty.

Joseph stood nearby, now elbow-deep in a saddlebag, swearing softly.

“Need help?” you offered.

“I need a drink,” he muttered.

You smirked. “That sounds like an invitation.”

That got him. He paused, turned, and gave you the kind of look that said: Careful.

But he didn’t say it.

Instead, he said, “You always this flirtatious, or is it just the heat?”

You tipped your head, mock-thoughtful. “I do have a type.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, voice casual.

“Older men. Preferably ones with a tragic backstory and unresolved emotional trauma.”

He barked a laugh. “You’re terrible.”

“You’re my target demographic.”

Joseph groaned, running a hand down his face. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

You leaned on the edge of the pack mule, watching him with deliberate ease. “Only if you’re interested.”

And then, just to twist the knife a little deeper, you winked.

Joseph Joestar, world-class Hamon user, veteran adventurer, and proud smartass… actually blushed.

It was subtle. Barely a flicker. But it was there.

“Alright,” he said, coughing into his hand. “That’s enough. Go bother Polnareff.”

“I’d rather bother you.”

“You are bothering me.”

You beamed. “Perfect.”

He turned away, muttering something under his breath, but his shoulders weren’t as tense. If anything, he looked like he was trying not to smile.

The others called out that it was time to move, and the pack began gathering again, brushing dust off clothes and readying mounts.

As you walked past Joseph, he caught your wrist, just briefly.

“Don’t get used to the teasing,” he said, voice low. “I’m a married man.”

You glanced down at his hand on yours.

“Relax,” you murmured. “I’m just here to fight Dio.”

Then you tugged free and kept walking - cool, casual and in control.

But you didn’t miss the way he watched you go.

By the time the group had mounted up and started heading toward the next town, the sun was a merciless glare in the sky and your earlier exchange with Joseph had cooled, at least on the surface.

Beneath that? Smoldering. Tension. Absolute scandal.

Unfortunately, Polnareff had eyes.

And a huge mouth.

He scurried beside Joseph, grinning like he’d just uncovered state secrets. “Soooooo…”

Joseph sighed. “So what.”

“What’s up with them?” Wink wink.

Joseph nearly fell off his horse. “Excuse me?!”

“They’re not hard to read, you know. All that smiling and hair twirling. You’re not exactly subtle either, gramps.”

“They’re not- I’m not- There’s nothing going on!”

From further back, Kakyoin calmly flipped a page in his book. “That’s not what your ears said earlier.”

“My what?”

“Your ears. They turn red when they talk to you.”

“I have sunburn!”

Avdol let out the kind of sigh that could wither crops.

You raised a hand and waved over your shoulder. “Miss me already?”

Polnareff gasped. “SEE?!”

Joseph groaned. “Stop. All of you. I’m a married man!”

“You say that,” Polnareff replied, “but you’ve got big midlife crisis energy.”

From the very back, where he’d been brooding, Jotaro finally spoke.

“Yare yare daze.”

Joseph stiffened. “Jotaro-”

“I think I don’t want to wake up in twenty years to some random teenager punching through walls and yelling Dora Dora at the furniture.”

Joseph froze. “What does that even mean?!”

Jotaro didn’t elaborate. Just gave him a long, withering look.

Avdol sighed. “You walked into that one.”

Polnareff wiped away a tear. “He really did.”

You finally glanced over your shoulder and smiled. “Do you think it’d have your eyes?”

Joseph groaned like he was seconds away from throwing himself off the saddle. “Don’t encourage them.”

You winked back at him.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t say anything else.

But he didn’t deny it either.

Instead, he let the silence settle, easy and unbothered, as the horses carried you forward beneath the burning sky.

The desert stretched out ahead - heat rising in slow, shimmering waves, hooves thudding in rhythm, and the sound of laughter trailing behind you like dust in the wind.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t anything.

But it wasn’t nothing, either.

[padawan-snack-packer]

[They see you crying (over a show movie) - Clones Edition]

Hi babes, how are we doin'???? I hope you're having an amazing day/night!!!!

Sooooo I watched Andor (yes, the new season, most recent set of episodes. Yes, I sobbed like a dehydrated womp rat) and it got me thinking… grief is grief. Whether it’s over a real person or a fictional character who got done DIRTY by the writers, your heart doesn’t know the difference. It just hurts. And that is not cringe. You’re not "too sensitive" or "being dramatic" because a show or movie made you cry — you're just a human being with feelings (and possibly an attachment to scruffy rebels or doomed clones).

Soooooooo if you’ve ever been that person who had to pause the credits because you were too busy sobbing into your snack bowl? This one’s for you!!!💛

Let the clones hold you through it. You deserve that comfort.

[Small note but I promise I'm working on the asks, i'm editing them rn but they will be posted today!!! thanks for your patience!!!]

🛡️ Captain Rex

Immediately goes into battlefield triage mode.

"Are you injured? Is someone hurt? What—oh. It's the—it's the show??"

Once he realizes it’s not a real emergency, he just goes very still and very soft.

Doesn't totally understand why you’re sobbing, but he sits next to you anyway and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

Very gently: “You wanna talk about it?”

Listens patiently as you ramble about the character death, the betrayal, the emotional damage. Says things like:

“That’s terrible. I wouldn’t have left them behind, for the record.”

Will quietly Google the show’s ending after, so he can better understand your pain.

Offers to help you write a strongly worded letter to the writers.

🟠 Commander Cody

Walks in, sees the tears, immediately: “Who do I have to shoot?”

Realizes it’s a fictional problem, sighs, mutters “Kriffing civvie drama,” and proceeds to sit beside you.

Offers you a blanket. Then another. Then a snack. Then a pillow. Doesn’t know what helps, so he just keeps piling things like some sort of golden retriever boyfriend.

10 minutes later he’s watching too. Begrudgingly.

Ends up emotionally invested and refuses to admit it.

“I wasn’t crying. My eye was itchy.”

If you rewatch the sad part, he’ll stay quiet the whole time, then quietly mutter: “...They deserved better.”

🟥 Commander Fox

At first thinks someone died and he's reaching for his blaster like "WHERE—WHO—"

When you sob "it's just a movie!!" he freezes mid-combat stance like a glitched protocol droid.

Stares blankly for five full seconds.

“...Why would they write something like that?”

Paces like he’s trying to figure out who to arrest for this emotional crime.

Absolutely texts Thorn in all caps like “I THINK THEY MURDERED THE MAIN CHARACTER FOR NO REASON??”

Offers you his cloak, his time, his entire salary. Whatever will stop the tears.

"Tell me what they did to you. No, I want every detail."

🔴 Commander Thorn

“Aww, sweetheart, come here.” Immediately scoops you into his lap like a human-sized therapy blanket.

Cracks jokes to make you laugh through the tears. But in a loving way.

"Don’t cry, cyare, or I’m gonna have to hunt the director down and force him to write a new ending."

Also genuinely mad on your behalf.

Would 100% play the trumpet at the writer’s front door at 3am in protest.

Buys you comfort food and insists on watching something happy after. ("No more emotional trauma today, thanks.")

💙 Fives

Dramatic gasping. "Nooo, mesh’la, who hurt you?!"

Immediately wraps you in his arms and rocks you like you’re the world’s saddest baby bird.

Is fully ready to fight the fictional antagonist.

“Tell me their name. I’ll get Jesse and we’ll have a talk with them.”

Cries with you. Even though he doesn’t know what’s happening. Now you’re both a mess.

Probably shouts "DON’T GO IN THERE!" at the screen mid-tears.

Makes a whole event out of comforting you: hot chocolate, movie rant, forehead kiss, extra blankets.

🛠️ Echo

Gentle, steady comfort king.

Wipes your tears with the edge of his sleeve and just softly asks, “Want to tell me what happened?”

If you explain, he listens all the way through, then hugs you and goes, “Yeah... that’s rough. I’m sorry they did that to you.”

Tries very hard to not be mad at fictional writing, fails.

Writes emotional fanfiction in his head to soothe you.

Quietly recommends better-written shows that won’t make you cry (but will totally watch this one with you again, if you need to process it more).

🟡 Boil

Stares like you just told him his blaster died.

“You’re crying over a series?”

...But then you explain, and he sees your little tear-stained face, and now he’s upset too.

Grumbles something like "Kriffing writers, can’t let people be happy?"

Pulls you into a hug and pets your hair awkwardly, like he’s not used to this kind of emotional warzone.

Might start angrily defending the character you’re sobbing over.

“No, I don’t care if he was flawed! He did his best!!”

Secretly tears up when he watches it later on his own. Lies about it.

🐻 Waxer

“Aw, cyare, what’s wrong?” Already pulling you onto the couch.

Hears your explanation and immediately goes: “That’s awful. I wouldn’t have written it that way.”

Super empathetic. Tells you it’s okay to cry. Holds your hand. Plays with your fingers while you sniffle.

Talks through the whole emotional arc with you like a therapist.

“So the dog died AND the love interest left?? That’s emotional terrorism.”

Brings Numa in like: “Can you believe this show made them cry?? Unacceptable.”

Gets you snacks and tells you you’re doing amazing even if your face is puffy.

💜 Jesse

Walks in mid-sob and immediately does the full dramatic gasp.

“Oh no, not my favorite person — who did this to you!?”

When you point at the TV and whisper “they died,” his face drops like you just personally attacked him.

Grabs the remote. Rewinds. Watches the scene in full silence.

“...They did you so dirty.”

Will absolutely cry with you. No shame. Holds your hand, dramatically wipes a single tear from your cheek.

Mutters “he deserved better” for the next week like it’s a prayer.

If you rewatch it, he brings snacks and tissues. Every. Time. This is a ritual now.

💉 Kix

“Whoa whoa whoa—deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth—what happened?”

Immediately goes into soft medic mode. Hand on your shoulder. Crouching to your level.

When he figures out it’s because of a fictional character? He still treats it like a real crisis.

“Grief is grief, cyare. Doesn’t matter if it’s fictional. Your brain doesn’t always know the difference.”

Encourages you to drink water and decompress.

Then watches the whole episode and gives you an emotional damage debrief like, “This arc is textbook betrayal trauma. I’d cry too.”

Offers to “prescribe” ice cream and cuddles.

🐺 Commander Wolffe

Absolutely convinced you’re hurt or sick. Bursts in like: “Who made you cry? Where is he??”

You say “the movie” and he just... blinks.

“...You’re crying because of a movie?”

Cue grumpy but deeply concerned dad energy.

Awkwardly pats your shoulder. Then sighs. Then sits beside you and puts a stiff arm around you like “this is how people do comfort, right?”

Ends up emotionally invested anyway.

“...I knew he was a traitor. You can tell by the way he looks like a smug chakaar.”

Starts lowkey watching the show with you. Pretends it’s for “threat analysis.” (It’s not.)

🖤 Dogma

This man is PANICKED. You’re crying. He doesn’t know why. He thinks it’s his fault.

“Did I say something wrong? Did I mess something up?? Please tell me what I did—”

You manage to say it’s about a TV character, and he just deflates.

“Oh... thank the stars. I mean—no, not that I’m glad you’re crying, but—”

Silently shuffles into the room and brings you water like it’s the only thing he knows how to do.

Ends up very quiet and serious watching the rest with you.

Doesn’t cry, but definitely holds your hand a little too tightly when the next emotional moment hits.

Becomes very invested.

“This show is really well-written. I see why you’re upset.”

💥 Hardcase

You are ugly crying. The TV is still going. He walks in, gasps so loud it’s comedic.

“WHO DO I HAVE TO BLOW UP.”

Genuinely checks the door and window for enemies before you manage to sniffle, “...they killed him...”

"WHAT??? WHO??? Show me, I’ll handle this!!”

You point at the screen. He looks. Frowns.

“Wait. So. Not real?”

Then he watches the scene, starts crying with you even though he has no context.

“They didn’t deserve that!! They were a GOOD DUDE!! I know it in my soul!!”

Has a box of tissues in one hand, your hand in the other, and pure rage in his heart.

Later? He rewatches the whole series from the beginning. Gets unreasonably attached to that character.

“I would’ve died for them. Fr. Fives-tier loyalty. No notes.”

🐝 Tup

Gentleest bean. You’re crying, and he just comes over so softly.

“Hey... oh, sweetheart, are you okay?”

You say it’s the show, and his whole face just melts.

Wraps you up in a hug immediately. Doesn’t question it. Doesn’t laugh. Just warmth and steady heartbeats.

Sits beside you and wipes your cheeks with his sleeve.

Actually cries with you. His empathy is dialed up to a million.

Doesn’t say much. Just sits there with you, hand on your back, letting you be held.

He’s the kind of person who murmurs, “I know... it’s okay to feel it,” and you believe him.

Brings you hot tea and a soft blanket later. Softest king.

🟡 Appo

At first? Confused. You’re sobbing. He short-circuits.

“...Uh. Hey. You dying?”

You manage a “no—TV show—he died,” and Appo is just like: “oh.”

Immediately sits down like a brick.

“Alright. Walk me through it. What happened?”

Watches it in full. Expressionless. Then nods once.

“Yeah that’s messed up.”

Doesn’t cry. Doesn’t say much. But leans in so your head rests on his shoulder and gently puts an arm around you.

Carries you to bed if you fall asleep mid-rewatch.

Pretends he’s not invested. Absolutely is. Secretly furious they killed off your fave.

💛 Bly

Sees you crying. Immediately alarmed.

“Mesh’la? What’s wrong?”

When you say it’s just a sad episode, he immediately switches to comfort mode.

Pulls you into his lap, kisses your temple, and rocks you gently while murmuring,

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweet thing. Let it out.”

Will 100% watch the episode with you and get emotionally WRECKED.

Grabs your hand during the tragic death and squeezes it like he’s the one in battle.

“No. No. Not like this. They were just about to be happy.”

Brings you snacks and tissues, snuggles with you for hours after.

Starts referring to your fave character like they were a mutual friend.

“I miss them too. They were brave.” 😔

[auntie-venom]

Fan Fiction Recommendations

I figured I’d take the time to put down some of my favorite fan fictions for anyone who wants them. I am only putting up completed series, with a few exceptions. And I’ll add more as I think about it. Make sure to give the authors lots of love! They deserve it!

Also, let me know if any links do not work.

Star Wars

✶ Alpha-17 ✶

➤ Alpha-17/Female Reader

Yours

By @wanderinginksplot

Rating: Teen and Mature Reader was assigned to Kamino to do some administrative work for the senate, and when her presence draws some of the clones to try their inexperienced flirting with her Alpha volunteers to scare them away. This story single-handedly turned my attention towards Alpha works. It is a slow burn filled with great banter and I really enjoy Alpha’s characterization here.

➤ Alpha-17/Female Reader

Alpha & “Doc”

By @wings-and-beskar

Rating: Explicit Reader attempts to have a peaceful shower but has to deal with Alpha-17’s presence and persistence to be around her. Absolutely sexy series that I hope gets more fics added to it! Just Alpha’s begging alone in the second story had me faint.

✶ Rex ✶

➤ Rex/Female Reader

Hierarchy of Needs

By @zinzinina

Rating: Explicit Reader is a Jedi on a mission with Rex when a toxin affects them both causing them both to seek relief. Fuck-or-die? YES, PLEASE! I love this trope, ESPECIALLY when it is written as well as this. It is sexy, passionate, filled with yearning, and we end on a sweet note, which I love. 

➤ Rex/Original Female Character

Stories

By @aggy72

Rating: Explicit Cori is a documentarian and follows the adventures of the 501st where the Captain unexpectedly falls for her. Filled with great relationships, banter, and found family, this is a truly beautiful saga of love and perseverance

✶ Wolffe ✶

➤ Wolffe/Female Reader

A New Tomorrow

By @enigmaticexplorer

Rating: Mature and Explicit Reader does a favor for Plo Koon where she ends up as Commander Wolffe’s assistant and they do not like each other. This is a slow-burn, tension-filled, antagonists-to-lovers series that had me in a chokehold for a week while I read it. I laughed, I cried, I stared out a window and thought for hours about it. Alli writes Wolffe so well and I can’t recommend her enough.

➤ Wolffe/Female Reader (Original Female Character)

No Strings Attached

By @cyarbika

Rating: Explicit Reader/Cherise is the owner of 79’s and Wolffe is a cocky asshole that just pisses her off. This series has made me cry and text my IRL friends to rant and rave. Phenomenal Wolffe characterization and beautiful writing. Has antagonists-to-lovers where he falls first she falls harder. Please read it so we can talk about it.

➤ Wolffe/Original Female Character

I Need You

By @ulchabhangorm

Rating: Explicit Sadhbh struggles to keep her growing feelings with Wolffe hidden after they originally agreed to be just friends with benefits. This fic is filled with yearning and passion and completely hooked me! The whole series of one shots have me eagerly waiting for the full Sadhbh/Wolffe story that Maia is writing and I cannot get enough!

✶ Wolffe and Fox ✶ (No Clonecest)

➤ Fox/Female Reader, Wolffe/Female Reader (No Clonecest)

I trust him, and he trusts me

By @enigmaticexplorer

Rating: Explicit Reader is in a relationship with Fox when Wolffe interrupts an intimate moment and it sets in motion a new dynamic. This sexy oneshot explores the way trust translates into intimacy and I related to it on a molecular level. Hot and sweet, just how I like it.

✶ Fox ✶

➤ Fox/Female Reader

Shadow Play

By @wizardofrozz

Rating: Explicit Reader is a senator and is in a secret relationship with Fox, and they have a pretty public fuck. This is just such a hot oneshot.

➤ Fox/Original Female Character

After a Fashion

By @aggy72

Rating: Explicit Sylvi is the designer who makes all of Senator Amidala’s wonderful gowns, and she keeps running into the very stern Commander Fox. This story, as with most of Aggy’s fics, has a chokehold on me. The fic is beautiful story of love filled with banter and phenomenal characterizations.

✶ Gregor ✶

➤ Gregor/Original Female Character

The Deal

By @aggy72

Rating: Explicit Ashla is the chosen medical carer for Skirata’s commandos and is lovingly set up with Gregor by her new chosen family. this story is filled with love, angst, and family that warm my soul! Aggy really has a way to my heart with her stories.

✶ Kix ✶

➤ Kix/Original Female Character

Martyrs and Kings 

By @dystopicjumpsuit

Rating: Explicit Dr. Maree Finnall helps Kix find answers to what happened to his long-lost brothers after he wakes fifty years into the future. While it is a love story, Kix is rightfully filled with angst. Seeing him work through his grief of losing his brothers while being the last clone standing is heart wrenching. 

✶ Fives ✶

➤ Fives/Female Reader

Heartbeat

by @ariadnes-red-thread

Rating: Explicit Reader and Fives are trapped with death coming for them and they take to opportunity to die without regrets. The passion and tension of this oneshot is delicious!

✶ Tech ✶

➤ Tech/Female Reader

Scientific Purposes

By @doublesunsets

Rating: Explicit Reader discovers Tech accidentally recorded a private moment of hers and when confronted she challenges his claim that it was for scientific purposes. Author plays into Tech’s curious nature and uses reader’s body for discoveries. It is hot and has great back and forth between Tech and Reader.

➤ Tech/Female Reader

the beast against the wall

By buryustogether

Rating: Explicit Tech is exposed to a toxin when he protects Reader that makes him lose his inhibitions. Phenomenal sex pollen story that leads to a feral Tech, and I am OBSESSED.

➤ Tech/Female Reader

The Quarry

By Littlelady1121

Rating: Mature Reader is a target to bring in to Cid, but there is more to her than it seems. Minor slowburn with a wonderful found family story with great characterizations. 

➤ Tech/Female Reader

Nighttime Variations

By @bring-backup-99

Rating: Explicit Reader meets Tech when he stays at her inn, and they hit it off. This is a great balance of sexy and sweet! She does a great characterization of Tech and if you like her work and want to get kinkier I’d recommend her Bad Choices series as well. 

➤ Tech/Female Reader

Quick And Dirty

By @eyecandyeoz

Rating: Explicit Reader helps Tech do repairs, and clean up afterward. Sexy one shot with some fun back and forth between our favorite info dumper! Candy has a bunch of hot one shots and gorgeous artwork as well!

✶ Howzer ✶

➤ Howzer/Female Reader

Doctor’s Orders

By @grampsoninspace

Rating: Explicit Captain Howzer is a cocky flirt to the Reader Medic, and it goes his way. This was fun to see a lee burdened more flirtatious Howzer and had some great tension building with some hot smut!

✶ Cassian Andor ✶

➤ Cassian Andor/Original Female Character

Starlight

By @joeybelle

Rating: Explicit While on a mission Cassian gets strong-armed into helping a medic escape the Empire, and it doesn't go to her plans at all. Slow burn and tension galore, along with angst. The sequel is unfinished but I hope upon hope one day she will continue it!

✶ Din Djarin ✶

➤ Din Djarin/Female Reader

Rough Day

By @no-droids

Rating: Explicit Reader signed up to be Grogu’s babysitter and got involved in a fuckfest with the kid’s father. The tiktok famous porn with plot, Mando fic everyone talks about. It truly is a well-written story amongst the smut!

➤ Din Djarin/Female Reader

Be-all and Endor

By: @djarins-cyare

Rating: Explicit Reader is a technician on Endor when the Mandalorian crosses her path and she decides to help him Insanely well-written saga that explores culture and the universe of Star Wars.

✶ Poe Dameron ✶

➤ Poe Dameron/Female Reader

Nine

By @foxilayde

Rating: Explicit Sexy oneshot of a boiling point moment between friends Poe and Reader and then it's just smut central. Love the banter and the idiots-in-love so much.

➤ Poe Dameron/Female Reader

The Bet

By @no-droids 

Rating: Explicit Poe and Reader make a bet on who can stay abstinent the longest, when they try to get the other to fold the tension begins to snap. One of the hottest smut fics I’ve ever read. I use this as a way to convince my IRL friends to start reading fanfiction.

➤ Poe Dameron/Female Reader

Directions

By @zinzinina

Rating: Explicit Reader admits shes never climaxed with a partner before and Poe is determined to change that. This is a beautifully written friends to lovers smut oneshot that I just love to bits.

Moon Knight

✶ Steven Grant and Marc Spector ✶

➤ Steven Grant/Female Reader, Marc Spector/Female Reader

Red Flags

By @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss

Rating: Explicit Fantastically written story about dating Steven while not knowing about Marc (and Jake) and all the red flags with dating someone hiding a part of themselves. Full stop my favorite Moon Knight fic to date, and I even make my non-fanfiction reader friends read it.

➤ Steven Grant/Female Reader, Marc Spector/Female Reader

fallen from heaven, grown on earth

By davosmymaster

Rating: Mature Marc asks his long-time friend to watch over Steven as he lets him be the primary front. Reader falls in love with Steven after pining over Marc their entire relationship and it causes some ANGST. Lots of yearning and a happy ending.

➤ Steven Grant/Female Reader, Marc Spector/Female Reader

Stuck

By @zinzinina

Rating: Explicit Reader stops by Steven’s place to bring him his lost badge when Marc answers the door and seduces her. Just a sexy little two-shot that I like to reread a lot.

✶ Steven Grant, Marc Spector, and Jake Lockley ✶

➤ Steven Grant/Female Reader, Marc Spector/Female Reader, Jake Lockley/Female Reader

Gift of Min

By @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss

Rating: Explicit An ancient aphrodisiac spirit is released and reader has to help Steven through it. Another fantastic piece of work form these two, and it is in one of my top five tropes! Absolutely so hot and passionate.

Triple Frontier

✶ Francisco "Catfish" Morales ✶

➤ Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Female Reader 

Something New

By @prolix-yuy

Rating: Explicit Reader hires a sex worker after a period of loneliness brought on by divorce. This whole series is absolutely soft and wholesome while being so sexy.

Kingsman

✶ Jack “Whiskey” Daniels ✶

➤ Jack “Whiskey” Daniels/Female Reader

Whiskey & Westworld

By @prolix-yuy

Rating: Explicit A universe where the Kingsman characters are robots in the Westworld Theme Park when Reader comes to visit. This story is so well written and the tension build-up is delicious.

➤ Jack “Whiskey” Daniels/Female Reader

Harder to Hold

By @brandyllyn

Rating: Explicit Reader becomes the seduction target of Jack Daniels and she doesn’t understand why. The sexiness and espionage in this fic is so fun!

Ghostbusters

✶ Egon Spengler ✶

➤ Egon Spengler/Female Reader

Masters of Sex (The Mood Slime Experiments)

By @psychokinetic-ectoplasm

Rating: Explicit Reader helps out Egon with the mood slime experiments. Just gloriously filthy smut that develops into feelings.  

Dragon Age

✶ The Iron Bull ✶

➤ Iron Bull/Original Female Character

Gina and the Iron Bull

By Lexi Banner (jinbaittai)

Rating: Explicit After an accident in another universe, a woman ends up in Thedas during the time of the Inquisition. I am a SUCKER for someone falling into another universe, and this is a long hot romance.

✶ Cullen Rutherford ✶

➤ Cullen Rutherford/Female Commander Shepard 

The Two Commanders

By Katieee

Rating: Explicit When Commander Shepard destroys the reapers, she wakes up to find herself in Thedas where her biotics are mistaken for magic. Again, I love fish-out-of-water stories where someone from a different universe ends up in another, and I also love to see Shepard be a badass. Takes place over a series of years and is just a fun read.

[archangeldyke-all]

ima sorry bm so drunk rn byt cannyou write smutty for coweboy sebika

hahaha of course, but only if you drink some water!!! one glass for every drink you've had please :)

men and minors dni

what was meant to be a family hunting trip quickly devolved into a 'the girls play in the river all day while you and sevika hunt' trip.

you're not really upset. you and sevika are enjoying the time alone in the wilderness, and you gave the girls a flare gun to shoot if they get into trouble.

neither of 'em need any hunting lessons anyways. they both love coming home with rabbits and squirrels over their shoulders-- you had to put a ban on any animals bigger than the average house cat when ten year old powder dragged home a forty pound doe. the four of you were up all night chopping up the deer and distributing the meat to your patrons and neighbors.

plus... you'll never complain about a little alone time with your wife.

she doesn't seem to be too upset about the girls bailing either, if the way she's smirking at you is any indication.

you're trying to ignore her, trying to focus on the fox at the end of your barrel-- but she's not making it easy.

you take a slow breath, steady your hands, and shoot-- only for the fox to dart away at the last second.

sevika chuckles. you curse.

"quit fuckin' doin' that!" you whine. she chuckles.

"doin' what, darlin'?"

"undressin' me with your eyes while i'm tryna get us a good pelt!"

she giggles, taking the gun out of your hand and wrapping her arms around your waist. "'s my duty as your wife to lust after you at all times." she says. you roll your eyes, trying to bite back your smile. "you look hot with a gun in your hands, all that focus in your eye."

"you're lucky you're rich, sev." you laugh. she raises an eyebrow at you.

"why's that?" she asks.

"we're supposed to be stockin' up for winter. so far all we got was that fish we shared last night." you say, chuckling. sevika giggles then shrugs again.

"you know the girl's probably got a whole pile of game waiting back at camp." she says. you laugh, she's probably right.

her hands are trailing slowly down your sides, the mischievous sparkle in her eye growing the closer she gets to groping your ass.

"and just what do you think you're doin'?"

"undressin' you with my hands this time, since you threw a fit when i was doin' it in my head?" she tries. you laugh, and she untucks your shirt. "well?" she asks, waiting for your permission before she gets you naked. you smile at her.

"gimmie a kiss." you demand. she grins, pressing a sweet, chaste peck against your lips. you hum. "just... make it quick. i really do wanna stock up the cellar before the first frost--"

she cuts you off with her lips on yours, and you lose your train of thought, melting into her arms and wrapping your hands around her neck.

she tastes like campfire and sweat and the handful of berries you'd foraged in the morning. she's intoxicating. her strong arms strip you fast-- not bothering to get you naked, just shoving your pants and underwear down, shoving your shirt up under your armpits.

"turn 'round." she grunts. you shiver at the commanding tone in her voice, and pull her down by her collar for one more kiss before following her instructions. she smacks your ass when you present it to her, chuckling when you jump. "fuck. wanna fuck you." she grunts. you chuckle.

"don't think we packed the equipment baby."

"don't care." it's all the warning you get before she claws your bare hips and starts grinding her clothed cunt against your ass. you gasp. "fuck." she grunts.

you bend a bit at the waist, both of you groaning at the friction the new angle gives you. one of sevika's hands trail up from your hips to fondle your tits. "feels good." you whimper.

sevika growls. "yeah?"

"yeah."

she starts thrusting against you, each one a little more aggressive than the last. each time your hips meet, you both let out little sighs.

"you're stainin' my pants, baby." she murmurs. you shiver again. "fuckin' love your cunt, honey. so pretty. so wet for me, huh? don' even gotta touch you, 'n i still got you makin' a mess." she smacks your ass again and you fall farther forward. she chuckles. "hold onto that tree, doll." she encourages.

you reach out and steady yourself, bent at a ninety degree angle now, your cunt on full display for her. for a few seconds, she just examines you, spreading your ass and marveling at the way your cunt clenches around nothing. you whine, pushing against her grip on you, and she snorts.

she lines her hips back against yours, and just when you think she's gonna start fucking you again, she hooks two of her thick fingers inside of you.

"sevika!" you squeal. she chuckles, then starts thrusting her hips in time with her fingers. "oh, fuck baby!"

"better?"

"yes, fuck, y' fuck me so good sev."

"yeah?" she moans. you nod, gasping as she hammers into you. "y' gonna cum?"

you can't answer, your face is pressed against the bark of the tree and you're too wrapped up in the pleasure between your thighs to think. sevika doesn't seem to care, though.

"love this fuckin' cunt, honey. 's always on my mind. 's fuckin soft--" she punctuates it with a hook of her fingers, pressing on your g-spot, "n' warm--" another press, "n' wet--" you let out a high pitched mewl, and sevika gets one more word out before you cum, "n tight--"

"sevika!" you wail. a few birds go flying, startled.

"oh fuck baby, there you go." she laughs as you start to cum and squirt around her fingers. she doesn't stop her thrusting, doesn't stop her assault on your g-spot, she fucks you until the pants gathered around your knees are soaked your thighs are trembling. you can feel your cum soaking into your socks when she finally pulls out, and you nearly collapse. "woah, doll." she laughs, wrapping her arms around your waist before you topple over. she helps you turn around in her arms, grinning at you when your eyes meet.

"f-fuck off." you sigh. sevika chuckles.

"i didn't even say anything!"

"i know that look in your eye."

"i was just gonna suggest i get you a clean pair of pants--"

"shut up!" you squeak. she laughs again, kissing your forehead as you bury your face against her shoulder in embarrassment.

"so hot when you do that." she grunts. you gently bite her shoulder and she chuckles. "c'mon. lets get you in dry pants, 'm serious. we're gonna have to walk a few more miles if we wanna find somethin'-- you scared everything within a two mile radius off when you came." she teases again. you groan, then sneak your hand up under your wife's shirt to pinch her nipple. she gasps. "ouch!"

"can't stand you."

"no, you can't. i make you way too weak in the knees." she says. you burst into laughter, then pinch her nipple again.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

[rozodejanerowrites]

Ninety Seconds to Midnight

CWs: Canon typical violence, Medical procedures, Substance abuse, Referenced Suicide

Contains: John-Price POV, Character study, Unresolved romantic tension, Slow burn

Archive of Our Own | Current WIP - ~60-80,000 words

Chapter 4

Camp Redgrave, Helmand Province, Afghanistan. 2007

John watches as Kelli takes a sip of coffee and gags. She mutters something to the woman at her side, Ronan, if he recalls. Ronan laughs. She takes the enamel mug from Kelli’s hands, takes her own sip, and rolls her eyes.

John takes a bite of curry. Even now, there’s still that flicker, quiet, stupid, stubborn, whenever he catches sight of her.

They’ve run into each other many times over the years, but Herrick 5 was the first time they’d been stationed at the same FOB.

Kelli’s unit had been in support since then. She may not be SAS, but the boys like having her around. He likes having her around. She’s a damned good medic. The back-to-back tours have racked up her experience to a point where he’s been trying to push Mullen to recommend her for promotion to Corporal. He has no real control over whether he does or not, but he knows his opinion carries some weight. Not that it should need to. Kelli is calm under fire, skilled, and can handle herself on base. She’s been cycling through rotations while most medics tapped out after a tour. Not her. She seemed hungry for it. Not reckless, not naive. Just wired for the job in a way most aren’t. Especially in her shoes. But John figures she loves it, or at least she loves saving people.

He thinks there are probably easier ways to save lives. But SAS has been kicking his arse ever since the first deployment to Helmand, and he loves it more than he’d admit - so he’s not about to judge another soldier’s crazy.

Besides, he’s glad to see her doing alright.

The Afghan sun beats down on the camo net that the entire base seems to be trying to cram under. He can feel a small sliver of sun burning a path across the back of his neck. The mission briefing had gone long -way long - but that’s not a surprise. Lunch has been shortened, and he needs to run the route review in less than 10 minutes.

Helmand province is a dangerous place these days, and Sangin is especially chaotic. Tight urban clusters, flanked by dense vegetation. It’s a minefield for Taliban activity, IEDs, ambush zones, hideouts. Intel says the region has been in a lull the last few days, but there’s been recent insurgent activity nearby in Kōṯay Zaī, so command is on alert.

John sometimes wonders what Afghanistan was like before the invasion, before the Taliban. Probably still hot enough to cook an egg in the sand. Hopefully less dangerous. He doesn't really think about it too much, but he likes to think that one day things might be better for the people here. They’re good people, for the most part. At least the ones that aren’t trying to blow him or his squad up.

Riggs elbows him in the side.

“Hey Price,” he says, grinning like he’s about to set something on fire. “Why didn’t you tell us your girlfriend’s well fit?”

John pauses, holding the spoon he was about to shove into his mouth still for a moment.

“Excuse me?”

Riggs grins.

“Your bird, Price,” he lets out a low whistle, leaning in close and glancing around at the other guys. “I saw the photos. Why didn’t you tell us you pulled a fox?”

John purses his lips.

He is immediately on alert for whatever bullshit is about to come out of his mouth next. Riggs is a right dog, and ever since the promotion, he’s acted like John’s stripes don’t mean shit, just because they slogged through selection together.

The rest of the table seems to be observing Riggs with varying degrees of amusement and wariness. Riggs’ mates are holding back thinly veiled smirks. A couple of the quieter guys are looking at him with careful looks on their faces.

John thinks they are right to predict his annoyance on this topic. He’s not above a bit of banter, but John doesn’t really want to hear Veronica talked about like she’s some piece of meat. Knowing her, she’d probably enjoy the attention, but he doesn't. It’s the principle of the thing.

He carefully puts the spoon in his mouth and chews. The beef chews like boot leather, but it buys him a second to think. Small mercies.

He’s 90% sure Riggs is doing some bit because John knows there’s no way he has photos of Veronica - he’s not that much of a sociopath. More likely Riggs is just being Riggs. A button-pusher to the bone. And John’s rep as a hardass doesn’t do much to scare him off.

He swallows down the food.

“Because I knew you’d be a knob about it, Riggs,” he dismisses, “since you’ve never pulled anything but your hamstring.”

There is a soft chorus of oohs.

Riggs is looking at him as if he’s weighing up his options, and at that exact moment, Kelli and Ronan have the distinct misfortune of walking past their table.

“Oi, Purcell,” Riggs calls, craning his head over his shoulder to flag her down. “C’mere.”

Kelli looks like she’d rather chew glass, but she sighs and stops.

“What is it, Riggs?” she says. “You finally figure out the food goes in your mouth and not up your ass?”

There is a smattering of snickers around the table.

“Good one,” Riggs says, unperturbed, before whipping out a digital camera.

Kelli shakes her head, but she stays in place. She knows, just like he does, that Riggs’ blasé attitude is why he’s hard to pin down. Nothing sticks because nothing matters to him. It will get him killed one day, John is sure of that.

“You seen Price’s new girlfriend?”

Kelli glances at him. She looks like she is searching for something - a reaction, probably. But John thinks he’s just going to let whatever is happening play out. Riggs is clearly trying to get a rise out of him. If Riggs crosses the line, he’ll make sure he knows it, but one of the first things he’d learned from his mentor was sometimes you gotta let the boys have their stupid fun.

Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps the cracks from showing.

Kelli peers at the small screen.

“Oh that’s very clever, Riggs,” she says, as if speaking to a particularly slow four-year-old. “You think that one up all by yourself, clever boy?”

Riggs’ expression drops for just a moment.

Ronan leans over to have a look.

“That’s a picture of a dog,” she says.

Riggs and his mates burst into laughter.

John shoves the last spoonful of his curry into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at Riggs, who cackles.

“Your bird is hot, though,” Riggs says to him after a moment. “Saw that Polaroid of yours,” he lets out a low whistle. “Great tits.”

John drops the spoon into the curry and swallows.

“Alright,” John says, standing. The table goes quiet.

“Review tent in five,” he says flatly. “That includes you and your camera, Riggs.”

The table groans and starts finishing up.

He hops over the bench and tosses his bowl into the mess. He glances back and realizes that Kelli is following him. He knows that look - she’s about to give him grief. Always does.

“Can’t believe you let Riggs spout that disrespectful bullshit right in front of you.”

John shrugs.

“He’s just being a dog,” he says, stopping in front of the review tent.

Kelli turns to him.

“Yeah, I know, Price,” she says. “That’s my point. She’s your girlfriend.”

“He’s not wrong,” John says with a shrug. “Veronica does have great tits.”

She shoots him a look of disgust.

“Gross,” she says.

“Jealous?”

“Of Veronica’s tits?” she scoffs. “Not worth the cost of sucking your tiny cock, thanks very much.”

John huffs out a laugh, tonguing a back molar.

The urge to tell her she’s welcome to suck his cock anytime she likes comes out of nowhere.

He doesn’t. She’d shoot him.

He’d deserve it.

He can dress it up however he wants, but he’s heard the locker room filth about the women on base. The way Riggs really talks, when he thinks John can’t hear him, is disgusting.

Doesn’t change the fact he kinda wants her.

He knows he’s fancied her ever since that disaster of a HALO drop, but he’s almost certain she’s had something unsanctioned going on with her CO, Mullen, for the past year that breaks every fraternization protocol in the books.

It pisses him off, and not just because he fancies her. He’s met men like Mullen before. He’s one of those slick bastards. The ones who don’t need to force someone to do something. They just wait ‘til you convince yourself to do it.

He worries about her.

She’s become a friend since SAS selection, checking up on him every now and then. In her words, ‘making sure he hasn’t fallen out of another airplane’. Herrick’s been the first time they’ve spent so long in the same place together. He knows that she was grateful to see him at her father’s wake. Her mother had hugged him like a vice when Kelli had introduced him. He had felt shit, but also like it meant something - as if he carried some part of Robert that had been left behind. He hadn’t really understood that back then, but as he loses more and more friends, he thinks he understands better now.

John also thinks that anything he might feel would spoil whatever it is that they’ve cultivated over the years.

And so he keeps his mouth shut.

Besides, he and Veronica just became ‘Facebook official’ - whatever the fuck that means. Veronica is nice, and he likes her despite it all. She makes him feel less like a boring wanker when he’s off deployment. She forces him to museums and art galleries, and though he sometimes wants to shoot himself in the head listening to the never-ending stream of inane drama her friends seem to come up with, she looks at him like some kind of knight in shining armor.

And yeah, maybe he’s fancied Kelli for three years, but there’s no way she’d be able to top some of the stuff Veronica can do with her tongue.

“You up to date on the extraction zones?” he asks.

Routine grounds him. It always does, especially around Kelli.

She nods, her eyes glancing around his face for a moment.

“Always,” she says.

“Good,” he says as the rest of the unit starts milling into the review tent. “Right. Let’s get on with it.”

————————

The sun has not yet reached the highest part of the sky, and John feels like his scruff's about to melt clean off. He adjusts the strap under his jaw, the helmet already hot and heavy, the scrim tickling the side of his face. The heat enhances the stink from the canal, choked with algae and water the color of dishwater. It cuts like a scar through the poppy fields, flanked by rough-packed mud-brick embankments that have been widened and reinforced over generations of farming. A swarm of flies buzzes over a goat carcass.

His team moves slowly, methodically, down the narrow footpath, just wide enough for one man at a time. John moves second in the file, glancing between rooftops and doorways like a metronome. Every grinning kid might be a scout. Every grain sack, a trip to goddamn pieces. Sangin’s green zone was notorious for danger - tight alleyways and winding paths, doorways set back and out of sight, rows of poppy stalks up to his shoulder. All prime real estate for an ambush or an IED.

If he misses something, that could be it.

Connors, the point man, suddenly raises his fist.

The squad freezes.

“Movement, rooftop. Ten o’clock,” Connors whispers to him. “One figure, shadow behind the lattice.”

“Weapon?”

“Can’t confirm. Could be optics. Could be nothing.”

John sniffs.

“Eyes up, rooftop, ten o’clock,” he says into the comms. “Hold spread. Black, get eyes on from cover.”

“Copy. Moving.”

John watches the rooftop, his jaw tight. From the corner of his eye, he sees Kelli glance at the compound wall, then across the street. Her voice comes low but sharp.

“Locals pulling back from the road, sir.”

“Confirmed,” he says, a familiar prickle at the base of his neck. “This is smelling wrong. Riggs, left flank overwatch. Everyone else - hard eyes.”

A breath passes. Two.

Then comes the first burst of fire.

The shot tears through Connors, spinning him sideways. He drops, his scream swallowed by the dirt, rifle skidding into the dry canal bed.

“Contact! Rooftop, one o’clock!” John snaps, dropping to a knee, rifle up. “Black, left wall! Riggs, push to flank!”

Connors is writhing near the canal lip. Leg hit, blood jetting fast across the dry dirt. The field goes loud. Controlled bursts thudding from behind cover. Clay spatting off the compound wall in puffs.

In his peripheral, he sees Kelli break cover and make for Connors.

“Purcell - hold position!”

“Femoral might be hit,” she barks back, sliding down next to Connors like a fucking maniac, “he might have minutes.”

That punch-to-the-gut feeling never bloody changes. It doesn't matter if it’s Kelli or one of his unit or some other moron. They run, and his gut drops every time.

He fires off a burst, then ducks below the wall and presses his back into the clay.

Kelli is yanking a tourniquet from her kit. She slaps it high on Connors’ thigh, cinching it tight. Bullets crack overhead. One punches through the clay embankment behind her.

“Black, I need cover on that roof!” John shouts, already moving.

He crosses the canal ditch in three strides and drops beside her, shoulder to shoulder.

Connors is white-lipped and thrashing.

“Hell of a spot for a house call,” he mutters, rifle clearing her shoulder.

Kelli looks up at him.

“I go where the blood is, sir.”

There is a slight madness in her eyes that he recognizes. He sees it in most of his SAS mates. He sees it when he looks in the mirror. Christ, he just prays that it doesn’t get her killed.

He prays it doesn’t get him killed.

The first burst had come from the rooftop. The shooter is gone now, melted back behind the compound wall. Silence follows, for just a second.

Silence here means shit’s about to go sideways.

Then it comes again. From the east, tight three-round bursts thudding into the canal bank, kicking grit into their faces.

“They’re bounding,” he calls, “trying to keep us pinned.”

He raises his rifle, pivots, and feels the pain graze his side before he hears the shot ricochet off the wall next to them.

He grits his teeth, swallowing down a noise. It’s not deep. He hopes. It’s just enough to shift his knees underneath him.

“Black, move north side. Get eyes on that tree line! Riggs with him! Purcell-” he turns, teeth gritted, “-be ready to move him. We’re not holding here if they circle.”

He fires off a burst toward the northern compound. Rounds crack overhead. Short bursts slapping mud from the canal wall and kicking up dust and gravel. He wipes his face with the back of his hand. Someone shouts down the line. Return fire spats out in sharp rhythm. Kelli is moving beside him.

“Down- get down!” she shouts, dragging him below a loose rise in the canal bank. Her gloves slide against where he’s been hit. Blood. Her gloves are covered in blood. Connors’. Now his.

He tries to wave her off, tries to push up on his good elbow.

“Get back behind cover-”

“You’re bleeding, sir,” she snaps, pushing him flat.

He groans, more from the pressure than the pain.

“It’s nothing. Keep on Connors.”

Bullets crack past them again. One strikes the bank, inches from her boot. She doesn’t flinch, neither does he. She is already tearing open his vest, yanking the fabric aside to find the wound.

“Through and through,” she says, “he’s stable for now.”

He grunts as she finds the wound. It is ugly, ragged edge, high on his left flank. It’s not spurting, but it’s bleeding fast.

Kelli’s gloves move fast. Without hesitation.

“Lucky bastard,” Kelli says, looking up at him, “it’s a graze. Stay still.”

“No promises.”

John’s breath comes sharp as she packs the wound, pressing hard with a thick wad of gauze. She pulls a pressure bandage from her med pouch and wraps it around him.

Another burst of gunfire rattles close.

He grunts. He needs to get eyes on the rest of the team.

“Give me ten more seconds, sir,” Kelli says, reading his mind, “then you can be a big man again.”

He looks down at her - mud-smeared, focused, lips pressed in concentration as she works in the middle of hell, like she doesn't even hear the gunfire anymore. Her face is so close. She glances up, just for a moment. Her eyes are still wild, but there is concern there. Concern for him, he thinks, and it messes with him.

She cinches the wrap tightly, fastening it with her teeth.

He hisses as she slaps the plate carrier back into place.

“Done.”

“About time,” he grunts, reaching for his rifle. Before he can, she catches his wrist. Her eyes are so intent, staring at him as they share the same breath huddled against the side of the canal.

“Don’t be stupid, Price.”

He searches her face.

“Rich, coming from you.”

Kelli grins.

A beat passes. She releases his wrist and turns back to assess Connors.

Over comms, Black’s voice crackles: “Targets falling back. We’ve got movement to the north, but nothing pressing.”

The gunfire eases into the distance, not gone, but far enough.

John raises his weapon and scans the area for any signs of movement. The firefights are always chaotic. It’s impossible to have a full handle on everything that’s going on. The rest of his team is alert behind cover. Assessing. He counts. He lets out a breath. Everyone seems intact.

Almost everyone.

He glances back. Kelli is pressing down on Connors’ leg. The kid seems stable for now; pale, drifting in and out, muttering something to Kelli. The field dressing is soaked red, tourniquet cinched tight against his thigh.

He’s a good guy, near the end of his first tour. He’s been reliable, sharp. It would be a shame for him to go this way. John thinks maybe he should feel more about the situation, but right now he needs to focus.

He licks his lips. They are cracked and sandy.

“Nine-liner’s out. MERT inbound, ETA seven minutes,” Black calls from up the trail, eyes still scanning his arcs.

The MEDEVAC Response Team would fly in fast and low. Sometimes it came with a full trauma team, sometimes it was just a winch and a prayer.

“We’ll hold the LZ here,” he says, pointing to a flat patch beside the canal, just past the crumpled goat pen. “Purcell, keep pressure. Riggs, I want security on the north wall. If they’re circling, I want to see them before they see us.”

Riggs nods and gestures for two of the infantrymen to follow him.

The canal bank reeks of algae and his boots are soaked. At least the water is a cool contrast to the beating sun. Flies already swarm the blood-soaked dirt.

He glances at Connors again. Kelli is kneeling beside him, her forearm slick. She doesn’t look up: “He’s circling the drain, sir. If they’re late, we lose him.”

“They won’t be.”

He launches himself up the canal wall and moves to the highest ground he can find - a ruined compound corner. He watches the horizon. He hates the waiting. The fragility of each second. One more ambush. One comms delay. And it could all tip again.

Then: the distant thrum of rotors. Not distant for long.

“Bird’s coming in!” Black shouts.

The dust kicks up like a bomb blast as the Chinook banks hard over the poppy fields, rear ramp already lowering. The whine of the engines bounces off the clay walls.

He hops down off the wall and legs it to the LZ. Kelli shields Connors’ face from the grit as he and Riggs lift him. His leg looks worse in daylight - limp, broken open like peeled fruit. But he is still breathing. Still blinking. Looking up at Kelli like she’s the second coming of Christ, his savior.

They load him onto the bird. The MERT doc barely nods, too fast and focused. Kelli steps back. She squints against the rotor wash.

The Chinook thunders skyward, and as quickly as it came, the noise is gone. The uneasy silence returns.

Kelli stands still for a second. Then she exhales hard and wipes her bloody hands on her trousers.

“That was close.”

“Too close,” he says, glancing at her. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” A beat. “No.”

He places a hand on her shoulder, reassuring, he hopes. He understands. Too well.

“He’ll make it,” he says. Not a promise. A dare.

———————

Connors makes it, but it was touch and go according to the MERT doctor.

John debriefs with the team before being pulled into a command report with Halford that takes way too long. COs have always been a mixed bag. Halford’s the best of the lot so far. He’s seasoned, pragmatic, and trusts his officers. His only flaw is that while in practice Halford doesn't mind bending the rules, on paper he likes things to be clean.

Which means paperwork. Mountains of the shit. If someone had warned him how much came with stripes, he might’ve told them to shove the promotion.

“This says you were injured,” Halford says, peering at him over the top of his report. His eyes glance between John’s face and his chest, covered by his fatigues but still bulky and bloody from the wrapping Kelli applied earlier.

John nods.

“Get it sorted.”

John nods.

He’s halfway to the medic station when he catches a glimpse of Kelli and Mullen, half-shadowed between the tents.

From the angle, it looks like they are having an argument. Mullen’s ears are red and his shoulders tight. The kind of posture John’s seen in dozens of officer pricks about to throw their weight around. Kelli’s glare would cut through body armour.

John knows it is none of his business. He knows this because he tries to cultivate the cold discipline of a man who keeps his mouth shut unless needed. But his feet angle slightly toward them anyway. Just close enough to catch it.

“-this is why I can’t recommend you for promotion.”

“I’m not asking for a promotion, Ryan,” Kelli snaps. There’s heat in her voice, but something raw beneath it. “I’m asking you to fucking trust me, I’m not a child.”

It lands wrong. Not what she said, how she said it. Like someone just kicked the floor out from under her.

Anger flares - quick and sharp. He’s got no right to it. Doesn’t stop it boiling up anyway.

He tells himself it is because she is his friend.

As he passes, Kelli catches his eye. Her jaw sets like she’s bracing for impact.

Mullen turns too. His expression shifts the second he sees who it is. He nods, terse. Waiting for John to continue on. As if he has any fucking say over where John has a right to be.

John keeps walking. If he doesn’t, he’s not sure what he’d say.

Connors is surprisingly peppy for a kid that lost a full liter and a half of blood.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he apologizes as soon as John enters the tent. He tries to sit up, but the attending medic, Ronan, shoots him a glare. Instead, he falls back onto the bed and frowns up at the roof of the tent. John stops by his bedside. He knows that look. Connors is mortified. Same way he’d felt the first time he got lit up.

“Sometimes the bastards get you,” he reassures him. “You feeling better?”

Connors nods, but his face is forlorn.

“They’re gonna send me home, aren’t they, sir?” he says, turning to look at John.

John glances across at Ronan, who shrugs.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she says. “That’ll be Captain Mullen’s call.”

John stands awkwardly for a moment. He’s still not sure what to say in these situations. He’s still figuring out what kind of man he’s meant to be, what kind of leader. It is hard to deliver wisdom when you’re only three years older than the bloke you’re delivering it to.

He thinks about saying it’s not a bad thing to go home. That recovery matters. That seeing your family, your friends, is a good thing. That staying alive is enough.

But he knows that wouldn’t land. Not for someone like Connors. Not yet.

He was Connors once. In a lot of ways, he still is.

He would be devastated.

The war is shit. The food is shit. The sand, the grime, the politics.

Somehow the shit is shit.

You spend your days walking through someone else’s broken country, trying not to add to the wreckage.

And yet he knows that -for some of them -it makes sense in a way nothing else does. It strips everything back. It gives shape to the chaos.

The fight gives him purpose. He can handle it. So he must. It is a sacrifice that only people like him can make. To keep the world safe.

If that makes him a bastard, fine. He’ll take being a bastard over being useless.

He looks down at Connors.

“If they send you home, that’s not failure. It’s survival,” he says. “But if you’re still trying to prove something - don’t do it for anyone else. Not me. Not the lads. Not the bloody Queen. Make sure it’s something you believe in.”

Connors swallows hard, eyes flicking toward him.

“Do you believe in it, sir?”

John doesn’t flinch. But it’s a question that sticks.

“I believe in the men beside me. That’s enough.”

His answer seems to satisfy Connors, at least for the moment. He sees Ronan raise an eyebrow at him, but she doesn't comment on his little speech. They are not especially familiar, besides the mutual connection and proximity. She has always struck him as shrewd, but he is her superior.

She beckons him over.

“Shirt off,” she says, all business. She points to the gauze. “Kelli warned me. Said you’d rock up playing hero and not to let you weasel out of a checkup.”

John grunts. He was here to get it checked out anyway, and so he acquiesces. Part of him thinks it’s probably better for Ronan to be manhandling him and not Kelli.

He leaves the tent fifteen minutes later, side burning from the antiseptic, ego still a little raw.

He makes his way to the perimeter fence and sits down on a supply crate. The sun sits low on the horizon. Distant pops of gunfire punctuate the low hum of the base. Sangin never sleeps, but he savors the rare moments of rest. He is not due back for briefings until twenty-hundred. He’s still got a few forms to fill, but he needs the moment. He cracks open the little cigar tin Nan gave him when he made sergeant - like he’d earned knighthood.

“It was your grandfather’s,” she had said with a twinkle in her eyes. “We used to smoke the Wintermans together in Monte Cassino.”

John had never really smoked, but the scent reminds him of his grandparents. The first time he had tried, he had almost keeled over, but now he inhales easily. He only has a few left, but he thinks about the day and decides he deserves it.

“Those give you lung cancer, you know.”

He smiles into the cigar as he lights it up.

When he looks up, Kelli is sitting down next to him, looking thoroughly exhausted.

“As opposed to all the other creative ways I could die out here.”

“Touché.”

She sighs and stares out at the sunset.

“Emma said you gave Connors quite the speech,” she says. “Didn’t know the SAS taught that kind of emotional wisdom.”

He grunts. He wants to savor the flavor of the Hamlet, slightly sweet, a little earthy, nice dry aftertaste. He kind of likes something more peppery, but he hasn't had the chance to experiment much yet.

He blows out the smoke. “I improvised.”

Kelli watches as it dissipates.

He looks sideways at her. There is something in her posture that hints at unease.

"You okay?"

Kelli sighs.

“You know,” she says, “for a moment I wished it was me that had been shot.”

John turns to her sharply.

“Jesus, Kelli.”

His stomach drops. He hates that kind of talk, half-joke, half-cry for help.

She holds her hands up.

“Not dead, just like Connors,” she muses. “Easy RTU, back to Birmingham. Excuse to see the family.”

“There are easier ways to see your family,” he says, before pausing, “look Kelli, if you aren’t happy-”

“Jesus. I’m fine,” she insists, gritting her teeth as if regretting every word she just said. Which he thinks she should - what a stupid thing to voice aloud. “Look, I shouldn’t have said anything. Now you think I’m insane.”

He looks at her for a moment, disbelieving.

“I already thought that, but yeah.” He hates himself for it, he should probably ask her if she is okay, but he has to ask, “Are you good for this? I need you locked in, not locked up in your own head.”

Kelli’s face drops slightly. Her shoulders straighten.

“I’m good, I’m good,” she says, waving a hand, forcing a tight smile onto her face. “If I thought it would compromise my abilities, you’d be the first to know.”

He nods.

“Good.” A pause. “I need you focused out there.”

Kelli smiles tightly.

“Always.”

He watches her for another moment.

“Except for the wishing-you-were-shot part.”

Kelli gives him a little punch on the arm.

“Be real. Everyone’s thought that at least once.”

John takes another drag of the cigar. She’s not wrong exactly. But it alarms him all the same. He believes her when she says that she is focused in the field, but he thinks back to her argument with Mullen. That kind of drama, combined with the inherently fucked-up nature of what they have to do day in, day out... well, she’s not wrong that it’s a common sentiment among some of the infantry. It just surprises him to hear her say it.

“For the record,” he says, “I do not want to be shot.”

Kelli laughs.

“Rich coming from you.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Veronica?”

He shrugs. “I was thinking more about my mum, but sure.”

Kelli sits back against the supply crate and crosses her arms. They sit in silence for a moment.

“She good?”

He nods.

“Caring for nan full-time,” he says, “which they both hate, but what are you going to do? She refuses to go to a home.”

Kelli nods.

“And Veronica?” she asks, and something in her tone is careful, searching. But then she looks at him wryly: “Tits still holding up?”

John chuckles. She's such a hypocrite.

“She’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

John turns to look at Kelli. She is staring straight ahead, and something about the focus of her gaze tells him she is trying not to look at him.

He shrugs.

“She spent our last call moaning about bridesmaid drama like I wasn’t calling from a bloody war zone.”

Kelli turns to look at him.

“You should talk to her about that,” she says. “She’d probably appreciate you sharing your feelings.”

John lets out an incredulous huff. “Women don’t want men to share their feelings. Ruins the illusion.”

“The illusion?” Kelli scoffs. “I doubt Veronica has any illusions about what kind of man you are.”

John looks sideways at her. Kelli might as well be one of the boys, but she is still a woman, and women never want to admit that all women do weird, hypocritical shit.

“You’d be surprised,” he says. “I’m pretty sure she thinks I don’t actually kill people for a living.”

“What does she think you do?” Kelli asks.

John shrugs.

“I dunno. Save Afghani kittens.”

He pauses, weighing whether to say the next part. When he looks over, she’s already watching him - eyes sharp. She’s clocked it. Of course she has.

“And yeah... pretty sure she’s seeing someone else.”

He says it flat, like that’ll make it sting less.

Kelli stills.

“What?” she says. “Wait, what? John, are you serious? That’s fucked.”

He shrugs one shoulder before taking a long drag on the cigar.

“One of my mates said he saw her out with another guy,” he says. “Could be nothing, but=” he shrugs again, “-it wouldn’t shock me.”

Kelli tightens her mouth into a grim expression.

“I’m sorry, John,” she says. “That’s fucked.”

John rearranges his weight on the supply crate.

He grunts. “It’s not the end of the world.”

Kelli looks at him with disbelief.

“You are being, like, really calm about this,” she says, waving a hand around. “She’s your girlfriend.”

John knows he is only being calm about this because he always thought that he and Veronica were a temporary thing. She’d always had stars in her eyes. Was too idealistic and attached to the image of him as a soldier. Not him. Not the reality of what he does.

“We’ve only been dating for, like, nine months?” he says. “It’s not like I was married to her.”

Kelli pokes a finger at him.

“It’s still fucked, John.”

He kind of likes that about Kelli. She is so easily indignant about things, so easily on the offensive when she decides there has been some grave injustice committed. It’s a fucking pain in the ass when she directs it at him, but when it’s on his behalf - it feels great. Like someone actually gives a shit.

“Why don’t you just break up?”

He shrugs.

“She’s really, really good at-”

Kelli holds a hand up.

“I swear to God, John-”

“Making breakfast,” he finishes, a small, crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “And she’s got a nice apartment down in Chiswick.”

“Holy shit,” she says. “And I thought wanting to be shot was bad. At least it makes sense in context. That is fucked up.”

He looks at her for a long moment.

“More or less fucked than sleeping with your CO?”

A muscle in Kelli’s jaw twitches. She doesn’t answer right away. Doesn’t deny it either.

The silence stretches.

Then, quietly: “Less, probably,” she says. “But at least I know why I'm doing it.”

“And why are you doing do it?”

Kelli looks up at him. There is something unreadable in her expression. It could be sadness, it could be regret. It could equally be anger.

“Ryan is a good man, John,” she says, defensive.

John tips off some of the cigar ash into the dirt.

“He’s still a man, Kelli,” he points out, “and he’s your CO. You can like him all you want. Doesn’t change what it is. Power’s power. And he’s using it.”

It’s true.

Mullen is ten years her senior and her direct CO. Kelli might have a will of steel. She can choose to do whatever she wants, but even John recognizes that kind of power differential is a recipe for disaster. He should report it. He wants to report it. But Kelli is looking at him desperately, as if he is her lifeline.

She deflates a little.

“I know,” she says, unexpectedly. She opens her mouth again, “but-”

“If you fucking tell me you love him, I swear to God Almighty.”

Kelli snaps her mouth shut.

He sighs, glancing around. Twenty-two years of Keep Calm and Carry On fight against what he knows he should say.

“Look, I’m just worried about you, okay,” he admits. “Riggs might be a dog, but pricks like Mullen are the worst kind of bastard. You deserve better than that, Kelli.”

Kelli stares at him.

“So I should take your approach? Find someone I don’t give a shit about and fuck them for the view?”

John pinches the bridge of his nose.

“That’s not what I mean at all. Kelli-” he tries to stop her from standing. “Kelli.”

She shrugs off his hand and narrows her eyes at him.

“We’ve all got our own version of fucked, John,” she says, brushing dust from her trousers. “Maybe you should look at your own before commenting on mine.”

She’s gone before he can think of something smart that won’t sound like bullshit. Which is probably for the best. He’d probably make it worse by saying something true.

He sits back down, cigar burning down between his fingers, and watches as the sky over Sangin bleeds from orange to gunmetal grey.

[firemeyr]

Written thanks to the wonderful prompt by @tesalicious2 : 'The Caf machine is sacred, and the commanders get first pick of the day'

_____ The caf machine gurgled. Hacking up grounds and its plastic vibrating slightly as water was pushed through its filter. The brown sludge, diluted and gritty with grounds too fine to be caught by the flimsy filter, no matter how often it was changed, dripped down into the caf pot. It was already half full and only slowly filling with the weak stream of caf from its spout.

Spittle had been eyeing it for the past 15 minutes, having been the one to start this pot. his shift was nearing closer and closer yet, his mug remained far too clean and empty.

See, as a lieutenant, Spittle knew the rules. He was the first one in their recreational-slash-break room, and so, he was obligated to start the first pot of caf. He was also privileged to the second cup of caf today. The first, no matter how much he itched to grab the pot and finally stave off some of this exhaustion, was reserved for whichever commander managed to force their way to the caf machine first.

It hadn’t been such a big deal for the first year of the guard, but a few too many caf induced burns by exhausted troopers prompted a rule from Commander Fox. He had said that they, the commanders, could at least be trusted to be punctual and calm over the beverage.

Spittle’s eye twitched as the clock above the door ticked on. 16 minutes had passed. He knew damn well both Commander Stone’s and Commander Fox’s shifts started at the same time as him.

The metal door finally slid open. Eyes flicking down from the clock and Spittle was privileged to the sight of Commander Stone elbowing Commander Fox right in the cheek. 

He let out a surprised laugh as Stone forced his way in front of Fox with the action, thundering steps carrying him to the caf pot. It let out one last shutter, the sludge coming to a stop as Stone grabbed for the pot, attention pulled away from it as he opened the cabinet above the pot, pulling a white mug off of the middle shelf.

Commander Fox leaned up against the counter, foot tapping against the ground, arms crossed against his chest, and glaring daggers into Stone’s back.

“Gonna survive, C’mander?” Both Fox and Stone swung their heads to look at Spittle as he spoke. Fox had tensed, letting out a sigh a moment later. Stone just smirked and finished pouring his caf, lingering in front of the machine as he blew across the steaming liquid before taking a sip. They all learned to choke it down, no matter how hot, at some point.

“Probably. Hurry up trooper.” Fox waved to the machine as Stone stepped away, slouching into himself as he did so.

Nearly leaping out of his seat, mug in hand, he stepped over to Stone. Finally handed the pot, barely holding his mug over the counter, he filled it up. Slotting the pot back into its place on the machine, he held his mug with two hands, taking the time to inhale the sweet, sweet scent of liquid energy. About damn time.

[muyru-iru]

Special Senators get special treatments:

Senators that request decommission during an escort while there is a high threat of a seperatist attack will be ignored. If threathened with the Chancellor, calm them down and try to compensate. If nothing works, see how they will reconsider their request.

If they do not comply use necessary forces

my troopers are important thus will have priority if we are off planet, because the Senate rules function differently out of the jurisdiction of Coruscant

Best to get CT-6641 as your team member, he's the certified one to deal with an unruly Senator

in report put their status under missing or killed in action by the separatist.

....more

Situation: Senator Escort Mission

Planet: A hot desert, sandy

CT-7660: heatstroke due to the limited recourses and equipment/ exhaustion/ dehydration☞ passed out

First threat: Senator Ungu'viruc (oc)- personality: a bastard, bland,

second threat: decommission request

12. Make at least one of the commanders proud...if you achieved the proud sideglance of Fox, then you get free caf for a week.

13....(click for more)

Notes from 6641: I'm killing flies nothing more. It's an honourable work and honest too. We get paid....with caf. I have one of the highest counts of number 12. Ha, bitches. You can't get me. I'll be runnin' illegaly...hahaha...

[dizzymisslizzie]

2024 Fic Round Up!

Inspired to do this by @caterpills's post!

Most of my fics were published in 2024! Going back, I realized how much writing I did this year! This is my first foray into writing in fandom and I've found it so soul-enriching.

So here's the list of my 2024 fics! Note: These are all RWRB❤️🤍💙

January

Model Behavior: Model!Alex AU, Words: 67,876

March

New Friend Silver, Old Friends Gold : PWP! Words: 4,683

May

May the Fourth be with You: Post-Canon Fluff!! Words: 1,764

June

Biscuit Land: Single Dad!Alex and Baker!Henry

Looking for Orion: RWRB x Star Trek: TNG AU! Doctor!Alex with cute kids and Commander!Henry. This one is angsty but as always a happy ending! Words: 32,245

July

Fireworks Reflecting on a Lake: Post-Canon Fluff! Words: 812

September

beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh [fic & podfic] by esbielle, LK_42: This is my first collaboration!! Olympic diving AU! Words: 32,431, Podfic 4 hours

October

All, All Mine, Beloved: Omegaverse! Lawyer!Alex and Prince Henry in a rushed marriage. There's plenty of sex but LOTS of plot too!! Words: 69,193

November

Crystal Heart by LK_42 for magicmelinoe: Anywhere with You gift exchange! This story was going to be 3K words and ended up at 34,147!! Witch!Alex and Faerie!Henry quest to find answers to a magical bond.

Say My Name: Ok, this started out quick and dirty and has grown into a second chapter and likely a third at some point! A bathroom stall at a gay bar; Words: 3,964

December

Merry Christmas, Henry Fox: PWP!! Y'all, this is just some hot Writer!Henry and Lawyer!Alex sex. Words: 1,743

I have so many WIPs that I'm playing with! My Camping AU: Wildness & Artifice is very summer themed and the ending needs fleshing out so I think I'll keep that one for the Spring.

BUT! I have at least two more winter themed fics that will be coming out in the next month or so! There's also Gilmore Girls AU and Sugar Daddy Pez in the works!

I love RWRB and the whole MCQ universe. This fandom their books have relit a love of fiction (I read a lot of non-fiction history) in me that I thought was gone. This fandom and their words got me through a tough pregnancy and kept me sane during my first months as a new mom.

The words of the authors of this amazing fandom have made me weep, rage and laugh out loud. Thank you for your words and inspiring me to keep writing mine.

Open no pressure tags!

@miss-minnelli @tailsbeth-writes @firstprincehornyramblings @aforgottennymph @botaboxed @suseagull5914 @onthewaytosomewhere @marz-rm @magicmelinoe @cha-melodius @anincompletelist @fullsunsets @starrypiscesao3

[nova-amor]

༘☁︎⋆ ◜ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 ◞

simon wasn't sure how it had happened. how you had wiggled your way into his life.

for such a stern, closed off individual, he was surprised by how easily you had ensnared him into a trap, caging him in like he was the rabbit to your fox. he usually wasn’t one to give in so easily, at least until you came along.

you had basically cornered him the first night you two had met— the setting having been the annual military ball, the holidays just around the corner. he had showed up to the event by the request of his team, dressed to his finest in his issued mess dress and signature black surgical mask, the event a little too formal for him to wear his skull mask. or, atleast that’s what price had said anyway.

he hadn't worn the dress uniform in years, his thickened muscles straining the jacket sleeves and pants. he felt like a monkey in a clownsuit, hating every second of his participation in such a meaningless event.

it was meant to be a base-wide bonding experience, an opportunity to mingle and network with all the other soldiers that worked on base. yet, no one really wanted to be around the special operations soldiers— especially not after last year’s fiasco where the men had gotten so piss drunk; some of them even had to write apology letters to the commander of the base and all the other attending officers.

he had spent the evening downing glasses of bourbon— the woodsy liquor burning his throat, washing his annoyance away with each long swig. he had been left alone at the table while the rest of the team partied away on the dance floor, acting as a pseudo watchdog for all the wives’ and girlfriends’ purses and phones. each song that went by meant that he was closer to leaving the event— closer to getting home, changing out of his damn mess dress, and drinking his night away with a handle of whiskey and a pack of smokes.

“drinkin’ all by yourself, handsome?” he almost snorted at the corny question, a smirk tugging at his lips, thankfully concealed by his mask. he couldn’t deny that you were beautiful, cleavage on full display with the way that you were leaning close into him.

he had seen you before, another soldier— a dog handler to be specific. his team had worked alongside you in training operations, and according to what he had heard through grapevine, you were freshly divorced.

the little devil on his shoulder whispered encouraging words into his ear, and with the way you were looking at him with those big beautiful eyes and scarlet red lips, he wasn’t going to deny you.

“s-simonn!!” your whines were high-pitched in his ear, almost pornographic. if it wasn’t for the way your cunt was clenching ruthlessly around his cock, he would have just left you high and dry. “faster, please— need more— ohmygod!”

simon rolled his eyes, his hips rutting against your ass with each deep, unforgiving thrust. he couldn’t wrap his mind around how you two had ended up in the backseat of your sedan, his head and neck craning for comfort as you laid face down, ass up across the seats. the windows had fogged up, the loud slap of skin smacking against skin filling the air.

“would you shut the fuck up,” simon hissed, landing a harsh smack to your ass cheek. he almost laughed at the way your body jolted away from his touch, your greedy pussy clenching harder around him. “you’re gonna take what i fuckin’ give you— and you’re— gonna— fuckin’— like it—,”

your head bobbed along the cushions of the seat, a string of ‘yes, sir’s and his name filling the air. simon leaned over your hunched frame, encasing your entire body within his long torso and drool-worthy arms.

“fuck, love, g’na cum— where’d you want it?” simon groaned into your ear, his hot breath fanning over the cartilage. your head buzzed from the ecstasy, every fiber of your being having ascended to an astral plane.

“in me,” you whimpered, arching your back impossibly deeper. the walls of your cunt began to milk simon’s cock, body instinctively preparing itself for the massive load he was preparing to dump into you. “in me, si— need it, need it so fuckin’ much,”

“is that so, love? think you deserve my cum in you? huh? you think you deserve to be stuffed full with it?”

“yes! yesyesyes,” you were on the verge of crying. under any other circumstances you would have felt so humiliated, so embarrassed. and, even so, you were still so close. the peak of your orgasm drawing impossibly closer with each passing second. “simonn— g’na cum with you— so fuckin’ close— g’na cum all over ya cock—”

simon was cocky, more so than any other man you had ever interacted with. yet, no amount of alcohol could have prepared you for his next words.

“i don’t think so,” simon stated, retracting his cock from the depths of your cunt. without hesitation he spilled his load onto the globes of your ass— skin glistening with the semi-translucent body fluid under the peering street lights. “you’d need t’ prove it better next time, love.”

“if there’s a next time, that is.”

[bakawitch]

Taking some inspiration with inspiration from World of Winx, The Amazing Spiez, and @onyxonline Soul Pretty Cure, how about a show about a group of 5 boys who by day are regular middle or high school but by night are a group of magic using super spies who fight magic using super villains, one of who whom uses a spell to make personal nemesis for each of the boys that either counters their powers or opposes them morally, or psychologically attacks them. Maybe one of the themes of the story is toxic masculinity and how it can negatively boys and how it leads to things like trouble processing emotion, low self-esteem, being pushed to do things you don't like because it's considered "masculine", or having to hide your actual interests out of fear of being rejected or laughed at. I would have killed for a show like this.

I would like everyone to know that this is the boy show that gets to have a crossover episode with Enchantlings!.

This cartoon is called H.F.I.V.E. (pronounced high five) staring the titular spy/hero group!

The cast includes iconic characters such as:

The leader Hayden Prince, the green agent

Fern McRam, the white agent

Ike Fox, the yellow agent

Virgil LaRose, the red agent

Evan Kingsly, the blue agent

The Pilot, the spy agency's mysterious chief and mentor

Harper LaRose, the pink agent trainee/assistant

The Black Snake, the shows big bad who plagues the world with fear and nightmares

And his hot second in command lady young boys can crush on and lesbians can have their awakening to called Briar Petals code named Black Thorn

The themes you mentioned are 100% getting carried over

[rooksunday]

it's @foxmoonevent2025! here's a silly something for day one, using the prompts "full moon" and "bright". i had intended it to be spooky but thorn refuses to take fox seriously, so here we are.

Fast breaths steamed wetly into the crisp night. Thorn could feel the condensation on his dry lips. He swallowed thickly, the rich loamy scent of the densely forested planet leaving an aftertaste in his throat even through his filters. He stifled a cough. Wouldn't do to make more noise than he could avoid. Silver moonlight already scored through the forest like a blasted beacon; if he started to hack and sneeze, he might as well start yelling his location like a shiny failing first manoeuvres.

As if proving his Corrie luck, Thorn's comm sputtered. He ducked into a crouch as he activated it, as if he might be able hide the noise that way. Jaw clenched, Thorn clicked the comm twice to signal his ability to receive. He kept his eyes on the thermal tracking on his HUD. So far, so good.

A single click responded. A whisper. "He's karking disappeared. What do we do?"

Thorn rested his head against his vambrace and allowed himself one low curse even as he clicked his comm twice to signal message received. Back in the early days, Stone had proposed a triple-click signal, to indicate message received but I'm not exactly happy about it, but the edit had been vetoed as unnecessary. What message had a Corrie ever received that they were happy about?

Case in point: Thire's latest update.

Thorn didn't indulge himself with a second curse, as much as he wanted to, instead unfolding again to his feet and getting his blaster into ready position. Moonlight continued to smirk at him, bouncing off his armour as subtly as vibrant applause, and Thorn squared his shoulders in probably foolish resolve. If he moved quickly enough, quietly enough, he might make it to Thire and the others before—

A howl shredded the night, startling local wildlife into terrified squawks and twittering. A shoal of small birds swarmed out of the trees near Thorn in an explosion of feathers and fear, spiralling wildly toward the bastard moon. Thorn nearly staggered back at the fervour of the creatures, his own heart tripping once as if the panic were contagious, and he nearly trampled the fluffy whatever-they-weres that were scrambling over his boots in a reckless flood of chittering.

That the creatures were all fleeing away from Thorn's location wasn't lost on him.

He lowered his blaster just as the first hot wash of breath smeared over the nape of his neck, pervasive even under his bucket. His shoulders slumped.

"You found me," he said, defeated.

A low, rumbling growl, like a hyperspace drive with a headcold. Another sticky exhale. A nudge—or what a being the size of a Wookiee might consider a nudge, but for clones was distinctly a shove—made him stumble, and Thorn turned around with a huff.

"You found me," he said again, and holstered his blaster. "But you still can't figure out how to brush your teeth. What's that about, sir?"

Fox wagged his tail, his huge fangs bared in a grin wide and sharp enough to chomp the head off a droideka. Certainly more than sharp enough for the creatures native to the planet he'd been hunting on, many of which hadn't displayed the survival instinct of the birds or fluffy whatevers: Thorn frowned and reached out, yanking the remains of supper from between Fox's fangs. He tossed away the chunk of bone, not missing how Fox's yellow gaze flicked to follow it, as if noting the location for later.

Thorn levelled his eight feet tall, barrel-chested, currently canine superior officer with a flat look.

"No, sir," he said firmly.

Fox's whine would've been heartbreaking if Thorn hadn't been listening to it on and off for the past year and could identify which whines were real—those caused by pain, whether Fox's or another Corrie's—and which weren't—all of the others.

Plus, the wagging tail kind of gave the whole game away. A sabacc genius, his Commander was not.

Recognising Thorn's implacability, Fox huffed a breath and settled on his haunches. Moonlight turned Fox's fur copper-bright, like a shiny new credit, which made the bloody smears over his chest all the more noticeable. Tutting, Thorn tried to scrub at one patch, but just smeared viscera around like hot sauce. He grimaced at the resulting state of his glove. Yet another pair for the recycler.

"From this mess, should I take it the Seppie base has been dealt with?" he asked Fox, referring to the mission that had brought them to the planet. Checking was necessary: Fox could usually stay on task, since the shift didn't affect his mind as much as they'd all first feared, but sometimes his big nose found more trouble than their orders had outlined.

They'd started collecting on a lot of bounties, since Fox had been bitten.

Fox snorted a meaty breath and nudged Thorn's helmet with his nose, smearing something lumpy over Thorn's visor.

"Delightful, sir. Thank you."

Thorn clicked on his comm, using his external speakers; no point in trying to be furtive when the big fluffy hunter had found his prey. Thorn—and everyone else waiting in the dropship—had only ever been there to hold the bags, anyway. And Thire had even managed to kark that up by losing track of Fox in the first place.

"What's that make the score now, then? Fox: all the points, Thorn: none?" Thire drawled, like the brat he was.

Fox's big ears swivelled at the sound of his name. Thorn pushed his nosing snout away.

"Back off, sir." To Thire, Thorn said, "Just for that, you're on shampoo duty."

Fox recoiled, his eyes going wide.

"Don't do it, Thorn. Don't say it," Thire pleaded. "Haven't I always been decent to you? I've been a karking prince, I've—"

Thorn grinned even as Thire descended into mumbled swearing and pleading with whatever gods he'd found on the holonet. By the flattening of Fox's ears, he knew what Thorn was about to say, and a thin whine escaped from between his bloody teeth. Softening, Thorn scratched behind the fuzzy lout's ears in just the spot he liked, flicking aside the molar he found there.

"That's right, sir. It's back to the ship and then bath time for you."

Fox's mournful howl shattered through the night.