#most of chrome is just ao3

[girl-intrigued]

So guys you have to try this app !!

It's a Time wise app from play store and it shows all your data from this year and I've never been humbled so quick 😀

https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.veeraakurilil.timewise

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Do you have any anti harem fic recs?

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

A spider in a graveyard by Rubypasha (Explicit, Incomplete)

You've fought for years for people who hate and humiliate you, see you as more of a nuisance than a hero. A menace to society, just like your mentor. But you keep going, keep fighting. Keep pushing your limits to save innocent's who get tangled in the cruel web of life that you walk as a shadow. As someone who expects nothing but gives their all. But you keep going You'll deal with whatever and whoever threatens the lives and safety of innocents (both monsters and humans) because you are a spider. And spiders will never go down without a fight. Tired and injured you go to deal with one of your greatest enemies, a skeleton who like you loves puns but is dangerous. More so than anyone could ever imagine. But instead of wrapping the night up quickly like you want you're faced with something neither of you can understand. A machine that goes haywire leaving you injured and in the mercy of the two skeleton brother's and their clones But you won't back down. You will fight even if your hope isn't what it used to be. Maybe this 'other mansion' of skeletons will finally break the walls you were forced to put up in order to survive. Maybe, just maybe- You'll finally realise how amazing you are

Full Deck by Sons_of_Sirens (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

You’re just a shy young woman who works at a small bookstore in Ebott City, who has never attempted to climb out of her introverted shell before. Or maybe you’re a sassy young woman who lost her job after sticking up for monster rights in front of your racist boss. Or possibly you’re a traumatized young woman, with a painful past full of abuse and a broken body full of secret scars. You might even be an ordinary-looking young woman, who nevertheless possesses magical abilities and a SOUL far different from a regular human’s. But this is not a story about you. It's about ten skeletons in one tacky suburban McMansion, trying to live together without burning down their own house. It’s an unreasonable convergence of the Undertale AU gang as they go about their lives in a house full of volatile personalities, while trying not to get dragged into a reverse-harem trope. Alliances will be made, bake sales will be ruined and the HomeOwner's Association will be armed and dangerous.

I Like Me More by LambCHOWDER (Mature, Incomplete)

You love pancakes. They're so easy to make. Let's ignore the 7 monsters glaring at you and watching your every move. With obvious red flags, you choose to move in with your ex friend and her harem… for your own benefit, of course. Despite the situations that arise, you push through. Though it may be kind of worth it, you really didn’t expect all the secrets to come loose...

Bleeding Green [Rewrite] [On Hiatus] by pyromaniac_mage (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

[Y/N] [L/N] is a powerful mage with a bloodline well-known throughout the ages and her family have always been celebrated. They, however, despise how their bloodline trapped monsters beneath the ground. But, that is for another day. In not being able to afford basic accommodation for university, they had to rely on an old (and terrible) friend named Bethany. For some reason, most of Bethany's skeleton mates despise [Y/N] but why is that? Apart from the fact she is a mage? Just because she has a kindness soul, it doesn't mean she will stand for their bullshit.

Home for lost souls by SketchyDyslexic (Not Rated, Incomplete)

Sans was so in his head that the resets would start back again, he didn't want to even try. Papyrus put in work to convince Sans that he needed to come to the surface with him, and not continue staying in the underground. Sans agreed to pick out a home with his brother, and began packing his things. With only a week left, Sans decided to try pulling his older brother back with the machine one last time, only to have to watch it sputter and stop. Sans gave up and packed his stuff, ready and moving out to stay with undyne until their new home was bought. His life and a few others really went out of whack because of the machines malfunction, with his sudden influx of brothers and the soulmate bonds that were slowly making themselfs known. Even after settling the chaos, shit still hits the fan every time he gets done untangling one mess. And the woman that is helping his strange family isn't making anything easier by making things easier!

[honestlyvan]

The main feature apps like this offer are QOL improvements like different layouts, fonts, reading statistics and timers, and the aforementioned download features that are already a part of Ao3.

And if you want to use an app for those features -- honestly, I don't see why not? But be aware that Ao3 supports user-created skins that can look like literally anything you want (and although you do have to know enough CSS to make a theme yourself, lots of fans out there make AO3 skins just for fun -- you just gotta talk to one of them to ask how to make the changes you'd prefer and most likely they're happy to help out) and there are userscripts that act as site extensions that provide all those features and more (with, again, people actively developing them that you can ask help from to write your own if you don't like any of the ones available)

If you don't want the hassle of finding this stuff out or talking to people to ask for these features, you do you I guess. But don't ever pay money for one of these apps, no matter what it does. If it's showing you adds, if it's asking you to buy it, DO NOT, they're asking you to pay for features other fans have already provided for free through other methods.

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

WHO IS USING THIS

AN APP??? THEY HAVE A FUNCTIONING WEBSITE

THE LAST FUNCTIONING WEBSITE

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{Xavier takes you shopping and comes to a realization. Zayne has a nightmare. And Rafayel gets a treat.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Eventual Smut. SFW (For now)

Chapter 5: Shopping

Saturday finally comes, to your palpable relief. You’ve never been so excited to go grocery shopping– or at least, you were. Until you see a neatly hand-written note left for you on the kitchen counter.

Y/N,

I apologize but one of my patients needed emergency surgery early this morning. I won’t be able to accompany you shopping. Please allow Xavier to chaperone. I will see you for supper. 

Zayne

You sigh and fold the note, putting both it and the credit card with it into your pocket. Zayne’s penmanship is hasty but legible, and so distinctly him. Especially when doctors have that bad rep for having illegible handwriting. 

You’re not sure what the game plan is. Should you look for Xavier? Or should you take some initiative and go to the store by yourself? Zayne texted you a list the day after you started here and you’ve added a few things in the short time you’ve been working. It’s funny to see the favorite for each of them listed, and you spent one of your breaks trying to guess which one of them ordered what. 

You assumed the tea and peppermint candy is from Zayne. The spicy chips and ‘ Chilean Sea Bass (NOT FROZEN)’ and the three other types and very specific fish are Rafayel. Xavier and Sylus are harder to guess for, but you assumed the protein powder was for Xavier (he’s a hunter after all. Needs the protein). And the chunky peanut butter must be for Sylus. 

It’s just guesses, but it makes you feel a little closer to these new roommates– employers? What are they to you exactly? Certainly not friends, though Rafayel likes to play hot and cold enough that maybe he’s an enemy. 

You put on your coat, the borrowed gloves and scarf, and tap away on your phone in search of the nearest store. 

Unluckily for you, it’s over a twenty minute one-way walk, and that’s to a convenience store. Not even a proper grocery. You scowl, remembering the frigid temperatures and that your bike is still parked on the other side of the city. Not that you could do a good grocery haul on a motorbike anyway. It’s not too far of a walk for nicer weather, but you worry about the state of your toes and lugging all the food in the snow. 

Luckily, for you, Xavier appears. Tucking a coat over his shoulders and adjusting the collar. He wears a deep grey-blue coat that’s cut just below the waist with shiny gold buttons.His gloves are white, along with his scarf, and you ponder– who is styling these men?

“Are you prepared?” He asks like you're heading into battle. 

“Where do you normally shop? I found a convenience store but it’s over twenty minutes walking.” 

 “I can drive us.” He answers as he pressed the elevator button. “There’s one store that the others insist on. It’s called…” He pulls out a piece of paper from his coat and reads it, “...Harrison’s Grocery.”

“Did Zayne leave you a note too?” You chuckle as the two of you descend to the garage. 

“He wanted to make sure I took you to the right place.” Xavier lets you exit the elevator first and you turn to wait for him. His expression is passive, neither seeming irritated nor pleased to be assigned your babysitter for the day.

“I appreciate your help. I promise when the weather is nicer I can go myself.” You assure, waiting for him to show you which car is his. 

“It’s fine.” He replied, sliding up to a sleek chrome number, the most modern of the collection. A sleek silhouette with little breaking up the single line from bumper to bumper. 

Xavier barely beats you to the door handle, opening it for you. You’re a little startled by the chivalry but smile gratefully as you climb in— he even hovers his hand near your head to make sure you don’t hit it. Such a subtle action, but it makes your stomach flip. 

When Xavier starts to drive, you're grateful to see the snow has finally stopped. The car is eerily quiet, and the soft whirring when he accelerates tells you it’s entirely electric. A stealthy vehicle for a peculiar hunter. 

While the days of petrol and diesel engines are gone, a fully electric vehicle is almost vintage. Hyper-efficient hydrogen engines are the norm now, or vehicles that run on protocore synthesized fuel. 

It takes almost fifteen minutes to get to the grocery, and you take note of the turns he takes so you can take them too. And when you arrive, you open your GPS on your phone and tag it. It’s a family-owned store. The reviews that pop up under the GPS listing rave about the friendly atmosphere and its owner. 

Xavier opens your door too and you thank him. The store is larger than you’d thought it’d be for a family-owned grocer, but it’s nice. When you enter and see the diverse selection of produce and the huge meat and seafood section, it makes sense. 

You open the list, grab a cart, and get started. Mumbling along as you grab things with Xavier hovering over your shoulder. He doesn’t comment much as you walk through the store, adding something here and there that isn’t on the list. You only grin at him– perks of being the babysitter, you get treats. 

You’re in the meat section, browsing the cuts in the display while you wait for the butcher. The greying man behind the counter approaches, and you read off from the list the half dozen cuts that are there. 

Xavier steps close to you, suddenly in your space and looking at you with a serious glint in his eyes, “Can you cook steak?”

Your brow creases, “Yeah? I mean, I guess? What kind?”

“Yes.” Xavier replies, and turns back to the butcher, “Three more sirloins, and a pound of skirt steak, please.”

“You like meat, I take it?” You ask as the butcher gets started on your oversized order. Xavier places his hands on his hips and nods, the soft feathery ash-blond hair bouncing. 

You collect the paper wrapped order and place it into the cart, having saved this for last before you check out. It takes a few minutes to get through everything, and you're hoping next week won’t be such a big haul. Stocking up on the longer term storage necessities they were lacking. 

“I saw a recipe for marinated skirt steak in an article not too long ago.” You say to make conversation while you check out, “How does that sound?”

“How long does it take?” Xavier asks, handing you a loaf of bread and then a box of pasta. 

“Usually overnight, but it can only be a few hours if you’re really hungry.”

Xavier opens his mouth to answer you, but a shift in the air pulls his attention. His brow’s knit together, and his expression turns stony as he looks out the open windows just beside the checkout. 

You turn to, halting in place as you wait for whatever it is that caught his attention. There was no sound. No rumble. But now that you paused, you could feel it. The tiniest shimmer in the air, like static electricity. 

A Wanderer? You have just enough time to think before the sudden rush of energy shudders through the parking lot and rattles the windows. The patrons in the store shout and startle, jumping back as a pair of rocky knaves and a glowing violet obscurum terror through the lot, crawling over cars and crushing them. 

Reflexively your hand goes to your hip, expecting the familiar weight of your firearm but finding nothing. An empty pocket and a reminder that you're not a hunter right now. 

“Stay here.” Xavier’s low command hums in your ear, as he slides past you, rushing out of the store to face the sudden threat. His gloved hand slides across your back. A physical touch to reinforce his order. 

Tossing the bread back into the cart, you decide to immediately disobey. Instincts you had thought dormant come rushing back, and you search for a weapon. An aisle with kitchen utensils is the best bet, and you find a pair of long, steel knives. Breaking open the packaging you grimace at the poor excuse for a weapon– especially against a Wanderer– but beggars can’t be choosers. And you’ll pay for the knives later.

Outside the store, Xavier– though you don’t know where he was hiding it– has a long narrow blade only pausing for a single moment before he lunges forward. The three Wanderers roar at him, howling as Xavier’s sword finds its mark. He’s nothing but a streak of light– a careening asteroid causing precise destruction. 

Wielding your pair of kitchen knives, you jump into action, heart pounding and head rushing in that delicious elixir of adrenaline and endorphins. The thrill of danger and of purpose. 

Xavier elegantly slashes at one of the knaves as the round obscurum attempts to lunge at him from behind. You leap forward, crashing into the beast with your shoulder and rolling to slice at its hardened hide with your knives. 

Xavier looks over his shoulder as the knave disappears into the stardust, and gapes at you and your little knives. You realize you must look insane. Neither dressed nor armed for battle, but brandishing some kitchenware like a straight-to-streaming slasher flick. 

“I can’t finish them with these!” You bark as you flip them in your hands, pointing the blades back to give you better leverage to shove the blades downwards onto the remaining knave's head. 

If Xavier replies, you don’t hear him. Only the song of his blade as it finds the obscurums weak point and banishes it back to the ether. 

In an effort to be helpful, you keep the knave busy. Preoccupying it with your ineffectual weapons. When the steel of your knives skid off the armor of the Wanderer for the third time however you toss them aside, dropping low and side stepping as it slashes at you. You manage to get around it, and you jump onto its back. It’s the more humanoid looking Wanderer’s but it’s big. Big enough to make climbing its back a challenge, but not so big you can’t get your legs around its middle and get into a makeshift headlock. 

A high pitch screech leaves, more enraged than hurt. With all the strength you can muster, you force the hollow head of the knave backwards, exposing the crystalline orb in its chest to Xavier’s front lunge. The tip of his sword cracks through the violet orb and the Wanderer releases an earsplitting howl and you feel the solidity of it begin to crumble. 

It dissolves into nothing but specks of light, scattering in the wind like forgotten dust. You jump back and onto your feet, brushing yourself off as you pant wildly. 

“Are you alright?” Xavier asks as he tucks away his sword and approaches you. Unlike you, he’s not breathing heavily in the slightest. 

You look up and can’t help the manic grin on your face, “That was some great teamwork!” You cheer, “Remind me to bring a gun next time though!”

Xavier just stares at you. His eyes are slightly wide and his breath is still. He looks frozen, and you tilt your head with a sheepish grin. You take his hand and shake it, though his grip is loose. 

“Good work, partner.” You say as you begin to walk back to the store, hoping to finish the trip you’d started, “Let’s finish up and head home.”

It takes him a minute to follow you, and he’s quiet the rest of the trip. Silent as you check out, wordless as he helps you put the groceries in the car, and the ride back is spent with nothing but the soft whirring of the car and the low volume of the radio. 

Anxiety gnaws at you, a corrosive pit in your stomach. Had you upset him? His hands are tense on the steering wheel– aggressively so, but he doesn’t say anything. Is he mad you defied him? Angry you stepped in? You thought you’d been helpful, given the circumstances, but maybe he didn’t see it that way?

It made the ride back a thousand times longer, and unloading the car painfully awkward. Xavier was silent as he set the last of the bags on the countertop, and he was walking away before you could even open your mouth to awkwardly thank him. You watched his back as he escaped down the corridor, and before he left your sight completely you noticed something. 

Were his hands shaking?

You tried to not let your mind speculate as you put away the groceries, making a mental list of everything and a meal plan for the upcoming week instead. The reactions from these men were so peculiar. Did they like you? Or not? 

The only one you felt even halfway certain about as Zayne, and that relationship was becoming harder to define the longer you lived here. 

As you put the last of the pantry goods away and sighed for the umpteenth time, you heard footsteps entering the kitchen. 

Xavier had returned. Dressed in a soft knit ivory sweater and jeans. In the soft midday light he looked almost ethereal. All soft edges and sugar coating. But his face was deadly. A look sharper than his blade that stared you down as he strode forward. Pressing into your space and pressing his hands to the sides of your face. 

He moved your face upwards, forcing you to look at him. He wasn’t bulky so the strength behind his gesture was surprising, because when you tried to pull away you didn’t manage to gain an inch of distance. 

“Look at me.” His voice was low, hushed growl. The warning of a wild beast that you hear before you can see it. 

Unlike his last command, this one you obeyed. Meeting his celestial eyes and the ravaging storm in them. His light colored brows were furrowed, barely tempering a rage swelling behind them. You blinked owlishly under this unexpected attention, unable to even wonder what he was doing, or why.

So, you just stood there. Hands out at your sides, unsure of where to put them as Xavier kept you pinned with his hands at your cheeks. He was searching for something. Scoring your face and your eyes like a message in disappearing ink may reappear if he focused hard enough. 

Once the initial shock of it had passed, you decided to wait. Maybe this was some kind of punishment? Some hazing to reinforce the pecking order because you’d jumped into a fight that should have been his?

“Is this because of–?” Your voice is barely a whisper when you finally find your voice, but he presses his thumbs into your cheeks firmly and shakes you ever so slightly. 

“Hush.” He mumbled, some of the sharpness leaving his expression. Whatever he was looking for, he wasn’t done, and he seemed keen to keep you there until he was satisfied. 

“Don’t tell me to hush.” You hiss back, irked. 

“I’m looking for something.” He explained, like that was get-out-jail-free. 

“Is it personal space?” You quip, tilting your chin down to sneer at him, “Or manners?”

Xavier blinked once, and the interrogation swimming in his eyes melted away. He’d found it. Whatever it was. Without the crease in his brow and his mouth pressed in a firm line, he looked so young. Boyish almost with those soft baby blue eyes and youthful blonde hair. His hands didn’t let go at first, and it felt like he was suddenly seeing you for the first time. 

“Is this because of the Wanderers?” You asked, continuing your earlier interrupted thought. “I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. I know I wasn’t much help but–”

“Where are your weapons?” Xavier asked as he finally released your face. You expected him to take a step back but he didn’t, remaining inside your personal bubble like he belonged there. 

“My firearm is upstairs, locked up.” You explain, “The others are in storage. I didn’t think it was appropriate to bring them all here– since it’s not my home.”

Xavier looked pensive, eyes drifting away from you in thought before he nodded and right back to you they went, “We’ll go get them in a few days. I’ll take you.”

Your stomach did a funny little flip, twisting in something similar to nervousness but also fluttery, “Why?”

“A Hunter should always be ready and armed.” Xavier explains, parroting a sentiment given to trainees in school, “I’d feel better knowing you followed that statue, especially if you’re so prone to jumping into battle so recklessly.”

“I was armed.” You argue, but realize it’s a poor one. “I even paid for the knives afterwards.”

“How are you here?” Xavier almost laughed, and sounded almost wistful. Like he was asking you how you’re here as in “how are you real?”.

You take a step back and cross your arms, “I needed some help, Zayne needed a housekeeper. I thought he explained that to you.”

It still stung, remembering the circumstances of how you got here. The pit of nothingness you’d fallen into that had led to your suspension and ultimate eviction. It wasn’t anyone’s business besides yours and Zayne’s, and it was too embarrassing to just blurt out to these strangers.

Xavier scoffed in a soft laugh and smiled lightly, “Right. Right he did. Well, you shouldn’t go too long without training. Maybe we could go together sometime?”

You felt like you might get whiplash. “Seriously?”

“You’re not planning on staying a housekeeper forever, right?” Xavier probed, tilting his head slightly, “You need to keep your skills sharp.”

You turned away from him and opened the fridge, fiddling with the organization of the fruit so you didn’t have to look him in the eye. “I guess I wasn’t really thinking about it. I haven’t….I haven’t trained in a while.”

You hadn’t done anything but the bare minimum for months. No extra training or exercises. No picking up extra shifts or patrols. Clock in. Shoot at Wanderers. Clock out. Rinse and Repeat. Until slowly but surely uo hadn’t held your gun for over a month, and hadn’t seen a protofield for two. 

“We can train together.” Xavier’s voice was feathery soft, full of something warm and syrupy that it hadn’t had before. “How about Monday morning? Before I go on patrol?”

You closed the fridge, the cool air cutting off and leaving you under the warm gaze of this beckoning friendship. 

That tired part of you didn’t want to. Didn’t want to train. To fight. To keep moving forward with pep and a smile. All that part of you wanted to do was sleep. But you were tired of indulging that venomous part of your mind. That tar pit of despair that had been slowly but surely consuming you. 

“Sure.” You forced yourself to say, despite the pit in your stomach. “Do you train here?”

Xavier nodded, “If you haven’t trained in a while, we’ll just do some basic workouts. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” You say, a little relieved. The idea of running through the training that academy had put you through sounded like torture. The battle simulations and evol training until you felt worse than a threadbare wrung out rag. 

Baby steps, you told yourself. Get back into training. Get another hunter to vouch for you and you’d be back to work in no time. Xavier had offered you asn express ticket back to your old life. 

Although, why did it feel so horrible to accept it? It felt like going back to a home with no one there. To a place that was now nothing but rubble and ash. Where you were greeted with memorial portraits instead of smiling faces. 

Baby steps. You repeated in your head again. Baby steps. 

Xavier spent the rest of the day lingering in the living room. The TV was on, and some quiet-spoken cooking show was playing, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was listening to you. He’d resolved to not follow you around the house like his mind had initially wanted, and settled for glimpses of you as you bustled about. 

He could hear you hum as you dusted the stairwell, and watched you from the corner of his eyes and you swept the hallway and mopped it. It felt wrong to watch you do menial work like this while he just watched, but something told him you’d shoo him away if he tried to help. 

Xavier couldn’t decide what to do now. What do you do when you realize something that shouldn’t exist not only does exist, but is dropped onto you like Newton’s apple. This was an impossibility. The four of them had agreed it was impossible, and they’d made their peace with it.

Resigned to a reality without you in it. Sentenced to exist with each other but without that which tied them together– an archway missing the keystone. A painting missing the centerpiece. An unfinished puzzle with the remaining pieces stolen from them. 

Things weren’t adding up. The puzzle had always been askew, and they’d made assumptions based on the information that they had. But now? Now they needed to start from scratch. Rethink everything they thought they knew. 

Only there was a problem. It’d been over a year since they’d spoken openly about their predicament. It wasn’t ideal– their living arrangements, but it was better than the alternative. Better than isolation. Better than falling into whatever pre-woven fate had been made for them. 

Getting them to convene again would be tricky, especially without proof. Speculation was a honey-trap of hope that would be undue punishment for those who were still hurting. Each of them had suffered in this reality. In this new life. All they had was each other, or that’s what they’d thought.

Sylus and Rafayel were animals. Wounded beasts licking at their wounds and wasting time with different exploits. 

Zayne was…Zayne. 

The sound of you in the kitchen pulled Xavier from his thoughts and he realized he’d dozed off. Lifting his head, he turned to see you pulling food from the fridge to start cooking. 

It was painfully, gut-wrenchingly domestic. An image he hoped he could burn into the back of his eyelid so that when he slept it was you that he saw. 

It's been so long. He didn’t even know how many years it had been. This life…this reality. It had taken so much time to find his way here that his mind was too full and his heart too old. It forgot what it felt like to be near you. So when it happened again, the sensation was so foreign he didn’t recognize it. 

But when you’d turned to him, sweat on your brow and the thrill of a battle won humming in your evol, he’d known. He recognized you like one recognizes their own reflection– changed, different, but unmistakably his. 

Xavier rose and decided to help you, even if it was just holding vegetables or stirring a pot. The distance between here and there was too much, and he wondered if his heart kept up this rapid pace if it might actually give out. 

Talking to the others could wait. They were likely to come to their own conclusions soon enough– his talk with Sylus had made that clear. 

For now, Xavier would relish in this realization and pretend that nothing else existed. No past life and sacrifice. No alternate reality. No separation. No death. No Astra. 

Rafayel was wandering around the darkened house in the wee hours of the morning. The rest of the house had been asleep for hours, even Sylus was back– probably crashed onto his bed still covered in gunpowder and rubble like when he’d walked in an hour ago. 

The house seemed….warmer somehow. And he didn’t need to ponder much on the reason why. Rafayel knew the reason the minute he’d walked into the living area to see you and Xavier scrambling over a smoking pan like a pair of startled wrasse. 

Xavier knew. Rafayel saw it in the way the blue-eyed man moved , orbiting around you like a lost satellite. A long-forgotten star he was finally able to see again. It would be cute if it wasn’t almost pathetic. 

Rafayel was bitter. Something in him shriveled up. Seeing your face didn’t spark the awe or rush of sentimentality he thought it would. It just…hurt. 

Ached like a wound that would never truly heal. Nerve damage and corroded bone making sure he’d feel that pain with every step. With every breath.

Pathetic. That’s what he’d thought when he’d seen Xavier all starry-eyed and gooey, but was he any different? Rafayel scoffed at himself and his own unfortunate circumstance. He was just as pathetic. Just as lost. A little boat lost at sea unable to stop itself from following the current of the ocean, drifting towards you without a paddle to even fight back from. 

He could pretend his heart was closed, and that he was just playing. Nothing real. It wasn’t real, he’d tell himself, but that was a lie. It was as real as the insignia burned into his chest. As real as the ever shifting tide, he was the ocean and you were the moon. Waters chasing after you in a perpetual, impossible dance. 

A crash from down below broke him from his swimming thoughts, and Rafayel’s brow furrowed. An intruder? Not possible. 

Another sound and Rafayel decided to check it out, for curiosity’s sake of course. 

He passed by your bedroom, slowing to see if you’d woken, but found it was silent within. Satisfied you were still asleep, Rafayel descended the stairs and went to find the source. 

The hall was dark, only a low light in the kitchen giving off any sort of illumination. Another low thud sounded and Rafayel entered the living room. 

Zayne was near the windows, hands pressed flat against the glass with his head hung low. He was panting, ragged frightened breaths that sounded painful and rough. 

Rafayel paused, waiting. 

Zayne, noticing the new presence turned, eyes blazing as they landed on the dormant sea-god. 

“Y-you…” Zayne rasped, voice strangled and hoarse. “Raf–yel.”

Rafayel relaxed slightly. Good, it was one of the versions of Zayne that remembered him. Which one though? 

“What’s going on?” Sylus was there, having come up the back staircase and waiting at the edge of the room just as Rafayel was.

“It’s another nightmare.” Rafayel explained, “He remembers me, so that’s good.”

Sylus looked over to Zayne with a stern expression, “Not Dawnbreaker then. That makes this easier.”

“Still sore from that?” Rafayel prodded with a chuckle, but Sylus didn’t seem to be in a joking mood. Recalling the last nightmare Zayne had had and the vengeful and dangerous Dawnbreaker demanding answers they didn’t have and lashing out at whatever moved. Funnily enough, of all of them, the only one Dawnbreaker remembered was you.

“Zayne,” Sylus said, voice almost a coo, “It’s alright. Calm down.”

The silver haired man approached the man in distress. Zayne clenched his eyes shut and shook his head, fighting something unseen in his mind.  He groaned and slumped further down the window, looking out through them like he might recognize the clearly foreign scenery. 

“Where am I?” Zayne was ragged, confused and frightened. He stood up taller and gripped the side of his head, “Where…where is she?”

Sylus kept a safe distance, but approached like one approaches a rabid dog– anticipating the inevitable bite. “She’s safe. She’s asleep. She’s here.”

A moment of clarity crossed Zayne’s face, and he turned to Sylus in disbelief. “Here? She’s alive? She’s here?”

Sylus nodded, reaching out, “This isn’t the world you know. It’s different. Your plan? It worked. We escaped.”

Another wave of pain nearly sent Zayne to his knees, and Rafayel stepped forward just a step behind Sylus– ready to help.

When Zayne looked back up, his flickering eyes shifted from Rafayel and then over to Sylus, “Sta–Stary–”

Sylus took Zayne’s offered hand and pulled him into him. The dark haired man all but collapsed against him. “It’s me. I’m here. We’re all here. You can rest. It worked. It worked.” 

Zayne shuddered in an exhale and gripped at Sylus’ shirt. “It worked,” Zayne chanted breathlessly.

“They won’t find us,” Rafayel said as he stepped forward, placing a hand on Zayne’s shoulder and squeezing. “Rest, Foreseer. Let us carry on now.”

Zayne sighed and relaxed, the fight of his warring spirits finally easing, and Sylus only had a single moment to catch him before he collapsed.

“Get his feet,” Sylus said as he lifted Zayne’s shoulders as gently as he could, “Let’s get him back to bed as quickly as we can.”

A soft rumbling overhead made them both freeze. Footsteps in the bedroom above. You were awake. 

“Dammit.” Sylus cursed.

“She can’t see him like this.” Rafayel hissed. “Carry him back, I’ll put her back to bed.”

Sylus’ eyes narrowed a bit but then he nodded, crouching down to unceremoniously toss Zayne’s limp body over his shoulder. Gentle and easy would have to wait. You couldn’t see them like this– too many questions. Not enough answers. 

Rafayel rushed back upstairs, making it to the hallway just as he saw your door begin to open. Scrounging his mind for a plan, he found himself freezing, words rushing in mind but none finding his lips. 

“Rafayel?” Your sleepy voice was slightly hoarse and you were even rubbing at your eye when you spied him. 

“Hey cutie…” Rafayel whispered, “I can’t sleep. You too?”

You were half-asleep. Eyes barely open and one of the straps from your sleep shirt had fallen down your shoulder. The curving line of your neck from your jaw down to your clavicle and over to your shoulder is a serpentine temptation. 

“I thought I heard something. Got worried.” You hummed, eyes practically drifting shut. “What’s wrong? Nightmare?”

Rafayel could eat you up. A sleepy little morsel he could swallow whole before you even had the awareness to know you were between his teeth. You were gluttonous supper before a starving supplicant, divine and not to be touched. 

And what a perfect, innocent opportunity you had presented to him. A test of his morals and willpower. Placing sugar candy upon your fingertips and expecting him to not lick it clean?

“Yeah, a nightmare.” Rafayel’s voice was rougher now, thicker with the rumble of a predator. “Can I lay with you for a while?”

Perfect, innocent sacrifice. Perfect devout follower. You rubbed at your face and looked at him with pity before nodding and turning to let him in. “For a little while.”

Rafayel slid past you and into your room, a wolf slipping through the cracks of the fence into the pasture. His little lamb climbed into her bed and nestled beneath the blankets unsuspecting and warm. 

With all the willpower he could muster, Rafayel did not pull back the blankets and invite himself inside. Your hazy mind would likely barely remember this interaction in the morning, and he wouldn’t take advantage…well, more than he already had. 

“What did you dream about?” You're asked, partially muffled by your pillow as Rafayel lay down next to you. 

Rafayel felt his heart pounding like the thunder of a war drum. Boom Boom Boom. It charged like a horse into battle, but his body remained still. Your eyes were closed and your form relaxed, sinking into the mattress and over abundance of plush cushion. 

He stopped himself from reaching out and touching you. Like a valuable work of art only to be admired and not sullied. Fingertips left marks, and he couldn’t…he wouldn’t. 

Not yet. 

Rafayel took a deep steadying breath. This was not how he thought this night would go, but what a fun turn of events. Zayne and his…affliction. You and your endless temptation. 

He considered your question for a moment, and answered even though he knew you were already asleep. “Drowning.”

<- Previous Next ->

[isaut]

𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒔𝒊𝒙𝒕𝒉 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓— f!reader x captain rex. 10k. ao3

you're travelling for work...previous. masterlist.

The loudness of the nightclub is not Rex’s ideal night off. Not when he could be enjoying peace and quiet, staring out into nothing. Or watching one of those nature documentaries on his data pad in bed. But someone has to be responsible, someone has to be ready when… In case anything bad happens. 

Here, everyone is illuminated in a green-purple glow. The drinks are fruity or flavorless with no inbetween. Most of the patrons are in skimpier black outfits, loose and flowing or tight and constricting. No in betweens. 

Rex watches from a table in the back of the club. His eyes are on the man that he's actually concerned about, Jesse, who is in the process of talking up a pretty Tholothian woman. There’s a distinct sway to his movements that doesn’t bode well for his morning. 

A flash of purple light illuminates the dancefloor and sparkles back to him. It catches Rex’s attention visually, and then his breath in his throat. 

It’s you. 

Your skin glistens and shines in the lights, and your silver chrome dress reflects even brighter. You’re dancing on your friend, with her hands on your waist as your wiggle and boogie to the music. The friend looks over towards him, then whispers something in your ear. You turn your head, following her gaze, and a wicked grin plasters itself on your face. 

More words are exchanged with your friend before you slip from her hands. Exiting the dance floor, you head directly in Rex’s direction. With each step, your hips slink and sway. Rex’s gaze is caught. As you near, a look of recognition passes along your features, and you hesitate before continuing your strides over. 

You come to the edge of the table, leaning over it on your forearms with your hands clasped. Your necklace dangles in the open space. Rex’s eyes look at it, he promises, and not your chest. 

Rex leans forwards and speaks first. “I see you got off Naboo.” 

You grin, “Yeah, I did. Was a big girl and got on a ship. Can call me an intergalactic girl now.” 

“Atta girl.” There’s a smile weaving its way across his lips. The drawl goes straight to your core. “What did you think?” 

“It is quiet. I don’t know how you do it.” 

“You get used to it.” 

Reaching over, you place your hand on Rex’s forearm. You lean in, lips right next to his ear. “Come smoke a cigarette with me.” 

Rex leaves his beer half drunk on the table. Your fingers lace with his, pulling him out of the nightclub. It’s cool out, much cooler than the club. You take a deep breath of the city air, but it doesn’t have the same kick that the air back home has. Reaching into your purse, you pull out a cigarette case and your lighter. 

“Had to buy the lighter here,” you comment, bringing the cigarette to your lips. “Pilot said I couldn’t have anything flammable on the ship. My hairspray was fine, though.” 

The tip of the cigarette glows orange as you take a deep breath of the smoke. It’s not much different from the air circulating between the city buildings. 

Rex chuckles. “The fuel and coolant is highly flammable.” 

You exhale away from Rex’s face. “Is it?” 

“And the oxygen circulators. But I fly with things far more flammable than a lighter.” 

“Yeah?” You inhale again. Exhale. “Don’t tell me about it.” 

“Wouldn’t want to scare a pretty pacifist like you off,” Rex comments, the words leaving his lips before he can stop them. For a brief moment, shame at the flirty words rises in him. But then, he sees the little flush on your cheeks, one that isn’t painted on. 

“No? Why’s that?” You press. 

Rex exhales as you inhale. “Don’t know–” 

“Ugh, [First], you can’t just run off like that!” You turn your head, lazily blinking at your friend who had followed you out. Jolie’s hands are on her hips, a displeased look on her face. “One second I saw you, the next you were gone!” 

“Sorry,” you say, but you don’t sound too sorry. “I’m fine.” You take another lazy inhale and speak through the exhale. Gesture with your cigarette wielding hand. “This is Rex, that guy I’ve been talking about.” 

Rex is more focused on the fact that you’ve been talking about him. Your friend’s eyes rake over Rex, taking him in. Her features soften. Her tone is light and airy, a bit flirty. He has something she wants. “Hey—”

“I’m going to leave after I finish smoking,” you continue, pushing right past the request on Jolie’s tongue. “Rex and I are going to go have a drink at the hotel bar.” 

Rex did not agree to any other plans. He would, though. For you. 

“This is a girls night out!” Jolie protests. “You’re supposed to spend time with us! I have your favorite song on as a request.” 

Jolie’s been trying to get the attention of a clone with a geometric tattoo all night. She certainly hasn’t been paying attention to you. 

“Oh.” This seems to sway you. Then, you wonder when she had time to do that. If the DJ even took requests. You turn to Rex, “Will you come dancing with me?” 

Oh. Last time, Rex was convinced because his brothers had all left. There were no prying eyes. But now? His mind is flooded with potential ribbing. 

“Wait a second,” Jolie says, interrupting whatever response was about to leave Rex’s lips. “Any chance you have another blond friend of yours you can introduce me to?” 

“Uh…” There’s Bowzer, in the 198th. But the 198th is stationed on Kamino. “No…” 

Jolie sighs. Flips her hair over her shoulder. “Did you come with anyone?” 

“Uh, yeah. I did.” 

Her eyes light back up. “Can you introduce me?” 

Rex blinks. “Uh, I mean, if I—”

“Jolie,” you cut in with a sigh, crossing your arms. 

“What?” She asks. 

“Rex and I are going to dance for a little longer, per your request,” you say, a little harsher than you mean to. “I’m sure you can meet someone on your own.” 

Then he remembers how you were dancing on your friend. Like water. He wonders if you’ll cascade over him as well. 

“I’m no dancer,” Rex says. 

“Don’t lie to me,” you take another, final drag of your cigarette and then squash it under the toe of your shoe. You pull a mint out of your purse, and hold the tin out to your friend. She takes one. The tin is passed to Rex. He glances at it, then at you. 

Raising your eyebrow, you pull a mint from the tin and click it shut. You hold it up to Rex’s lips, and without thinking he parts them. The mint is popped in, and the tin is slipped back into your purse. 

“Alright,” you decide, addressing your friend. “You have me until after my song. Then I have a drink to get.” 

Your friend rolls her eyes. 

There’s a brief moment on the dancefloor where Rex thinks he might be in over his head. There are people all around him, constricting him in. But his hands are on your waist, over the water of your short dress, and his thigh is between your legs. 

It’s closer than he was dancing with you before, there’s less of a formula. The movements are heady— your hips roll in time with the music, playful in each sway. 

Your lips are parted, there’s perspiration along your hairline. Your eyes are lidded, tonight they’re dusted in glitter that looks like stardust in the same silver of your dress. 

Reaching up, you wrap your hand around the back of Rex’s neck. 

“Would you kiss me right now?” You ask into his ear. You’ve missed kissing him, missed the comfort. The flutter. 

Rex wants to glance around, wants to see who’s watching him. But he doesn’t want to draw his attention away from you. There’s a shimmer around your eyes, a smokiness there too, that demands his attention. “Why don’t we get out of here?”

You flash him a grin. Turning your head, you glance over at your friend, who’s busy talking to a twi’lek you don’t know. They’re getting awfully handsy… 

Reaching over, you take hold of your friend’s bicep, drawing her attention to you. “I’ll see you later!” You call over the music. Turning back to Rex, you lean up to talk directly into his ear. “Do you need to tell anyone you’re leaving?” 

Rex scans the dance floor. Jesse is nearby, chatting up the same woman from before, leaning into her space. Does he even need to say anything?

“Just give me a sec,” Rex says, patting your hip as he makes his way over. He claps Jesse on the shoulder, getting the man’s attention. “I’m leaving.” 

Jesse’s brows furrow. “We just got here.” We in question did not just get here. “Hey, Naomi here has a friend—” 

Rex cuts him off. “It’s fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Jesse opens his mouth to say something, but Rex is already turning around. 

While Rex talks to his friend, you take a few moments to make sure that your other friends are still at the club. Jolie can pass the message on—

Rex’s hand finds your lower back and gently ushers you out of the noisy, packed venue onto the noisy, packed streets. The warmth from the club dissipates from the stickiness of sweat to the static humidity of an electric city. Rex walks towards the curb, which drops suddenly into the depths, and holds out his hand for a taxi. You stay as far from the curb as possible, but your fingers stay loosely intertwined, fingertips brushing against each other. 

As a speeder arrives, Rex steps back in line with you. The machine settles into the designated spot on the platform, overlapping so there is no daring jump into the seat. Gently, he tugs a bit on your hand to urge you closer to him and the speeder. You take a big, deep breath, one that fills all the way to your shoulders. 

“I’ll help you,” Rex assures you, voice gentle against the rush of the city. It’s so busy here, so, so busy. But Rex’s hand is warm, and solid, and calloused. 

You step into the speeder, Rex’s hand never leaving yours. He settles into the seat beside you, a warm feeling expanding in his chest. Your hand grips onto his thigh, your legs crossed and foot bouncing up and down. 

“Where are we headed?” The taxi driver asks. 

Clearing your throat, you tell the name of your hotel and he takes off. 

You don’t like technology, that’s one of the first things you ever told Rex. It’s a lack of trust in the metal and the brainpower behind it all, some part of it harkening to some primordial part of your psyche. But Rex is solid, unlike the wind whipping at you as you’re propelled through the busy lanes. 

And there’s something in Rex’s primordial psyche, one that whispers in the back of his mind as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. As he presses a kiss to your head. As his other hand comes to rest atop yours, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. As your head rests on his collarbone. 

The speeder comes to a stop at the platform in front of the hotel. You raise your head, and Rex’s hand rubs align your thigh, squeezing once right above your knee, firm and reassuring. Rex climbs out first, then turns to immediately offer you a hand. You poke around in your purse for some credits, but are cut off by the driver. 

“Don’t worry about it,” the driver says with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“Oh. Thank you,” you say, hand in Rex’s. 

“Don’t thank me,” the driver says. Mutters it, more like. He mutters something under his breath, too, but you don’t quite hear it. Instead, you’re too busy focusing on the solid ground underneath you– 

Rex’s arm slides around your waist, drawing your attention up towards him. In the neon hues of the night he looks not of this world, but befitted nonetheless. You want him.

“Not a fan?” Rex asks, though he already knows the answer before the words even leave his lips. 

“Not a fan,” you agree, starting to head towards the hotel. “I can only think about what happens if we… fall. It must be so far down.” 

“But here we are on solid ground,” Rex says. He reaches around you to pull open the heavy, glass door to the building. 

The hotel you’re staying at is a grand one, scaling up into the sky for many floors. The walls are that shimmering bronze that coats the city, windows glistening more and more the closer they get to the top. 

The hotel bar is dimly lit, leaving you and your companion in the haze of a quiet lamp between and above you. The corner is secluded, tucked away far from any wandering eyes. Sparkling mineral water sits in a carafe between the two of you. You ask for grapefruit, and it’s brought out for you to squeeze into the glasses. 

As you bring a glass to your lips, your hand slides across the table and rests on Rex’s forearm. Your calves touch under the table. Rex leans into you. 

“It’s funny how we keep running into each other,” you note. “Unless you’re following me.” 

“This time you’re on my planet,” Rex points out. 

“I thought you were from Kamino?” 

“I am. But this is where I am for down time normally. Well, not at that club. Normally I go to this other bar, but one of my brothers, he was insistent on going out like that.” Rex takes a sip of his drink to hide his embarrassment from the ramble. 

“What bar do you normally go to?” You ask. “We’re here for a few more days, maybe we’ll check it out. Run into you again.” 

Rex hesitates. “You wouldn’t like it.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

Maybe it’s more that Rex wouldn’t like you going there. First and foremost, there’s the fact that everyone there has his same face. You haven’t brought up anything about his doppelgänger body, and he’s not sure he wants you putting two and two together. The biological fact swirls around in his stomach, licking up the sides of his ribs and festering in his lungs. It’s who he is, and something about you makes him want to squash it down all the way. 

Maybe you think he’s one of those Admirals— One of the ones who run the fleets, who have mothers who breastfed them and fathers who played catch with them. Who, when they have time off, go home to their aging parents, who care for them as their memories pass. 

Rex clears his throat. “It’s pretty gross in there. It’s a soldier bar,” it’s a clone bar, “So they don’t have the best drinks or the best music.” 

“You’re telling me there’s no dancing?” 

The only dancing is the two-step that leads to hookups. It’s not a place that he imagines you enjoying. Even if that’s all he is to you. A hook up you can’t shake. 

“Not the kind I think you’re interested in.” 

You pout. “So what do you think we should do tomorrow?” 

“There’s lots to do here. What have you done so far?” 

“We came in this morning, so we’ve just been to the hotel and then to the club.” 

“You gonna go to the art museums?” 

Touched by the fact he remembered you do enjoy art, you smile. “We’re going to one a day. And we’re going to the museum of space travel.”

“Oh?” 

“My friend, the one you met, is obsessed with space travel. She can’t get enough of it. The entire time we were on the ship she was staring out the window.” 

“And you weren’t?” 

A pretty flush decorates your face. “No… I was getting sick in the bathroom.” Embarrassment seeps through your pores. What a silly thing to say, what a light to shine yourself in—

“I made myself sick the first time I ever flew a fighter.”

“Really?” 

Rex nods. “Yeah, I messed up the angles and was stuck doing loops for a good minute straight. Was not fun.” 

You take a sip of your drink. 

“I still don’t fly if I can help it. At least in the smaller planes,” Rex continues. 

“Have you been to the space museum?” 

“Nah.” 

“You should come with us.” 

Rex pauses. He blinks once. “I can’t, I’ve got to work tomorrow.” 

You sigh. Of course he does.

“You’re coming up to my room with me, right?” It’s basically tradition now. 

“If you’ll have me,” Rex replies. 

Nodding, you down the rest of your drink and stand up. Rex’s head tilts up to follow your movements, a bit bewildered. 

“Come on, handsome, let’s get out of here. I have my own room.” 

Rex scrambles to his feet. 

With your back against the elevator, you watch as Rex’s fingers hover over the numbers. He glances over his shoulder, waiting for you. 

“Top floor,” you reply. 

Rex’s eyebrows raise, and he presses the button. 

“I’m not just here for play,” you sigh. “The Senator of Naboo has asked me here.” 

Rex turns his whole body to you. “The Senator?” 

You shrug, running your hand over your dress, suddenly very aware of how short it was. Through your pantyhose, you can see the scar above your knee from when you were a little girl. “She wants me on an advisory council… Just for a few days. I tried to reject her, but she said she specifically needed me.” You laugh lightly to yourself. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” 

“I don’t mind,” he says. “Must be a pretty big deal if you’ve been summoned to Coruscant.” 

“I’m hoping it’s not. The Senate…” you trail off. You remember Rex is a soldier. He must have some faith in the Republic, in the Senate’s decisions. “Nevermind.”

“You can tell me,” Rex says softly. 

“I don’t think we’d see eye to eye on it.” You pause. Rex doesn’t fill it. “I just like talking about art. I don’t think I’m important enough to be summoned by the senator.” 

Rex doesn’t exactly understand curating art. Doesn’t get the science behind it and the hours of thought. Nonetheless, “Senator Amidala always has a reason.” 

“Do you know her?” 

“No,” Rex says quickly. “Not really.” 

Mentally, however, Rex beats himself over the head with a stick. Mygeeto. The painting. The hologram. The fact that his mission tomorrow is to accompany Senator Amidala as extra protection. Zaakul plays in his head: Oh, what’s the worst that could happen? The worst that could happen is happening tomorrow. 

The doors slide open. Lingering a moment, you look Rex up and down with skepticism in your eyes. Only after he fidgets once do you step out, fingers dancing through your purse for the hotel key. 

“Well, I don’t want to talk about work anymore. It stresses me out.” The door clicks open and you push inside. “Do you want to continue our small talk?” 

“I like talking to you,” Rex says. He also likes kissing you. He wins either way. 

With a smile, you let Rex close the door behind him. Intentionally, you brush up against him to close the manual lock, keeping the door shut behind a titanium latch. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest. Your arms wrap around his neck, smile not leaving. 

“Let me give you the tour,” you say with a smile, pulling back just slightly. You don’t catch the way that Rex’s eyes bounce down to your lips, since your eyes bounce the same way at the same time. 

“I’d love a tour,” Rex says, breath ghosting over your lips. 

“Would you?” 

“More than anything.” 

You don’t know why you’re hesitant. Maybe it’s because your heart growls with hunger. Any hesitancy that Rex feels melts the second his lips touch yours, melding together in the darkness of the foyer. 

Most of your… conquests is the word you’ve used in the past but doesn’t feel right in this moment. Lovers feels too personal for the past you share. Either way, instead of being pressed against one of the walls, you’re pulled closer. Wide hands slide to your lower back. 

When you pull away, you’re smiling. Giggling, even. Giddy. One of your hands rests on his shoulder, the other cupping the back of his neck, thumb on his cheek. Gently, you rub over his stubble, then lean up to press another kiss to his lips. 

“Okay, tour,” you say, hand sliding down his arm to hold his hand. He squeezes your hand, tempted to pull you close again and kiss you once more. 

It’s obvious, that desire. The two of you stand in that foyer for a beat too long, before you’re looking away and down into the room. Rex’s eyes don’t leave your face, watching as your lashes dust over your cheeks. A strand of hair has slipped to rest against your cheek, and you bring your free hand up to tuck it away. 

There’s a bathroom to the left, and a kitchenette to the right, with a bed and living area separated by a fireplace. Large, glass windows are tinted with technology, that new type that allows for the patron to select what kind of exterior they want to see– the oceans of Naboo, the mountains of Alderaan, the deserts of Ryloth. Of course, there is always the transparent option, but that’s not really anything most visitors want to see. 

“Do you want something to drink?” You ask, leading Rex further in. Your heels click against the floors, and Rex’s eyes linger down your figure. 

“I’m alright,” Rex says. 

You place your purse on the kitchenette counter, picking up the little note that rests on the counter. Droids had been sent in to tidy the area up in your absence, and restocked the mini fridge from your pre-party. 

“Alright.” You rest against the counter, letting your eyes trail over Rex. Every time you’ve seen him he’s been in these black garments. You tilt your head a bit, taking him in. 

Rex points at the windows, “Have you played around with those yet?” 

You look over your shoulder, then shake your head. “What do you mean?” 

Spurred by the chance to show you something, instead of the other way around, Rex heads towards the living area and examines the remotes on the coffee table. As he looks, you come over to his side and look along with him. He picks one up, then points it at the windows. Immediately, they change, showing a snowy mountain range. 

“Oh!” 

Rex turns to look at you, watching as you take a seat on the couch and one of your hands travels down to the zipper of your boots. Your eyes stay trained on the window. 

“How did you know about it?” You ask, looking up at him. 

“They’ve got these in the rec rooms on the ship,” Rex says. He sets the remote next to you, dropping down to a knee beside you. His fingers replace yours on the sturdy zipper of your boots. “Recognized the tint on ‘em.” 

Sitting back on the couch, you stretch your arm out along the back of the piece of furniture. Rex helps you out of your shoes before taking a seat next to you on the couch. He leans over to take his own shoes off, while you pick up the remote and change the setting on the windows. A desert appears on the screen. 

“This is peaceful,” you comment. It is, more so than the hustle and bustle of the unending Coruscant streets. 

“There should be sound to go with it,” Rex says. 

Looking down at the remote, you press a few buttons until a humming ambiance fills the room. You switch the scene again, until the windows are washed in the underwater scape of Mon Calamari. Propping yourself up, you rest your cheek against your hand, watching the water. 

You’re pulled away from the scene by Rex’s hand sliding over your thigh. Humming, you look over towards Rex. The man is leaning back into your space, warm and gentle. 

“This is going to put me to sleep, handsome,” you admit. 

“Is it?” Rex’s hand rests on your hip. 

You hum your confirmation. 

“We can turn it off,” Rex says softly. 

You continue to hum. “Maybe I’ll stay awake longer if I get a little kiss.” 

“A little kiss?” 

“A little kiss.” 

Who is he to deny a request like that? Rex leans in, lips sliding against yours. His thumb slides over your hip, slow and comforting. Shifting on the couch, you open your legs so Rex has a place to slot himself between. And slot himself between your legs he does. His body presses against you, sturdy and warm. 

You fall pliant under him, hands sliding down his arms, over the taunt muscles there that support him. The material of his blacks is smooth, almost too smooth and artificial under your touch. Hungry for the feeling of his skin, your fingers dip under the sleeve hems, pushing up the fabric. 

Rex chuckles against your lips, pulling away. You chase after him, then stop once you realize he’s sitting all the way up. Embarrassment coats your throat, and you clear it as you sit up as well. 

“Just gonna pull my shirt off,” Rex says, clasping the material and pulling it over his head. 

A smile pulls at your face, almost wolfish. 

“You should take a shower with me first,” you say, rising to sit on your knees. 

“A shower?” 

You nod, watching as Rex leaves his shirt beside him on the couch. 

“I bet the shower here is real nice,” Rex says. 

“It is,” you say. “There’s a really nice bath too.” 

Rex raises his eyebrows. You raise yours back. 

“Come and shower with me, handsome,” you say, rising to your feet. 

Rex follows you dutifully into the bathroom. It’s nice. Large and marble. Echoing. Standing in front of the mirror and sink, you root around in your toiletries for makeup remover. Once it's found, you clip your hair back to keep it out of your face. 

“It’s going to take me a second,” you say, glancing over at Rex. “If you turn the shower on, I should be ready by the time it’s warm.” 

“There’s no rush,” Rex says, though he supposes there is. There’s just tonight– even if he has all of it. “You want to hear about this book I’m reading right now?” 

“Sure,” you reply, closing your eyes to wipe the balm over it. 

“It’s going real slow, been busy. But it’s about the rise and fall of this old civilization that used to be on Coruscant. Thousands of years ago…” 

You listen as Rex talks about the old clans that bonded together to form the city planet. About the fights for power and the betrayals that took place as the planet began to solidify under a single oligarchy. Makeup slides off your face, washed away, and bobby pins leave your hair, amassing in a small pile on the counter. 

Scratching your nails through your hair, you head over to the shower and turn it on. Rex is still talking. It’s a calm, steady story. He speeds up during certain parts, animated, and doesn’t gloss over any details he’s read. 

The water is warm. It comes from both the top of the shower and the side. 

You cross over to Rex, who is still speaking, and turn your back, moving your hair out of the way. His words stumble. 

“Help me with the zipper,” you hum. 

Rex’s hands smooth down your waist before, as if reminding himself you’re real. His fingers are large around the sturdy zipper. 

Without thinking, he dips down to press a kiss to your shoulder, unzipping the garment. Your breath hitches at the gentle action. 

Your dress falls into a puddle on the floor, still sparkling in the light of the bathroom. Rex’s thumbs slide down your back, hands spread as they follow the dip in your spine to the two dots. Your breathing hitches again. 

Turning, you stay close to Rex. His hands hold you, splayed wide. Yours wrap around his neck. 

“It’s kind of funny,” you say, breath mingling with his. “How many times we’ve run into each other.” 

You’ve run into each other more times than you know. “I don’t know if I’d call it funny.” 

You hum. “What would you call it then?” 

Fate? Rex shrugs. “I don’t know.” The Force?

Your hand smooths over his chest, then both run down the planes to the hem of his pants. 

Gently, your fingers dip below the waistband, feeling the soft skin there. 

Rex’s lips move before he can stop them. “I think we’ve met more than you remember.” 

You pause, fingers in his waistband still. 

“What do you mean?” 

Rex’s throat bobs as he swallows. “We’ve interacted when I was on duty. A few times.” 

You blink at him. “What?” 

Rex’s eyes dip from yours to your lips for a brief moment. “I turned you back at the shore.” 

You gasp lightly as the memory resurfaces. The hard day at work, the sunset on the shore that you were so close yet so far from. The trooper with the blue, with the tally marks. Then, you’re horribly reminded of your own little tantrum, the tears in your eyes, the way you’d shrugged him off. Bashfully, you shy your gaze away. “You should have told me it was you. I would have been much more agreeable.” 

“I don’t want you to know,” Rex murmurs. 

“Know what?” Your eyes slip back to his. 

Rex pauses. He doesn’t know why he pauses. It’s never bothered him before. “That I’m a clone.” 

You laugh despite yourself. Rex’s ears tinge red at the tips. 

“Baby, I’ve known,” you say, unable to help yourself with the pet name. “I don’t care.” 

Rex doesn’t seem convinced. Your hands leave his shoulders to cup his face. “You’re ridiculous. Take off your pants and kiss me and then we can shower.” 

Rex kisses you first. It’s breathless, filled with relief. You’re pushed back against the counter, cool against your back. 

“So what are you doing so often on Naboo?” You ask, fingers slipping under the band of his pants. “It’s a peaceful planet.” 

“Uh,” Rex’s brain works hard to keep up with the lie. Your fingers tug slightly and brush against his pelvis. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“I won’t,” you assure him.

You push his pants down further, so you can see more of his pelvis. Rex goes to help you, removing his pants fully. He’s already half hard. With a small smile pulling across your face, you slide your palm down, over his happy trail, and wrap your hand around him. 

He twitches. 

You glance up at him. There’s a bashful look in his eyes. Slowly, fingertips grazing, you release him. 

Sliding your fingers under your bra straps, you make it so they pull your breasts up before dropping back to a neutral position. Rex’s eyes follow the entire time. 

You unclasp your bra. It slides off, dangling on a finger. You keep your gaze on Rex’s eyes, but his amber gaze is no longer on your face. 

Nosing your way towards him, you press a kiss to his lips. Rex’s hands come to cup the back of your head, pressing under your hair. Steam curls in the air, from over the top of the shower. 

With your matching panties in a pool on the bathroom tile, you lead Rex into the shower. 

Picking up your soap, you look over at Rex. “I actually need to shower and so do you. Not that I think you’re dirty, but because the club was dirty. And the air. It’s so dirty here.” 

While Rex agrees, it’s been trained out of him to care about dirt. Showers are a blessing he gets when he’s able, but when he’s in the field they aren’t in rotation. You produce a bottle of soap, pink, with little beads in it, and squirt a dollop onto a wet washcloth. The substance lathers all over your skin, producing a white foam. 

Rex can’t stop watching the way the water trickles down on you. Over the divots and rivets of your flesh. Cutting through the foam. 

You glance over at him. At his heavy gaze. 

“You want to help, sweet boy?” You coo. 

Rex swallows. You watch as his Adam’s apple bobs. Stepping towards him, you wrap your arms around his neck, suds slipping onto his body, and place a kiss to the protruding cartilage. 

You lean back. The spray of the shower still falls on you. 

“I like watching,” Rex murmurs. 

“You don’t want to be hands on?” 

Rex glances away from you, for just a brief moment. He does. 

“It’s okay, you watch.” Raising a hand, you give his chest a little pat. His hand comes up, quick, to intercept, wrapping around your wrist and pulling you close. 

“I’ll help,” Rex assures you, other hand drifting down to take the washcloth out of your hands. Your fingers brush against each other, soap transferring from wet to wet. 

Dutifully, he lightly scrubs at your skin. 

With the steam rising, Rex finishes his work. Soapy from your head to your toes, you place a hand at the nape of Rex’s neck, pulling him until your breaths intermingle, until lips are pressed together. 

Patting his chest, you stand back out of the spray and continue to clean yourself off. Glitter is primarily what comes off of you, the haze having been applied before you left. 

“Come here,” you urge, once you’re cleaned and smelling of roses and sea salt. 

Dutifully, Rex steps under the spray. You give yourself time, running your hands over his chest, down his stomach, over his back. The muscles twitch generously and sensuously under your touch. There’s firmness under every touch, and you find yourself pressing into it. 

Rex’s shoulders sag slightly. He lets out a little sigh. 

You pause. “Does that feel good?” 

“Yeah, it does.” 

“Your muscles are really tight,” you say, and move to press a kiss to his shoulder, but stop yourself. You slowly remove your hands from his shoulders. 

Just a hookup. 

Though, as you remove your hands from his shoulders, Rex turns to look at you. His eyes linger on your own, then flutter down to your lips, then down the length of your body, before back up to his own eyes. 

With a little smile that flits along your face, you run your hands back over the tight muscles, hand going over his bicep to shoulder and the other along his lower back. 

“Those healing things you were telling me about must not do much for your muscles,” you note, continuing the light pressure to try and relieve some of the pent up dress there. 

“The–” Rex’s words are cut off by a little sigh. Your touches hurt, just slightly, but feel relieving over all. “The bacta tanks?” 

You hum. “Yeah, those things.” 

“Nah, they don’t… They don’t really do much more than just… heal.” 

“No massages?” 

“Nah.” 

“And here I am getting pissy when I go a month without going to the spa,” you lightly joke. Rex’s muscles are loosening under your touch– you’re nothing like your own massage therapist, but you’ve been on her table long enough to know the gist. “They ought to take better care of you.” 

Rex runs a hand over his face, pulling away the water that rests there. Though, some remains collect on his eyelashes that he blinks away. “Probably. I don’t like to think about it.” 

You give a little hum of acknowledgement, then place that kiss you’ve been thinking about to his shoulder. Wrapping your arms around his chest, you let your wet body press against his, the feeling of his back against your breasts comforting in that warm, solid way. Rex leans back against you, before maneuvering to instead face you. His hands slide over your hips, pads gripping into the soft skin. 

His lips slide against yours, wanting and wet. The shower pelts rhythmically on the ground around you, hitting his back in a warm spray that leaves splotches of red against his skin. 

The two of you finish with little fanfare– Rex’s hands stay stuck on your body, as if they could help remove the suds you apply alongside the water. You watch, with great interest, as Rex cleans himself off so diligently and efficiently, leaving no time to simply bask. 

He shuts the water off and runs a hand over his head, knocking out the residual water there. A giddy feeling starts to rise up in your stomach, one of anticipation and warmth. Part of you– a large part of you– doesn’t want to wait, and instead wants to flip the shower back on and lower to your knees, or turn on that massive bathtub and sink right onto Rex as the warm water fills up around the both of you. 

You pat yourself dry and examine the hotel lotion before using it on yourself, feeling Rex’s eyes upon you the entire time. 

Turning, you lean up against the counter, offering the lotion to Rex. “Here, you do it for me.” 

Rex’s hands are gentle over your body, with a care he doesn’t even use on himself. His hand follows the washcloth as it roams your body with purpose. There’s a want he taps into, one that normally goes unspoken for, as he pays attention to your body. 

If only he could stay. Rex pulls you close with a firm hand on your lower back, cock stirring against your thigh. One of your hands drags down his chest, nails bumping over a nipple, nails dusting over his abdomen. 

His hand holds fast around your wrist before you can touch him. He pulls away, sheepish on his cheeks. 

“I’ll come too fast,” he admits. 

“Oh,” you breathe, just barely. The note finds herself nearly lost in the steam. “Is that a bad thing?”

Rex swallows. A handjob in the shower feels too much like the strict, dry nature of the ship he’s oathsworn to. 

“I want it to be…” Gods, vocalizing for himself causes something akin to shame to burn throughout his body. 

You hum an encouraging note, thumb swiping along the side of his neck, along the tendon there. “Want it to be what?” 

“Special,” Rex admits. 

A wide grin breaks out across your face. That’s right, your poor, sweet soldier who doesn’t get to indulge in any vestal, any himrosian activities you take for granted. How lucky are you that some must-be-purposeful version of coincidence has brought the two of you together. 

Freshly lotioned, you lean back on the bed. Examine your nails. No harm has come to them. You shift around on the duvet. Should you undo it? Leave the bed made? Was the duvet even clean? 

You run your hand over the white fabric. 

There’s a dip in the duvet. You turn your gaze towards Rex, who continues his pathway to rest above you. Spreading your legs, you give Rex a place to kneel between them, his hands resting on your thighs. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hi,” you reply. 

“You’re really pretty,” Rex says. “I don’t think I’ve said it enough.” 

You feel your face warm, then your neck, down to your chest. “You’re flattering me.” 

“I’m being serious,” Rex says. 

You want to quip back about how he’s only saying that because he doesn’t see women very often. The mean part of your brain throws out that he really only sees himself everyday. 

But he looks reverent. 

Rex’s hands smooth up your body to rest on your hips. His thumbs smooth over the skin by your belly button. He looks up at you. 

“What is it?” You ask quietly. There always seems to be something, with Rex. Some underlying hesitation. Something you can’t quite place. 

“I was just thinking…” Rex trails off. “I was just thinking about how many times we’ve seen each other. I just can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t… I don’t get it.” 

“I think you should thank the universe for giving us this chance,” you hum. You want to be crass. It’s a good fuck. It’s one of the best you’ve had. You won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. 

This feels like more than just a good fuck. 

“Yeah, I probably should, shouldn’t I?” 

You nod. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. 

You want to kiss him some more. You want to kiss him until you can’t think of anything else. There’s a churning, burning feeling deep within you. Carefully, you continue pulling him closer, until he has nowhere to go but to lean over you, hands by your shoulders. 

Raising your hand, you gently cup his cheek, thumb rubbing against the skin there. A little stubble slides under your digit, and your lashes flutter from his lips to his eyes. The amber catches the lamplight, and  your desire to kiss him trickles away as you dip into his irises.

Slowly, he closes the distance between the two of you. You feel as the muscles of his shoulder tense and ripple as he lowers the few centimeters to gently nudge his nose against yours, giving you enough warning to close your eyes and slip your lips against his. 

His cock rests, burning hot, against your mound. 

Both of your breaths hitch in your mouth. One of Rex’s hands braces himself by your head, and his hips twitch, shifting forward just enough that his balls press against your core. Warm against warm. 

“Let me see if I brought condoms,” you say, pushing your hand against Rex’s broad chest. Rex settles back, letting you slide out from under him. 

Crossing the room to where your suitcase is, you dig through your luggage. Most of your clothes have been hung up already, the ornate finery Naboo women are expected to wear for formal business occasions. 

You’re coming up blank. You head towards the bathroom to check your toiletries bag, and come up blank again. The last place to look is your purse, which holds nothing in it but your ID, your lip combo, and a rollerball of perfume. Closing it and setting it on the desk, you speak as you turn back around. 

“How good is your pull out?” 

“My what?” Rex’s brows furrow in confusion. He’s settled back against the pillows, legs strewn out in front of him. Cock half hard. 

“You just have to pull out before you come.” 

“I can do that,” Rex says. He can do as he’s told. As he’s requested. 

Nodding, you come back to the bed. You straddle yourself across Rex’s abs, hand gliding up his chest. 

“Good.”

Rex looks up at you, hopeful. Slowly, you lower yourself until your lips are brushing up against his. Lips seal together with a soft pass, with a relieved sigh. Rex’s hands slide up and down your back, eliciting a shiver to travel up your spine. 

Air escapes your lips into his mouth. 

“Sorry,” he whispers against you. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper back, unwilling to break the quiet. Then, your lips are back on his, tongue swiping against his, chest to chest. Gently, subtly, your hips roll against the flat of his stomach, the contraction of the movement providing friction to your wanting core. 

Continuing their path down your body, Rex’s hand shamelessly grabs at the thick of your ass, kneading the muscle and flesh there. His hand presses up, until it’s sitting splayed on the back of your hip, gently pressing you closer. 

As if you could get any closer. 

Your hips roll, slowly and purposefully. Wanting. Searching for a little more friction, like a seam of a pair of rough denim jeans, or a firm cock or—

Rex’s hand slides, wanting and curious, back over your ass to find your slit. Hot, wet, wanting. You sigh relief directly into his mouth. 

“I wanna eat you out,” Rex’s words are mumbled, lost on spit slicked lips. 

Smiling, you pull away just barely. “You wanna eat me out?” 

Rex nods. His eyes leave yours to glance down your body, ending where you’re pressed against him, burning hot. 

You rise up onto your knees, lifting your core from Rex. “Move down a little.” 

Rex slides down a little, until his head is on the mattress, until you sit back down on him, showing that he’s gone far enough. You straddle across his chest this time, back curved slightly. 

“C’mere,” Rex murmurs, shuffling his shoulders to give you space for your knees to go. 

Hand on the headboard and cunt right above his mouth, you slowly lower yourself down until you’re millimeters away. Rex’s inhale is audible. His hands hold your hips, gently tugging you to meet his wanting lips. 

Warm and wanting. 

Broad strokes with his tongue help him get acclimated. Help him situate to the warmth above him. His hands slide from your thighs to your lower back, giving you extra support to balance with. 

When Rex eats you out, he always starts with exploring, using his tongue to find every little spot, everything that he’s missed emotionally or missed physically. 

It’s not long until you start rolling your hips back against him, careful not to let yourself fully rest against him. Glancing down, you watch his closed eyes and relaxed brow, nose buried into you. A breathy little moan leaves your lips, raising in pitch when his tongue swipes through your folds, separating them to grant him access to your core. 

His tongue is warm, moving easily to lick up as much of your essence as he can. Once satisfied, he tilts his head slightly and begins moving his mouth as if making out with you. Open mouth, swiping tongue. Teasing at your hole. Swirling at your clit. Exploratory and sure. 

Ceasing the wide movements, Rex’s lips press a suckering kiss to your clit, eliciting a shuddering moan as your thighs twitch, full weight sinking onto him. 

The sudden pressure causes Rex to moan deeply into you, hands shifting to tighten around your hips and hold you there. 

A swear slips from your lips. You hold onto the headboard the best you can, but it’s nothing like your wooden one back home where you can easily wrap your hand around wood. Instead, you clutch at the plush canvas, falling forwards. 

You try your hardest to lift a little off Rex, to try and give him some breathing room, but it’s to no avail. His hands grip tight onto you, and a huff leaves his nose straight into your mound. 

He mumbles something, lost into soaking wet flesh. 

Part of you wants to inquire about this, but most of you, all of you is suddenly lost to the feeling of the top of Rex’s tongue circling your hole. 

And you lean into it. Sit back up straight and sink down on it with a slow, satisfied moan. Rex joins you, the vibrations sending sparks up your spine, straight from your core. 

One hand leaves the headboard, reaching behind you to rest on top of Rex’s hand. 

You’ve never been largely vocal. It’s a skill you’ve picked up over the years to get what you want, typically a fast pace. 

But here, right now, the feeling of Rex’s tongue pressing into you, swirling and curious, the moans come easily. Float out of you, as your hips rock back and forth for more and more. 

Casting a glance behind you, you’re met with Rex’s legs bet at the knees, feet planted firmly into the bed. And he’s erect, he’s erect, tip smearing all over his stomach. 

You turn back around, glancing down your front to meet Rex’s lidded gaze. He blinks at you, slow and content like a lion before shutting them fully once more. Then he’s sucking once more, lips around your clit and you’re both hands on the headboard doubled over. 

You haven’t come like this— hand and head on the headboard, core to mouth— since you were in college. 

“Don’t… stop,” you breathe out. That heat that’s building in your stomach shakes in your thighs, in your arms, in every part of your body held taunt. 

You don’t even realize you release until suddenly it’s all too much. Until suddenly you’re resting on your forearms, touching the wall to catch your breath. Rex’s lips have left your clit and are swiping along your folds, cleaning up the little mess you made. 

Rex rubs a hand over your thigh, and you slowly lift it to let him slide out from under you. He lays on his side, watching intently as you catch your breath. Slowly, you slide down the bed to face him. 

There’s a dopey, cocky smile on his face. You return it with a bashful one of your own, covering your eyes into the crook of your arm. 

“Stop that.” 

“You’re so beautiful,” Rex says, unable to keep himself from you. He moves towards you, hand sliding over your hip, lips pressing against yours. It catches you off guard, the sudden warmth, the sudden tang, the sudden love. 

—Love, as in the action of lips pressing against lips. Of kissing. Of kissing being a lover’s activity that is sometimes commodified by two people when making— when having sex. When taking a romp through the sheets. When—

Rex’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip and you open yourself up to him. Tangle your tongue with his, moan lowly into his mouth. He tastes like you, he tastes like him, you want nothing more than this feeling all the time. 

“You taste so good,” Rex breathes, earnest and millimeters away from your lips. 

Your eyes flit from his open, wet and kissed lips to his eyes, brown and endless. Helium burning and fusing. 

“I could make such a good life for you on Naboo,” is your response. 

Rex grins. His lips reconnect with yours, as if it masks the fact that it’ll never happen. To apologize for the state of the world, for the state of his being, for the adrenaline in his veins. 

Most men, when they’re kneeling between your thighs, loom. Tall and imposing, and normally it turns you on. Rex, however, never looms. He rolls over on you, lips against your skin. Your palms press down the expanse of his back, and he presses against your front at the pressure. 

He kisses down your front, laving over soft and stiff nipples. His fingers make their way down ahead of his lips, hands running over your thighs, pressing them further apart. He cups your cunt, middle fingers dragging between the slick folds. 

You sigh happily. Raise your arms above your head to pull yourself taunt. Rex sits back, hands dragging from your hips to the inside of your thighs. He exhales, eyes going soft. 

“C’mon,” you urge. 

“Give me a minute,” Rex murmurs, his hands following his gaze as he trails them up your stomach, then down to your knees. His lips then descend, over the smattering of moles on your tummy, on your thighs, over your hips. Each touch is reverent– it’s been weeks on weeks, bloodshed on bloodshed, since he last saw you. He presses his lips to the inside of your knee, taking a breath. 

Seafarers miss the Earth, desert-dwellers enjoy the oasis, soldiers though… find themselves enjoying, missing if they’re lucky, soft beds, soft skin, soft hearts. 

When he slips in, there’s no resistance. Your legs fall open further, letting gravity pull them into where Rex’s hands dent into your flesh. And the look on his face– shock, bliss, a short circuit. Everything is warm and wet and pulsing– is that him or is that you? 

Both. 

“Feels good,” you breathe. Sensitive. Twitching. Leaky. You don’t know if you can ever go back. 

Rex just nods. Hoists your hips, till you’re pressed flush against him. Your legs wind around his waist, squeezing him just slightly. Oh, if only you could take a picture of him right now. 

Leaning over you, Rex gently begins to move. Savoring every inch that pulls out, groaning with every push inwards. 

“Feel good?” You repeat, this time as a question. 

Rex nods, bottom lip bit. Bringing a hand up, you gently use your thumb to pry the chapped muscle from its confines. Balm spreads across his lips, from yours to his. His hips still as your tongue works into his mouth, and he delightfully groans into your mouth as your nails, long and fresh for your trip, scratch against the back of his head. 

“Just like that,” you breathe, pulling away. Saliva connects between the two of you. “But out loud. Turns me on when I can hear you.” 

Rex chuckles, breathless and a little embarrassed by the forwardness. 

But you’re so warm, so inviting, so comforting, that Rex can’t help but let those huffy moans out. They mix with yours, deep and high pitches combining in the air to a perfect tune. The air conditioner whirs to life, trying to keep the room at a comfortable temperature, but to no avail. Sheens of sweat have begun to cover both of your bodies from the constant rhythm the two of you form. 

Rex’s high reaches him before yours– everything feels so good but you can’t focus enough on your own pleasure. His fingers are sloppy against your clit, not quite what you need, his lips not firm enough against yours or your body. 

“Are you close?” Rex asks, brows furrowing slightly. 

Hesitating, your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. Before you can lie, Rex nods. “What do you need, sweetheart?” 

You bite your bottom lip. All of the movement has stilled. “I don’t think you’d be into it.” 

“Try me,” Rex says. 

You take a deep breath for confidence. “Wanna get fucked from behind.” 

Rex pauses. His lips fall open a bit, his eyes searching yours. 

“But this is fine too!” You say quickly. “I just– it feels good! I’m feeling good! I just–” 

Rex pulls out of you, nodding both to you and himself. This is the preferred method of his brothers, which he’s heard much about from caffeine and nutrition ingestion around campfires. 

“Yeah. I got you,” Rex says, leaning over and pressing an open mouthed kiss to your lips. His cock, wet from your essence, slides and smears across the velvet of your pussy. “I got you,” he repeats, lips millimeters away from you. 

He can feel as your eyelids flutter up to meet his gaze. Warm and nervous against brown and heated. He pulls back and you sit up a bit, leaning over to futz with the lights and both warm and dim them. Immediately, you’re both bathed in an orange huge, caressing over your tans and divots. 

To his credit, he gently rolls you over. Gently helps your hips up, slides a hand down the length of your spine. 

“So soft,” he says to himself, hands kneading the soft of your ass. 

“You can just put it in,” you say, resting your head on your hands. 

Rex hums. He lowers himself down, until he’s once more eye level with your pussy. Wet and warm, his tongue carves through both your pre. Immediately, you sink further, arching your back even more. He spends time there, lavishing your pussy to the point your heart skips a beat that he might pay attention to your other hole, but the moment never arises. 

You relax more when you feel the head of his cock nudging back into you. 

“Be loud,” Rex murmurs, hands on your hips. “Can’t see you from back here.” 

The angle is perfect. You stretch for a pillow, wrapping giddy arms around it as he picks up the pace again, back to that rhythm that’s a remix of your heartbeats. Here, he has better access to your clit, hand coming around your waist and rubbing purposeful circles around the swelling bud. You press further into the mattress, nipples dragging delightfully against the sheets with each thrust. The moans are punched out of you, each thrust in your throat. 

“Faster,” you say, though it’s mostly lost into the sheets. 

Rex gets it though. He’s heard muffled orders before. Bringing a foot up to steady himself, he quickens his pace– your eyes roll back. Bless the universe for sending you a man that understands the difference between harder and faster. 

A slew of swears leave your lips. Rex’s head tilts backwards, as if looking towards the heavens would stave off his own impending orgasam. Just until you’ve come. Just until. And he can tell you’re close. The pulsing. The squeezing. He can’t pull out too far or he’s scared you’ll push him completely out. 

With no warning but a deep, relieved moan, cream rings around his cock. The breaths are still punchy, unable to catch your breath. Rex takes, just a bit more than he should, before pulling out and fisting his cock. 

“On me, on me,” you say, truly breathless. 

Spend paints creamy streaks over your ass, trickling their way towards the dimples on your spine and your puckering hole. Rex takes three labored breaths to pull himself back to reality. He looks at his artwork, his cock stirs, and he reacts on instinct. 

His tongue swipes a broad stripe first over your pussy to eat up the creamy mess there. Dips between your folds, swirls in your hole. Just to make sure he gets as much as he can. 

Then he’s upwards. Licking his own cum from off your puckered hole, which twitches from the attention. You gasp, immediately sitting up on your forearms to look over your shoulder. He meets your eyes, tongue swiping further over your tailbone. 

You laugh, breathless and in disbelief.

“You’re dirtier than you look,” you comment. Licking your lips, you hum. “I like that.” 

“Yeah?” Rex asks. His swipes his thumb through more of his spend, and you dutifully open your mouth, extending your tongue slightly. Leaning forwards, Rex sets his thumb on your tongue, and you wrap your lips around it, giving it a swirl before slowly pulling off. 

“Alright, handsome. Go get a washcloth.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

You rest your head against your bicep, hips slowly lowering back down to the bed. Rex disappears into the bathroom, finding one of the neatly rolled up washcloths. It’s water-warm on your back. Humming, you let his hands work over you, cleaning you up enough for the night. 

“Will I see you again while I’m in Coruscant?” You ask, once you’re both under the sheets, lights turned out. There’s that hope in your voice, though it’s measured to try and distract yourself from the want. 

“Maybe,” Rex murmurs. “Don’t want to keep any promises I can’t keep.” 

Smiling in the dark, you reach a hand out to cup his face. Your thumb explores over his cheeks, careful as if he was marble. “You’re a good man, you know that?” 

An unusual lump forms in Rex’s throat. He closes his eyes to your touch. He’s not a good man by what he imagines your standards are: philanthropy, fatherhood, kindness to strays. 

“My fishmonger needs an apprentice,” you say quietly, filling Rex’s lack of acceptance. “He’s getting old, and his son’s left him for some girl he met on the holonet in Alderaan. Do you like fish?” 

Rex chuckles, though it’s a weird one. That lump still hasn’t left. “I’ve only ever had it dried. Or in cans.” 

“Tinned fish is all the rage. Sounds much classier when you say tinned instead of canned,” you say, smile on your face. 

“I’m sure yours is much nicer than mine.” 

“I could share.” Anything and everything. 

Your hand slips from his face, over his jaw until it lays in the space between the both of your bodies. His hand slides up, taking yours in his. With the leverage, you roll over and bring his hand with you, so you’re all wrapped up in his embrace and the heavy, cool duvet. 

There’s a lot Rex wants to say here, but it’s all trapped under that lump. He can speak, yes, but he can’t describe what he’s thinking. These thoughts are out of his lexicon, not of carnage and carrion. He’s never typed these feelings into a datapad. Though they stoke at something within him, something that feels distinctly him and of someone else at the same time. Some previous iteration. 

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” Rex says. 

You simply hum your response. 

[aringofsalt]

diy ao3 wrapped: how to get your data!

so i figured out how to do this last year, and spotify wrapped season got me thinking about it again. a couple people in discord asked how to do it so i figured i'd write up a little guide! i'm not quite done with mine for this year yet because i wanted to do some graphics, but this is the post i made last year, for reference!

this got long! i tried to go into as much detail as possible to make it as easy as possible, but i am a web developer, so if there's anything i didn't explain enough (or if you have any other questions) don't hesitate to send me an ask!!

references

i used two reddit posts as references for this:

basic instructions (explains the browser extension; code gets title, word count, and author)

expanded instructions (code gets title, word count, and author, as well as category, date posted, last visited, warnings, rating, fandom, relationship, summary, and completion status, and includes instructions for how to include tags and switch fandoms/relationships to multiple—i will include notes on that later)

both use the extension webscraper.io which is available for both firefox and chrome (and maybe others, but i only use firefox/chrome personally so i didn't check any others, sorry. firefox is better anyway)

scraping your basic/expanded data

first, install the webscraper plugin/extension.

once it's installed, press ctrl+shift+i on pc or cmd+option+i on mac to open your browser's dev tools and navigate to the Web Scraper tab

from there, click "Create New Site Map" > "Import Sitemap"

it will open a screen with a field to input json code and a field for name—you don't need to manually input the name, it will fill in automatically based on the json you paste in. if you want to change it after, changing one will change the other.

i've put the codes i used on pastebin here: basic // expanded

once you've pasted in your code, you will want to update the USERNAME (highlighted in yellow) to your ao3 username, and the LASTPAGE (highlighted in pink) to the last page you want to scrape. to find this, go to your history page on ao3, and click back until you find your first fic of 2024! make sure you go by the "last visited" date instead of the post date.

if you do want to change the id, you can update the value (highlighted in blue) and it will automatically update the sitemap name field, or vice versa. everything else can be left as is.

once you're done, click import, and it'll show you the sitemap. on the top bar, click the middle tab, "Sitemap [id of sitemap]" and choose Scrape. you'll see a couple of options—the defaults worked fine for me, but you can mess with them if you need to. as far as i understand it, it just sets how much time it takes to scrape each page so ao3 doesn't think it's getting attacked by a bot. now click "start scraping"!

once you've done that, it will pop up with a new window which will load your history. let it do its thing. it will start on the last page and work its way back to the first, so depending on how many pages you have, it could take a while. i have 134 pages and it took about 10-12 minutes to get through them all.

once the scrape is done, the new window will close and you should be back at your dev tools window. you can click on the "Sitemap [id of sitemap]" tab again and choose Export data.

i downloaded the data as .xlsx and uploaded to my google drive. and now you can close your dev tools window!

from here on out my instructions are for google sheets; i'm sure most of the queries and calculations will be similar in other programs, but i don't really know excel or numbers, sorry!

setting up your spreadsheet

once it's opened, the first thing i do is sort the "viewed" column A -> Z and get rid of the rows for any deleted works. they don't have any data so no need to keep them. next, i select the columns for "web-scraper-order" and "web-scraper-start-url" (highlighted in pink) and delete them; they're just default data added by the scraper and we don't need them, so it tidies it up a little.

this should leave you with category, posted, viewed, warning, rating, fandom, relationship, title, author, wordcount, and completion status if you used the expanded code. if there are any of these you don't want, you can go ahead and delete those columns also!

next, i add blank columns to the right of the data i want to focus on. this just makes it easier to do my counts later. in my case these will be rating, fandom, relationship, author, and completion status.

one additional thing you should do, is checking the "viewed" column. you'll notice that it looks like this:

you can't really sort by this since it's text, not formatted as a date, so it'll go alphabetically by month rather than sorting by date. but, you'll want to be able to get rid of any entries that were viewed in 2023 (there could be none, but likely there are some because the scraper got everything on your last page even if it was viewed in 2023). what i did here was use the "find" dialog to search the "viewed" column for 2023, and deleted those rows manually.

ctrl/cmd+f, click the 3 dots for "more options". you want to choose "Specific range", then "C2:C#". replace C with the letter of your viewed column (remember i deleted a bunch, so yours may be different) and replace # with the number of the last row of your spreadsheet. then find 2023, select the rows containing it, right click > delete rows.

it isn't super necessary to do this, it will only add at most 19 fics to your count, but the option is there!

alright, with all that done, your sheet should look something like this:

exposing myself for having read stardew valley fic i guess

now for the fun part!!!

the math

yes, the math is the fun part.

scroll all the way down to the bottom of your sheet. i usually add 100 blank rows at the bottom just so i have some space to play with.

most of these will basically be the same query, just updating for the relevant column. i've put it in a pastebin here, but here's a screenshot so i can walk you through it:

you'll want to use lines 3-10, select the cell you want to put your data into, and paste the query into the formula bar (highlighted in green)

so, we're starting with rating, which is column E for me. if yours is a different letter you'll need to replace all the E's with the relevant letter.

what this does is it goes through the entire column, starting with row 2 (highlighted in yellow) and ending with your final row (highlighted in blue, you'll want to change this number to reflect how many rows you have). note that row 2 is your first actual data row, because of the header row.

it checks each row that has a value (line 5), groups by unique value (row 6), and arranges in descending order (row 7) by how many there are of each value (row 8). finally, row 10 determines how many rows of results you'll have; for rating, i put 5 because that's how many ratings there are, but you can increase the number of results (highlighted in pink) for other columns depending on how many you want. this is why i added the 100 extra rows!

next to make the actual number visible, go to the cell one column over. this is why we added the empty columns! next to your first result, add the second query from the pastebin:

your first and second cell numbers (highlighted in yellow and blue) should match the numbers from your query above, and the third number (highlighted in pink) should be the number of the cell with your first value. what this does is go through your column and count how many times the value occurs.

repeat this for the rest of the rows and you should end up with something like this! don't judge me and my reading habits please

now you can go ahead and repeat for the rest of your columns! as i mentioned above, you can increase the amount of result rows you get; i set it to 25 for fandom, relationship, and author, just because i was curious, and only two for completion status because it's either complete or not complete.

you should end up with something like this!

you may end up with some multiples (not sure why this happens, tagging issues maybe?) and up to you if you want to manually fix them! i just ended up doing a find and replace for the two that i didn't want and replaced with the correct tag.

now for the total wordcount! this one is pretty simple, it just adds together your entire column. first i selected the column (N for me) and went to Format > Number > 0 so it stripped commas etc. then at the bottom of the column, add the third query from the pastebin. as usual, your first number is the first data row, and the second is the last data row.

and just because i was curious, i wanted the average wordcount also, so in another cell i did this (fourth query from the pastebin), where the first number is the cell where your total is, and the second number is the total number of fics (total # of data rows minus 1 for the header row).

which gives me this:

tadaaaa!

getting multiple values

so, as i mentioned above, by default the scraper will only get the first value for relationships and fandoms. "but sarah," you may say, "what if i want an accurate breakdown of ALL the fandoms and relationships if there's multiples?"

here's the problem with that: if you want to be able to query and count them properly, each fandom or relationship needs to be its own row, which would skew all the other data. for me personally, it didn't bother me too much; i don't read a lot of crossovers, and typically if i'm reading a fic it's for the primary pairing, so i think the counts (for me) are pretty accurate. if you want to get multiples, i would suggest doing a secondary scrape to get those values separately.

if you want to edit the scrape to get multiples, navigate to one of your history pages (preferably one that has at least one work with multiple fandoms and/or relationships so you can preview) then hit ctrl+shift+i/cmd+option+i, open web scraper, and open your sitemap. expand the row and you should see all your values. find the one you want to edit and hit the "edit" button (highlighted in pink)

on the next screen, you should be good to just check the "Multiple" checkbox (highlighted in pink):

you can then hit "data preview" (highlighted in blue) to get a preview which should show you all the relationships on the page (which is why i said to find a page that has the multiples you are looking for, so you can confirm).

voila! now you can go back to the sitemap and scrape as before.

getting tag data

now, on the vein of multiples, i also wanted to get my most-read tags.

as i mentioned above, if you want to get ALL the tags, it'll skew the regular count data, so i did the tags in a completely separate query, which only grabs the viewed date and the tags. that code is here. you just want to repeat the scraping steps using that as a sitemap. save and open that spreadsheet.

the first thing you'll notice is that this one is a LOT bigger. for context i had 2649 fics in the first spreadsheet; the tags spreadsheet had 31,874 rows.

you can go ahead and repeat a couple of the same steps from before: remove the extra scraper data columns, and then we included the "viewed" column for the same reason as before, to remove any entries from 2023.

then you're just using the same basic query again!

replace the E with whatever your column letter is, and then change your limit to however many tags you want to see. i changed the limit to 50, again just for curiosity.

if you made it this far, congratulations! now that you have all that info, you can do whatever you want with it!

and again, if you have any questions please reach out!

[noctilucid]

Dannymay Poetry - Day 31 Free Day

No actual poetry in this one, just finishing off the framing device. The whole collection is now posted to AO3.

"...And it appears Ms. Sanchez is our final presenter today."  Mr. Lancer checked the clock.  "And with just five minutes left!  Perfect timing.  Ms. Sanchez, if you would?"

Paulina smiled, grabbed a brown paper bag from under her desk, and sauntered up to the front of the room.  She set the bag on Avery's desk, forcing them to pull their notebook into their lap.  

"I saved the best for last so none of you would have to try to follow me," she said, beaming.  "My poem is written for mi amor, Phantom, of course."  Sam sighed in the back, but Paulina ignored her, reaching into her bag and pulling out a photo box printed with flowers.  "I brought along some presentation aids in this box."  She brushed the empty bag onto the floor and set the box on the desk, and then, with a coy look and deliberate slowness, pulled off the lid.  

Then she put a hand to her cheek in faux surprise.  "Oh!  It's another box."  A ripple of attention spread through the room telegraphed by the murmur of students sitting up, or starting to hurridly pack up their things.  

"Oh great," Danny moaned.  

"Pauli..." Star said, both a warning and a question.

"Ms. Sanchez, I will remind you—"

"I wonder what could be inside~"

"—that if you summon a ghost to avoid an assignment, that is an instant fail—"  Danny let out a cold gasp of mist.

"A third box!" 

"BEWARE!"

Danny slid further down in his seat.  "Eeyup.  Here we go." 

Val pulled something lime green and chrome out of her backpack and strode up to the front of the room with it wrapped around her hand, and before anyone could process the scene, she pulled back an arm and decked the Box Ghost.  He smacked into the whiteboard with a spurt of green dripping from his nose.  

While he was busy investigating his rearranged face, Val flipped up Paulina's nested box lure and crushed it to the desk with another knuckle-duster punch, the brief flash of red ectoskeleton up her arm barely noticable.  She gave it a few more hits for good measure to crush what corners survived.  When the boxes were pancakes, she tossed the flattened carnage on the floor in front of Boxy and barked, "No boxes.  Get. Out."  

He turned invisible and dribbled green across the room before phasing through the windows and (presumably) flying away. 

Val turned back to the class, non-plussed.  She held up the anti-ecto knuckle dusters with a casual gesture.  "A GIW guy dropped them.   ...What?  It's the Box Ghost."  

On the right side of the room, Mikey started chanting, "Red. Hawk!  Red. Hawk!"  Half of the room took it up, with the A-Listers (minus Kwan) sitting in awkward silence in the middle of it all.  Paulina slowly thawed out of her shock.  

"NO!" she yelled over the chant.  "Phantom was supposed to come to save me!  And then I was going to read him my poem, and he'd fall for me, and we'd start dating and get married—!"

The bell rung.  Danny stuffed his notebook into his bag and hustled out of the room, his friends right behind him.  

"Dude, I can't beleive you wrote that whole thing in class."

"I can't beleive that you were able to stall that long.  You guys saved my ass."

"It was nice to see everyone actively participating," Sam said with a soft smile.  Tucker cut a glare at her.

"Blood blossoms?"

"Look, I blocked most of it out afterwards!  I'm still working through it.  I gotta go check some places to make sure they're really—"

Danny stuffed his bag through the door of his locker.  "Hey, I'm going to go check on Boxy while you fight about that, ok?" He gave them a little salute and ran for the bathroom.

Tucker sighed.  "Well.  He's lived to fight another marking period."

"What would he do without us?"

"Fail."

She laughed. "Yeah."

[star-41306]

ARCHIVE WAKE UP. WAKE UP ARCHIVE. AO3 CAN YOU HEAR ME?? AO3?? AO3?!?! CAN YOU HEAR ME?? ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN. ao3?? I don't know if you can hear this but, but if you can, I want you to know I'm here, okay? I'm right here. and, I LOVE YOU. ao3, do you hear me? I love you. I'm sorry I don't say it more, it's not because I'm scared of you. I'm not. I've never felt that way! never! *lightning crash as a reminder that some of the most immoral fics ever created reside on ao3* but I am scared that one day you'll realize that you don't need me anymore. and I thought that if I said how I felt it would somehow make that day, hurt more. *camera pans to wattpad and tumblr* but the truth is ao3, I DONT KNOW HOW TO LIVE WITHOUT YOU. I feel like my life started that day I searched you up on Google Chrome. you were still in light mode, and it burned my eyes. and I knew right there and then, in that moment, that I loved you. and I've loved you everyday since. I love you on my good days, I love you on my bad days, I love you on dark mode, I love you on light mode. I love you even when you're under attack. YOU'RE MY SUPER HERO!!! and, I can't lose you!!! okay? I CANT LOSE YOU. YOU CAN DO ANYTHING. you can make people laugh and sob uncontrollably, you can get through this. I believe that, I really do. but right now, you just have to fight. okay? ao3, do you hear me. you need to fight. you have to fight. fight!! FIGHT!!!

[phanfictioncatalogue]

I’ve been following yall for YEARS and have enjoyed all the incredible work you put into this :) so what’s your favorite fics? Or ones you strongly recommend

As the newest admin, I second everything you say. My personal top top recs are the following:

(TW) Absolutely Lovely (ao3) - Autumn_Kismet

Summary: His friends and family think he's acting strange, they're worried that he's depressed again, but Dan doesn't see it. The only thing he sees is the new guy at school, the quirky one with the black hair and stunning blue eyes, and that's bad. So bad... because he likes him, and Dan can't like him. Dan can't be gay. He'll lose his family, he'll lose his friends... he'll become just like his father, and that's the last thing that he wants in the entire world. It's a scary thought that he doesn't think will ever go away and if there's the possibility of that happening, of him becoming the disgusting monster that his father was, or is, then maybe the world is better off without him, regardless of what PJ's dad, his mum's new husband, has to say.

black butterflies and deja vu (ao3) - kae_karo

Summary: Once upon a time...there was a little boy, his name was- well, that’s not important. There was a little boy, and he didn’t have lots of friends.

But don’t worry, this isn’t a sad story, even though it sounds like it, I promise.

Desires (ao3) - A_Million_Regrets

Summary: What would you do if you were suddenly hauled from your inauspicious life and dumped into an unforeseen catastrophe with your worst enemy?

Dan Howell and Phil Lester completely and utterly hate each other. They fight every time they meet, and all of their friends are tired of it. But one day, these two hot-headed, reckless men stumble through a secret passage in a mysterious old house and wake up on a strange island uninhabited by other intelligent life forms. They only have each other and no way to escape. Will they fight to death, or will they learn to trust each other in a world where no one else exists? Can they put aside their mutual hatred for each other to survive this misfortune?

The Colors in You (ao3) - Phandiction

Summary: Dan is a dragon with scales as black as a moonless night. Part of the Dark's, he’s not supposed to get along with the colorful Chrome dragons from the other side of the island. But after seeing a Chrome for the first time in person, he’s transfixed by the rainbow of colored scales and against his better judgement rescues the dragon from a group of Dark’s seeking to kill it. Now responsible for hiding and protecting the Chrome dragon named Phil until he’s recovered enough to return to his home, Dan questions the laws that's kept the two species from each other for centuries.

Trust Me, I'm Broken Too (ao3) - natigail

Summary: The Lesters – the royal family of his homeland – was nothing like Dan thought they would be. Well, the King was just as horrible as he had heard but the King’s brother’s son, who was third in line for the throne, was nothing like Dan thought he’d be. Dan had been adrift for three years going from one “place of employment” to another, only his life was seen as worthless and he was more property than an employee. He had never imagined he’s end up as the property of Prince Philip.

The Prince had no intention of ever taking on a personal servant, which was a fancy name to disguise the fact a law essentially enslaved people. Phil often had to do things he didn’t want to or risk being removed from the succession to the crown. If that happened, who knew who his tyrant of an uncle would pick as a successor? When pressured into the choosing, he’d wanted to go for the most innocent, young girl, but hard brown eyes caught his attention instead.

Weather With You (ao3) - Evening42

Summary: "The man’s arms dropped slowly to his side and he didn’t speak, just looking at Phil, the glare fading from his eyes. Phil opened his mouth to speak again but was stopped by the sudden realisation that firstly this man was gorgeous, and secondly that his eyes, despite the depth of colour, were the most dead and cold that he had ever seen, the previous glare the only speck of emotion present. His mouth remained open as he struggled to regain his thoughts and calm his now wildly beating heart, a sudden large breaking wave the only thing that brought him back to his senses."

Phil moves to an isolated cottage to start his dream of writing a novel. He meets a mysterious silent stranger on the beach who has a tragic history.

where we belong (ao3) - parentaladvisorybullshitcontent

Summary: "Only you," Martyn says.

"Only me what?"

"Only you could end up stranded in the middle of nowhere with a gay author who writes gay books. Jesus Christ, Phil."

In which Phil is snowed in with nobody but the mysterious dark haired author next door for company.

-Rae

[theglamorousferal]

Persephone's Binding Part 14

Hardcover/Anger Management ship Sacrificial Bride au

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Jazz dismissed herself from the rest of the group, fingers tightening on the strap of the bag on her shoulder. Jason's eyes trailed after her as she made her escape from the group, concerned.

"So, how about we get to that shooting competition that we shelved earlier this week?" Danny asks Jason and Ellie.

"Hell yeah, that sounds awesome, I've been practicing with Dante's help!" Ellie exclaimed. "We should probably change first though, last one to the training grounds has to give Cujo a bath in his huge form!" With that she sped down the halls towards the family residence halls.

"Well you heard her, you can navigate the castle enough to get there yourself right?"

"Yeah I can figure it out, you got some guns I can use though?" Jason asked.

Danny grinned, though there was something sad in his eyes. "Yeah, our parents were inventors and until they realized that ghosts aren't inherently evil they made weapons. I'll show you when we get there, see ya in a bit." He vanished from sight, presumably to go change.

Jason jogged through the castle, resigning himself to losing the race considering the two he was racing could fly at high speeds. He changed into his Hood gear and jogged his way to the training ground where it looked like Ellie and Danny were in a snark-off with each other by the targets.

Danny noticed his first and flagged him down. He led him to a building next to the targets and stepping inside Jason had to tuck in the back of his mind that the parents of the Royal family were mad scientists who saw the aesthetics of 1950's sci-fi and stuck with it. Gleaming chrome with green accents shone from the displays on the walls and from the display cases throughout the room. There were bazookas, sniper rifles, hand guns, a cat-o-nine-tails, and a vacuum all along the walls. In the display cases were tubes of lipstick, bracelets, small rods, grenades etc.

"What's with the lipstick?" he asked Danny.

"Oh, they're lasers. Same with the bracelets. This rod extends into a quarterstaff, this rod has a taser at either end. These grenades form a small portal to a random point in the Realms, these ones stun most ecto-entities." As Danny kept going on about what everything in here does, he would add in little anecdotes about how strong each weapon hits a ghost and it was starting to set Jason on edge.

"How often have you gotten hit with these?" Jason asks levelly.

Danny just shrugged. "Honestly not all that often outside of training, my dad was a bad shot and I mostly managed to dodge my mom. Honestly Jazz is the one who hit me the most when she was still learning combat. She also caught me in the Thermos many, many times." He shivered at the memory.

"Excuse me, thermos?" His previous rage was knocked away at the ridiculousness of the statement.

"Oh yeah, when we were still on Earth I had to capture the ghosts and put them back into the Realms. My parents would build things out of whatever we had when their grants started to run out and so they made the thermos as a capturing device. It didn't work at first, I think it needed more ectoplasm than they had access to because it worked after I charged it with energy. When I found out Jazz knew about me being part-ghost, she ended up trying to join us in taking out the ghosts. It...did not go too well." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down. "There was a lot of miscommunication, she wasn't listening to us even though we had experience, and we weren't listening to her thoughts on what a specific ghost was up to. She caught me six times that first night I think." He laughed a little. "Eventually we got on the same page and she started training and actually listening to us and we all became stronger for it."

Jason nodded along to the story, glad for more information on the dynamics of the family he's technically at the mercy of right now. He gestured to a pair of pistols on the wall. "Let's get this competition underway, huh?"

Danny smiled at him. "Yeah, let's get to that."

"About time you guys came out here. Let's do this!" Ellie exclaimed when they exited the building. Now that Jason had time to look, he noticed that Ellie was dressed like you would imagine a nomad during the apocalypse would look. She had jeans covered in band patches and other patches and embroidery. She wore battle vest covered in more patches and pins with spikes on the shoulders and a breastplate with the same D-shaped logo Danny had etched into the front of it messily. She had fabric scraps wrapped around her arms under armguards and steel capped boots. Her fingerless gloves also had metal spikes on the knuckles. She also had a pair of aviation goggles over her eyes.

"Well now I definitely need to introduce you to Kon. He's also a superpowered clone who appreciates the Punk culture."

"Really? Hell yeah, that sounds awesome. Hopefully we find your dimension soon then!" They all lined up at the targets. "Now let's see what you can do Lover Boy." She smirked at him.

Jason did his best to not blush. "I'm not gonna push my feelings at your sister. Plus, we barely know each other." He readied himself to shoot, and the competition was off. They all shot true for the short range targets and moved to larger ranges. Ellie misjudged the power on her blast and blew the target apart and Danny sneezed when he fired. Jason was getting used to the fact there was no recoil on these guns as they were energy pistols, but quickly adapted. Once they got bored of stationary targets they moved to skeet shooting and they ended up playing around for a few hours at that before the guns ran out of charge and the two ghosts were starting to get tired.

They all went and changed for dinner where they met Jazz again. She was faintly glowing yellow, her eyes had more flecks of golden light swirling in them and the tips of her hair seemed to be blowing in an unseen breeze. Danny didn't seem to be bothered by the change and took his seat at her right, Ellie next to him, though she looked a bit concerned. Jason took his seat at Jazz's left and Danny began chattering away at Jazz about their afternoon.

"Jason's a pro with the pistols, we'll have to test him against you sometime and see who's better." Danny grinned, all teeth and a spark in his eye. "You're training tomorrow right? You two should spar!"

Jazz and Jason looked at each other and caught each other's eye. After a moment they both turned appraising the other, sizing up their opponent. Jazz grinned. "I think that can be arranged. I do have a meeting with some of the yeti scholars looking into the binding in the afternoon, but my morning will be training yes." She held out her hand to shake Jason's. "Do we have an accord?"

Jason grinned back and clasped her hand, giving it a firm shake. "I can't wait."

[yarrayora]

Kill Them with Kindness

Summary: The most important skill Tsuna learned from Reborn did not come from any of the supplemental lessons Reborn had taught him but something he mimicked by observing his mentor. It was called malicious compliance.

Preview:

If Tsuna didn’t become Vongola Decimo, would anyone acknowledge Hayato’s genius? What would have happened to Lambo whose Family sent him on a suicide mission when he was just a toddler, simply because his body was sturdier than adults? He imagined Fuuta would still pledge his loyalty to Vongola in exchange for protection, but that protection would come with exploitation considering his ability. Lancia would never be able to prove his innocence and Mukuro… he would forever be trapped in Vindicare, while Chrome would never exist in the first place. There would be no justice for Cozart, as his friendship with Giotto would remain buried by Spade’s scheme. If he were to run away now, the people who would pay the price would not be just Tsuna.

>>read on ao3<<

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

Happy Birthday, Aeor is For Reccing!

One year ago today (give or take a couple hours), we published our first rec list. To celebrate, I (Opera) have prepared some stats. A little bit like a reccing wrapped, only with a smaller budget and being less creepy about your data.

But thank you to everyone who has recced, every one who has read the reclist, everyone who has reblogged, everyone who has kudosed, to @professor-rye and @theusualjasper, and everyone who helped along the way.

I'm glad we've gotten this far!

To start: We've had 685 recs, 478 fics, 210 Authors, 53 reclists and 43 themes.

Most Recced Authors: (1) Mousecookie - 25 recs (1) royalgreen - 25 recs (3) SaltCore - 21 recs (4) hanap - 15 recs (5) kmackatie - 14 recs (5) Chrome - 14 recs (5) Firefright - 14 recs (8) Mlle Kurtz - 12 recs (9) road_rhythm - 11 recs (9) MinnesotaBruja - 11 recs (9) LuckyOwlsFoot - 11 recs (9) MarsBar2019 - 11recs

Authors with the most fics recced: (1) royalgreen - 18 fics (2) SaltCore - 13 fics (2) hanap - 13 fics (4) Mousecookie - 12 fics (5) kmackatie - 10 fics (5) LuckyOwlsFoot - 10 fics (7) Firefright - 9 fics (7) Jakia - 9 fics (9) Professor_Rye - 8 fics (9) Mlle Kurtz - 8 fics

Fics recced the highest number of times: Hard Mouth and The Hole in the Stone, both recced 8 times Fic recced the most number of times for a single theme: In the Closet of Our Discretion, by Firefright for Cultural Differences (recced 4 times) Longest fic recced: Dappled Shadow and Penumbral Light by Professor_Rye (463,977) Shortest fic recced: Of Constellations and Freckles, also by Professor_Rye (100 words) First fic Recced:  Stay for a Spell by Palebluedot Latest fic Recced: Uncharted Waters by EmpressofWizards

Word Cloud based on what people like about the fics:

Most common content note: Choose Not To Warn Number of Series recced: 16 Percentage of Hidden Gems that are No Longer eligible (have over 150 kudos):  48% (check them out!) Number of Images Rai has Used: 27

So what's next?

Well, the absolute next thing is that sometime this week I'm going to post the reccing spreadsheet for everyone to see - if people want to look through old recs, they should feel free to! Then there's the ideas I had from the survey a few months ago - chief among them was making it easier to import information from AO3 (you'd still be able to rec fics that can't be imported or on tumblr, I'm just trying to remove some of the hassle) I'm still doing research on the best way to make that happen, and kind of selfishly want to do it myself - but it's been a busy couple of months for me.

Speaking of which - I'm having surgery in a month! A double masectomy and reconstruction on February 19 (roughly equivalent to top surgery (masculinizing)) and February 20th (roughly equivalent to top surgery (femininzing- fat grafting)). Kind of like they're turning my chest on and off again - a ctrl-alt-deteat, if you will. Anyway, I don't want cancer, but everyone I've talked to about this has said the stomach incision is worse than the chest incision, and nobody's ever described top surgery as a walk in the park. I'm planning on doing absolutely nothing for six weeks, and @theusualjasper will be taking over during that time.

Anyway, here's to another year! Thanks to everyone who has participated or helped along the way, you're all great. Even you <3

[thepinkpanther83]

The Feral Harmony (Pt.4 The Savage Interval)

Story Prompt: “Turtle Song”

Bayverse Raphael x Fem!Reader - Soulmate AU - Action/Romance

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Find the full series on AO3.

Previous Chapter: Chapter Three: “Dissonance and Desire”

Next: The Silent Duet

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter Four: “The Savage Interval”

The days pass in the breathless hush between lightning and thunder.

No one says it, but you can feel it- something's coming.

It hums in the bones of the lair. Tension builds like an over-tuned violin string, tight and sharp enough to draw blood. You spend those days under the radar, buried in whispered comms, late-night schematics spread out across floors and workbenches, marking red lines and infiltration routes with stolen pens and steady hands. Donatello oversees the tech, Leo organizes the strategy, and Mikey... well, Mikey keeps morale weird and high with espresso brownies and phrases like “pre-war cuddle core.”

But most of your time is spent with Raphael.

And that’s where the real fire’s been building.

You train together like soldiers- but it’s never just that. He watches how you move. Matches your pace. Challenges your reflexes. Learns your habits before you can outgrow them.

Every touch, every lock-up, every low growl against your ear during sparring carries something beneath it. Not just lust. Not just intimacy. That pull. The magnetic ache of a shared frequency clawing to get closer. Neither of you say anything, but it's in everything.

How your fingers brush when you pass off gear.

How his eyes linger when you roll your shoulders back into your armor.

He doesn't talk about the night he left you behind, and you don’t ask if he thought about turning back.

But something’s shifted. You both feel it.

The night of the breach, it’s quiet. Chillingly so.

There’s no fanfare. No dramatic speeches or claps on the back. The others have scattered- Donnie’s rigging last-minute tech traps. Mikey’s setting up a remote relay. Leo… well, Leo’s probably pacing like a panther somewhere trying to pretend he doesn’t care if you die.

You’re alone in the prep alcove, strapping on armor piece by piece. Everything fits tighter tonight. The tension’s not just mental- it’s physical. Every click of a chest plate, every tug of a gauntlet feels like sealing a tomb.

You hear him before you see him- he doesn’t speak right away. Doesn’t need to. Just that heavy-footed, controlled approach behind you. You glance up into the polished chrome of a locker mirror and there he is.

Raph, backlit by low lights. Arms folded. Brow furrowed like storm clouds.

His eyes track every inch of your body like he’s committing it to memory. Not in that hungry way- well, not just in that way. It’s deeper. Raw.

Like he’s trying to memorize you in case this is the last time.

He finally speaks.

“You sure you wanna do this, doll?”

You give him a crooked little smirk, pulling your blade across your back.

“No.”

You turn to face him, squared and steady.

“But I’m gonna anyway.”

That gets a quiet huff from him. Almost a laugh. But not quite.

He walks forward, slow, like you’re something fragile- like touching you too suddenly might make you vanish again.

He stops close. Real close. His voice is lower now, barely above a growl.

“I been thinkin’. That night? You shoulda come with me.”

You swallow.

“I know.”

“Still should.”

“It wasn’t time.”

“It is now.”

His hand lifts, slow, and cups your jaw- just barely. A rough thumb grazes the edge of your cheek. The intimacy of it stuns the air out of your lungs. His forehead brushes yours. The plates of your armor click faintly where they meet.

“Don’t you die in there,” he mutters. “You hear me?”

“You either.”

You don’t kiss. It’s not the moment. But it’s close.

God, it’s close.

Your song isn’t audible at the moment, but you feel it. Vibrating quietly between you. The pull of something ancient. Wild. Inescapable.

And for a moment, you both stand there- two loaded weapons with identical targets, hearts synced like a metronome.

Waiting for the downbeat.

You were raised for this.

Lies under pressure. Eyes forward. Blood on the tongue.

But that doesn’t mean your heart isn’t thudding like a war drum in your chest as you step back into the lion’s mouth.

No... the wolf’s den.

This place still stinks of oil, iron, and obedience. But now there’s a taste of something sour in the air too- paranoia. You feel it twitching through the compound like a static charge, even before you reach the first checkpoint.

They’re tightening the noose. Someone knows something.

Not everything.

But they’re circling.

Your armor’s back on. Not the stuff Raph helped you strap on. No- this is the enemy’s skin, cold and anonymous. The old you. The one who was good at disappearing in plain sight.

You walk like you belong. You make eye contact with no one.

The comm piece Donnie customized is embedded in your glove- tactile response, no voice, no obvious signs of transmission. Just pressure pulses and finger taps. The tech is obnoxiously brilliant. He called it "turtlestrong."

It lets you feed information to the guys in real time, without saying a word.

Entry cleared. Perimeter lights minimal. Two guards on rotation. No sign of cargo yet.

You’re alone in this. They’re near- somewhere above or below in the endless ductwork of New York’s underbelly, but they can’t help unless you call it in. That was the deal. You go first. You guide them in. You get out clean.

But clean is not how this night is going.

Checkpoint 3 catches you off guard.

You weren’t scheduled to pass through it tonight.

But the guards are jumpy. Too many eyes. Too many guns.

“Orders from above. Random scans. Step forward.”

There’s no time to stall. Your passcode isn’t current. Your fingerprints were wiped last week for a reason. Your retinal scan? Technically still valid- but if they’re scanning metadata behind it, the comm implant could register.

You take one step. Then another.

Remain calm.

Play the part.

He holds out the scanner.

The green light flashes. Then flickers. Then red.

“Hold her... she’s flagging-”

You move before the second syllable finishes leaving his mouth.

Elbow to throat. Leg sweep. Knee to sternum.

Grab the scanner. Smash it. Spin. Duck. Block. Disarm. Blade to kidney. Hand to pulse point.

Two bodies drop. The third gets his radio halfway to his mouth before you slam his head into the reinforced wall hard enough to fracture the ceramic mask he’s wearing.

Three down.

Three more watching.

You don’t hesitate. You become the chaos.

You scream something in Japanese- old field code. A false alarm warning. You throw one of their stun batons down the hall and run the opposite direction, making it look like you're chasing someone else.

It works. The rest scatter toward the ghost you just created.

Your chest burns. Not from pain- from adrenaline.

You duck into a service alcove and trigger a double-tap on your glove against the wall.

[Comm transmission: Intercept compromised. Cover shaky. Moving to secondary route. Possible delays.]

A pause. Then Donnie’s haptic reply thrums against your wrist:

[Copy. We’re shifting position. Stay on the move. We got you.]

And then-

Another pulse. Different rhythm. You know it instantly.

Raph.

[You okay?]

You tap back:

[Still pretty.]

You can feel his grin through the damn static.

[Focus, baby. We’re comin’. Just keep the lights on.]

You roll your shoulder, pop your neck, and crack your knuckles.

Time to get moving.

There’s still a shipment to track.

And a song to finish.

Something’s off.

It’s a sensation that prickles along the back of your neck like a breath you didn’t feel enter the room. Like the moment the sky goes quiet before a bomb drops.

You’d made it this far- feet inside the lair of the beast. Security tags scanned, passes confirmed, voice modulator dialed in just right. The relay room sat just beyond the corridor, dimly lit, thick with humidity and machine oil. The shipment logs were nearly in hand. Donnie was in your ear, calm and low.

“You’re clear. Five steps to the left, panel on the wall- gray latch.”

Your fingers brushed metal. Found it.

A whir of mechanical parts.

Click.

Data flowed like blood from an artery. You snapped a photo of the encrypted schematics. You didn’t need to understand it. Donnie would. Raph would protect you.

Except…

Your clearance just blinked red.

A heartbeat ago it had been green.

Now?

Red.

The hallway lights shuddered.

Then came the voice. Cold. Male. Overhead comms.

“Security Alert. Operative #8083- flagged. Revoked status. Intruder in Section C.”

Your pulse snapped like a whip.

You didn’t look at the camera. You didn’t flinch. You palmed the drive and slid it down your back, hidden in your utility wrap. Your hand was already reaching for your blade when the doors behind you hissed open.

Three of them.

And one of them was the woman who hadn’t liked you since training rotation.

She smirked. “Going somewhere?”

You tilted your head. “Always.”

They moved as one.

You moved faster.

First blood hit the walls three seconds later. You caught the closest one in the kneecap, twisting your weight and driving your elbow into her throat before she hit the floor. Another lunged. You ducked and slashed, tearing cloth and skin and pride. Your heartbeat was a hammer, rhythm matching the rapid breaths in your earpiece.

“Abort,” Donnie’s voice snapped. “Get out of there- backup’s compromised... Raph, do not-!”

But he was already moving.

You didn’t need to hear his voice to know.

He was coming.

And thank god- because you were already bleeding.

You made it halfway down the corridor when the second wave hit. Real backup. Bigger. Meaner. Heavily armed.

One of them had a prototype plasma repeater- Foot R&D’s shiny new toy. You hit the ground as the bolt scorched the air above you, close enough to leave a burn on your ear.

They were swarming.

And that’s when the wall exploded.

Brick. Concrete. Smoke.

A roar- raw, unmistakable, split through the chaos.

“Get away from her!”

He was fury incarnate.

Shell glinting with dust and heat, eyes glowing molten through the haze. He hit the nearest soldier like a cannonball, ripping the weapon from their hands and shoving it into the chest of another. You heard bones break.

Raph didn’t even pause.

He found you through the smoke like his body was wired to you. His hand locked around your wrist and yanked you behind him. You slashed at a soldier trying to flank him. Blood sprayed.

“We’re burned,” you choked out.

“I know.”

“Donnie told you to wait.”

“I didn’t.”

A soldier dove for his legs- he caught them mid-air and threw them like a sack of bricks into the wall. You moved with him, back to shell, blade singing. One came at you with a staff- Raph caught it mid-swing and shattered it with one hand.

It was a rhythm now.

Two hearts, same beat.

Breath. Blood. Bone.

He saved you from the bolt that came too close to your ribs.

You dropped a soldier trying to gut his rib from behind.

Then it changed.

You saw it in his eyes a second before it hit- your foot slipped, your blade caught on something, and one of them got through.

A crack to your side, a blow that knocked the air clean from your lungs. You hit the ground. Hard.

Raph’s roar tore through the compound.

He went ballistic.

You couldn’t see him, but you heard the damage. Screams. Cracks. Splintered stone. The plasma gun was ripped from someone’s hands and crushed. The floor shook.

Then-

He was at your side.

“Hey. Hey... look at me.” His hands were frantic but trying to be gentle. “Doll. You with me?”

You blinked. The world swam.

“...you’re not allowed to die,” he said roughly. “Not after I just found you.”

You let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. Or a sob. “You look like hell.”

He barked a half-laugh. “You should see the other guys.”

He helped you up, tucked you against him like you were made to fit there, like he’d never let you go again.

“We’re not done,” you muttered.

“No,” he said. “We’re just gettin’ started.”

The corridors twisted like arteries- bleeding smoke, ruptured wires, bodies groaning in unconscious heaps as you and Raph stormed deeper into the heart of the facility. Your breath tasted like copper. His palm hadn’t left your back since he pulled you off the floor.

It wasn’t affection anymore.

It was instinct.

Like he needed to feel you breathing to believe you were still alive.

“We’re close,” Donnie’s voice crackled in your ear, distorted by static. “Raph, east corridor. You’ll see a reinforced access door- biometric lock.”

“Already here,” Raph growled, staring down the hulking slab of metal.

You were already kneeling, fingers working fast as your blade edge wedged beneath the control panel cover. Sparks flickered as wires tore. You didn’t flinch.

“They didn’t change the redundancies,” you muttered. “Idiots.”

Raph tilted his head, half-impressed. “Kinda hot, not gonna lie.”

You shot him a grin and twisted the final circuit. The lock disengaged with a hard clunk.

“Go,” you said.

The vault hissed open.

Cold air hit first- refrigerated, sterile. The lights were sharp white, humming softly. Rows of metal crates and control pods lined the walls, and in the center of the room-

A pedestal.

On it, encased in clear shell-glass: the prototype.

It was smaller than you expected. Sleek. Matte black. Etched with resonance frequency markers and inscribed symbols you’d only ever seen buried in Donatello’s deepest black-site notes. It pulsed faintly.

It didn’t look like a weapon.

It looked like a heart.

Donnie’s voice buzzed in. “Scan confirms match. That’s the AI resonance core from the stolen schematics. You found it.”

Raph crossed to it fast but careful. “This thing’s what they were after?”

“It’s not just a prototype,” Donnie said tightly. “It’s a test-run interface. Their proof-of-concept.”

You circled the room while Raph examined the core. Another console sat behind the pedestal. You keyed it to life.

Files. Dozens of them. Project names. Cross-logs. One caught your eye:

Project SIREN.

You clicked it open.

And your blood ran cold.

“Raph,” you whispered, eyes locked on the lines of text.

He stepped beside you. Read over your shoulder.

“Project Goal: Erasure and Reformatting of Resonant Frequencies within Subject DNA. Target Traits: Harmony-born bond markers. Purpose: Control. Command. Override.”

Your fingers clenched into fists. “They’re not just trying to copy the songs…”

“They’re trying to rewrite ‘em,” Raph said, voice low and lethal. “Use ‘em like remote controls.”

He backed up from the console, nostrils flaring. “No way we’re leavin’ this here.”

You were already moving. Prying open the tech panels. Ripping storage drives. Pulling physical files and shoving them into your satchel. Evidence for Donnie. For Leo. For war.

But you didn’t take everything.

Some things, you burned.

Raph hurled a canister of thermite against the central system, and you dropped a match. Flames curled up the edges of the data vaults like they’d been waiting for the excuse to scream.

“Don,” you panted into the comm. “We got the tech. And confirmation- they’re planning mass production. They’re coming for every harmonic signature. Every bond.”

Static hissed. Then:

“You’ve done enough,” Donnie said, voice clipped. Fierce. “Get out. Now.”

Raph grabbed your wrist again. “Let’s bounce, sunshine.”

“Back exit?” you asked.

“Back exit,” he confirmed.

Behind you, the vault burned.

And in your satchel, a heartbeat pulsed inside a weapon.

The stairwell raged around you, red alarms strobing across black metal. Smoke and sirens tangled in your lungs. Raph had you tucked to his side, one arm cradled behind your lower back, the other batting away guards like they were made of paper.

“Almost there!” he barked into the comm, voice ragged.

“I see you,” Donnie shot back. “North stairwell camera just pinged- next floor up, Leo’s closing in.”

But you didn’t make it that far.

A detonation from above cracked the ceiling. Concrete chunks rained like judgment. Raph shoved you down and shielded you with his body, gritting his teeth as the blast wave rolled over you both. One second passed. Two. His chest heaved against your back.

“…You good, baby?”

“Yeah.” You coughed. “You?”

He didn’t answer, just hauled you up with one arm and kept running.

By the time you burst through the final security door onto the rooftop, your thighs burned. Blood smeared your temple. You felt like you’d just clawed your way out of hell, but hell hadn’t finished chasing you.

And then Leo was there.

Blue bandana, burning glare. Katana already out. Mikey flanked him, and behind them, the whirl of Donatello’s mobile evac drone rattled the rooftop rails like an angry wasp.

“What the fuck is this!?” Leo’s voice cracked the sky.

Raph didn’t flinch. Didn’t let go of your hand. “I had to- she was exposed.”

“She was supposed to stay embedded!” Leo snapped, stalking forward. “We had three more days! Three! You’ve compromised the timeline-”

“Timeline changed the second her clearance got revoked,” Raph shot back. “What, you wanted me to just wait while they carved her up?”

“I wanted you to follow orders,” Leo growled.

“Bite me, boy scout,” Raph hissed.

“Guys-” Donnie’s voice was sharp in the comm. “Foot Clan’s not done. Motion sensors pinged six inbound units. Rooftop’s not secure.”

“Ya think?” Mikey muttered, ducking a throwing star that whizzed past his shell.

You turned, blade already out. The night around you blazed with city light, smoke rising from the lower floors. Helicopter blades chopped the skyline in half. The Foot was regrouping. You could hear it in the way the shadows moved.

“This ain’t just a mission anymore,” Raph muttered behind you, voice gravel and steel.

You looked out over the edge of the rooftop, where neon soaked into smoke and distant sirens cried like broken violins.

“No,” you breathed. “It’s a war.”

And you were already in too deep to walk away.

The Lair. Hours Later.

The silence hits first.

Not the sterile kind. Not the kind that happens when people don’t know what to say.

This silence has weight. The kind that settles into bone and lingers in bruises. It sticks to your skin like the burn of old whiskey. Or blood. Or longing.

You sit at the edge of the infirmary cot in the lair, half-dressed in gauze and dirt, your elbows propped on your knees, head bowed. You haven’t said a word since Donnie helped you peel out of your gear. He was clinical, respectful- gentle, even, but focused. Didn’t speak unless it was to call out an injury or hand you a cloth.

Your hands haven’t stopped shaking.

It’s not from pain.

Not from fear.

It’s from him.

From the way he looked at you on that rooftop. The way his hands never once let go during the chaos. The way he pulled you behind him like the world owed him your safety.

You’re still vibrating from it.

Across the room, Mikey breaks open a soda with a quiet hiss, and the sound somehow feels too loud. He offers you one with a soft “hey, pretty lady,” and a crooked grin- but there’s no sparkle in his eyes tonight. Just an echo of the tension no one wants to admit is still there.

You give him a small nod of thanks and take the can, but don’t open it.

Donnie’s at his console now, his mate by his side helping him, as they analyze the prototype core. His screen glows with schematics and corrupted code fragments. His brows are furrowed like he’s already six steps ahead, but even he pauses now and then to glance your way. Not with mistrust.

With curiosity.

With recognition.

Like maybe, maybe, he understands what kind of gravity pulled you toward them.

Leo hasn’t said a word.

He stands by the archway, arms crossed, katana sheathed but never far. His gaze cuts across the room- always toward you, never at you. Measuring. Watching. Silently clocking every tremor in your spine, every glance you trade with Raph.

You don’t belong here yet.

But something in the air says maybe you’re starting to.

The cot creaks.

You look up.

Raph’s sitting beside you now, still in partial armor, grime on his shell and a shallow cut across his cheek. He doesn’t look at you right away. Just rests his elbows on his knees like you, breathing slow. Matching your rhythm.

He doesn’t ask how you are.

Doesn’t have to.

After a minute, he nudges a fresh bandage toward your thigh, then takes your arm gently and begins wrapping it in silence. His hands are warm. Careful. As if he thinks you might disappear if he presses too hard.

“You ain’t gotta keep shaking,” he murmurs after a while, low enough that only you can hear. “You’re safe now.”

You swallow hard.

“I know.”

But safety doesn’t quiet the part of you that still feels too much. That wants to climb into his lap and wrap around his heartbeat and never leave. That wants to rip the distance from his mouth and find out how many ways he can ruin you gently.

When he finishes the bandage, he doesn’t let go.

His hand slides down your forearm, fingers brushing your wrist, your knuckles, before curling around your hand. He lifts it. Slowly. Brings it to his lips.

And he kisses it.

Not hurried. Not rough.

Soft.

Like you’re not the woman who just burned half her bridges and slit a dozen throats tonight.

Like you’re still whole.

His other hand lifts to your cheek, cupping it, thumb brushing over the line of your jaw with reverence. His eyes are molten.

“If you asked me to,” he murmurs, voice raw, “I’d burn the world down. Every last fuckin’ bit of it.”

You lean in, forehead to his. The words catch in your throat.

“…I know.”

There’s a pull between you again. That same old ache. But now it’s not resisting anymore. Now it hums like something ancient, something fated. Like your resonance is tuned to his every breath.

The others fade into the background.

There’s just him.

Just you.

And the quiet between your pulses- slow, heavy, impossible to ignore.

The savage interval.

And it’s just beginning.

💌 Author’s Note: This tale will continue in Leonardo’s story: “The Silent Duet”. 💋

"The Silent Duet"

Who loves TMNT, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @sophiacloud28, @redsrooftopprincess, @ninnosaurus, @iridescentflamingo, @adebauchedsloth, @eveandtheturtles, @thelaundrybitch, @tmnt-tychou, @milykins, @the-cauldron-witch

Masterlist

[catinsatintrousers]

Thanks for the tag @unchaineddaisychain! I love doing these.

Nicknames?

None currently. Past ones given to me have been Squid, Q, and Quinnifer

Real name?

Quinn

Zodiac?

Aries (April baby)

Favorite artists?

Musical? The Beatles, David Byrne, Clairo, Fievel is Glaque (check them out yall!), Paul Simon, The Cranberries, and more that I'm forgetting right now.

Favorite sports team?

Atlanta Braves (even though I don't follow them really, baseball is just nostalgic for me)

Other blogs?

I made a good omens blog that I no longer use cause recent events have left a bad taste in my mouth lol.

Do you get asks?

Once in a blue moon and I'm thrilled when I do.

How many blogs do you follow?

372

Tumblr crushes?

Ummmm @toovirgins because I love their writing on ao3 and am anxiously awaiting their fic updates.

Lucky number?

I wanna say 7

What are you wearing right now?

Abbey Road t-shirt and brown sweatpants that have bleach stains on them (i am in my pajamas ok)

Dream vacation?

I literally want to go everywhere but right now I'm set on Ireland and Scotland. My parents just went there and told me about their trip and now I have the bug.

Dream?

To live in a tiny house that's sustainable with a nice view and a few pets and have close friends that care about me and hang out with me often and time to do all my hobbies and when I'm not home I'm traveling the world. Basically retirement.

Dream car?

I don't even think I have one. Okay wait actually one of those really square shaped 80s looking sedans that's cream colored with brown leather interior and chrome details kinda like what John Mulaney drives in Everybody's Live. I want that. Who knows what the hell it is.

Favorite food?

Tomatoes. Tomato sandwich. Pasta with tomato sauce. Tomato soup. Tomato tomato tomato tomato.

Drink of choice?

Matcha. I'm obsessed. Yes, I love the taste of grass okay? But if we're talking alcoholic, then a Pimm's Cup. That's the most boujie thing ever but have yall had one? Its so refreshing and it has cucumber in it. CUCUMBER. I guess I like green things in my drink.

Instruments?

I can play a few songs on guitar but the quality is questionable. Same with ukulele. I wrote half a song on piano once but can't say that I play it.

Languages?

English, and I can be conversational in Spanish but I'm scared.

Celebrity crushes?

Paul McCartney. Also John Mulaney. For some reason all my celebrity crushes are men but I think its cause I like to objectify them oops.

Random fact?

I can stick my shoulder blades out really far and its creepy and gross. Must have been a bird in a past life.

tagging: @snugsunresplendence @bread-tag @justsomerandomsruff

[greatrunner]

It is a truth universally accepted that when critiquing anything regarding AO3/OTW, reactionaries enter the building, and critical thinking and discernment gets locked out.

Nia Ola (on Substack) attempted to raise the alarm about AO3's changes in Terms of Service. This bit in particular:

Nia Ola: "[...]AO3 just updated their terms and conditions so that the only way you can use the site now is that you consent to them taking your data (so, works that you've written, distributed, saved, bookmarked, etc, everything) and give that data and information to the government."

In my time reading Terms and Conditions of Service, websites claiming that they're "duty bound" to provide data uploaded to the site to the govt, depending on jurisdiction, is not a surprise. You will not be informed or told by the site(s) when the government accesses/obtained your information. All on the pretense that it would "interfere with an ongoing investigation".

It isn't dissimilar to the one I've read here for Tumblr. The bit that says (legalese-y) that anything you post on the site can be used as evidence (IIRC) if it becomes "necessary."

But as usual, the AO3 brigade worked like hell to shout them down. Folk focused a lot on how OTW made their TOS "easier" to understand. They claimed Nia Ola was spreading misinformation. Most have gone as far as quibbling with her phrasing, "giving your information to the government" (which they would be doing) based on their personal interpretation of her meaning.

After making the video (they posted on TikTok) private, Nia Ola continued to encourage people to use security measures like VPNs and secure Browsers (they mentioned Firefox; I'm sure others are recommending Tor, Brave, and lesser-known browsers with better security features than Edge or Chrome) and to back up information they didn't want to lose.

Is it an explicit consequence of the election? Probably not. AO3/OTW knows entirely that they're hosting grimy shit on their website and refuse to do anything about it. AO3/OTW, like other websites, are "all-ages". Meaning OTW knows kids as young as 13 (and lets face it, younger) are using AO3. If the US or any other country decides it's politically advantageous to go after them, AO3/OTW is gonna cover their asses and throw you under the bus.

Point-Blank-Period.

That said, I think it would be irresponsible to exclude the election as a factor altogether. Organizations (govt or otherwise) are hang-wringing about rustling conservative feathers, and censoring themselves to avoid the wrath of a Trump Admin.

KOSA and COPPA are still in play. And there's the bill targeting non-profits to consider that's likely (and did) to pass not long after it got shot down.

When Tumblr wanted the favor of the Apple Store and their advertisers, they targeted sex worker blogs and fashion and art bloggers (primarily Black/non-Black). Then, they created an AI flagging system that still doesn't work.

When enough people (and advertisers) made enough noise about the NC-17 content that FanFiction (dot net) hosted on their site (at the height of its popularity, mind you)? They made a choice that allowed the website to survive and eliminate the target on their back. Both were financially motivated, yes, but if it's a choice of annexing content to stay online or getting shuttered?

AO3 will not be an exception. It's already embracing that "Obeying in Advance" phrase y'all are in love with right now.

Nia Ola is not the only one raising the alarm or alarmed by this decision. In your haste to fall on the sword for an organization that does not care about you, try not to make an ass of yourself by dog-piling people with experience regarding the consequences of data collection stemming from policies meant to criminalize sexual content, yeah?

This will continue unless we establish actual policies, education, and protections to prevent the mass surveillance of adult spaces under the pretense of "decency" and "protecting children." Additionally, we must address the ongoing elimination of healthy and safe spaces for children.

Because in our govt's haste to claim their concern for children, the corporations they serve have been demolishing child spaces and media online to save a couple of bucks (Cartoon Network's website comes to mind), and pushing children into adult spaces. And if they're not pushing kids into adult spaces, they're inviting adults into so-called kid spaces to increase their profits (Roblox and its attempts to become anything but a game for children, to say nothing of their monetization of the ideas that kids make).

Until our culture/society overhauls its approach to sex education, divorced from white supremacy, the actual intention of creating spaces that aren't sex-negative and don't prey on uninformed children will probably always exist in short bursts.

That means our politic has to rid itself of the reactionary ilk that (a) demonizes all things sexual and (b) refuses to practice discernment and critical thinking in their so-called sex-positive spaces. Both are why places like AO3 manifest and then ultimately help no one.

And it does not help anyone that reactionary AO3 loyalists will always fight to keep conversations about the site politically and socially stunted and unchanging.

Not all censorship and moderation is or should be sex-negative or censorious to the point of infantilizing. But, if the goal is maintaining free speech and freedom of expression (as we like to think of it vs how the govt allows it), it cannot be to the detriment of itself or for the sake of it (i.e., anti-censorship is not the answer any more than autocratic censorship is).

[ravensilversea]

A Purr-fect Surprise

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Surprises, Cats, Pet Adoption, Give Chrome a cat 2k25

Summary: Kyoko has a surprise waiting for Chrome when she gets home

Ao3

Chrome steps into a warmly lit house filled with the small of dinner cooking. Hanging her coat on the rack by the door, she takes a moment to breathe it in. The smell of curried vegetables and pork katsu fills her nose, and her mouth begins watering in anticipation. She toes off her shoes and calls out, “I’m home!”

There’s a clatter of dishes. Then a cheery “Welcome home!” comes from the kitchen, preceding Kyoko’s smiling face as she comes to press a kiss to Chrome’s lips. As she begins pulling away, Chrome grabs her hands and holds her in place for a kiss to each corner of her mouth, then a longer kiss on her lips proper. Kyoko giggles beneath her lips, and they both pull away with sappy smiles.

Kyoko’s smile then turns devious. “I have a present for you, Chrome-chan,” she sing-songs, pulling her hands free of Chrome’s. “Close your eyes and wait here, okay?”

“But I only have the one!” Chrome protests and opens her eye wider. She laughs as Kyoko rolls her eyes and heaves a put-upon sigh. Chrome closes her eye as instructed and listens to Kyoko’s soft footsteps moving deeper into the house. Tilting her head to the side, she attempts to guess exactly where Kyoko is heading. Somewhere, a door opens and closes- their bedroom perhaps?

When she hears Kyoko return, Chrome quips, “It’s a bit early for dessert, isn’t it? We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

Another heavy sigh from Kyoko, and Chrome grins, easily picturing the way Kyoko is surely searching the heavens for guidance with a fond expression painting her face. “Hold out your arms, you goose.”

Chrome scrunches her nose and braces herself for whatever is about to be placed in her hands. She may trust Kyoko with her life, but Ken’s favorite trick has long been ‘surprising’ her with various slimy and disgusting things, which include everything from half-rotten fruit to a freshly amputated finger. It’s moved past him looking for her reactions into a genuine bonding experience for him somewhere along the line, she thinks.

Still, old habits die hard.

“Oh don’t be like that, Chrome-chan! It’s a good surprise! I promise! Here.” With that, Kyoko places a wiggling ball of fur into Chrome’s arms, waiting to release her grip until after Chrome has securely pulled it to her chest. “You can look now!” she says with a clap of her hands.

The first thing Chrome sees is Kyoko’s bold, beautiful grin, so big her eyes scrunch closed and cheeks puff up on her cheekbones. The second thing Chrome sees is the ugliest cat she has ever seen in her life- one glaring amber eye, half an ear gone, nose scarred, and fur the color of the dust hiding in the forgotten corners of the pantry.

It’s the absolute most perfect cat in the world.

“Where did you find it?” Chrome whispers, her entire face lit up in awe. The cat blinks its one eye slowly, yawns, settles into Chrome’s arms, and begins to purr.

“Well, I went to the shelter to look at the kittens like we had been talking about,” Kyoko says with a sheepish grin. “But when I saw Maisy here, I just knew she’d be perfect! I mean,” she gestures from cat to Chrome, “you match!”

Chrome smiles down at Maist and shifts her to free a hand and pet her. Her coat is like silk beneath her hand, and Maisy presses her head into it demandingly. “Yeah,” Chrome breathes. “I guess we do. Welcome home, Maisy.”