#and also find all the new people waiting out there for me

[beskarandblasters]

Illicit Affairs

Part One of Time, Wondrous Time

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Cooper Howard Masterlist | AO3

Summary: You’re California Crest Studios’ newest production assistant, getting the opportunity to work on the hit movie, The Man From Deadhorse. But when you meet the movie’s lead, Cooper Howard, you fall head first into a secret affair. Enter a war, a cryogenic freezer, and a two hundred year time jump. And yet despite all that, you just might run into him again.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: unspecified age gap, infidelity, reader is able-bodied and wears a skirt, workplace romance, secret mutual pining, fingering, one pussy slap, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, pet names (sweetheart), no use of y/n

A new beginning. A foot in the door in the industry you’ve been dying to get into– Hollywood. You’re California Crest Studios' newest production assistant and you get to work on the upcoming movie, The Man From Deadhorse. Although you’re not typically a fan of Westerns, you’re grateful for any experience you can get. 

You’re hiding in the bathroom, killing time until production starts after getting to the studio rather early; LA traffic is unpredictable and your anxiety got the best of you this morning. You make sure your makeup is perfect and smooth down your skirt before walking to the soundstage. California Crest Studios is huge. It’s going to take forever to get used to not only the layout but also the hustle and bustle of a living, breathing set. 

The soundstage is overwhelming to put it plainly. Everyone’s talking in pockets of well-established groups and you feel like an outsider looking in, trying desperately to look like you belong here. You search the room for a familiar face but there are so many people around it’s overwhelming. You met the director, Emil, at your interview but other than him, everyone here is a stranger. 

Are you supposed to interrupt a conversation and ask what you’re supposed to do? Are you supposed to wait until you’re addressed? Are you supposed to–

“First day on set?” 

You look to your left and find a man, stunning you with his bright smile. One look at his attire tells you he’s in costume, donning a blue shirt with gold fringe. He must be an extra or something. Whoever he is, you can’t deny that he’s devilishly handsome, could even be considered leading man type of handsome. 

“That obvious, huh?”

He chuckles, placing his hands on his hips. “You’ll get the hang of it. Are you one of Emil’s new assistants?”

“I am,” you sigh, “I’m not sure where he is, though.”

“I’ll go find him for you,” he smiles, walking away before you can protest. Fuck, you’re not trying to bring any unnecessary attention to yourself. Not on your first day.

The man disappears within the pocket of people and eventually returns with Emil. He greets you with a smile and says, “Welcome to your first day on set! I see you’ve met Cooper, our leading man.”

He continues to talk but it turns into white noise. Your mind is too focused on the words: leading man. 

You vaguely hear Emil talk about what his expectations of you are, but he finishes with “For now you can just go to the studio’s cafe and get us coffee.”

Sigh. Comes with the territory you suppose. 

He goes to grab you a pen and paper, leaving you alone with Cooper. You awkwardly shift your weight between your feet, wanting desperately to make conversation with him but fearing that you’ll just annoy him. 

“Don’t be so nervous,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“Thanks,” you smile. 

“I never caught your name.”

You introduce yourself and he does the same, adding, “But I suppose Emil already did that for me.” 

He chuckles and extends his hand out, you shake his hand and determine he has a nice firm handshake. The kind where you can just tell he’s a confident man. 

Emil returns with a pad and a pen and immediately starts shooting off coffee orders for him and some of the other people on set. 

“By the end of this week, you won’t need to jot these down. You’ll have them all memorized.”

“Is that a challenge?” you ask playfully. 

He laughs and says, “Sounds like you’ll fit in here,” before walking back into the set. 

You turn towards Cooper and ask, “And what about you, Mr. Howard?” ready to take down his order. 

“Please, Miss, call me Cooper. I’ll just have a black coffee.”

“You got it, Cooper,” you smile before familiarizing yourself with the set and crew, taking down everyone’s coffee orders before heading to the studio cafe. 

You walk back to the soundstage with a large paper bag in hand, walking extra carefully to ensure the copious cups of coffee don’t spill. It’s already been an eventful morning but your mind keeps circling back to Cooper Howard. The first person you met on set, the first person to show you an act of kindness. You’re practically swooning over him. 

A small part of you wants to believe that he was flirting with you. But you quickly push that out of your mind. He’s an actor. He’s naturally charismatic. And besides, he wouldn’t want anything to do with a production assistant for fuck’s sake. 

You pass out everyone’s coffee back at the soundstage, surprised by just how nice most of the crew are. Of course, some people couldn’t be bothered to give you the time of day. To them, you’re someone who’s at the bottom of the barrel, someone they don’t have to treat with respect. 

As for Cooper… God, he knows how to make you feel special, graciously accepting his coffee and thanking you up and down. But quickly enough it’s time to shoot and you’re tasked with making sure no one accidentally walks into the shot. It seems easy enough. For the most part, you just watch Cooper act and find yourself captivated by him. You’re not typically into Westerns but he has such a commanding aura about him that’s impossible to ignore. 

After a few hours, the crew breaks for lunch. You learn lunch is catered most days which is nice. But now you’re in the first-day predicament where you must decide if you’re going to eat alone or encroach on an already established group. 

You sit on the concrete with your legs straight out in front of you, eating the lunch you packed. All around you groups of people socialize and chatter. You can only hope that one day you’ll have your own group like this on set. As you’re about to take a bite of your sandwich, a voice above you asks, “Need a lunch buddy?”

You can tell just by his voice that it’s Cooper. But you can’t help but wonder… Why does he want to have lunch with you? 

Doesn’t he have friends? Or even… a girlfriend? A wife? 

“Sure,” you smile, scooching over so he can sit next to you. 

“How’s your first day going so far?” 

“Not bad. I’m sure I’ll get the flow of everything soon.”

“You’ll be a natural in no time. I’m sure of it.” 

“Thanks,” you respond, starting to soften up. “What about you? How long have you been an actor?” 

“Quite a while now. But I wasn’t always an actor. I was in the Marines before.” 

You thank him for your service and it falls silent between you two. You assume this is where the conversation ends but to your surprise, he says, “Enough about me. Tell me about yourself.” 

You share more details of your background, telling him things that range from where you went to college, what your family’s like, and where you grew up. He listens with such care and respect, occasionally nodding along. You didn’t expect to make any friends on your first day, let alone with the leading man. And yet here he is, listening to your stories as if you’re the most interesting person in the world. 

Except it’s ripped away from you too soon. 

Just as the conversation hits a lull again, someone catches his attention. He gets up and walks away, to a beautiful woman standing by the food table. Your heart sinks. You knew it was too good to be true. 

Hang on. She could be a studio executive. She could be a coworker, a fellow actress even. 

But the way he kisses and pulls her close tells you otherwise. You watch them interact, hopefully in a way that’s not painfully obvious as you finish your lunch. He caresses her face, listening to her talk in a way that reminds you of how he listened to you. You should’ve known better. He’s just naturally charismatic. He’s an actor for crying out loud. It was staring you right in the face. 

They kiss goodbye and part ways. You look away and pretend to pack up your lunch. He stands before you and says, “Sorry, that was my wife. I should’ve introduced you two. That was rude of me.”

“No worries,” you smile.

He offers you his hand and helps you up, smiling at you again as he says, “Let’s get back to work, shall we?”

You nod and notice he’s still holding your hand. He squeezes it before he lets go, making your stomach do a flip. God, he gives you whiplash. 

-

The workday wraps up rather uneventfully. And you’re left feeling exhausted, wondering how long it’ll take your body to get used to this new schedule. 

Before you leave for the day Cooper places a hand on your shoulder; he’s out of costume, wearing a white t-shirt that’s a little too tight around his biceps, with his jacket slung over his shoulder.

He looks you in the eye, telling you, “Good job today. Glad to have you on board.” He smiles at you again and tells you good night before walking to his car and driving off. 

You sit in your car and mentally talk yourself down, reminding yourself that he probably just does this with all the new hires, that he’s just a nice guy. But most importantly, he’s married. He’s off-limits. And before lunches together become a regular thing, you’re going to stop it while you can. 

You’re going to try your hardest to not fall for Cooper Howard. 

-

It’s the end of your first workweek and lunches alone have already proved to be a failure. Every time you tried to sneak away to your car or the studio cafe, Cooper would catch you and ask, “Mind if I join you?”

How could you ever try to say no to him? How could you ever deny yourself alone time with him? Your gut would swirl with guilt. But you never understood why. The act of getting lunch together is inherently innocent. You know he views it that way. But why can’t you? Until Friday night when you finally place your finger on why… 

It’s because the more he opens up, the more you learn about him, you can’t help but fall for him harder. He told you about his childhood, his time in the Marines, how he was honorably discharged, and most importantly, his daughter. 

If he wasn’t already off-limits before, he most certainly is now. 

-

You spend your weekend thinking about him whenever your mind is idle. You’re treading into dangerous waters now. This is more than a silly workplace crush. This is full-on infatuation now. When you’re alone in bed, your hand slips down your pants, teasing your entrance as you close your eyes, picturing that Cooper’s above you, playing with your body. The fantasies are dangerous, feeling entirely too real. Even though you don’t know what it’s like to be pleasured by him, your imagination runs wild. You moan his name, thankful that you live alone for once. But once the self-induced orgasm subsides you’re left with guilt. And you’re conflicted about that guilt. You’re picturing these things that have never happened, that will never happen. What’s the harm in that? And yet, your kind keeps circling back to the unfortunate reality; he’s married. The guilt doesn’t seem to go away. 

Sunday night rolls around and as you go to bed, you remind yourself that you need to be better about distancing yourself. Hopefully, you’ll listen for once. 

-

No lunch together on Monday.

The same goes for Tuesday. 

You managed to get to your car in time on Wednesday. 

The week is just about halfway over and you’d consider it a success. 

But as you walk to your car on this warm night, he catches you off guard. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you respond, startled a bit.

“I don’t mean to bother you but I can’t help but wonder… Did I do something wrong?”

You glance at your surroundings, trying to gauge who’s near before you speak. He picks up on your nervousness and says, “We can talk somewhere private if that’s easier.”

“Sure,” you choke out, feeling the adrenaline already start to course through your body.

You awkwardly walk side by side to his trailer, both of you stiff as a board. Thankfully, most if not everyone has gone home for the night. But you can’t help but wonder if there’s someone around catching a glimpse at the star Cooper Howard, inviting a young production assistant to his trailer. 

It isn’t until you’re behind closed doors do you actually relax, but not by much. He sits you down on the sofa in his trailer, telling you to take your time as you awkwardly twiddle your thumbs. 

“You didn’t… do anything to upset me.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” he sighs. “But it doesn’t explain why you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

“I…” you trail off. “It was to get my feelings to go away.”

God, you can’t believe you just said that. 

“...Feelings?”

You put your head in your hands and feel your cheeks heat up out of embarrassment. That was a terrible idea. Your job that’s barely two weeks old flashes before your eyes. You picture him telling his wife, laughing about the silly girl who thought she could take her man. 

He places a hand on your back, rubbing it softly and catching you off guard. 

“Someone’s got a little crush, huh?”

“I know. I know. It’s embarrassing,” you sigh, trying your hardest not to cry. 

“Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart. Can I tell you a secret?”

You barely heard what he said after sweetheart. Your ears are ringing with white noise but you can’t bring yourself to look at him just yet. He leans in close, whispering in your ear, “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a crush, too.”

“Oh yeah?” you scoff. “And who might that be?”

“I’ll give you a hint. She’s sittin’ in my trailer right now.”

You look at him with a bewildered expression on your face and say, “You’re joking.”

His face is impossibly close to yours. 

“Cross my heart and hope to die, sweetheart.”

“But-”

You’re cut off with a kiss, warm and inviting. It tastes like the cinnamon gum you noticed that he chews after each meal. You’re startled at first before you melt into the kiss. His hands envelop your face, keeping you close. But it’s not close enough. You want more. You need more. 

You move into his lap, straddling him and being sure to never break the kiss. His hands move from your face to your waist, holding onto you for dear life. You roll your hips into him and feel a bulge grow in his pants. You can’t believe your mind. You weren’t imagining it. There was something there all along. 

It doesn’t take long for his hands to migrate to your skirt, lifting it before he squeezes your ass, moaning into the kiss before pulling away and cursing under his breath. 

“Underwear off. Now,” he commands. 

You happily oblige, pulling yourself off him to remove your underwear before you straddle him again. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them before playing with your entrance. You lean forward to kiss him again but he stops you, grabbing your chin with his other hand.

“Not so fast. Tell me, when did this crush start?”

“The day we met,” you say in between labored breaths as he teases you. 

“Oh yeah? What was going through that pretty little head of yours?”

“Well, at first I thought you were an extra,” you smirk. 

“You did not,” he says.

“Oh yes, I did.”

“Guess I went from some extra to the man you can’t seem to forget about real quick, huh?” he says.

But before you can answer he slaps your pussy, eliciting a sharp gasp from you.

“Stop teasing me already,” you plead.

“Are you whining?”

“Fuck… Yes.”

“Naughty girl.”

He finally gives in, plunging one finger inside of your already dripping cunt. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“So wet for me already,” he teases, curling his finger against your walls. 

You place your hands on his shoulders as you roll your hips into him. He watches the physical evidence of your pleasure– your slack jaw, your wide eyes, your chest rising and falling, your cute gasps and moans. All thanks to him. 

He adds a second finger and tells you, “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my fingers.”

You rock your hips back and forth, feeling his fingers push against your g-spot. Your pleasure comes to a head, the floodgates threaten to burst. He can sense it, too, the way your walls tense up around his fingers. 

“Gonna cum?”

“Mhm,” you choke out.

“Let me feel it,” he commands. 

With one last movement of your hips, you cum around his fingers. Your moans fill his trailer but you do your best to bite them back, unsure of who’s lurking outside. Your wetness seeps out of you and runs down his hand, coating your inner thighs in the process. His pupils are wide, looking at you with all of the lust in the world. 

When you’re done coming down from your high, he coaxes you down on your back, thighs spread wide apart. He can’t get his cock out of his pants fast enough, hovering over you as he spreads your wetness on it with a few strokes.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praises, leaning down and pressing kisses along your jawline. All you can do is moan in response, aching for his cock to be inside you already. He slowly thrusts himself inside you and you grip onto his shirt for purchase. A deep moan gets caught in your throat, coming out as a choked-up sob as he draws his hips back and slams into you. He trails kisses from your jawline to your earlobe and down your neck while he repeatedly slams in and out of you. 

“Takin’ my cock like such an angel,” he mutters, nipping at your skin. 

Your second orgasm of the night is imminent, teetering on the edge as his cock hits the most perfect angles inside you. He props himself up on his hand, placing them by either side of your hand. He wants to watch your face as you cum on his cock. And when you do it nearly pulls his own orgasm from him, feeling your warmth clench and release his cock. Tears spring in the corners of your eyes due to the intense high you’re feeling. He watches as the pretty little moans slip past your lips. 

He pulls out and rests on the back of his heels, letting his cum coat your stomach. He cums with a deep groan, sweat glistening on his forehead. The only sound in the trailer is your labored breaths, both of you coming down from your respective highs. He leans forward and grabs a box of tissues on the side table and cleans up the mess he just made before putting his cock away. 

You reach for your underwear and stand up with shaky legs, looking at him as if you’re unsure if you should stay or go because the truth is, you don’t know what to do. At all.

“Should I…?”

He pats on the couch and says, “You don’t have to go just yet.”

You smooth down your skirt and notice a cum stain he left and suddenly feel sick to your stomach. You gingerly sit beside him, keeping your posture tight and controlled as he looks at you. He notices it right away. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m… fine. Just intimidated I guess?”

“You can’t possibly be intimidated by me after that,” he chuckles. But then he adds, “Here, let me try to calm you down. Do you want to know what I thought of you when I first saw you?”

You turn towards him and say, “Sure.”

“I thought you were absolutely beautiful. Still do.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. But I also thought you seemed nervous.”

“I was.”

“But then I thought… What is she doing paying attention to me?”

“I could say the same for you,” you smile.

He leans in closer and kisses you again, hands enveloping your face once more. His breath is warm and his skin is slick with sweat. But you also realize… he smells like you and you wonder how he’s going to explain that to his wife. 

He pulls away and glances at the clock on the wall. 

“We should probably go. Gotta be here early tomorrow.”

“Right,” you say, standing up. “Should we go separately?”

“No need. There’s no one here this late.”

“You do this often?” you joke.

“No. Never,” he says nervously. 

He opens the door and starts leading you back to the parking lot. He was right. The studio’s dead at this hour. The tension hangs heavy in the air and an awkward silence falls between you two. 

“You know… I’m not going to tell anyone,” you say, not looking at him.

“Thank you,” he says in a small voice. 

Once you’re back at your car, you can’t help but ask him, “So… What are you going to tell her?”

“I’ll just tell her a shoot ran late. It happens here and there.”

“Okay,” you nod, starting to get in your car. You secretly hope he’ll kiss you good night but in your heart, you know he won’t. 

And you were right. He doesn’t. 

“Good night,” he whispers.

“Good night,” you whisper back before he walks back to his car. 

While you’re left alone, reeling from what just happened. A strange feeling swirls around inside you. But you’re not quite sure if it’s a sense of achievement or regret. 

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Tag list: @widowmakerow @bisasterbisexual @wowitsem @vegetarianvamp @celestial-vomit

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝟱 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗘𝗦, 𝗟𝗦𝟮 logan sargent x fem! reader (fluff) “. . . using his five senses, these are his favourite things about you.”

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests | taglist )

Sight

Logan absolutely loves seeing you danceing and having the time of your life

it makes him all giddy and happy inside

watching you forget yourself and follow the beat or jingle, he cant help but admire the sight

if youre dancing at a party or at home in a game of just dance, you know he's hyping you up

"that is . . . not-" Logan tried to hold in his laugh, sitting on the couch watching you play just dance (and recording for later). "SHH!! Let me concentrate!" you hushed back, trying to copy the moves only to gey a lot of errors snd red. Logan put his hand over his mouth, watching you you eventually trip and sit on your ass in surrender. "I dont like this routine." you grumbled, watching the blond get up to lift you back on your feet.

Touch

It's becoming a regular activity where the two of you are caught in a crowd,

wheather at a concert or in a street or even at circuits by fans or reporters.

His biggest worry with these things is losing you in the sea of people,

so when you grab onto him it eases his mind that you’re close and that he won't lose you.

“Y/n?” He called looking behind him in search of you. When he felt the little tug on his pinky finger he knew you were somewhere behind him in the crowd of people. The football match had ended and the halls to the exits and parking lot were packed. The only thing keeping him in his head was you holding his pinky and with him still.

Smell

Although not it’s something from you in particular, Logan associates incense with you.

He finds it a really calming part of you.

You usually light one up when studying. The scent fills the apartment if you forget to close the door or if you study in the living room.

His favourite part is that the smell sometimes sticks to you after an hour or three, which usually tells him how long you’ve been preparing for exams.

Sometimes, you light one jokingly, pretending to cast a spell.

“Calypso,” You pleaded, trying to hold in a smile as Logan sat on the chair, face in his hand, doing his best to hold in laughter as you circled the smoking stick around his head. He had his bags packed, ready to leave for the airport for the next race only for you to stop him and push him in a chair. “Give Logan a win, you bitch. This is the 7th time I've asked. please, thank you. Also, make Max crash out- actually, the whole grid. cradh them all out. cheers."

Hearing

Logan's favourite part of the day is hearing you talk.

It doesn't matter what about.

Whether it's work, or something you're passionate about, or even gossip or just vents.

You have all of his attention.

youre the onky thing he hears, 100% of his concentration is on you.

its also very evident on his face and reactions, he practically turns into emojis,

'guess what!! i got the job!' 'You got the job! Told you could do it🤩'

'logan!! Person A cheated on Person B!' 'WHATT?? 😨'

'i love this course!' 'which one the one with friend? the assignment you had fun doing? 😊'

"Wait, wait. start over because I'm very confused." Logan told you, moving to sit closer to you so he can hear over. "What are you confused about?" You'd ask, and just like that, Logan would repeat everything you said, his facial expressions contouring to show concentrated blondie confused about the gossip you just spilled.

Taste

chapsticks have flavours. And logan is lucky that you have plenty because it makes kisses more delicious.

he already feels like he melts every time you kiss him,

now imagine double the effect with flavoured kissies!! hes not pulling away

"oh, but baby, you're so sweet" he protects if you try to part

he pouts and chases your lips and licks them if he manages too, might even bite yoir lower lip to keep you close.

"hm!" he hums surprised by the new flavour, momentarily licking just a bit to familarize himself with the flavour before going back in deeper with the kiss, holding your waist to stop you when you try to pull away. "Logannn," you whine against his lips but a moan only left your throat feelinghim tilt his head a little. "No one's looking," he mumbled to assure you. "You're like my very own cherry tree." he chuckled before kissing you, more softly this time.

[enaelyork]

Cooper Howard (ghoul) x fem!reader with this prompt:

*someone smacks readers ass*

*gun clicks*

Ghoul - “oh I really wish you hadn’t have done that”

Hi ! Thx for this request ! Here i go :)

Bad idea ~ The Ghoul x F!Reader

Tw : Injurie, Sexual harassement, insultes

Banners by @saradika

It wasn't a good idea.

However, he was used to bad plans, ever since he roamed the wasteland with the firm intention of surviving there. But he had never made a series of bad decisions so quickly.

Let yourself be convinced to be accompanied. Let his new companion in misfortune enter this mess to make a deal.

Really. That being said, this idiot clearly didn't give him a choice.

And he was obliged to follow it because it was the only possible option to know the route to take towards your next objective. Staying in the background, he observed all the eyes on her.

A woman like that wouldn't often walk through the doors of a bounty hunting establishment.

This interest they had in his associate bothered him more than it should and he felt a certain form of inexplicable anger boiling within him.

- I'll do it. Wait outside.

Sitting at the bar, Y/N turned towards him, her eyes filled with burning determination and resentment. It wouldn't be easy to change her mind, not after your little talk last night.

- Do you want to team up now? The Ghoul returned the bitterness in her eyes, resting her elbow on the counter where she had just swallowed her second glass.

What if he wanted to work in a team? Never ! What if this situation made him crazy? Absolutely.

- I didn't say that, I said you had to wait for me outside.

- And I told you that I would take care of this matter.

And if you continue, you're going to have a lot more business to attend to. He thought, observing the eyes fixed on her again. The irrepressible urge to put out each of those eyes was excruciating and he was going to have to keep a low profile if he didn't want the plan to screw up further.

But everything went to hell the moment this idiot placed his ass on the stool that separated you from her, devouring the entirety of her silhouette with a wicked and disgusting look. He shouldn't get involved. After all, Y/N had gotten into this mess alone, you had nothing to share other than a common quest.

It was now time she truly discovered the horror of the world they lived in. So if this guy wanted to try anything, she would defend herself or find out the hard way that there weren't all good people here.

- What is such a pretty girl like you doing in this shithole? The man stood between them like a thick, disgusting wall.

The Ghoul looked away, hoping that by detaching himself from this pathetic spectacle, he would also curtail his murderous urges.

- The pretty girl doesn't talk to strangers. You better give me some space.

A smile appeared on the Ghoul's mouth. Presumably, guts wasn’t a privilege Y/N reserved for him. And that was probably what he liked most about her, even if he would never admit it.

- Relax, my beauty. In this brutal world I just want to share a moment of gentleness.

And me a bloody parenthesis, but unfortunately we can't have everything. The Ghoul thought, looking down at the back of the man next to him. He had placed an arm on the table and was already handing Y/N a glass.

- I am not thirsty.

- So maybe you want something else?

That's how everything went wrong.

Him and his rudeness, him now clinging to her and his hand sliding up her thigh to go up to her buttock. He touched her with such eagerness that it was embarrassing and although she wanted to slap him, she did not want to attract the attention of the tenants. Big mistake.

- You have a fucking ass, my beauty. Would you like me to warm it up a bit? It seems that not many people have had the opportunity to…

The man didn't finish his sentence, the pressure he felt between his legs and the very characteristic click of a gun about to fire froze him in place.

- What is…

He met nothing but the cold, imperturbable gaze of the Ghoul. The sinister look he hid in the shadow of his hat would have caused the bar to evacuate immediately. Y/N saw him, she felt anger boiling in the pit of her stomach, causing a completely different reaction in her.

- Try touchin' her again and I guarantee you'll never be able to play with what's between your legs again.

- Such a smart one, you. Are you looking for troubles ? I was there before.

- Big mistake, she belongs to me.

- I don’t belong to…

- Shut it up, sweatheart. I have some scores to settle with this guy.

Oh damn, no problem. Y/N grumbled in a whisper mixing anxiety and excitement. Had he really just threatened a guy because he had the misfortune of touching her and feeling her butt? A thin smile appeared on her lips at this idea, but she preferred to leave this strange reaction to the effect of adrenaline.

- Get out of here where you will end up with a hole between your legs and, rest assured, I will think of you when I caress her with your blood on my hands.

It was too much.

No waves.

No shouting.

No tussle.

Just a stupid hunter freeing himself from the coldness of his gun to flee with a step that he wanted to be serene but which betrayed the panic that reigned within him. The ghoul followed him with his gaze, making sure that it wouldn't occur to his to turn back.

When he disappeared from the bar, however, he felt another figure settle down on the stool next to him.

- Did you really just do that?

YN.

She had taken her place there, next to him. Her eyes glided over him with a light he didn't know existed and it upset him. So much so that he preferred to ensure the safety of his weapon before storing it in its holster.

- I did it. And you will quickly forget everything. That and also your stupid idea. Let's get out of here.

He didn't give her time to respond, taking off from the seat to head towards the exit as well. If she stayed there, too bad for her, he wouldn't intervene twice. But her shadow followed him, and he could make out the sound of her footsteps behind his, hastily approaching him.

- It would be a shame to forget the idea that you could touch me.

This is how he understood that she had reduced him to nothing.

Him and his certainty of now being insensitive.

[thattimdrakeguy]

I HAVE BEEN READING ZDARSKY BATMAN, AND I HAVE DECLARED: I FREAKING LOVE IT!!

I'm reading the Batman Zdarsky run in reverse. That way if I see any bull I can back out at anytime: and to be honest--besides a few things. I really enjoy it

LIKE YO, THAT IS JUST STRAIGHT UP TIM DRAKE RIGHT THERE. It knows who he is as a character. his motives, it's great.

Screw the people complaining "oh why is tim still robin :((", THIS IS WHY HE IS STILL ROBIN. Because this is when he's at his BEST. When he gets to hit his character purpose, WHEN HE GETS TO BE HIM AT HIS MOST HIM. It's FANTASTIC.

Reading in reverse because I know I hated the first story, it was so contrived and ridiculous.

But this--this is some good shit.

Tim being an underdog fighter, having to use his wits to win the fight? MY DAWG, MY DUDE, MY GUYS, MY GALS, MY THEMS, MY THEYS, THIS IS SO TIMMY DRAKE. This is so damn Tim Drake, guys. Oh, my gosh, I am loving this so far.

Dick has his temper back? And trust me, he isn't normally like this. But he's hitting a limit AND IT'S SOMETHING NEW, NOT JUST A REFERENCE. HE'S ACTUALLY DOING SOMETHING HE'D DO, 'CAUSE HE'S AT HIS LIMIT. That's wonderful, man. That is so wonderful.

Plus Tim is the heart of the Bat-Family again? This feels like someone actually went back to read these characters before writing it. I'm not saying everything is perfect of course, but these high marks are exceeding all my expectations. And I STOPPED reading comics because of how the beginning of this run destroyed any hope I had.

You guys have no idea how much I'm enjoying the few issues I've read. Besides the cussing (I remember after a bit they decided Tim was someone who used funny words instead of proper cusses), this feels like the Tim I know and love during the era I especially loved him.

Tim comparing himself to his predecessors? Tim not being a natural? A WRITER REMEMBERING THAT?? It's been so long since I've seen that! Most writers treat him like he was another prodigy when he wasn't. AND THIS GUY REMEMBERED THAT!

I shouldn't be so happy at just seeing Tim do Tim things, and serving his character purpose. BUT YOU GUYS HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG IT'S BEEN SINCE A WRITER KNEW WHAT TIM WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE.

Only complaints I have is that Jason feels like a typical Bat-Family member, and not the sketchy outsider that he is. Making him so close makes his character more bland in my opinion. And Steph is--also generic af unless she's wacky quirky...which is a characterization I hate for her, because she started off so damn interesting, but they made her a freaking trope instead, which is such a disservice to her, but she barely does anything so far, so whatever I guess. Doesn't mean much.

--

This is the first honest thing I've seen that I hated.

No

Not this

This isn't the Bat-Family

This is a sitcom world the fandom wants to be the Bat-Family and some comply with

They're not a sitcom. The conflicts, and uniqueness of the characters is what makes things feel alive and well.

This stuff is cheap fanservice for the fanon demographic that doesn't buy comics to begin with.

Fanon doesn't belong in canon.

--

I mean sure Tim could be drawn smaller, the gag of him looking 12 when he's nearly 18 doesn't work when he's bigger than Damian who is 15 (and contrary to some bullshit comics isn't meant to be small. that was a random thing added for writers who aren't clever to write better humor. it actually contradicts things that were already established).

Don't see the big deal though for most of this.

Can't wait to find it, though. Oh boy.

This whole obsession with Zur Batman, is way over done though. So--I wouldn't be shocked if that was the problem, because my golly does that plot point not seem to be stopping--and it was there from the start and part of the reason why I didn't read it 'til now.

Good Tim tho, at least. So heehee, yey for that--I think--I guess.

Oh, well.

It let me peak at a pseudo-version of an AU I made up years ago. So that's pretty freaking cool.

Always a plus.

And redoing Red Robin story beats but better? Normally I'd hate references to Red Robin, 'cause that changed the perception of so many characters for the worst, but ayy, a bit of redemption isn't bad.

Man, just seeing simple stuff like Tim and Bruce being good ol' classic Batman and Robin warms my heart. It's been so long since Batman and Robin has acted like a proper classic Batman and Robin. It's dynamic that's been sorely missed by many.

OH, MY GOSH, WHY DID THE FIRST STORY HAVE TO STINK SO BAD. THIS STUFF IS GREAT.

Like, DUDE, this is such a Tim thing for him to do!!

And he's showing emotion?? He's crying like how he does?? Because he's not a typical Bat-Family member who just angsts his way through?? THEY'RE MAKING HIM STAND-OUT AGAIN BY MAKING HIM, HIM??

WHY DID THE FIRST STORY HAVE TO SUCK SO BAD?? THIS IS GOOD SHIT.

Like this part is why I originally stopped reading, not because Bruce should think Tim is his soldier, and not his son, THE FREAKING OPPOSITE.

But because the original story has Bruce acting weird when unneeded, just to say this was so unneeded, and adding in all these stupid corny Bat-Family moments was so groan worthy.

This run started off with a story that was a total turn off for me.

To end up being a run that could've kept me enjoying DC, rather than running away from it from as far as I have.

Chip Zdarsky started off awful, but really, he ended up great.

And I've seen people complain about his run, and TRUST ME, there's stuff to complain about. But I have only ever seen the stuff worth complaining about, or stuff I WOULD complain about.

WHEN MOST OF THE RUN IS GOOD

At least when Tim is around.

Go figure.

Maybe I should've paid sole attention to how he wrote Tim and nothing else at the very least for that first story.

'Cause even in the first story, Tim was well-written--it's how cheap the rest of the story telling was in that first story that turned me off--and the weird knew about the movie plans that I am still fully judging harshly. (Love the new Superman film suit, though)

[motherofdogs1010]

A Jedi in Arrakis III (Paul Atreides x Reader)

Summary: While on the run from Empire troops, Jedi padawan Y/N comes to find out that hyper-driving in a compromised craft can have some major setbacks when she discovers not only is on a new planet but a whole new galaxy as well...

Warnings: 18+ only, eventual smut, eventual pinv! sex, current fluff and eventual angst, kissing, simp!Paul, spoilers for Dune 1 and 2, somewhat canon aligned

A/N: Sorry for the hiatus, loves! I'm back and ready to grace you with my works!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics Banner by @vase-of-lilies

Part I Part II

The Baron was a man of heavy weight and heavy glutton, he liked food and power with women waiting for him. He liked the power that Geidi Prime gave him, but most of all, he liked the power that controlling Spice, no controlling Arrakis gave him.

This is why he felt anger towards the Emperor for forcing his soldiers off-planet and handing his cash cow to the damned soft-hearted Duke Leto and his house.

He hated House Atredies with a passion and he could recall the countless interactions he had with Duke Leto, the heated arguments he had with the man.

Which is why he felt happy when the Emperor proposed the slaying of House Atreides, the slaughtering of those damned fools.

"There is a rumor floating around", one of his advisors said, "of a girl from not of this galaxy that the Duke has taken in, someone with some extraordinary abilities. The Emperor wants her alive, especially since the na-Duke is said to be quite taken with the girl."

The Baron grumbled as the sound of the Sardaukar's throaty chanting filled his ears.

It was another hot day on Arrakis, the dry heat of the planet making Y/N wonder why Paul and other members of House Atreides were wearing all-black. Y/N had been offered a loose, beige dress that she wore with a scarf covering that concealed her head and neck from the harshness of the sun that came down on the planet.

"Tell me more about Arrakis", she said to Paul as he led her outside. "I feel like we've only ever talked about our home planets."

"Everything I learned is from the archives", Paul began as she noticed a place of worship ahead of them. "The people who inhabit the planet call themselves Fremen, they're the only ones to ever to successfully live here. The sandstorms here are brutal, they ravage and destroy anything that crosses them... maybe not a sandworm, but anything yes."

Paul spoke in a gentle yet enthusiastic voice that made her stomach flop around and she felt her ears begin to get hot. She was embarrassed at the way he was stirring feelings, forbidden feelings in her as they walked along the compound.

"They value water here the most and the Spice they are constantly exposed to gives them blue eyes. Not much is known about them since they prefer to remain to remain remote."

"And you said Spice is what is needed to travel?" she said, Paul nodded.

"We rely a lot on Spice, which is why it is so unheard of that you traveled here without Spice", Paul clarified. "The Emperor gave my father control of this planet to find peace with the Fremen People but before, House Harkonnen controlled it."

Y/N saw inside the temple many people praying; religion wasn't something uncommon back home, there were so many from the Mandolorians to the Sith but she had never really seen such worship before.

"What are they praying to?" she asked, gesturing to the people.

"To Shai-Hulud", Paul said as a warm breeze came by, "it is also a Fremen custom to spit at one's feet with how they value water."

"We greet and say goodbye by saying 'may the force be with you'", she said with a small grin.

She missed home despite the intrigue this galaxy brought, although she wondered how much was about the galaxy than it was her interest and growing intrigue with Paul.

🪐

Jedi law dictated that love or any form of romantic feelings were forbidden yet Y/N could recall a conversation she had with Anakin about the law.

"It's an odd law", Anakin had said, "love is the strongest form of the Force yet it can also be your weakness."

Y/N wondered about it as she walked the halls of the compound; Paul had been pulled away by his mother, Lady Jessica as she said that the Reverend Mother was wishing to speak to Paul. It gave her time to contemplate on her growing feelings for Paul with BB following behind, letting out a little chirp every so often.

Lady Jessica had been pleasant to her, the woman reminding her of some of the older Jedi Masters with her way of speech and stance, but Y/N had managed to piece together that it had to be from strict upbringings and belief of the Bene Gesserit.

"Ah, F/N", a familiar voice called out to her and turning around, she saw it was the Duke, himself.

"Oh, Duke Leto", she said, "how nice it is to see you. Thought you'd be caught up doing Duke stuff."

Duke Leto chuckled as he said, "I'm on my way to find Lady Jessica."

"She took Paul to meet with some Reverend woman?" Y/N said with a questioning tone.

Leto sucked in a breath and nodded, Y/N wondered just how this Bene Gesserit ideology worked. It was nothing she had ever seen before back home and seeing the way the Bene Gesserit sisters carried themselves intimidated her just a bit by how their eyes singularly focused on you as if they were truly trying to dissect you right down to your core.

She just hoped that she wasn't about to fall into their cross hairs.

Another night came to Arrakis with cool air and a beautiful night sky that always kept reminding her of Tatoonie as BB charged in the corner. Her hair was down again and she was in another loose muslin nightgown to help with the heat of the planet; she had the doors closed along with the windows as she sat in her room, watching a hologram archival documentary on the planet.

The Duke was pleasant to talk to, he was knowledgeable and kind, and for some reason reminded her of Obi-Wan.

A knock, a familiar knock echoed in her room and she tried to suppress a smile as she knew it was Paul.

Walking to the door, it slid open to reveal the young na-Duke but she could see something was troubling his mind a bit as she greeted him in.

"Something troubling you, Paul?"

Paul looked at her as they sat on the small sofa that was in the room.

"Your way of believing is so simple yet so understandable", Paul breathed, "my mother was supposed to birth a girl, it's how it's been for eons with the Bene Gesserit."

"Why?" she frowned.

"I think... it's so they could eventually get their Kwisatz Haderach", Paul voiced, Y/N frowned. "It's their Messiah, a male heir that possesses the abilities of the Bene Gesserit."

"And you think it's you?"

"I hope it's not me."

She remembered Paul's earlier explanations of the abilities of the Bene Gesserit sisters and their use of something he called 'the Voice', which reminded her of the way the Force could be used to manipulate weak minds.

Paul was quiet for a moment before he scooted closer to her and she felt her breath get caught a bit in her throat as she stared at him.

"I have these... visions", Paul said, staring into her eyes. "I dream of things that I'm never too sure of and for months, I dreamed of a girl... I dreamed of you."

Y/N felt heat rushing through her as the sound of the hologram documentary rang quietly in the room.

"And ever since you've arrived, it's felt like I've been living a dream... a dream that I never want to wake up from."

And before she knew it, she felt Paul's lips against hers in a soft, gentle kiss and her heart raced as she felt a surge of electricity go through her...

So many thoughts were running through her mind in that quick moment and maybe it was the instant connection she had felt towards Paul, maybe it was some odd corruption from the Sith side of the Force that made her entangle her fingers through his dark, curly hair and push her body against his lithe frame.

But all she knew at the moment was that Paul felt like home.

TAGLIST

@cloudlst

@khlaeesihavilliard

@colors-for-the-world-please

@senhoritaapple

@dark1paradise

[666writingcafe]

A Reward: Lucifer/Barbatos

Part One of Special Bonus Content (NSFW)

Once Belphie's finished with me, he slides off the bed, and Lucifer and Barbatos take his place. Everyone else backs away to give the three of us some space.

"You wanna know something, MC?" Barbatos asks from behind, his breath hitting my ear and making me shiver.

"What's that?" I respond.

"Lucifer and I have discussed doing this sort of thing before."

"R-Really?" This is news to me. Two of the most emotionally constipated men I know openly talking about me to each other? Then again, they are friends, so perhaps they feel comfortable enough around each other to be that honest.

"Eventually, yes," Lucifer chimes in. "It didn't start off that way. We were simply sharing our feelings towards you, but the more conversations we had, the more explicit they became."

"While demons are known to be territorial, we're also able to share things with people that we trust," Barbatos continues. "I know that Lucifer wouldn't do anything to intentionally hurt you, and I'm sure he feels the same about me." Lucifer nods in acknowledgement.

"So, you two have just kinda been...waiting?" I ask.

"More or less," Lucifer answers, touching the side of my face. "Will you indulge us, MC? I promise it'll be worth your while."

"Okay," I whisper. Lucifer leans in and kisses me. A moment later, I feel Barbatos' lips traveling down my neck.

Two people is a lot less overwhelming than eleven, and I'm actually able to properly enjoy the sensations without my brain shutting down on me. Lucifer and Barbatos' touches are quite gentle, but also deliberate. It's rather nice.

Barbatos turns my head towards him so that he can kiss my mouth, and Lucifer begins moving down my torso. He pauses at my abdomen, and Barbatos pulls back shortly after, leaving me momentarily confused.

"Which one of us do you want inside you, MC?" Lucifer asks. "There's no wrong answer; I simply want to know whether I need to swap places with Barbatos, that's all."

"Is both an option?" I hear someone gasp at my question, but the silent conversation between Barbatos and Lucifer has most of my attention. They must have decided to make it happen, for I'm soon instructed to get on my hands and knees. Once they're satisfied with my position, they swap places. Barbatos is soon thrusting in and out of my mouth while Lucifer does the same from behind.

Their low, quiet moans and murmured compliments soon become the only things I'm able to think about.

You're nice and warm, MC.

You're taking both of us so well.

That's it, just like that.

Good MC.

The closer we get to our climax, the less precise and coherent the two men are. Eventually, the only intelligible thing coming out of their mouths is my name. I myself am reduced to moans as they cum inside me. My body momentarily goes limp when they pull out, but then a sudden surge of energy courses through me, forcing me to remain alert. Must be part of the experience of being in the dream realm.

I find myself eagerly looking forward to what's next.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan

[daryldixonsboy]

Imagine Daryl X Stoner!Reader... But Daryl's also a stoner😏🍃🌿🍃

You were sitting outside late at night, alone, on your porch after a run. It was the first time you could relax all day. You'd started your day bright and way-too-fucking-early. A few days earlier, the new group who'd arrived at Alexandria asked to bring some people on a run, you included. You jumped at the opportunity, getting sick and tired of staying in the walls.

Aaron found you a few weeks back by yourself, starved and half dead. Funnily enough, the only thing you were thoroughly stocked up on was your weed stash. Who wouldn't bring it with them? You'd spent good money on the stuff! Plus, there were no laws against smoking anymore.

Alexandria was paradise to you. A house all to yourself, a few lighters, some rolling papers, and your weed? Yeah, you weren't skipping out on the opportunity.

As a side effect of that, the smell stuck to your clothes like glue. Everyone in the community must've known you were lighting up at this point. It led to some mean stares, but overall, people seemed not to care.

Except for Daryl Dixon.

You'd only just officially met the man earlier that day while on a run. Before that, the only thing you knew about him was that he kept to himself, and he didn't seem too keen on talking. You didn't mind, you felt the same way.

Until he started talking to you. Daryl seemed drawn to you despite his best efforts to hide it. You caught him s looking at you every few minutes, averting his gaze every time you'd meet his eyes. He would comment on everything you said, pushing the group to do what you thought was the best idea. But more than anything, he started conversation with you whenever he could.

It started simply.

"Ya mind handin' me tha' wrench?" Daryl asked, gesturing past you to a table. Most of the things on it were trash or useless, but you were scouring what you could.

"Yeah, here." You replied, reaching over the table and handing him the wrench. You'd already seen how he'd been looking at you, how he'd been acting around you. He was itching to start a conversation, so you decided on doing it for him. "I've seen you around Alexandria. How're you settling in?" You asked him, cocking your head to the side a little.

Daryl looked physically nervous, fidgeting with the wrench in his hands. "Good. Lil' different than bein' out there, I guess." He mumbled with a shrug.

"I get it. Everything's super boring when you're used to surviving. If you need anything, let me know. I know what it's like to have to adapt." You assured him with a smile.

"Ya do?" He asked, surprised. You seemed interesting to him already, but he'd assumed you had lived in Alexandria since the beginning, like everyone else. He was proven wrong. He was drawn to you because of your personality, the way you seemed to easily find solutions to problems, so willing to help. On top of that, you dressed out of the norm. You didn't think you looked like a stoner... at least not that much, but Daryl could smell the weed reeking off of your clothes. That only made him want you more. You were so beautiful, so amazing, so... you.

"Mhm. Shit gets boring, I can never find anything to keep myself occupied with, " You said with a chuckle.

"Ya sure 'bout that?" Daryl muttered under his breath, so quiet you could barely hear him.

"What're you implying, Dixon?" You asked sarcastically, giving him a little smile.

"Well," He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. "Ya sure as hell smell like ya know how ta' keep yerself occupied." Despite his words sounding serious, you could tell he was joking.

You stifled a laugh. "That's less of a hobby and more of a way to relax." You defended yourself. "Why're you bringing it up, huh? Wanna share?" You joked with a fake scoff. Daryl went silent, his eyes shifting between the floor and you. He brought a hand up to bite his fingernails, not answering the question. "Oh, you do." Your smile faded a tiny bit, mostly out of curiosity.

"Wait," You said, grabbing his arm gently to stop him. He paused and looked back at you. "I smoke on my porch most nights, after the lights go out. Just... thought you might wanna know." You smiled at him once more. The man nodded, giving you a confused look before walking off.

Daryl nodded. "I gotta go. Carol's probably lookin' for me." Daryl muttered, starting to walk off towards the rest of the group.

So here you were, that same night, alone on your porch, smoking like you said you'd be. Daryl avoided you after that interaction, only talking to you the rest of the day when he absolutely had to. But he was still looking at you, even if he was trying to make it more subtle.

He was wracking his brain over the fact that you'd even talked to him, that you'd noticed him. He felt like a dumb teenager with a crush. He tried telling himself that you weren't going to be into him, even simply as a friend. But regardless, he couldn't sleep, and you'd told him you smoked at night. So, despite his nerves, he got out of bed and made his way to your house.

You watched him walk up to your porch, pleasantly surprised that he'd taken you up on your (implied) offer.

"Hey, stranger. Out for a late night walk?" You asked him jokingly.

"I can smell yer dope from 'ere. Still willin' to share?" He asked, ignoring your question all together.

"Maybe." You shrugged, the amusement never leaving your tone. It'd been a while since you'd last smoked with anyone. Smoking weed by yourself had its perks, but you missed the familiarity of hanging with a good group of people and talking while passing around a blunt.

Daryl rolled his eyes and made his way up your porch, sitting down in the chair next to you. You and him stared out into the streets of Alexandria, enjoying the subtle silence the streets had at night.

You took a hit off the joint in your hand, holding in the smoke before exhaling and handing it to the gruff man next to you. Daryl took it from your hands and took a hit, staring down at the thing once he did.

"How the hell ya even get weed out 'ere anyways?" He asked as he exhaled, handing the joint back.

"I had it before the world went to shit. Close friend of mine was a dealer. Guess I was too busy trying to survive to smoke it until I got here." You replied, coughing a little when you took a particularly painful hit.

Daryl hummed as a reply, acknowledging your words. Some part of you was still curious as to why the man was even here, why he'd entertained you. You hoped it wasn't just for the weed; for a free hit. He didn't seem to be talking much anyway. But then again, you'd almost never heard him talk very much.

"What about you, huh? You smoke before all this?" You asked him carefully, trying to make conversation. The joint kept being passed back and forth as the two of you talked, rotating between you wordlessly.

Daryl scoffed a little. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." He kept his wording vague. He didn't want to reveal things about himself to someone who was virtually a stranger to him. You seemed to have no problem with sharing details of your life, though.

"What's that mean?" You asked, waiting for him to elaborate.

Daryl paused to take a hit, passing back the joint in silence. "Had an older brother. Asshole did every drug on the face of the earth. I tried a few."

Huh. Daryl Dixon had a background, and you were slowly learning it. "Well, don't feel bad about it. Trust me, I've done some things I'm not proud of, too."

"Doubt that." He challenged.

"I like your honesty," You smiled, stopping to take a drag. "But you're wrong."

"Don't gotta prove shit 'ta me." Daryl shrugged. You were so... alluring to him. Daryl couldn't put his finger on it. The way you smiled made his heart stop. Your scarasm, you mannerisms... He was drawn to all of it.

You giggled a little bit, scoffing at his comment. The scoff slowly turned into you coughing up smoke, trying to catch your breath. "I forgot to mention," You started, swallowing hard. "This weed is shit. It was in a plastic bag at the bottom of my backpack since the beginning of this shitstorm. Just got it out a few weeks ago."

"Mm. Smart, not smokin' on the road." Daryl said, taking the joint-- which was slowly burning into a roach-- back from you.

"Didn't wanna die." You agreed.

"Glad ya didn't," Daryl said, quickly shutting himself down. He spoke before he could even register the words coming out of his mouth.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He replied awkwardly. He handed the rest of the joint back to you quickly and stood up, suddenly feeling more nervous than he was comfortable with. "Gotta go."

"Oh, alright," You murmured, watching the man walk down the porch. "Hey, I'll--" you cut yourself off when he turned to look at you. "I'll see you around. Come back sometime, yeah?"

"...I'll think 'bout it."

Lmk if yall want part 2 I rushed the end of this so bad oml

@liliesdiary

[murkycran]

Staticmoth/Voxval Fic Rec List

Welcome to my Staticmoth/Voxval Fic Rec List! :D

I will keep updating this periodically as I read more fics, so feel free to check back every once and a while! I'll reblog it when I update it, plus make a note with the date at the top. Trust me, this is by no means a complete list; there's fics I still want to add to this that I just haven't gotten to yet. I just decided to go ahead and post it anyways, because if I kept waiting until I ran out of fics to rec I'd probably be working on this forever.

These are not in any particular order; I'm going by both my Bookmarks list on AO3 and my memory of fics I forgot to bookmark. I also tried to make notes on what fics were written before season 1 released, but I might have missed some, so keep that in mind.

Please let me know if any links don't work!

✨Before you proceed:✨ read the tags on these fics if you decide to read them. Many of them have heavy material - no surprise given the fandom, but still, felt like this needed said. On that note, there's also fics with explicit material and some fics are straight up PWP. Again, read at your own risk/heed the tags.

Fic Rec List Masterpost

Radiostatic Fic Rec List

Misc. Vox Fic Rec List

------

Freak-A-Zoid by Femalefonzie

Summary: A shortage of suppressants in Hell means that Vox is going to be enduring a heat for the first time in years. Who better than the Vees' resident pimp to help him through it? Afterall, the last thing they need is for someone to complicate the situation with "feelings" and Val was the best at keeping love and lust separate. Until now.

TLDR; Valentino plays himself.

Notes: SO FUCKING FUNNY. Cannot read this in public bc I laughed too much. Val and Vox are both idiots. Perhaps the most human depiction of them that I've seen, especially during sex. Neither of them are suave or coordinated, but by god are they trying.

system takeover by Subedarling

Summary: Velvette has never been the type to play hero. But when a mysterious new player enacts a dangerous plot to usurp the Vees' power, taking her two idiots hostage in the process, that's exactly where she finds herself. Now she has no choice but to go on an impromptu rescue mission, maintain the facade that everything is fine to the outside world, and prove why she's the backbone of the Vees—and she hasn't even had her morning coffee yet.

Vox and Val are going to owe her so hard after this.

Notes: Technically Velvette-centric but I'm including it anyway bc it does have Staticmoth; found family. She's so badass in this, I love it. The Staticmoth is very sweet. :3

even if i quit there's not a chance in hell i'd stop by Subedarling

Summary: Valentino stretches his arms over his head as he enters the kitchen, yawning. His robe is hanging loosely around him, and God, if Vox were to run his hand down his chest he could probably count all his ribs. He stops short when he sees the plates waiting for him on the counter. His eyes narrow. “The hell is this?”

“You know, most people would say thank you when their partner makes them breakfast,” Vox says dryly.

Notes: Very tender. A good kind of hurt. Deals with ED.

Parvulus by Heliosolar

Summary: Vox woke up to something... unusual. Terrifying, even. He calls Valentino, desperate for the help.

Valentino is, of course, irresponsible, and Vox is exhausted.

He just wanted to get through the day like normal, why did this have to happen?

Notes: Written before season 1. The art of Tiny Vox is not linked, but I've seen it before and it is SO CUTE. If anyone has a link, please share with me so I can link it here!

A Wager of Desire by Heliosolar

Summary: Valentino and Vox have a small dispute over something meaningless, so they make a bet.

Vox has to last an entire dinner while at Valentino's mercy.

What could go wrong?

Notes: Written before season 1 release. One of the first Staticmoth fics I read. :)

Venenum by Heliosolar

Summary: During an uneventful meeting, Vox makes the mistake of stealing a drink from Valentino.

Notes: Written before season 1 release.

Getting Railed (By Child Support) by Charnel_Goat, spappest

Summary: The female of several species can store sperm for many years prior to using it to fertilize her eggs. As it turns out, spider trains do this too.

Decades after their romantic fallout, Overlord Choo Choo Charles is knocking on Val's door to demand he take responsibility for the results. By way of kidnapping his boyfriend to lure him to his den.

Notes: One of the crackiest fics I've ever read. Vox is an idiot with a horrible sense of self-preservation and Val fucks a spider train without birth control. Just...read it, okay? I literally cannot think about this fic without giggling like an idiot every time.

Beautiful Monster by IceBlueButterfly

Summary: “You’re late,” is the first thing that comes out of Vox’s mouth.

That sharp smile somehow grows wider.

“I believe the term is ‘fashionably late’ baby,” a smooth voice with a light Spanish accent replies.

Which… okay if Vox is being honest, is kind of hot.

Screen heating up a little more, Vox shoots a bored look.

“Or just late,” he snips back. “Oh well,” he claps his hands. “Doesn’t matter, you ready to get down to business?”

“Oh baby,” a bright gleam in even brighter eyes, “I’m always ready to get down.”

Vox is already regretting this decision.

OR Moments in time throughout Vox and Val's relationship. Vox may have no idea what the moth demon will bring to his life, but neither does Val.

Notes: A very nice exploration of how Vox and Valentino's relationship evolves.

Only a Shadow by passthevoxcord

Summary: Vox shows up on the hotel’s doorstep with no memory of how he got there or who he is. They agree to house and heal him, and slowly but surely he finds joy in becoming better. Then Valentino shows up and is forced to choose between self-altering addiction and the closest he’s ever come to love.

Meanwhile, Velvette has a new potion brewing, one that will grant her more power than the Vees ever had. Only Vox and Val can stop her, but will goodness really overcome evil? Or will they be only a shadow of their former selves?

Notes: The Voxval is currently toxic and only just now being touched on in Chapter 9 of the fic; I say 'currently' because the author explains in the AN of the first chapter that both Vox and Val will go through some "self-discovery and healing". Seriously, just read it. It's very good!!

You Found Me by passthevoxcord

Summary: Long before Velvette came along, it was just them. Vox and Valentino. Valentino and Vox.

Notes: Includes some interesting headcanons for Vox and Val.

Virtual Reality by passthevoxcord

Summary: Vox gets tired of his cybernetic biology being a barrier to his sex life, so he starts a new project to fuck Valentino in VR. Val will try anything once, but he has something else in mind.

Notes: Surprisingly sweet. ^_^

Muted by passthevoxcord

Summary: Val helps a nonverbal Vox deal with sensory overload.

Notes: Sweet and tender. :)

Freaky Friday by passthevoxcord

Summary: Vox and Val wake up stuck in the other’s body, but it’s no big deal because they both know how easy the other has it. Right?

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Sweet take on the different challenges Vox and Val face in their daily lives.

Something Akin To Love Series by Awesome_Possum

Summary: Vox's taste in partners is delightfully self-destructive and that's an itch Valentino is more than happy to scratch.

It's not safe or sane, and whether or not it's technically consensual is heavily up to interpretation, but what they have is probably something akin to love.

A collection of StaticMoth fics set in generally the same continuity.

Valentino is awful and Vox is unfortunately really really into that because a control freak in the streets is a masochist in the sheets.

Notes: Has 2 parts, both very much worth reading. Very funny, lol. Vox is in a hell of his own making but enjoying it at the same time.

Update Prescription by innerfray

Summary: Vox tricks Valentino into getting his eyes checked. They're forced to confront the nature of their partnership.

Notes: One of my favorite Staticmoth oneshots. Felt like an interesting take on Val's blindness. Angst so good...

Like Moth to a Flame (Or to a Bright Blue Screen) by datweirdo

Summary: Valentino is a moth after all

Notes: Cute and funny!!! "You fucking murdered him" lmao

30 Decibels by Shortsighted_Owl

Summary: Somewhere, under the low humming of the monitors, the quiet gurgling of replacement coolant being piped into Vox body, a new noise - dry, yet somehow viscerally wet, and so very soft - made itself known, but only just.

And Valentino almost missed it. - After a fight with Alastor, Valentino watches vigil over Vox’s broken form.

(What if Vox still has organic vocal cords, and after a fight with Alastor, the synthesiser he uses to amplify his voice is destroyed. What if Valentino hears Vox’s real voice for the first time?)

Notes: Heed the tags, there is in fact body horror lol. Sweet but mildly horrific. <3

Priest, mailman, cruise captain or chef? by Destabilize

Summary: Inspired by Vox's outfits in Stayed Gone - Val and Vox try out some kinky stuff with a priest outfit, to mixed success.

Ah ha!” Val squealed with delight, wine glass drained and thrown on a sofa, “This!” Val was standing proudly by the wardrobe holding up a long red robe with a hat and some kind of sash. Vox scowled, “Is that a fucking priest outfit?”

“Si! Isn’t it fun- it’s in your colors too!”

“You wanna be a priest?”

“No baby! You be a priest and I can,” Val sidled up and leaned down, puffing some smoke in Vox’s face, snaking an arm around his waist, “lead you astray...”

Notes: Surprisingly cute and funny! Vox fails epically at roleplay and it is hilarious.

riding out the drop by spoondrifts

Summary: Like he’d said before, killing Alastor was Vox’s kink, not his. He had been prepared to sit back and enjoy the temporary chaos until Vox got over himself.

What he hadn’t accounted for was the possibility that Vox was exactly as obsessive, bitter, and desperate for Alastor’s acknowledgement now as he had been seven years ago. Distance hadn’t made the heart grow fonder: distance had made a highly detailed revenge scrapbook complete with a conspiracy corkboard done up in red string.

Or: Valentino gets fed up with Vox's fixation on the radio demon. They fuck about it.

Notes: Features (sex favorable) asexual!Vox! :D (I lowkey headcanon him as ace ever since the "better than sex" comment)

Featherstone by spoondrifts

Summary: “To me,” Vox told the baby, “it seems like bad parenting to leave your helpless kid for a whole month with two unstable psychopaths and their parole officer. But hey. Who am I to judge.”

No intelligent reply was forthcoming.

Or: not-so accidental baby acquisition, starring the three least responsible idiots this side of the Pentagram.

Notes: Big Vees as family vibes. Wish so desperately this was canon.

vark attack by tarltonnnnn

Summary: Valentino has to petsit Vark for a day. Chaos ensues.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Vark is a big dumb (and very cute) baby.

Unplugged by pinkpunchy

Summary: Vox looks like he’s going to vomit. Valentino frowns.

“For the one who suggested this, you’re being a real pussy.”

“Fuck you! Just give me a sec.” Vox spits out, muttering darkly as he adjusts his shoulders on the pillows, trying to arrange his body for the moment he loses all function. Valentino, despite his impulsive nature, waits patiently. His manicured nails drag along the spot where cable and port connect, thumb smoothing up and down the flat surface surrounding it. Vox’s breath is coming faster now, not slower, something Valentino is tuned into as naturally as his own breathing.

“Hey.”

A large hand grasps a corner of Vox’s screen, tilting it up and putting an immediate stop to his fidgeting. Valentino smiles, red eyes narrowed to slits.

“Do you trust me?”

Notes: Sex as a...trust exercise? Lol I'm joking, but seriously. Sweet and hot at the same time.

Electric Desires: Lust, Power, and Unspoken Longings in Hell by Dani69696969

Summary: Vox is starting to get fed up with Angel Dust being the only thing Val talks about when Vox is right there, ripe for the taking. Inspired by Vox looking happy that Angel might have quit in Episode 2.

Notes: Very sweet. Plot with porn. :)

The Art of Pimping by MarenRose

Summary: Desperate to close a deal with one of the most lucrative investors in Pride, Vox does the unthinkable and pimps out Valentino for a one-time date. What could go wrong?

Notes: Vox's jealousy and possessiveness really brings out his stalker side in this lmao. Vox is a little pathetic and that makes his jealousy all the more funny to me. :D

Welcome to VoxTek Enterprises! by MarenRose

Summary: Subsequently, Valentino, of all people, has become the office’s saving grace.

(A series of VoxVal ficlets through the eyes of Vox’s assistant)

Notes: Pretty funny! Vox's assistants are really going through it. One of the tags is "Imagine being happy to see Valentino" lol.

(Fic rec list to be continued)

[bestworstcase]

Any thoughts on "The Sky is Falling"? I happened to be listening to it the other day and went "wow, this seems like something BestWorstCase would have Thoughts about", but searching your blog didn't turn anything up on it. If Tumblr search has failed me (probably not for the last time), I'd be interested to see what you've written before; otherwise, I'd be interested to hear now :)

ough i do have thoughts. many thoughts. idk if i’ve ever posted them, partly because i argue with myself a lot about whether it’s a hound song or an ozma song brfghks. much as i’d like it to be the hound for rotating him reasons, though, i do think ozma is a stronger textual reading.

unhinged about songs hours ->

the motif of the sky falling obviously calls to mind the chicken little folktale, of which there are numerous variations but in all of them the kerfuffle over the sky falling is hysterical: the danger is not real. in some versions of the tale, a sly fox incites the panic on purpose at the beginning and then eats the frightened birds who turn to him for help at the end.

the song’s narrative placement also connects it to atlas, and thence to atlas telamon, the titan who holds up the sky on his shoulders. (not the world—that’s a common misconception; classical images of atlas shouldering a globe depict the celestial sphere. it’s the sky.)

so we have on one hand the apocalyptic motif of the sky falling, and on the other the very real danger to atlas, conflated together: if atlas falls, so too must the sky… except that ‘the sky is falling’ is idiomatically an irrational fear. atlas may fall—that danger is real—but the world will not end if it does. the song’s central motif implies paranoid hysteria.

there is also the latin maxim fiat justitia ruat caelum, let justice be done though the skies fall. i go back and forth on whether i think the writers specifically have that in mind, in relation to this motif, but: “it’s important not to lose sight of what drives us—love, justice, reverence” and “in pursuit of a new world, no cost is too great.” fiat justitia, ruat caelum. that’s the salem perspective.

and i bring that up because of sacrifice:

Born an angel, heaven-sent Falls from grace are never elegant Stars will drop out of the sky, The moon will sadly watch the roses die In vain, Lost, no gain But you’re not taking me.

and

Show them gods and deities, Blind and keep the people on their knees. Pierce the sky, escape your fate, The more you try, the more you’ll just breed hate And lies. Truth will rise, Revealed by mirrored eyes.

with its similarly apocalyptic imagery (‘stars will drop out of the sky’/‘pierce the sky, escape your fate’) in relation to ozma and his task, and salem positioning herself in opposition (‘but you're not taking me’/‘truth will rise’)—fiat justitia, ruat caelum.

hence, ozma song.

‘the sky is falling’ is directly a dark mirror to ‘touch the sky’ but it’s also—i think more interestingly—a sardonic reflection on ‘until the end’ if one reads both songs as articulations of ozma’s perspective.

emotionally, ‘until the end’ leaves off here:

Love brings us dreams, But grief makes the heart burst at the seams. As light fills my eyes, I’ll picture me beside her, And pray that I’ll inspire, I promise I’ll be here until… …our story has been told. Til our bodies break down every door. Til we find what we’ve been looking for.

it’s a dream—a fantasy—ozma finding hope in this imagined scenario where he can be with salem again. i’ll picture me beside her.

and then she, uh. captures him:

Here comes another nightmare, Another fever dream. The horror just won’t stop, An endless scream, But this is not subconscious; We’re not imagining. We’re wide awake, This is reality.

lol.

‘until the end’ is very lovelorn and idealistic, and also fundamentally passive: though “desperate to make amends,” the promise ozma makes is to… wait. to do nothing. to hope for salem to make the first move.

and well. she does. this is what ‘the sky is falling’ is about, the collision of ozma’s romantic fantasies with the harsh reality of the situation.

Our world’s Lost without a soul. We’re losing all control, Not getting closer. Every day is just another dose of torture. Now we pay the cost. The race is lost, This nightmare’s Our real life.

points.

OSCAR: It should not be this hard getting people to just cooperate. OZ: And yet, it’s something I’m becoming increasingly concerned about.

this is what oz is worrying about all morning while the hound stalks oscar across mantle, how difficult it is to get anyone to “just cooperate.” because—contrary to the popular fanon—he is in fact still committed to his task and he does still, on some level, believe that remnant is damned and its people are missing something fundamental; his secrecy and manipulation, his guiding interest in silver-eyes and maidens and elevated ‘guardians’ and ‘symbols of hope,’ his all speak to his lack of true faith in humanity. and that traces back to what the god of light told him.

(since people love to cite ozpin’s commentary on ‘the story of the seasons’ as “evidence” that he’s abandoned his task by misinterpreting “I fear that if unrestricted magic use were possible, the results would be chaotic and catastrophic” to mean that ozpin thinks people are better off without magic rather than ozpin justifying his efforts to control the maidens; here’s part of his commentary on ‘the two brothers.’

Whether or not you believe in the Brothers, or in this story in particular, the underlying message still holds value: We are burdened with responsibility for our world, and we share a common destiny. Like the twin gods, we are intricately connected with one another, and if we can learn to work and live together, we can create things greater than the sum of their parts. Remnant survived the Great War, but while the four kingdoms now cooperate and coexist, our bond seems tenuous. We have a fragile peace, and in some ways, we are more divided than ever. Even if the gods aren’t real, even if they don’t return to judge us for our deeds, we should act each day as though they are arriving tomorrow. In the end, we will be the arbiters of our fates. We will either create a beautiful, peaceful world and live in harmony together or destroy ourselves and our planet, and the gods will judge what we have chosen.

in which he not only states his belief in his mandate and the inevitability of divine judgment outright, in plain terms, but also repeats the same fear he confided in salem thousands of years ago, that despite finding happiness or achieving peace, he worries that people are “more divided than ever.”)

thus: “our world’s/lost without a soul/we’re losing all control/not getting closer.” oz has become “increasingly concerned” about how hard it is to “get people to just cooperate.” and so “every day is just another dose of torture,” because, well…

To live free or die, it’s all the same. The enemy was right, there’s no reclaiming. In waves of shame, We’re desperate to make amends

…he knows salem is right. his task is impossible; things can never go back to the way they were. the old world, the world of the brothers, is gone and trying to reclaim it will achieve nothing but destroying remnant.

and yet he cannot bring himself to believe it, because to him this would amount to condemning the world, to admitting that remnant is broken and irredeemable and must be destroyed because it cannot be saved. to him, salem’s rejection of the mandate is horrifying—tantamount to a a declaration that nothing in the world is worth trying to save.

in her mind, rejecting the mandate is an act of defiance: remnant does not need to be saved because there is nothing wrong with it, and where he sees damnation, salem finds freedom. and that’s what ripped them apart.

‘sacrifice’ makes this point also:

Did the things you thought you should, All the things they said were good. All your faith in ancient ways Leaves you trapped inside a maze. […] Even with the lives you stole, Still no closer to your… goal.

that ozma’s faith in the god of light imprisons him in a futile, impossible quest because he can’t escape his belief that the world is broken, that salem’s freedom is really damnation. he achieves so much—he united the four human kingdoms after the great war and ushered in an era of unprecedented worldwide peace—and still, in ozpin’s own words, he sees only that people are “more divided than ever.”

the chorus of ‘the sky is falling’:

Better cover up your eyes, my friend, The sky is falling, Can’t outrun the ruin of our lives. Be prepared, we’re near the end, The final days are calling. Hold on now, The sky is falling down.

similarly echoes the motif of blindness that appears in ‘sacrifice’ (“close your eyes now, time for dreams/death is never what it seems” and “show them gods and deities/blind and keep the people on their knees”) and, more obliquely, in ‘until the end’ (“love brings us dreams/but grief makes the heart burst at the seams/as light fills my eyes/i’ll picture me beside her” -> the light is death, the light is love, love brings us dreams and death is never what it seems).

the first two lines of the chorus are also a direct inversion of ‘trust love’: “better cover up your eyes, my friend/the sky is falling” vs “trust love/and open up your eyes.” which is salient because ‘trust love’ is chiefly about ozlem; it’s in conversation with ‘sacrifice’ and ‘until the end’ and on top of the central motif of love restoring sight there is also, “if you could only open up a door/spread your wings and fly away from here/write yourself into a fairytale/all your problems would just disappear.” the you is ozma.

and that makes ‘trust love’ + ‘until the end’ + ‘the sky is falling’ really um, pointed foreshadowing:

All you have to be Is here in reality Leave your fantasy You’ll find the key  To victory I know the dark’s returning And the fires of hate are burning But the lies can’t hide what’s true When love’s alive

in one sense ‘until the end’ is the fantasy and reality ensues in ‘the sky is falling’, but in another—deeper, more important—‘until the end’ is also the truth which ozma keeps hidden from himself, and ‘the sky is falling’ is the act of self-deception; better cover up your eyes, my friend, the sky is falling.

so all of this—all of it—this is the false narrative oz has constructed about himself and salem, his blindness:

A curse that’s Never-ending This path with No escape No sudden death We’re trapped In slow decay These words are Not symbolic The torment’s All too real Eternal enemy Our fate is sealed We slide Further down the hole The damage takes its toll Helpless and broken Failed to stem the Tide of pain The floodgates open Now it’s one more sin As evil wins And misery steals Our lives

notice too how this section of the song reflects darkly on the hope and longing expressed in ‘until the end.’

ozma let himself imagine a reprieve (“time falls away/but pain always finds a way to stay/the tears that you’ve shed/will find a tree to water/but only when you’re stronger”), which he now scathingly reminds himself is impossible: his curse is never-ending, there is no escape even in death, he’s trapped in slow decay, his fate as her eternal enemy is sealed.

he admitted to himself that he wished to make amends and for just a moment he let himself believe that he could (“and stare with pride into the face of fear/in our finest hour, i’ll be standing here/and should we fall to darkness/this power i will harness/i promise i’ll be here until the end”), and now he mocks himself for it: he has done nothing but decay, corrupted more and more with every lifetime as he becomes unrecognizable to himself; the damage takes its toll. helpless. broken. he can’t make the pain stop, he can’t fix anything, he can’t save either of them.

oz found enough courage and hope to crawl back out of his darkness and try, once more, to do the right thing—to make amends—and what happened when he tried? “i’m not upset that you left. i’m upset you came back.”

that conversation, oz trying to apologize and being told that he’d done wrong again, made a mistake again, happened at most an hour or two before the hound caught them. one more sin as evil wins, cue the chorus.

and then the song turns inside out. (pour one out for the terrible rap 😔)

Lost all my hopes And dreams Watch my life flash By in scenes And it seems there’s No soul on the  Video screen But I’m green tryin’ To figure out what All of it means Staring at the casket Hoping to move past it Knowing things will Never be the same And that’s it Cold soaked as I stand in the rain Feeling nothing but pain Until I see you again

clears throat. not a metaphor. this is about the lost fable—ozma very literally watched his life flash by in scenes, narrated by jinn in ozpin’s own words, and then he retreated into isolation to think about it. not to brood or sulk but to reflect; he comes back with a very clear idea of what he did wrong and how he wants to change because he used that time to, well, try to figure out what all of it meant, knowing things will never be the same.

and that’s it?

this part of the song is an emotional echo of the regret and longing expressed in ‘until the end’; “love brings us dreams/but grief makes the heart burst at the seams/as light fills my eyes/i’ll picture me beside her/and pray that i’ll inspire” -> “cold soaked as/i stand in the rain/feeling nothing but pain/until i see you again” it’s the same idea.

that salem is his hope, his comfort. deep down in his heart of hearts ozma… wants to see her again. ‘until the end’ hints that it isn’t a coincidence that oz makes his hopeful return in the same hour that salem reaches atlas. here, too, “nothing but pain/until i see you again.” a flicker of hope. because the hound is taking them to her.

and then:

Feel the waves crash Loud and hard Oh God Lost control I think I’m gonna lose it All my sanity’s slipping away Oh Lord Press record I’d die without the music Each breath is closer To my death Except that which is, This life There’s none left Let my demons live on Through my legacy Study my pedigree I need therapy

he catches himself feeling that small glimmer of hope and freaks out. lost control, sanity’s slipping away. every breath is bringing him closer to death, oscar will die, his demons will live on in his next host, he needs therapy. why did he even think that?

where you seek comfort, you will only find pain. his heart knows that isn’t true, but ozma is still fighting tooth and nail to force himself to believe it; cue the chorus. better cover up your eyes, my friend, the sky is falling.

[backtothefanfiction]

Brown Eyes | A Mandalorian Imagine

Summary- Turns out, there’s so much more at stake than just life or death if you get injured

Length- short

Warnings- mostly fluff, mentions of injury

A/N- this just popped into my head so I of course had to write it out for you guys before I can sleep.

You’ve been lucky. Real lucky. All this time spent travelling with him and the kid and you haven’t gotten injured once. Which is even more lucky when you think about what your travelling companion does for a living. Or at least that’s what you think to yourself as you now sit hold up in the hull of the ship, your hand holding tightly to the blaster wound at your side.

It was your own fault really. He had told you multiple times to not do wander off or let the kid roam around outside the ship when he was on missions like this- but did you listen… No of course not. It’s not like anything had happened the last 15 times you had let him stretch his legs and get some fresh air and Din had been none the wiser.

He had also told you before that people were looking for him and the kid, which was another reason to lie low, but you didn’t think the situation was a shoot on sight kind of deal. You had both just been enjoying the meadow Din had landed in and the nearby tree line when the first shot had burned its way through the side of a tree. Then came another- and another. You felt one of the blasts burn across your side, but you couldn’t stop, couldn’t acknowledge it. You just had to get out of there.

You had tried to shoot back, scooping the kid up in your arms and running for your life back to the razor crest. The moment you were through the doors you had closed the hatch and placed the kid safely in his cradle, closing the top for extra protection as blaster fire began to hit the side of the ship.

You had frantically began to press buttons to get it up in the air and away from them. As you just about cleared the tree line, the crest half protesting from your hasty take off, another beep, the beep of the coms, sent a new wave of adrenaline through your body.

“What’s happening? Why have-“

You don’t let him finish asking his questions. “They found us. They found the kid.” You quickly informed him. Although you were trying to block it out, you knew from the strained way you were talking he’d know you’d been hurt.

“Is he safe? Is the kid safe? Are you both safe?” He quickly asked through the com link.

“Yes.” You said quickly back, if not a bit breathily, as you fought to steady the ship in the air and move it away from the meadow and the wooded area, instead heading towards a mountain ridge, hoping it would provide some cover.

“I’m sending co-ordinates,” he said- and you could hear the beeping of him typing in the location to send to the crest through the com, “meet me there.”

“Okay.” You said, gritting your teeth against the pain in your side.

The adrenaline coursing through your body had been just enough to see you to the rendezvous point, a large cavern on the far side of the mountains. You just had enough focus to land the crest inside, shutting the engines back down, before climbing back down into the hull to check on the baby. When you opened the cradle, you weren’t surprised at all to find him sleeping in it, the stress of the situation exhausting him. Knowing he was safe though filled you with relief.

Finally safe, knowing Din was on his way, allowed you to finally relax. The only problem was, without the adrenaline coursing through you, you were becoming more and more aware of the pain in your side. You lifted your hand to cradle it protectively as you hobbled to a bench along the outer wall and sat yourself down.

You sneered as you took it in, all blood and charred skin. It made you light headed. And that’s where you were now, eyes closed, head tilted back, resting against the wall. Deep breathing your way through the pain trying to think of anything else to pass the time while you waited for Din to return. He’d know how to deal with this.

You must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew you were being jostled awake, a frantic voice calling your name between curses. It felt like a fight to open your eyes. They were so dry and heavy.

“Come on baby, I need you to wake up. Stay with me now.”

You felt him prod at your side and you let out a small groan as your head lulled heavily to one side. You just wanted to go back to sleep. It didn’t hurt when you were asleep.

“Fuck.” He groaned, his voice ragged and desperate.

As you continued to fight to get your eyes open, your body seemingly working completely separately to your brain right now, you heard his heavy feet begin to charge around the small space searching for what- you did not know with your eyes closed.

You felt him return to you, his hand resting on your thigh and you assumed he was resting on his knees before you. Knowing this was something you definitely had to see to believe, you finally fought to open your eyes. But it was difficult, they kept trying to close again, your head rolling from side to side as you fought to stay conscious, fought to look at him on his knees before you.

You knew his fingers were fumbling with something and you sneered as his fingers jabbed at the wound again.

“Uuuhhh owwwww.” You complained.

“Fuck.” He said again. “I can’t fucking see shit.” He complained.

Your eyes grew heavy again and you more sensed him lean away from you than saw him, but the sudden hiss of compressed air coming from his helmet had them seemingly fly open and you watched him lift the helmet from his head.

“Din-“ you groaned, but he didn’t respond. You watched him as he reached again for the med pack, getting out a pair of scissors and cutting away at the fabric of your top around the wound. He then grabbed a bottle of clear liquid, wetting a pad with it, which he then wiped carefully around the wound. Your eyes squeezed tight and you hissed in pain.

“Hold still now baby, hold still, I’m nearly done.” He says. Your only thought though is when did he start calling you baby?

There’s a reprieve as his hands move away again and your breathing starts to come back into your control. There’s a rustling sound of a packet and you open your eyes again to watch through blurry eyes as he removed a bacta patch from its packaging. You close your eyes and rest your head back against the wall again as he carefully lines it up, before sticking it down over the top of the wound.

You must have fallen asleep again, because when you wake next, you’re lying down on a cot with bandages wrapped around your middle. As you shift, the blanket placed over you shifts, exposing your skin to the cold air. You surmise you are back in hyperspace.

You pull yourself from the bed groggily. Your side still feels tender but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was, the bacta patch clearly doing its job. You slowly begin to follow the sounds of the kid’s babbling up to the cockpit where he is sat resting on Din’s knee. He quickly goes quiet when he sees you.

Din turns himself in his chair to check what he already knows. He’s relieved to see how much better you’re looking already. There’s more colour to you skin and the fact you are moving around speaks volumes to your alertness and body’s responsiveness.

But when you lock eyes on him your brain can only think of one thing. “You took it off.” You say, your eyes blinking at the vague memory as you take in his once again helmeted form in front of you.

“Yes.” He says as if it is merely just a matter of fact.

“You have brown eyes.”

“Yes.” He says again bluntly, clearly not wanting to give these facts more attention than they need.

You frown. “You called me baby.”

He’s silent then. There’s a long pause between you both as he turns himself away from you. “You scared me.” He says as firmly as he can. “Don’t do that again.” He says more strongly, but it just makes you smile.

For the first time since you boarded his ship, it’s clear to you he is able to care for someone other than the kid. “I won’t tell any one.” You reassure him.

He’s quiet for a moment- and you worry he’s not going to say anything at all- when he finally says, “Good.”

A few seconds later you’re dropping out of hyperspace and it’s like the whole ordeal never happened in the first place.

[star1ight0]

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader "could've said something"

Guess what! I have issues and crave comfort so HERE WE ARE AGAIN. (It's 11:48pm as of rn send help) (Just finished it's 1am and I fell asleep halfway through)

Your quirk: Light manipulation. You can move and summon light, light bending, summoning balls of light ranging from small particles to large masses

Bakugou was always a.. scary kid to say the least. You two grew up together and he had a soft spot for you to say the least. When you got your quirk it was a lot to say the least between shining light in your faces and burning holes places. Eventually you got the hang of it. It did however make you wary of when and how you used it. Katsuki on the other hand seemed to get how to use and control his right away. The two of you trained together and Katsuki taught you how to make explosions with the light you could summon. The 2nd year of middle school you had to move because of your moms job and as much as he made it seem like he didn't care he made a point to ask you to keep in touch.

It was the second semester of classes yet you were just now starting UA high, class 1-A. Your mom had decided that because it was a little too far you'd move into your old house and she'd find work elsewhere, UA was a top school how could you say no to that argument? Late transfers and acceptance was rare enough for a top school. But it also meant you get to see him again. You thought about calling him and telling him but you thought it'd be better to wait till you saw him in person, you were next door now.

Most of your stuff was in your dorm by now, having the first day before settling in was a true blessing.

It was starting to get dark and the stress of it all was starting to hit you, thinking of how much you had to catch up being in 1-A and all. You made your way up the stairs finding the roof door. Making your up you got a text:

Kat: Hey. You busy?

You: Never am

K: got a new person in the dorm next to me, if they are loud I swear I'll end them

Y: I'm sure you'll be fine, don't kill anyone please.

K: Not that I care, but you've been radio silence for a few days

Y: I think if you have to say you don't care you do. Sooo talk to me when you can process your emotions then maybe I'll talk about mine

Love you.

K: whatever

"Everyone this is Y/N L/N, now be nice and be on time tomorrow" he said quickly walking away right after, a few people walked toward you to ask questions when they are all promptly showed away by the blond hot head. "The hell?! What the fuck were you just not gonna-" he was cut off by a hug. As he was debating on hugging you back you hear a girl's voice "GUYS THE NEW PERSON JUST HUGGED BAKUGOU!" the crowd of people grew and you felt a hand grab your wrist pulling you away. They all clump together continuing the conversation. You take the lead pulling him up the stairs onto the roof.

If anyone else had even remotely talked to him that way you were sure they'd be dust. But you cared about you too much to even yell at you unreasonably. Now at the top staring up at the cloudy dark sky you sigh mumbling to yourself "guess I'll make my own stars" you lied down on the roof making small glimmers of light float into the sky.

Not sure of how long you'd been out you looked at the time on your phone, bolting up at the time. Your new teacher Aizawa had instructed you to be in the common room by 7:30pm to introduce you avoiding using class time for it. It was 7:28. You bolt down the stars finding a room for people sitting with their teacher. You stand next to him with an apologetic face. You look around looking for something to focus on when your eyes land on blond hair and a familiar angry tone.

"Hi, I go here now. " You said with a smug look on your face you summon a little ball holding it for light between you. "Still gonna kill me if I'm loud?" You say in a teasing tone. You look up at him seeing a light pink on his cheeks. "I thought.. I wouldn't get a chance to see you again after I got kidnapped and everything. The least you could've done was say you were in town" he says a shift in his voice and body language making him self more guarded. "sorry I wanted to surprise you" you say wrapping your hand around his.

"I- I know we only ever all and text but I've missed you and being around you. A lot. "

"i missed you too. Ass hole."

"you love me"

He flinches at the words spoken feeling his grip tighten on your hand. Pulling you into a hug.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Juno (Oneshot)

Masterpost

Warnings: lightly BBU adjacent 

“And that’s about it,” finished Jack, leading the new volunteer back to the front desk. “Any questions?”

Daniel shrugged. “It seems simple enough. Feed the pets, give out meds, play time is two hours a day,” he rattled off.

Jack smiled. “Just about, yeah. Although some pets have dietary restrictions, so be careful with that. It’s all in their charts.”

“Right. Oh, do employees get to adopt from the shelter? Just curious.”

“Yup! There’s a waiting period of six months, though. In fact, I'll have officially adopted a kitty tomorrow. I’m really excited.” Jack beamed, proud.

“Kitty?”

“Oh,” waved off Jack, “it’s a term we use to describe personalities. ‘Kitties’ are shyer, quiet, more independent. ‘Pups’ are more energetic, playful, outgoing. You know the type.”

“Makes sense,” said Daniel. “I guess I’m more of a dog person, but, like, real dogs.”

“Fair,” nodded Jack. “Most people don’t want human pets, hence their rarity. I think there’s only one store in the county, and we’re the only shelter. Hey, since we have a couple hours, you want to meet my kitty?”

Jack pulled out a set of keys from the front desk drawer. “I’m thinking of calling him Juno. He’s really great, and I already love him.”

“Sure, why not?”

The two men turned back down the hall, passed the ‘employee only’ doors. 

“So how come Juno didn’t get adopted yet? I hear pets get adopted really quickly here.”

“Well… he’s got some medical stuff a lot of people don’t want to deal with.”

“Like what?”

Jack swung the keys around his finger.

“For one thing, he’s trans.”

Daniel shot him a look. 

“I know, I know,” Jack said, “but the reality is, that turns a lot of people off, in a manner of speaking. I don’t think it should matter, but it does. And although lots of pets like having sex, Juno has a severe aversion to anyone or anything near his vulva that isn’t himself and his menstrual cup.”

They reached another door at the end of the hall, and Jack flipped through the keys trying to find the right one.

“Usually that isn’t an issue; most people don’t care. Unfortunately, Juno also has an expensive diet. It’s either buy the pricey pet food, or cook for him. I don’t mind the cooking- I like cooking- but the combination of everything makes him pretty unlucky in the adoption department.”

Jack fit a key into the lock of a second door, which opened into a smaller hall with fewer stalls. 

An acidic smell hit them as soon as the door opened.

“Shit,” muttered Jack.

“That can’t be good,” agreed Daniel.

Jack jogged through the hall, and came to stop at a stall. A whine sounded from the poor pet inside.

“Hey, buddy,” cooed Jack, crouching down.

Daniel peered over his shoulder.

A pet was curled up in a far corner, stale vomit in a puddle on the opposite side. 

The pet had dark brown hair, and his eyes were screwed shut. He looked feverish, and he was trembling. His breathing was quick and shallow, and he had top surgery scars on his chest.

Daniel glanced at the sign on the wall.

Juno, it read. Owner: Pending.

“Did somebody give you the wrong food, honey?” Jack asked quietly as he unlocked the stall.

Juno whined again.

“Okay buddy, don’t worry.” Jack pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the stall, pet and vomit and all. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

Jack approached the shivering pet. “Take a look in his food bowl, would you?” he called over his shoulder.

Daniel looked inside. “It’s halfway empty.”

“Fuck,” muttered Jack. The pet whimpered. “Not you, sweetheart. You’re doing so good; making sure you didn’t get messy. There’s a good boy. You didn’t eat it all cause you figured it out, yeah? Such a smart kitty.” Jack pet the boy’s hair, and Juno leaned into his hand.

“Can you sit up for me?”

Jack helped the pet lean against the wall, his face tacky with tear tracks. “I know your tummy hurts, sweetheart, but just stay right there, okay?”

Jack pulled away and turned to Daniel. “Dump out the food in the trash,” he ordered. “Get a new bowl from storage, and fill it with the gluten-free bag. Make sure it’s a new bowl, or he’ll get sick again.”

“What about the water? Won’t that be contaminated?”

“Go ahead and take that to the sink. I’ll take care of getting him some liquid,” Jack said. “I need to brush his teeth anyway.”

They left the stall. “Not going to lock it?”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Jack said with a grim face. “He can’t move much when he has a reaction.”

Jack pulled out his phone, dialing a number as he went to the med cabinet.

He opened the cabinet, looking for the stock paste he kept on hand and the shelter-supplied disposable toothbrushes as the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey boss, it’s Jack. One of the pets got fed an allergen again. Sent you some photos.”

“Dammit. Which one?”

Jack found the brushes. They were on the wrong shelf.

“Guess.”

His boss sighed. “And you’re sure it’s Ethan doing it?”

Jack switched his phone to the other shoulder as he filled a bottle with hot water.

“He hates me,” he complained, scooping a tablespoon of the stock paste into the bottle. “And he really wanted Juno. He was on food duty earlier. He’s trying to sabotage the adoption. You know, make him sick so he has to do a round of isolation.”

His boss sighed. “I’ll check the tapes.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

Jack shook the bottle until it was a dark brown and the paste had dissolved.

“Hey, Juno,” he said quietly, pulling open the door. “I’m back.”

Juno looked up at him with teary blue eyes. Poor thing.

“I got you a toothbrush, and that soup you like.” Jack set the bottle off the side, kneeling in front of him.

Juno opened his mouth, still weak and miserable, and Jack scrubbed the stomach acid off his teeth.

“You get to come home with me tomorrow,” he said, cupping the back of Juno’s head for support. “Won’t that be nice?”

Juno made an ‘mhm’ as soon as Jack was finished. 

Jack picked up the bottle. “Do you think you can hold it for me?”

Juno didn’t look very sure.

“Alright, that’s fine.” Jack unscrewed the cap, and held the soup to Juno’s mouth.

Juno took a couple of sips, and turned his head away. His stomach probably couldn’t handle much more.

“That’s okay. You're doing great.” He brushed Juno’s sweaty bangs away from his forehead. He wanted to give him a bath, get all that sweat off, but Juno probably wouldn’t appreciate that right now. “You wanna go to sleep?” 

The pet nodded, clearly exhausted. He must have been vomiting for hours.

Jack helped him lay down on his cot as Daniel came back.

“What's that?” he nodded towards the bottle.

“Stock,” Jack explained. “The salt and fluid is good for nausea and he needs the calories.”

Jack stroked Juno’s hair.

“He’ll be okay, right?”

“Yeah. He just needs to rest.”

___________________

Jack stirred the fried rice in the pan. It smelled great, and it was a new recipe. His aunt had recommended it, and she had Celiac disease just like Juno. 

Honestly, it wasn’t that hard to switch everything over to be gluten free. And it was worth it to keep his pet healthy.

Juno pressed himself against Jack’s back, his arms wrapping around Jack’s waist. He laid his head on Jack’s shoulder.

“Hey, bud. Ready to eat?”

“Mhm.”

Jack spooned two portions into bowls, and sat on the couch to eat.

Juno ate from his bowl with gusto, and Jack smiled as he watched. His kitty had put on a lot more weight, and the doctor was really pleased with his progress. 

Juno finished before he did, and got up onto the couch, shoving his head onto Jack’s lap.

Jack absent-mindedly carded a hand through his hair. It was so soft and wavy now that he had proper conditioner. 

He focused on the nape of Juno’s neck, just where he liked it, and Juno nuzzled into his thigh.

If Juno could purr like real cats, Jack knew he would.

He looked so much better: well-rested, well-fed, and with a handsome leather collar.

Adopting him was the best decision Jack had ever made.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

🚨 New Chapter🚨

In which Guthláf helps Wídfara get settled in Edoras, we first hear about Guthláf’s ambitions, and things between them take a turn. T for Teen (and also T for Trope because I used some of my faves here! Gotta get my happiness in before everything eventually goes to hell!)

Catch up on part one if needed/desired.

August 3017

Wídfara was up well before dawn, partly from habit and partly from nerves, and he arrived at the stable earlier than any of the other members of the éored. To his immense relief, yesterday’s confusion with his horse had been rectified, and Cypren stood waiting for him in a well-appointed stall. He took his time grooming and tacking his horse, enjoying the familiarity of the routine, and used his best braiding techniques for both mane and tail. If nothing else, he wanted Cypren’s appearance to impress.

As he worked, the barn slowly filled with the busy hum of other riders arriving and making their own morning preparations. There was laughter and gossip and the occasional ill-tempered grunt from someone who had drunk too much or slept too little the night before. But since none of it was directed his way, all the commotion faded into indistinguishable background noise until a loud, twangy voice cut through the din.

“Heads up, Wídfara!”

A small wrapped parcel came sailing across the stall. He snatched it out of the air just before it collided with his chest and looked up to find Guthláf smiling at him from the aisle.

“What’s this?”

“If I told you, that would ruin the surprise, so I guess you’ll have to open it and see.”

Wídfara undid the knot that kept the little cloth packet closed, exposing a bag full of smooth, crimson-colored cherries glistening like a trove of round rubies. He knew at a glance that they were wild Thistelfyld cherries, found only in the ravines of the Upper Wold and only perfectly ripe for a few precious weeks each year. Those weeks had always been anxiously anticipated when he was a little boy — a treasured chance to savor his grandmother’s cherry tarts and his father’s boar with cherry glaze or simply to wander among the Thistelfyld shrubs and stuff his pockets with as many fruits as he could fit, sneaking them out for snacks throughout the day until his mother noticed the dark red juice stains on his shirt and pants.

He lifted the bag now and closed his eyes to inhale the sweet, almost floral scent, and for a moment he was lost in the memory of his happiest childhood days. “Where in the name of Béma did you get these?” he stammered out at last.

Guthláf crossed the stall and plucked a cherry from the top of the packet, popping it into his mouth with a grin. “Once you’ve been in Edoras long enough, you’ll learn where and how to find things. Even very rare things from far away. I thought they might make a nice welcome present for you.”

This unexpected kindness threatened to bring tears to Wídfara’s eyes, and he blinked quickly to head them off. “Thank you. Sincerely. You couldn’t have found a better gift, and I only hope they didn’t cost you too much.”

“I had more than enough from my winnings last night to cover it. So in that sense, I suppose, it was Ceorl who paid for your cherries. But let’s not remind him of that.” He laughed and threw an arm around Wídfara’s shoulders. “Leave those here for now, and let me introduce you around. You’re about to meet some of the finest men in all of Middle Earth.”

With that, he began to guide Wídfara in and out of a seemingly endless string of stalls, rattling off names and positions and personal details about each man they came across. Everywhere they went, Guthláf was greeted with enthusiasm – bright smiles, slaps on the back, jokes and invitations and well wishes – and Wídfara wondered how it was possible to be on such close terms with so many people at once. But however it was accomplished, it was clear that the goodwill that followed Guthláf through the stable could attach itself to Wídfara, too, simply by standing in the other man’s reflected glow. He was heartily welcomed and congratulated and asked many curious questions about himself, his horse, his fighting experience, whether he preferred ale or mead, and a hundred other topics. And always Guthláf stayed at his side, helping him to remember names, interjecting comments and jokes, and flagging over still more men that Wídfara had yet to meet. If not for the horn that announced the start of training, Wídfara had no doubt that they would have spoken to each and every one of the éored’s dozens of members.

Instead, they all swung into their saddles and trotted out to the training rings, where they were divided by function for drills and exercises under the supervision of Elfhelm and a few senior members of the company. Wídfara joined the other archers and was surprised to find a fair number in the group, as most of the Eorlingas preferred swords or spears. They undertook a steady stream of target exercises at different speeds and angles, and Wídfara easily lost himself in the muscle memory of balance, strength, and precision. It quickly became obvious that he was the best bowman in the group, and a small crowd of the senior men gathered to watch his runs through the training course with murmurs and approving nods. Between his steady hand, sharp eye, and the smooth, even gait of his horse, hitting targets was no real challenge for him, and he relished the opportunity to feel skillful and effective after the previous day’s string of humiliating logistical challenges. For the first time since he had entered Edoras, he felt the welcome stirrings of his old confidence again.

By mid afternoon, Elfhelm seemed satisfied with the progress made for the day and dismissed the company to take up barn chores, weapon repair or other necessary tasks. Wídfara walked Cypren back toward the stable and took note of the warm, dry wind sweeping in from the east. He’d always had a particularly intuitive sense of the weather, honed over many years of living on the land and in the elements. He could feel in the wind that the day’s heat wasn’t going to break any time soon, so he stopped off at a water trough to allow Cypren to drink his fill.

“Nice job out there today, Wíd.”

Guthláf had materialized at Wídfara’s elbow, holding the reins to his own horse as she drank. A little thrill ran through Wídfara at the use of the shortened name, a tiny sign of implied closeness between them, and he smiled his thanks.

“I don’t know about you,” said Guthláf, “but I’m not ready to call it a day yet, and neither is Syndrigan. Not before we get a chance to really run, you know? None of this drills and exercises stuff, but a real gallop out in the valley. What do you say?”

The prospect of a few hours outside the tight confines of the city walls, back out in the kind of wide open space that had always filled his life, was more than enticing to Wídfara, and he readily agreed despite the heat. They remounted, and he followed Guthláf through a maze of streets down to the city gate and then out into the fields and meadows that sat below the hills of Edoras. When they were at last well clear of the city and boundless green grasslands stretched out ahead, Guthláf looked back at Wídfara, winked, and nudged his horse, taking off like a shot into the hot, windy plain. Urging Cypren into action, Wídfara gave chase, and the two raced into the valley, up and down hills and through streams toward the stony banks of the Snowbourn.

For as much praise as Wídfara had received for his shooting ability, it was instantly obvious to him that Guthláf deserved even more for his skill in the saddle. He rode with total ease, each movement and adjustment as natural and instinctive as drawing breath, and there was both grace and strength in his frame as he and Syndrigan thundered by. Despite their speed and the unevenness of the terrain, Wídfara could see that Guthláf’s reins sat tied to his saddle, untouched, and his feet were barely pressed into his stirrups. Like many of the poorer herdsmen in the east, Wídfara had grown up riding without tack, saddles and bridles often being prohibitively expensive, but even with all of his years of experience he would never have dared to ride as Guthláf did, with what he might have called outright recklessness in others but which seemed somehow entirely within Guthláf’s agile control. For a time, Wídfara reined in his own horse, content to simply watch in awed silence as Guthláf flew over the plain, joyful and uninhibited, before feeling the pull to join him again in a dash across the valley floor.

Guthláf eventually came to a halt near a small crook in the river, allowing Syndrigan to rest in the shade at the water’s edge. Wídfara followed suit, happy for his own chance to escape the beating of the sun and to refresh himself in the Snowbourn, which flowed down out of the heights of the White Mountains. He bent down to scoop a little water onto his neck, and as he knelt, he heard Guthláf splash past him, wading out a few feet from shore. Once there, he stripped off his tunic in one smooth motion, dunking it into the chilly mountain water and wringing it out again.

Some time between horse and river, he had tied up his long blonde hair, and all of his bare back and shoulders were now exposed to Wídfara. He knew he should look somewhere else – anywhere else – but his eyes were inexorably drawn to that smooth, firm skin and the obvious muscles that rippled just beneath its surface. A few loose locks of hair still clung to the nape of Guthláf’s dampened neck, and Wídfara watched, nearly transfixed, as heavy beads of sweat ran slowly down his spine, past shoulder blades that flexed and tightened with every wring of the tunic. The spell was broken only when Guthláf turned his head and their eyes briefly met, sending Wídfara jolting backward like he had been startled out of an especially intense dream.

A wave of shame and panic crashed over him, and he rushed back to his feet and over to Cypren, busying himself by unnecessarily adjusting his stirrups while Guthláf pulled the cooled tunic back on and crossed behind him to Syndrigan.

“Ready to head back?”

Wídfara hummed his assent, keeping his eyes studiously focused downward as he pulled himself up into his saddle, and they turned back toward the city. The first few minutes passed in excruciating awkwardness for Wídfara, certain that he had offended or upset Guthláf by the riverbank, though the other man appeared outwardly unbothered whenever Wídfara chanced a glance in his direction. It wasn’t until Guthláf took up a steady patter of light conversation — how he wished his horse and his dog would get along better, his intense admiration for Elfhelm, how hungry he was — that the knot in Wídfara’s stomach began to ease and he allowed himself to hope that he had overreacted to something that had perhaps gone unnoticed.

When they had arrived back at the garrison and turned their horses over to the stablehands, they walked together to the barn entrance. It was early evening, and the heat of the day was finally breaking. Wídfara’s own hunger was making itself known to him, and he was mustering his courage to suggest a trip to the mess hall when Guthláf spoke instead.

“I don’t know how things worked in your old éored, but at the end of the week here all the men go home for dinner with their families rather than eating the slop that the mess serves. I know you’re far from your own home, but if you want a good family meal made by one of the best cooks in Edoras, you can come with me tonight.”

“Oh.” The offer was unexpected, and Wídfara was immensely relieved to get yet more evidence that the incident at the riverbank had not soured Guthláf on their friendship. But his mind immediately filled with questions and worries. Going for a ride together had been easy; he knew what that entailed. A nice dinner in a family home in Edoras, though, he had no experience with, and he couldn’t imagine it would be anything like the simple gatherings around a fire he was used to back in the Wold. Were his clothes nice enough for an occasion like this? Would he embarrass himself by not knowing the basics of city manners and etiquette? Would Guthláf’s family really want him there, just getting in the way of their evening rituals? “Well, I don’t know,” he stammered out. “No one likes an inconvenient outsider tagging along and intruding on their family time.” He laughed a little, hoping that speaking his fear in a lighthearted way would prompt Guthláf to set his mind at ease. But instead, it somehow had the opposite effect. A strange, unreadable look crept across Guthláf’s normally sunny face, and his posture became suddenly rigid.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. I’ve got to go check on Slaga now, but thanks for the ride.”

He gave a small nod and ducked away, disappearing quickly around a corner and leaving Wídfara standing alone and baffled as to what he had said to change the whole tone of the exchange so quickly.

“Nice one, new guy.” Another rider, a man whose name Wídfara thought was Fastred, sat a few feet away polishing a saddle, and he eyed Wídfara now with a mix of disdain and exasperation.

“What do you mean? What did I do?”

“Guthláf’s family is dead. Parents, grandparents, older brother, baby sister. All killed in a fire that ripped through a whole section of the city one night when he was fifteen. We take turns having him over to our houses for home cooked meals or to celebrate on holidays so he doesn’t have to be alone. That’s where he’s going tonight – to Herefara’s to be, as you put it, an inconvenient outsider intruding on someone else’s family. Except that we’re all happy to have him. He’s always welcome with us, and he was just trying to give you the same welcome.”

The bottom fell out of Wídfara’s stomach, and he stood for a moment, almost paralyzed with dismay. To have been unintentionally insensitive to anyone would have upset him, but if his words had accidentally caused pain to his only friend, someone who had been so unfailingly kind to him…he didn’t even want to contemplate the possibility. Snapping from his stupor, he sprinted out of the stable, hoping to catch Guthláf before he got any further away. But for once, the normally bustling area was empty and quiet. Guthláf was gone.

Although the heat of the day faded with the disappearance of the sun, Wídfara found his cramped little room still too warm for his comfort and escaped into the relative coolness of the outside night air. The barracks were largely empty – as Guthláf had noted, most of the men had gone home to their families for the night – and Wídfara could sit in solitude under the beech tree that shaded the main entrance during daylight hours. He had with him a small bottle of his mother’s homemade apple mead and took frequent sips, trying without success to dull the ache that had taken up residence in his chest ever since that afternoon’s rebuke from Fastred.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been there, playing back the scene in the stable over and over in his mind and cringing each time those hurtful words had unknowingly escaped his mouth, but the moon was high overhead and even the crickets had largely quieted when the sound of approaching footsteps intruded into his thoughts. He looked up and whispered a quick prayer of thanks when the figure to emerge from around the closest corner was Guthláf, returning home from his evening at Herefara’s.

Wídfara stood hurriedly and placed himself in Guthláf’s path, words tumbling out of him faster than he could organize his thoughts. “I’m so sorry, Guthláf. Fastred told me…well, I didn’t know, and I would never…”. He stopped himself and took a long, deep breath. “I’m just sorry, that’s all. I hope you can forgive me.”

A moment’s silence ticked by, which felt to Wídfara like ages, and then Guthláf smiled at him. “There’s nothing to forgive. Your words gave me a moment of uncertainty about myself, I admit. But you didn’t know the circumstances, and it wouldn’t be right to hold that against you.” He looked down at the bottle in Wídfara’s hand and cocked an eyebrow. “I might, however, hold it against you if you’re not willing to share a taste of what you’ve got there.”

So intense was Wídfara’s relief that he immediately shoved the whole bottle into Guthláf’s hand, taking him by surprise. He began to laugh, and soon Wídfara laughed, too, and he led Guthláf back to his spot under the beech tree, where they dropped down to the ground side-by-side. Guthláf took a swig of mead, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and made a small gesture of approval with the bottle as he swallowed. Then he passed the mead back and stretched out his legs, gazing out into the night. “So, what do you think of Edoras so far? It’s not like home, but it’s not so bad, right?”

“I can’t really deny that it’s been hard. Harder than I imagined even. But you’ve made it easier for me. I don’t know what I did to deserve your kindness, but I value it nonetheless.”

“I’m sure you’d do the same for me if the situation was reversed. Everyone needs a little help when they’re new.” He nudged an elbow into Wídfara’s ribs. “Besides, if you keep impressing everyone the way you have with your shooting, you’ll be running this whole éored before long. And then I’ll be glad to have gotten on your good side early.”

Wídfara chuckled nervously, hoping the spirit-induced glow in his cheeks would cover his blush. “I don’t know about that. I can certainly shoot, but I’m no great leader. I’m just here to earn enough money to take care of my parents and be of some service along the way. If anyone is looking for leaders, they should be looking at you. I don’t need to have been here for more than a few days to see that every one of those men would follow you anywhere.”

Guthláf waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, I’m not looking to be a marshal, either. Elfhelm has to spend far too much of his time fighting with the treasury over supplies or sitting in endless strategy councils. That’s not for me. I want to be out there on the field, always. I want to ride. To come alive by looking death in the face and showing no fear. To charge forward, full speed, at the leading edge of a storm about to break, and that storm is the might of Rohan itself.” He leaned forward and picked up volume as spoke, gesturing as though a whole panorama was laid out before him. “Could you see me, Wíd? Right beside the king, with his banner in my hand and the whole army at our back and a glorious victory just waiting to be claimed?” His eyes shone brightly even in the darkness, and his right fist was clenched at his side as though the banner staff was already in his grip.

Wídfara smiled softly. “I can see it. And what a sight it will be.”

“It’s my dream to carry the banner, to represent Rohan and the king and especially our éored.” He relaxed back against the tree again. “Maybe someday I’ll earn it.”

“I have no doubt you will.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Guthláf grabbed the bottle again, but when he brought it to his lips there were only a few drops left, less than a single swallow. He gave a wry shrug. “Or not.”

The small look of disappointment on his face sent a pang through Wídfara’s heart. “I have another bottle,” he volunteered, eager to erase that disappointment. “It’s back in my room.”

“Yes, Wíd!” Guthláf’s face lit up again. “What a hero! Let’s go.” He sprang up and hauled Wídfara to his feet before rushing into the barracks and down the hall.

Guthláf got to the door of Wídfara’s room first and threw it open, immediately laying bare the evidence that Wídfara had been sleeping not in his bed but stretched out in blankets on the floor, mimicking as closely as possible the outdoor sleeping style that herdsmen all used on the plains back home. Wídfara winced to himself at how odd and unsophisticated it must look to a city dweller, but before he could even open his mouth to explain, Guthláf threw himself down on the makeshift bedroll and made himself comfortable, his back propped against the wall. He looked up expectantly at Wídfara. “Something wrong?”

Wídfara shook his head, pulled another small bottle of apple mead from his pack and sat next to Guthláf. For a time, they passed it back and forth, offering little toasts with each sip – to each other, to the éored, to Rohan. To their futures with Wídfara as lead bowman and Guthláf as banner bearer. The more they drank, the more ridiculous the toasts became. To Slaga, Guthláf’s tiny little dog. To Elfhelm’s unruly eyebrows. To Cafrida’s horse, who seemed to pick the absolute worst times to take a piss during training. Increasingly, the words dissolved into laughter before they could even be fully stated, until several rounds in, when Guthláf cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter.

“Here’s a serious one,” he said, lifting the bottle. “To friends who only want the best for you, even when they have no idea what that is.”

Wídfara raised an eyebrow. “And what does that mean?”

“Only that I spent the evening at Herefara’s house, and he is once again trying to marry me off to one of his sisters.”

“Ah.” The idea of Guthláf with anyone’s sister was oddly uncomfortable to Wídfara, and he picked the bottle back up, scraping at its label with his thumbnail. “She’s not the right girl for you?”

“She’s a lovely person, and I appreciate that he wants me to be happy. But she’s not at all my type. They’re never my type. The whole company is constantly trying to match me up with a sister or a cousin or a neighbor woman.” He paused. “But they have no idea what I actually like.”

The statement hung there for a moment, seeming to demand some kind of response, and Wídfara looked up again. Guthláf was watching him intently with those blue eyes, the color of ice and yet somehow still so warm, and the air in the room suddenly felt different, charged with both possibility and danger. There was a stretch of stillness as Wídfara considered his next words carefully. “What is it that you like?”

“I think you know,” he said quietly.

Wídfara’s breath caught in his throat, and every nerve in his body jangled at once, screaming a frantic internal warning. Be careful. Don’t misunderstand. You’ve been down this road before. Don’t ruin everything. “How…how would I know that?”

Another moment of quiet passed, and then Guthláf slowly leaned across him, taking the bottle from his hand and setting it aside. But he didn’t lean back again. He stayed pulled in close, his face so near now that Wídfara could almost feel the soft bristles of his beard against his cheek when Guthláf spoke again.

“Because I think you like the same thing. Am I right?”

If he hadn’t already been sitting, Wídfara might have fallen to his knees, so overwhelmed with sensation that he felt slightly faint. The phrasing as a question was a courtesy, an opportunity for him to issue a denial, the only safe and prudent response. But here, now, with this kind and beautiful man a mere hair’s breadth away from him, Wídfara didn’t want to deny anything. He steadied his back against the wall, swallowed hard and forced out his answer, a single word that was terrifying but true. “Yes,” he whispered, barely audible. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the tension of the moment, and so he felt, rather than saw, Guthláf’s smile. And before he could open his eyes again, Guthláf’s lips were on his, and Wídfara was lost in a rush of surprise and disbelief and relief and then joy.

He wrapped a hand around the back of Guthláf’s neck, pulling him in even closer, and opened his mouth, tasting the apple and honey of his mead on Guthláf’s tongue. Rough, calloused fingers skimmed the delicate skin of his throat, sending a shiver down his spine, before gliding across his collarbone and onto his chest. He dropped his head back as Guthláf’s lips worked their way along his jaw and to the tender space just behind his ear, and he gasped in a ragged breath as he was flooded by a wave of desire, all the more intense for having been harshly suppressed.

He tugged Guthláf’s shirt from his waistband and ran his hands under the fabric and across the strong, hard muscles of his torso, pushing the shirt up as he went. He stopped only when his fingers encountered something unexpected, a change from smooth, soft skin to unevenness and noticeable warmth. He looked down to see a wide swath of scarring – red and shining and slightly raised – stretched taut over the plane of Guthláf’s abdomen and up one side of his chest, the remnants of the fire that had claimed every member of his family. Wídfara instinctively drew his hand away, afraid to cause pain.

“It’s alright,” Guthláf breathed into his ear. “It was a long time ago. Let’s not think of that now.” And then his hand inched up Wídfara’s thigh and every other thought fled from his mind. There were no house fires and no burns, no bottles of mead, no worries about what he was doing, no wonder at how thoroughly his life had just changed once again. There was only Guthláf.

Notes: A little trope-y? You bet, but some things are classics for a reason!

Wídfara’s horse is named Cypren, which means “Made of Copper” (and is based on the coloring of his coat). Guthláf’s horse is named Syndrigan, which means “Special One.”

Some of the background Rohirrim or folks that are mentioned only fleetingly are made up, but a lot of them are canon in that their names (and only that) appear in the books. That includes, in this chapter, Ceorl, Fastred and Herefara, all canon.

@emmanuellececchi @konartiste @hobbitwrangler @dreambigdreamz @sotwk

Dividers by @quillofspirit ♥️

[jay7543]

Hi omg, could I request for Konig x male!exoticdancer!reader (Idk if that's how you say it but ahh) Like Konig and Reader could be on a mission and Konig is part of the audience and is like- wow hidden talent >:) muhahaha. Reader has to dance on ropes or literally just anything! because their mission is to infiltrate the chambers of an elite member to retrieve his files safely. You can write this however you want, change it up, and do whatever because I know you'll write it best your way <3 Thank you so much.

Undercover with könig

18+

M4M

No, thank YOU, for requesting this, this is a great idea, and thank you for saying what you did, I’m always worried I’m not good enough at writing, but I’m happy some people find it good enough.Enough about my self doubt, I hope this story is to your liking, enjoy!!!

P.s. I hope you enjoy the few comedic lines/ elements, I always enjoy coming up with them

P.p.s. Feel free to make a request

When you were a kid, you always wanted to be a spy, or undercover cop, or just something of that nature. That’s what happens when you grow up on bond movies and tactical shooter games. So when you hit 18, you finally joined the military, thinking you could work your way up, get sent on special undercover missions, maybe even get a partner. 2 years later, you finally got there, everything you dreamed of but…. Not exactly with the suits and suppressed pistols, and the snarky German partner doesn’t help.

Reader-“do I really have to wear this?”

You say as you pick at the tight speedo that’s pushing your bulge almost back into you, it’s not comfortable

König-“yes, you’re posing as a dancer remember? And I don’t know if you’ve noticed the type of place we’re in, but they don’t exactly wear many clothes, hell I think you got lucky even getting that, though it doesn’t look like there’s much to show off”

He snickers as you look around at the other dancers, and he’s right, most of the women don’t have any tops, and almost all the men are just bare naked, meat and taters just out, you really did luck out.

König-“well get ready, you have to go out soon maus. And remember to show off. You have a target to seduce”

He gives you a firm spank as he walks out of the dressing room, laughing…prick.

Reader-“don’t call me that! It’s not my fault you’re a damn giant!”

You yell as he passes through the door.

How did you draw the short straw, you worked so hard to get here and your first mission is you dressing up like a damn slut. Well…you have always been a pretty feminine guy, but still, you wanted to be a spy, not a stripper. While you wallow im your life choices, you hear someone shout for you.

Voice-“new guy, you’re up”

You take a deep breath, dig the Speedo out of your crotch, and walk out onto the stage, it’s not huge, only big enough for a few people to dance, but it’s very high class, and more than enough people are sitting in the crowd watching you and the others. Some are just fawning over the others on the stage, some are even touching themselves, for such a high class establishment you’re surprised that’s allowed. You walk up to your pole and start dancing, more than that, you start absolutely killing it, twirling around the pole and shaking your hips and twerking to your hearts content, you got a bit carried away. Everyone in the crowd has there eyes on you, enthralled by what your doing, it’s honestly turning you on, making your dick harden in the speedo, making it poke out a bit. What you don’t know, is that könig is also in the crowd, and he’s very impressed with what he sees. He’s never seen anyone move like that, not one woman, and definitely not any men, even he’s turned on, rubbing himself through his pants. Soon your time on the stage is up, the embarrassment just now kind of hitting you as you shuffle off stage, still with a raging boner from all the eyes on you and the rush of the thing you were doing.

When you get back stage könig is waiting for you, with a smile on his face

König-“that was…really something else”

He snickers as he takes a few steps towards you. You try and push down the embarrassment and ignore your hardness as you choke out a few words.

Reader-“do-do you think the target noticed? Was that good enough?”

König chuckles

König-“sadly maus, the target wasn’t here today, he will be here tomorrow though”

Your mouth falls agape, you did all that and he wasn’t even here!

Reader-“what do you mean he wasn’t here? Our intel said he was supposed to be”

König-“yeah, but I asked around and was told he and his wife are having dinner today, I know, it’s Scheiße, but it was good practice no?”

You scoff, your target has a wife yet he rents out guys at a club, funny. Before you have time to respond könig grabs your bulge.

Reader-“w-what are you-“

König-“I saw you on stage, it seems you have some talents I didn’t know about. I saw that…how do you Americans say it…fat ass shaking, and Mein Gott, that was good, so I rented you out for a bit”

He says with a grin as he bites his lip. You can’t help but feel a bit flattered, I mean…your ass is fat, but it is a bit demeaning that he payed for you.

Reader-“you didn’t have to pay, we are still partners. Makes me feel like a slut”

König laughs

König-“well honestly maus, for the next little while, that’s exactly what I want you to be”

He pulls up a chair and sit down, legs spread. You bite your lip as you contemplate if you wanna do it…You do. You definitely do.

You start giving him the best lap dance of his life, you’re just an absolute natural at it. Your twerking, your grinding, you even feel up his cock through his pants a bit. He smacks your ass making it jiggle, with that he laughs and pulls his pants down, letting his throbbing cock spring out as he strokes it. You moan as he pulls it out, you immediately start grinding on it again, sandwiching it between your ass cheeks.

Reader-“you like it? My fat ass on your cock?”

You say confidently after seeing the look of euphoria on his face.

König-“fuck yes”

He growls out, clearly getting more and more horny as his precum starts to flow out. He grabs your speedo and tears it off you, then rubs his tip against your hole, making it slick with his juices.

Reader-“oh you really like it. Go ahead, fuck me”

With that he grunts and thrusts into you, making you yelp in pleasure as his cock buries itself deep in your guts, and his full balls slap your ass. Your own cock flops back and forth as he plows you as hard as he can, the room is filled with noises of pure euphoria and pleasure

*insert sloppy, raunchy gay sex sounds here*

Reader-“holy shit, your cock, it’s so fucking deep”

He smacks your ass again, making it jiggle as his cock goes in and out of you, your asshole clinging onto it every time, not ever wanting it to leave. His fingers dig into your hips as he drives himself in even harder, leaning over you in the process.

König-“I-I’m gonna cum”

He growls as he picks up his pace, hitting your prostate every time, causing your cum to leak out as well.

Reader-“cum, cum in me”

As if you just pressed a button, he slams his hips into yours one more time as you start to feel his seed filling you up, painting your insides, in this moment, you wish you could get pregnant. He falls back into the chair, with you on his lap, his cock still deep inside you.

König-“let’s just-let’s just sit here for a minute.”

Reader-“y-yeah, sure”

You say as you lean back into him, your head on his shoulder. You turn your head and kiss his cheek. He smiles a bit with his eyes closed as he catches his breath. Maybe this spy gig isn’t that bad

[jemmo]

the most annoying thing about being tired all the time is that i so miss reading fiction and yet my eyes cannot physically handle reading more than 3 lines of text

[alchemiclee]

been looking in tags for a few days now to see if anyone else found the whole high cloud quintet and related story to be a bit.....poorly written, nonsensical, contradictory, full of plot holes and loose ends, etc. apparently i'm not the only one. (and i'm not even talking about shipping stuff, because any time I saw someone mad about bad writing, someone always replies to be homophobic and laugh about failed ships. weirdos.) it could have been so good but was thrown into the garbage for the most part (IF you noticed all the plot holes and contradiction. if not, then it's a fine enough story tbh. I expect most people to see it on surface level and not read all the little hidden lore bits and try to piece it together like my autistic brain did. which is ok! enjoy it if you liked it and ignore me 😆)