#HALF OF MY DATAPADS ARE MELTED.

[vodika-vibes]

I loved stormy days 😍😍😍 it was so good and hot and I think it worked extremely well with stopping before the actual smut happens!

however, you’ve put the idea of full fledged Kom‘rk smut in my head and I‘m thirsty for this boi so I wanted to ask you for some Kom‘rk smut 🫣

and I wish you a very happy, healthy and overall great new year while I’m at it 🎆🎊🎈💕

A Lacey Surprise

Summary: You decide to surprise Kom'rk.

Pairing: Kom'rk Skirata x F!Reader

Word Count: 1630

Warnings: Smut, Reader is described as having hair long enough to hold and looking washed out in cerulean blue (google says the coral looks good on all skin tones though).

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I feel like I switched POV here towards the end, but maybe I didn't. Also, the smut doesn't feel very smutty to me, but I think I spent too much time thinking about it.

You eye the thin material of the lingerie critically. It has to be perfect, not because Kom’rk is a perfectionist, but because you have plans and you’re going to be very cross if there’s something wrong with the lingerie that ruins said plans.

Of course those plans involve you driving Kom’rk insane, and him fucking you until you can’t walk in the morning, but that’s not the point.

The point is that if anything about the clothes isn’t right then it’ll throw off the whole vibe you’re going for, and that’s not allowed.

You pick up the skimpy material and run your fingers over the fine lace. And then you heave out a sigh of relief as you confirm that it is still in the same condition that you bought it in. You hazard a glance at your chrono, and take note of the time.

Kom’rk still has a few hours before he’ll be done for the day. Which gives you time enough to put the rest of your plan in motion. 

That plan being a long shower with lotions and exfoliating pads and skin and hair masks. You flicker your gaze over the dozens of bottles that you bought for today specifically and you sigh, he has better appreciate this. Or you’re going to cry.

You start the shower, not too hot but not too cold, and toss your shower melt into the corner, allowing the room to fill with the soothing scent of flowers. If you have to spend the next hour or so in the shower, you’re going to at least try to enjoy it.

One hour later, you’re all washed and cleaned and exfoliated and lotioned. And you carefully dry and style your hair in the way that Kom’rk likes (he prefers it when you keep it loose so he can tangle his fingers in it). And only once you’re sure that you’re totally dry do you pull on your new lingerie set.

A perfect fit, just like you knew it would be. It’s a shame that Kom’rk’s blue leaves you looking washed out, else you would have purchased a set in that color. Still, you have to hand it to the saleswoman who helped you find a set you liked.

You look amazing in the coral colored set that she picked out for you.

You twist this way and that, just making sure that nothing looks out of place, and once you’re sure that nothing looks wrong, you fish around your jewelry box for the simple pendant that Kom’rk gave you when you first started dating, and you hang it around your neck.

Finally happy with your appearance, you glance at the chrono again, and do some quick math. Assuming that Kom’rk comes home from work, rather than spending some time with his brothers, he should be home in half an hour. 

So you pull your new robe on and tie it securely around your waist, and finally leave the bathroom. You grab your comm off the bed and check for any new messages, and then you head into the main part of your home.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you pour yourself a glass of lemonade and hop up on a stool to sip at your drink and play a game on your datapad while you wait for Kom’rk to come home. 

45 minutes later, when you’re considering a second glass of lemonade, you hear the front door slide open. Familiar footsteps enter the house, and the door slides shut, and you listen as Kom’rk stops in the front hallway to strip off his armor. 

You turn on the stool to greet him as you listen to him quietly walk down the hall leading to the front door to the kitchen. And you grin when he enters the room, and stops. 

His dark gaze immediately drags down your body, and he releases a slow breath, “Well now,” Kom’rk murmurs, “Aren’t you as pretty as a picture?” He drops his bag on the floor just outside the kitchen and walks over to you, a small grin playing on his lips.

“Welcome home,” You chirp, as you slide to your feet.

“This is quite a welcome,” Kom’rk agrees as he settles his hands on your hips, “I don’t think I’ve seen this robe before.”

“It’s new,” You reply as you lean against him, “Do you like it?”

“This color looks amazing on you,” He replies, as he leans in, and ghosts his lips against your temple, onto to lean down a little more and press his face into your neck, inhaling deeply, “Did you buy a new body wash?” He mumbles.

“Lotion, actually.” You correct as you wrap your arms around him, “The bottle says ‘designed to drive him wild’. So, how’s that working?”

Kom’rk groans and presses a feather light kiss just under your ear, “You smell amazing,” He says, “So I’d say it’s working.”

You laugh softly and lightly comb your fingers through his hair, “Well, I’m glad you approve.”

“So much,” He finally pulls away enough to look at you, “This is quite the welcome home, cyare.”

You grin at him and lightly trail your fingers down his cheek, “I have plans, love.”

Desire flares in his eyes, “Tell me?”

“Mm, I’d rather just show you.” You take his hands and lightly tug him towards the bedroom, and he follows you obediently, his hungry gaze locked on your face. 

Once you’re in the room, you lightly move his hands to the belt of your robe, and stand on your toes to catch his lips in a kiss. Kom’rk tugs on the belt, and pushes your robe off your shoulders without breaking the increasingly heated kiss. 

His calloused hands trail over your shoulders and down your arms, and he finally breaks the kiss, “Kriff, you’re so soft-” And then he opens his eyes to look down at you and he stops mid-sentence.

Kom’rk stares at you, his jaw slack, for long enough that you giggle. His fingers trail across the fine lace covering your from his eyes, and he seems, legitimately, speechless.

“I thought I’d try something new. Do you like it?”

“Holy shit, cyare.” He breathes out.

“Oh, good~” You say through a giggle. 

And then Kom’rk is moving, his hands wandering across your body, dipping under the lace with a frantic energy that you hoped to wake in him. “How do I-?” He mumbles, “I need this off or I’m going to ruin it-”

You grin at him, and press your lips to his jaw, “I can always buy another one.”

Kom’rk’s fingers still just under your breasts, and he releases a curse in mando’a. He grabs the fine material and he pulls it away from you, the thin cloth tearing away from your body.

He tosses the remains of the cloth to the floor, and then he lifts you and tosses you on the bed, pulling a delighted giggle from your lips. Kom’rk doesn’t remain separated from you for long, swiftly peeling his blacks off, and tossing them to the side before climbing back over you and crashing his lips against yours.

“Lift your lips, cyare,” He mumbles against you as he slides his fingers under the band of your panties, and the moment you obey his breathless request, he slides the material down your legs and tosses them to the side.

Kom’rk pulls away for a moment and stares down at you, something warm and soft on his face, “I love you so much,” He breathes out, his fingers brushing against your cheek and then trailing down to the pendant hanging around your neck.

You smile up at him, “I love you too,”

Kom’rk leans down and catches your lips in a deep kiss. And then he slowly drags his lips down your throat, between your breasts, across your stomach and hips, and he settles himself between your legs.

“You don’t have to-” You start to say.

And he shushes you with a lazy swipe of his tongue through your folds, “This is one of my favorite things.” Kom’rk replies, his gaze serious as he looks up at you, “Love making you fall apart on my tongue. Could stay here for hours-”

“Today’s supposed to be about you thoug-oh!” You gasp as his tongue flicks your clit, and your words die in your throat.

Kom’rk chuckles against you, but he doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to focus on bringing you to your high as fast as possible. And, after dating for so long, he can get you to fall over the edge startlingly quickly.

He eases a single finger inside you, and starts a shallow thrusting motion, slowing the movement of his tongue so that both are moving in unison.  And he’s rewarded for his actions with a gasping cry of his name as you writhe under him. 

And while Kom’rk could hold you still, he thinks that there’s something beautiful about the way you writhe under him, because of him. And when he eases you over the edge of your orgasm, he can’t help but pull back and just watch you as you tremble under him. 

To him, you’re resplendent. 

He eases his fingers out of you and surges up to catch your lips in a deep kiss, even as you’re still recovering from your orgasm. “Gonna make you feel so good, cyare.” He murmurs against your lips, “Going to ruin you for other men-”

You blink at him through hazy eyes, “Please.” 

Kom’rk grins at you, “You ask so nicely,” He coos, pressing a series of kisses against your face and jaw, “Tell me what you want, cyar’ika.”

“You,” You reply through a sigh, “Just you. Always you.”

His grin widens, “Well. Who am I to deny you?”

[prahacat]

Bend, Break

It's been three days since Dooku saved his life, and all Obi-Wan can do now is push until they break. Continuation of Brush, Bend, an AU where Obi-Wan and Dooku desert in favor of exploring their weird, obsessive relationship dynamic. This also (very liberally) fills my Obi-Wan x Dooku YOTP2023 December prompt "moving in together". cw: (mild) sexual content, mentions of abuse and violence. 3k words.

The black clouds hang so low, Obi-Wan can almost split them with the tip of his blade. Not much longer now and it will rain. An icy wind whistles across the bare plains, where nothing, no trees, no grass, breaks through the volcanic rock. Obi-Wan lifts his saber and swings it in a flurry of swift strikes. Far away, the horizon flashes red and orange below the crushing mass of clouds. He slashes at empty air until sweat soaks through his tunic and drips into his eyes, until he is trembling and breathless, and the first cold raindrops pat against the back of his neck.

When he looks up, the lone figure watching him from the terrace turns and melts into the shadows.

Obi-Wan lowers his lightsaber, and the blade, purple like a dying star, extinguishes in a hiss and crackle.

They haven't been warm for days. The ruins offer hardly any protection against the harsh climate, or against each other. What remains of the collapsed tower nestles between the basalt rocks and the leaden sky, and it's cold inside, always too cold; in the morning, a silver sheen of frost covers their blankets. But there is no point in leaving. Out here, on this bleak hunk of a planet, nobody looks for them.

Obi-Wan mounts the hewn stone steps into the room that was once, presumably, the tower’s main hall. Time has chipped away the golden mica on the ornamental carvings, and the ceiling painting has faded beyond recognition. The fireplace takes up most of the back wall, a black mouth spitting sparks and soot. Apart from them, the sole guest who visits is the wind: it barges in through the broken terrace doors, fans the flames, and tugs at Dooku's cloak before it lets up when he doesn’t react. He stands like a statue below the arcades that frame the terrace, his back turned toward Obi-Wan as he stares somewhere into the far distance. Black sheets of rain now curtain off the world beyond.

Obi-Wan slips out of his clammy boots and wiggles his bare toes. Frozen, numb. "Have you eaten yet?"

A cup and a half-empty bottle of wine sit on the table, the glass fogged up with the cold. They look lost among the few pieces of equipment they have salvaged from their ship and arranged into a makeshift command center. Two datapads, the map, a radio—and the encrypted com that has been silent for nearly seventy hours.

Dooku watches the clouds churn and flash along the horizon. "An electromagnetic storm." His voice, though quiet, echoes through the cold hall. "Communication is out. No signal penetrates these clouds."

"She'll find a way to contact us." Obi-Wan throws a broken chair leg into the fire. Ventress is more loyal than he will ever be, a relief as much as it is an inconvenience, and Obi-Wan wonders whether that knowledge doesn't also pester Dooku in quiet, calm hours such as these. "We should eat something. She'd make me berate you if she were here. Let me warm some soup—"

"Leave me."

Slowly, Obi-Wan rises to his feet.

Dooku's back remains turned. Obi-Wan listlessly regards the bottle. "The wine won't help with the pain." But Dooku ignores him with a stubbornness that annoys Obi-Wan more than any rudeness would. He drapes his drenched cape over the mantelpiece. Steam rises as the wool begins to dry. Dooku stares at the storm in stony silence, and Obi-Wan thinks: I could grab the bloody ship, I could fly off and leave you stranded here, but it'd never make you stare at the sky like this, longing for me to come back. He wipes the damp hair from his forehead. "There's no need to worry yet. If the Jedi had captured her, we would know. They would make demands or try to negotiate."

"If the Confederacy had captured her, we would know as well," Dooku says dryly. "We would be under attack already."

"You think Ventress would betray our location?"

"The Confederacy has recently invested considerable resources in the development of new torture droids.”

Obi-Wan rounds the table and joins Dooku below the arcades. "Maybe we should move." His gaze lingers on Dooku's side, but the dark tunic covers any hint of bandages. "How is your wound?"

"Fine." But there's not much privacy when you've been stuck together for three days between walls that no longer have ceilings. In this hollow tower, Obi-Wan can always hear the whisper of Dooku's tired footsteps somewhere, and it's only late at night that he catches him leaning against walls and archways, resting his weight, letting go. This morning, Obi-Wan saw Dooku hunched over the edge of his bed, eyes closed, the hazy light melting on his face, one hand pressed against his stomach as if he was afraid of tearing and falling apart as soon as he stood up.

There's a feverish shine to his eyes now.

Without thinking, Obi-Wan says, "The Jedi would help us."

"The Jedi." Dooku grimaces. The wind has tousled his hair and a few stray strands fall into his eyes. "Always the Jedi. And what do you expect the Jedi to give us? Forgiveness? A pardon for your crimes? Pity and a bowl of hot soup?"

"Protection, I should imagine," Obi-Wan says. "They would at least see to Ventress' safety."

"You are willing to trade her safety for our freedom?"

"What freedom? All we do is run." He gazes out into the pouring rain. In the distance, the mountain peaks float above a sea of darkness. "We have no allies, no supporters. A temporary truce with the Jedi would grant us some respite at least, and a place to lie low. Ventress could reunite with us at the Temple. Once we know she is unharmed, it will be easier to decide on a course."

"So it is Ventress who worries you?" Dooku turns toward him. "Or do you seek to save your own hide?" His black cloak parts and flows like dark, heavy water that Obi-Wan needs only to step into to wash away what remains of him. He wants to. "Bravery and dedication," Dooku says, "those qualities come easy when you believe to be backed by the establishment. But only those who are not afraid to fend for themselves will bring about actual change in this galaxy."

Obi-Wan scoffs. "As if you ever knew what it meant to fend for yourself, Dooku. You only ever made a move when you had something to cushion your leap: a new, comfortable life as a Count, your wealth, your armies, Palpatine's protective hand. Now you have lost all of it and look where it got you. Ex-leader of the Separatists and disgraced Count of Serenno, hiding in a drafty—"

Dooku grabs him by the neck and yanks him close. "Don't insult my intelligence, Obi-Wan," he says, his voice low. His thumb digs into the soft skin behind Obi-Wan's ear. The smell of burnt wood and thunderstorms clings to his cloak; the fabric rustles against the length of Obi-Wan's thigh. He's right here, and Obi-Wan touches his wrist, allowing his fingers to slide into the warmth below the sleeve, where Dooku's pulse is thumping as fast as his.

"I know what you are after," Dooku whispers.

Do you, Obi-Wan wonders, and the thought sends a sudden rush of heat through his body: want; fear.

"It would be such a relief for you if I swallowed your bait." Dooku tightens his grip on his hair and pulls Obi-Wan's head back to gaze down into his face like Obi-Wan once saw a butcher do with a nerf calf to inspect its teeth. "If I took the choice from you and dragged you back to everything you betrayed." This is how he used to hold Obi-Wan after frying or strangling him with the Force, but as the cruelty has grown rare, so have the caresses. Obi-Wan leans in, and the sharp tug at the back of his head eases.

"How you dream of liberation," Dooku murmurs. "You cannot bring yourself to break free from your torn existence. Freedom scares you, but misery has become a familiar comfort. How do you want to cope without it? You are truly lost, Obi-Wan."

"Then so are you, considering we're stuck in the same place." Obi-Wan presses his nails into the tendons on Dooku's wrist.

Dooku smiles and lowers his eyes. The fire pours a river of gold over the left side of his face. "I've seen the color of your blade," he says softly. Obi-Wan feels his touch on his belt, fingers brushing the hilt resting at his thigh. His skin tingles, but he keeps his eyes on Dooku's face, watches the flames paint strange blue shadows along the sharp lines of his nose and under his lashes. "What a shame your lightsaber no longer knows what it is supposed to be," Dooku says, but he can't even begin to imagine how terribly wrong he is. It's not misery Obi-Wan can't do without, but this: the feeling of being hollow and porous, so close to all these fleeting, liquid secrets; gold and shadows and melting light, and Dooku's blood pounding against his fingers.

Outside, rain and wind battle for possession of the tower, for this whole rotten, forsaken planet.

Obi-Wan lays his hand flat on Dooku's chest, pressing against the half-moon scar and his heart: strong and steady, but chained to its own obsessions. Dooku's face is a mask, unmoving except for his slowly drooping eyelids, like he is about to fall asleep. Idly, Obi-Wan brushes the moisture from his cloak. Dooku's body simmers under his palm: warmer than the fire. "The state of my lightsaber doesn't concern me as much as the state of your mind, Dooku," Obi-Wan says. "You've already lost everything. What is left that you're so afraid of losing that you growl and raise your hackles?"

Dooku sighs and lifts his gaze to the vault where nothing is left of the murals that must have once depicted gods and creatures, men and beasts, floating in the skies and glimmering like golden stars. He closes his eyes as if the sight gives him a headache. His grip on Obi-Wan's hair loosens and he caresses it with his fingers instead, carefully combing down the wet strands Obi-Wan is sure stick up in every direction. Dooku bends down toward him; and something caves and swells inside Obi-Wan's chest when Dooku presses his mouth against his sweat-damp forehead. "What you did three days past, during our attempt to seize the droid factory," he hears Dooku murmur into his skin, and his voice floods Obi-Wan like ice water, "you will never do that again."

(What part of it? The taste of Dooku's blood, the smell of his skin, rust and sunlight, and his eyes: wide and dark like liquid amber? The cold tingle of Bacta, the rustle of the gauze? Dooku's limp weight and the faint thump-thump-thump of his heart when Obi-Wan laid his head against his chest? What part of it? The heated discussion in the factory's control room?—how Obi-Wan stormed off, first blinded by rage, then by the sudden detonation, then by something else altogether when he crawled from below the debris and Dooku's bleeding body? What part of it does Dooku want to forget?)

Obi-Wan pushes at him; he needs to see his face.

But Dooku pulls away. "You are not a prisoner.” He retreats behind the table and lowers himself into the chair, the movement stiff and without his usual grace. "If you wish to leave, the door is right there. Although I must warn you: I will not give up the ship without a fight."

Obi-Wan lifts an eyebrow. "You are injured, Dooku."

Dooku pours himself a glass of wine. The cold has tinted the skin beneath his nails an unhealthy, bluish shade. "That should level the field somewhat."

"Going at each other won’t improve my mood, let alone yours."

"Stabbing me in my sleep would be the most efficient strategy, though I wouldn't think you a spineless coward who—"

"Just shut up!" Obi-Wan plants both his hands onto the table, leaning toward Dooku. "Who are you trying to distract with this petty jabber? You cling so desperately to your belief that everything has to be paid in misery and suffering that you’re denying yourself even the slightest bit of—"

"The last thing I need is your pity," Dooku hisses.

"Oh trust me Dooku, I do not feel sorry for you."

Dooku stares at him from over his glass. "Get out."

"I'm not leaving," Obi-Wan blurts out. Dooku keeps staring at him with that dumb face, and the heat rises inside Obi-Wan. It crushes his lungs, pushes against his throat, and his body tingles with the urge to move; shake it off, crawl beneath the table, maybe throw more logs to the fire, or hit Dooku. He swallows. His mouth is so dry that his tongue sticks to his palate like old gauze to a wound. "I'm staying."

Dooku straightens in his chair and raises his chin. "And yet, moments ago, you were entertaining the idea of crawling back to the Jedi."

Obi-Wan clutches the edge of the table. "You know that's not what I said."

"Isn't it?" Dooku samples the wine, his eyes never leaving Obi-Wan's.

"Kindly cease twisting my words, Dooku," Obi-Wan says coldly. "And stop drinking. Are you hoping to make this tower your grave?" He snatches the wine glass from Dooku's hand and downs it himself. The alcohol is bitter on his tongue, but it sends a pleasant burn down his throat.

Dooku's hand snaps up and grips his wrist. Wine spills over Obi-Wan's sleeve; the glass slips from his fingers and shatters onto the floor. Obi-Wan knocks forward, his knuckles grazing Dooku's throat before he braces against the backrest of the chair; it creaks and shudders.

Beneath them, a thousand tiny shards gleam upon the floor, like stars, like teeth.

Dooku has no eyes for the destruction. He is staring up at Obi-Wan, his right leg awkwardly stretched underneath the table to reduce the pressure on his wound. Scabbed scratches litter the left side of his face, and all Obi-Wan can think about are the scars hiding below Dooku's clothes, the ones he put there, the ones Dooku put there for him. He shivers; a gust of wind sweeps under his wet tunic, but Dooku's face is warm when he touches it. Dooku presses into his hand, tentatively, as if still wary whether this will veer into care or cruelty. Obi-Wan exhales soundlessly: don't, he wants to say, don't do this, don't trust this, me, us. He brushes his thumb along the corner of Dooku's mouth.

Dooku closes his eyes, licks his lips. "Obi-Wan ..." he mumbles.

What remains of Obi-Wan's reason burns up in that breathy whisper. He falls forward and crushes Dooku's mouth beneath his. Dooku stiffens, then opens with a groan, and his hands are back in Obi-Wan's hair, both of them, burying into the wet strands, just like Obi-Wan buries himself in Dooku. He sways and falls, or maybe Dooku pulls him; the chair scrapes over the stone tiles as Obi-Wan crawls onto Dooku's lap and wraps himself around his heat, and it's all Obi-Wan has been craving: Dooku's body against his when nobody is watching, because everybody is gone.

Their teeth clash; Dooku angles his head and his fingers clench in Obi-Wan's hair as he kisses back, his breath heavy and wet and his nose pushing against Obi-Wan's cheekbones. The taste of him makes Obi-Wan dizzy. Wine, he thinks, something that is bitter at first but reveals layers of addictive sweetness the more you drink of it. When Dooku gropes at Obi-Wan's back and makes a noise like he's drowning, Obi-Wan's stomach gives a startled twist. He rolls his hips, grinds down until he feels Dooku growing hard beneath him. Dooku breathes wetly into Obi-Wan's neck and groans again; maybe with pleasure, maybe with pain, Obi-Wan doesn't care, and he isn't even sure which possibility arouses him more. He tilts Dooku's chin toward him and pushes his tongue between Dooku's bared teeth into the soft, searing warmth. Dooku's eyes change color like Obi-Wan's saber: they're soot and smoke and embers that swirl in his irises. He keeps them open while they kiss, watches Obi-Wan from below heavy lashes, and it's weird how this sight ignites a giddy heat in Obi-Wan's guts, similar to when he finally sunk that knife into Dooku's chest after weeks of skirting him. This, he thinks, I can still win this, I can still wound you, you feel this too. He slides a hand below Dooku's tunic, runs his fingers along the wound where the skin is hot and swollen, and Dooku moans around Obi-Wan's tongue.

When they part for air, they are both panting like animals. Dooku cups Obi-Wan's face in his large hands and traces the curve of his cheek with his thumbs.

"Stay with me," he breathes against Obi-Wan's mouth; it's barely louder than the wind howling against the tower, but Obi-Wan is close enough to taste his words on his tongue.

"Stay." His mouth grazes Obi-Wan's neck.

"Obi-Wan." He draws him flush against his chest.

Obi-Wan's hand is squished between their abdomens. He presses harder; digs his fingers into Dooku's ribcage, the softness below, and it's all so familiar and yet strange, the same skin he has touched and ripped apart and restitched countless times. He can feel the rise and fall of Dooku's chest and the pulsing heat trapped between his thighs where Obi-Wan straddles him. The blade guard on Dooku's saber stabs into Obi-Wan's stomach.

Obi-Wan drops his head on Dooku's shoulder. Distantly, he realizes that he is warm, almost hot, for the first time in days.

Outside, he can hear it: the last, gentle drip of water as the storm finally dies down.

[firewoodwander]

hello allow me to infect your brain with a polyship. After the war: Fives/Tup, Tup/Dogma, Dogma/Slick (potential Tup/Dogma/Slick or Fives/Tup/Dogma, but Fives and Slick are on sight)

(for additional fun and profit throw in Echo returns with his batch of badboyfriends)

this is for the pairing/smut trope/kink meme, but you know they might be too busy fighting about everything, for anyone to get laid 🤣

BCNCBSSJHS the Tru Poly Agenda is one of my favourite agendas and I’ve been thinking about tup and dogma (my ogs… my beloveds) already, so this is too good. Idk how to get [counts fingers] almost nine whole (lol) characters into a prompt fic but the thought is there

Wish you would write…

“I’m back!” Fives shouts into the house, letting the door slam shut behind him.

“Did you pass Slick on your way in?” Tup calls out. Dogma swears under his breath and jabs Tup in the ribs, but Tup only grins and wriggles a little bit in his lap to get away from sharp fingers.

“No,” Fives says, sounding immediately perturbed, “thank the stars. Why is that bastard still coming here?”

“Because he’s a pain in the ass,” Dogma drawls, at the same time Tup snorts a laugh and emphasises the phrase, “Because we like him,” like he would to a cadet.

“He’s an indicted felon!” Fives protests—an old argument. He wanders into the living room and finds them sprawled on the sofa. “A coward and a bastard,” he explains, leaning down distractedly to kiss Tup hello and Dogma on the top of his head, “and he blew up half the fucking base on Christophsis.”

“We weren’t even there,” Dogma mutters. He has his thumbnail between his teeth and he’s not paused reading the article on his datapad. Fives makes an irate noise. “Get over yourself.”

Tup swings his feet down to the floor and gets up to follow Fives and the crinkle of grocery bags into the kitchen. “Anyway—aren’t there more important things to discuss?”

“Always,” Fives agrees, his frown melting into a wide grin as he unpacks the fresh produce. “The Marauder is on course to make planet fall, ETA twenty-two-hundred hours. I picked up a few more bits than usual, we’ll have a late latemeal and an extra mouth to feed tonight!”

Fives’ joy is infectious. Tup finds himself grinning too as he absorbs it, wrapping himself around Fives’ back and making a great hindrance of himself, not that Fives seems to give a damn.

“More like five extra mouths,” says Dogma, finally following them in. He sets his datapad in its cradle and comes over to help pack away the food. He gets an extra jab in to Tup’s side with his elbow and a smirk; Tup sticks his tongue out at him.

Together they clear the counters. Tup washes and slices up a bowl of fruit for the three of them. Dogma takes the time to wipe down all the surfaces, and then gets carried away scrubbing the sink and then the hob while he’s at it. Fives watches, plying him with berries from time to time and planning what to make for Echo’s return.

“We’re going to need to move soon,” Tup announces suddenly.

Both Dogma and Fives pause in their heckling of each other and look towards him in askance.

“Well, as much as I like our flat… it’s kind of small?” Tup runs his hand along the length of the counter and makes it only a foot or so until his fingers find the edge of the sink. “And with the number of people coming and going, it’s not just ourselves that Dogma and I are thinking about, anymore.”

Dogma is already frowning off into the middle distance. Tup can practically see the thoughts cycling through his mind, discarded or tagged onto his list of priorities one by one. More bedrooms, for one. A bigger reception area. Maybe even an actual table to eat at, rather than finding pasta under the sofa cushions way later than they ever want to be finding it.

But then Fives asks “Are you inviting me to move in?” with a sly, and slightly shy little smile, and that snaps Dogma right out of it with a huff and a flick of a tea towel.

“Are you seriously being coy about that? You live here already, you dolt.”

Fives cackles, dodging Dogma’s next snap of the towel. He hides behind Tup, who smiles wryly and pats his shoulder.

“So? What do you think?”

Ever-indulgent, Dogma smiles over at him. It makes the vertex of his tattoo crinkle a little, just the way Tup loves.

“I think that would be wise,” he says, and lunges for Fives again. “Especially if we’re going to keep picking up strays.”

Tup reaches out and snatches Dogma by the waist, preventing him running after their hooting third. Dogma goes pliant in his hold and Tup squeezes him around the middle.

“Thank you,” he says, utterly sincere. Dogma twists to brush a kiss along his jaw.

“Of course.”

[umbramoons]

In response to this post by @wreckers-wife, I've decided to post one of my self-indulgent one-shots that I wrote recently. Basically, it's just what I like to imagine going to bed with Tech would be like. (Yes, Tech, because who else would I be this in love with?) This may be a bit cringy, but it was written for me, so please be nice!

I walked into my bedroom, quickly shutting the door behind me. I turned to see Tech grinning at me and suppressed a smile of my own at his delighted expression. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He shook his head with a soft sigh. "Do I require a reason to admire you? Are you not constantly captivating?"

I smiled knowingly as I took a pair of fuzzy socks from my bag. "It’s the leggings, isn’t it?"

Tech hummed as I crawled onto the bed beside him and lifted an arm so I could cuddle up to his side. "Perhaps they prompt a more thorough admiration."

With a blush adorning my face, I reached down to pull on the socks. "You would think you’d be used to it since I wear them every night. Why do you like them so much?"

He leaned over to help me tug the second sock up my calf before continuing up my leg, caressing his hand along my thigh. "Because, unlike your other clothes, these allow me to view every one of your fascinating curves."

I couldn’t stop the giggle that flew from my mouth at that. "You think my curves are fascinating?"

"Fascinating, magnificent, alluring…" Tech’s hand froze on my hip as he glanced at me. "Too much?"

I rolled my eyes and leaned forward to place a kiss on his cheek. "I’ll allow it."

Then Tech pulled me into his lap, and his lips were on mine before another word could be spoken.

With a sigh, I brought my hands up to his face, reciprocating the kiss. My heartbeat spiked as Tech took me in his arms and laid me down on the bed, continuing to kiss me deeply. After the initial surprise faded, I broke the kiss, blinking up at him with wide eyes. "Woah."

The shock on my face concerned him, and Tech immediately backed off. "Forgive me. I may have gotten a bit carried away."

Tech was about to move away, but I reached up to place my arms around his neck, drawing him back down to me. I placed a sweet kiss on his lips, conveying just how much I wanted this moment with him.

He pulled back slightly, looking at me with confusion in his eyes. "I thought you wanted me to stop."

"And miss out on kisses?" I gasped in mock horror. "Absolutely not." He still looked unsure, so I leaned up to brush my lips against his, softly urging him to respond. "Kiss me."

Almost before I finished speaking, I was pushed back against the pillows again. Half-pinning me beneath him, Tech's lips pressed against mine with renewed confidence, and I met him with equal enthusiasm. The kiss was intense, but it was gentle and full of adoration, as his kisses always were.

After a few minutes, I let my head fall to the pillow, releasing a dreamy sigh that had been building in my chest as Tech kissed me. My eyes closed as his lips shifted away from my mouth, trailing soft kisses along my neck. "Tech…"

He immediately moved to hover just above my lips, so close that he nearly kissed me again as he murmured his response. "Darling."

I almost melted. I almost pulled him down for another session of kisses. The only thing that stopped me was the tiredness slowly building in the back of my mind. "As much as I would love to do this all night, we both need to get some sleep."

"As you wish." Tech blessed me with one last dizzying kiss before lifting me into his arms and settling me under the comforter. "Goodnight, my love."

"Night." I reached over and turned out the light.

Tech got into bed next to me and immediately pulled out his datapad. He usually wouldn’t be on it for too long, but I still had to remind him to go to sleep some nights.

I shifted around for a moment, trying to find a comfortable position. After a minute, I settled on my side, facing Tech as I wormed my face into the pillow. Then I felt the cold making its way through my clothes. Even my toes could feel the chill through the thick socks that were supposed to warm my feet.

I hummed unhappily and curled up in an attempt to warm myself up. I knew the bed would be cold for a while, but I hadn’t been expecting this.

Tech turned his head at the noise. "Are you alright?"

"I’ll be okay," I muttered. "It just takes time for the bed to warm up."

"Should I find another blanket?"

"No." I grabbed his arm as he moved to get out of bed. "It’ll be even worse if you leave."

Tech looked at me for a moment. Then he sighed and put his datapad away. To my surprise, he pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me and tangling his legs with mine. Warmth spread throughout my body at the contact, and I buried my face in his neck, shivering as the cold started to fade. 

"Is that any better?" he whispered.

"Oh, yeah." I blushed as he chuckled into my hair. "What? You know I love cuddling with you. It doesn’t have to be cold for that."

Tech ran his hand up and down my back, dispelling the worst of the cold. "While that may be true, you do not typically hold me like this on most nights."

"I don’t?" He hummed in confirmation, and I pressed myself closer to him. "I’ll have to change that. You deserve to be held."

There was a pause. "As do you, mesh’la." Tech coaxed my face away from his neck to press a loving kiss to my lips. "As do you." He tucked my head back to its previous position, shifting to kiss my temple before resting his head on mine. "Sweet dreams, dearest."

[l-lend]

Congrats on your follower milestone!! We aren’t terribly close but I enjoy seeing you on my dash and wanted to help you celebrate! So, for the requests, I wanted to ask for a fluffy fun cooking scenario with Wrecker and Kimber (or reader if you rather, but I’m a sucker for OC’s and always want more of them -v-)

Hey there,

I'm glad you messaged me after making the request. It would have changed the tone of the fic entirely if it was Wrecker and Kimber cooking together instead of Wrecker and Rina. Hope you like some cute cooking fluff, and thanks for being patient.

Wrecker x OC (Rina)

Warning(s): fluff

A com device chirped for a few moments before a hand groped blindly to find the offending noise.

“Yeah?”

“You sound tired, Rina.”

The woman chuckled, “I'll sleep when I'm dead, boss lady.”

Rina could hear the half hearted huff through the device.

“Just thought you'd like to know, we're coming in now. Might have some down time for a few days while Tech has some repairs.”

Rina clicked her tongue, “I'll make myself decent.”

Once the line was cut, Rina rolled out of bed plucking up some clothing that lacked the odor of work.

A short walk and a drink order later, Rina curled up at her post by the bar. Her back to the door as she kept an ear out. The clinking of credits changing hands. The systematic clicking of the parlor's rigged games of chance happily snatching up credits to feed the house.

Her drink was nearly gone by the time the familiar commotion met her ears. She raised her drink in greeting, but the feeling of a strong arm curling around her waist curled the corners of her mouth.

“Hey big guy.”

“Hey pretty lady. When'd you get in?”

“Couple of rotations or so. The girls are out today with smol so I'm not even babysitting today.”

“Yeah? Means we coul-”

“Wrecker, are we going?”

The pair turned to see the smallest member with her head cocked to the side. Rina huffed a bit of a laugh before tapping the clone's hand with her own.

“You're not breaking tradition because of me. Go on, you can meet back up with me later.”

His eyes searched hers for any sign of dissent, but violet hair swished as Rina jerked her head to the door. A grin tugging at her lips.

“Get going. I'll tell em where you went.”

After a quick squeeze and the a peck to her head, the partners in crime bounded off to the markets leaving the lady mercenary with her now empty drink. The blush along Rina's cheeks showing no signs of settling down due to his previous proximity. With Cid occupying the rest of the squad, Rina shot off a message for Kimber before she headed out. At least with him distracted, the hangar that passed as the girls' domicile could get some attention.

The door swung open with Rina making a b-line for the canvas lined space that passed as her room. The ruins of what could only be described as a clothing bomb were snapped up to be stashed away for laundry day. Her datapad moved from its usual post as her bed fellow to the crate currently doubling as her night stand. The woman's cleaning supervisor, a black and blue tooka doll, keeping watch atop her pillow as the sheets were snapped into some semblance of order.

At hearing the door swing open paired with the sound of heavier footfalls, Rina straightened up and parted the canvas that granted the space its privacy. Her target locking eyes with her as soon as she peered out from the canvas curtains. The large clone quickly closing the distance between them. His smile broadening as he plucked her up. Color blossoming across her cheeks as his lips graced her heated skin.

“Missed you.”

She melted in his hold, her head nestling against his chest, “Missed you too, big guy.”

She remained for the moment breathing him in before she tilted her head up finding his gaze fixed on her.

“Got a surprise for you from my last job, doesn't come with a payload though.”

“'s alright, what is it?”

“Gonna need you to get the heating element and that grate down for me.” Her lips feigned a pout, “It's too high up.”

“You got it.”

The contact of his lips against her cheek still held warmth long after he set her back down. After she took her time watching the large clone retrieve the items from the shelf as if they weighed nothing, Rina revealed the vacuum sealed packages with a triumphant flair.

“Some nerf herder liked how Lex and I handled poachers on his property, so we got a little something extra sent home.”

The look she got in return had her suppressing a smile, “The guy was actually a nerf herder. Promise."

A brief series of clicks brought the heating element emitting an orange glow with the grate plopped on top shortly after. The packaging crinkled under Rina's fingers, as she soon freed their dinner. A quick sprinkle of a spice or two and the two slabs of meat spat and hissed as soon as they made contact with the grate.

"Had no idea you could cook."

Rina chuckled, "I'm passable with a few things. Just don't tell Irys or she'll rework our chores arrangement again."

An arm coiled around her waist, "wouldn't dream of it."

Being brought back into his hold was a welcomed inevitability. As routine as a moon pushing and pulling the tide. She tilted her head back to met his gaze.

"You staying the night? Been a bit cooler on planet lately."

Wrecker's expression twisted up in concern.

"Is the heating out? I-I think we may have some extra-"

A mirthful sigh through her nose and her hands captured his head. An attempt to keep his mind from running off with his worry.

"Easy, big guy. I just didn't know if you'd be sleeping over with me. I know the ship's cramped."

"I don't mind it. Not a lot of things built for a guy like me."

Rina pulled free only to tend to the steaks. The aroma pleasantly wafting to the rest of the hangar. He watched as she tested the give of the meat as she regarded it with a much focus as he had seen in his brother when piloting the Marauder. Her lips pursed every so often practically begging to get another kiss.

He easily slipped a finger under her chin before guiding her to his lips. Heat spilling into their veins that spurred them further into their lip lock. It was the petite smuggler that abruptly broke free of his kiss. Her affection drunk mind surfacing long enough to bring her attention back to the steaks.

“Shit.”

A flick of her fingers in a clipped upward arch separated the steaks from the grate to avoid charring the poor cuts beyond recognition. Once a plate was under them, she relaxed her gesture allowing the meat to drop. Her face scrunched as she studied their meal.

“They..might not be as rare as I'd like em.” She said offering the plate, which he took while she shut off the heating element.

The silence between the pair stretched until Wrecker broke it.

“You know, this is kinda nice.”

Rina offered a shrug, “Well, might start having to make nerf a staple then if you like it.”

“No...I mean yes that'd be great, but...” His free hand pointed from himself to her, “this. I like this.”

The playful roll of her eyes was all he needed.

“Alright big guy, I'm not getting all sappy until after we eat."

[daddycephalopod]

Stars Fading Chapter 4

After The Storm

Summary: They return from Umbara, and nobody is okay.

TW/CW: Cody has a PTSD episode in his sleep.

Translations: te'habirÖbe gar buy'ce = take off your helmet

Chat names: Sunny is Kyra, CafGoblin is Kavra, and GeneralSunshine is Aurora.

Tags: @starstofillmydream

The news traveled fast on what had happened after they returned from Umbara. Rex found Aurora and went radio silent for the entire leave. Kix had walked off the ship and straight to Emilie to pull her into a close embrace. Kyra had been tied up at work, her knee feeling much better now and no need for a cane. She had a month and a half of things to catch up on and had seen the message much later about them returning.

Kyra immediately set out to find Cody, trying to call his comm but getting no reply. She searched all the usual places she might find him, finally realizing where he might actually be. She went back to her apartment and walked in, finding him there by the light of the lamp and nothing else. He was sitting on the couch, helmet still on. Head in his hands.

“Cody…” She said, “te'habirÖbe gar buy'ce.”

He did, slowly, before looking at her. Cody tried to keep it in, stiff upper lip, but Kyra could see right through it by now. She could see the weight of everything that just happened sitting heavily on this man and didn’t hesitate to wrap him in a hug. He rested his head against her stomach, holding onto her. They didn’t speak for several minutes as Cody slowly melted into the hug.

“Thank you, mesh’la.” He said softly.

Kyra smiled a bit at the term of endearment, “anytime.”

She pulled away then.

“We should get this stuff off you…” she said.

Cody didn’t protest that, pulling his plastoid armor off and stacking it neatly beside the couch. Kyra had him sit with his back facing her and had started to rub the back of his neck, which turned into his shoulders and somewhere in it he had his head on her lap. He was snoring soon, Kyra having run her fingers through his hair idly while watching the news. He had jerked awake suddenly at one point, eyes wide and breathing erratic.

Kyra gently guided him back down to her lap, Cody looking up at her with pure panic in his eyes. She knew exactly what was happening and silently cursed. Cody stared up into her eyes, noticing the flecks of gold against dark brown. Apart from the soft hum of the news, silence filled the room still as neither had really said anything since she walked into her apartment. She wasn’t going to make him talk about it if he didn’t want to but she wasn’t going to send him off on his own either.

She turned the news off to allow for complete silence before she gently rubbed his temples with her thumbs. Cody had grabbed her wrist at one point, making her stop as she looked at him curiously. That endearing head tilt. He pressed a gentle kiss to the palm of her hand and looked up at her. It was very affectionate and she could feel her face heat up about it.

“You’re safe here…” she said, “no matter what. Get some sleep, I’m not going anywhere.”

Kyra stayed awake all night watching over him and his fitful sleep, Cody now having moved up to rest his head on her stomach again as he wrapped his arms around her. Kyra had a datapad in one hand, messaging the group chat.

Sunny: he’s said maybe 4 words to me and he’s not sleeping well. He seemed to panic a little when I went to shut out the light. I don’t know what happened out there but this has to end eventually, right?

GeneralSunshine: I wish, Kyra. I wish so much I could snap my fingers and end this war. We all do.

CafGoblin: Anakin is not doing well either. Apparently he feels very guilty about leaving his men in the hands of someone he says he should have known was bad.

GeneralSunshine: I’m going to check on him in the morning, I already asked him to come meet me in the gardens. I should have been on this mission, I should have been there with them.

Sunny: you can’t blame yourself.

GeneralSunshine: I might have been able to do more. I haven’t said any of this to Rex. He’s a wreck himself.

Sunny: Everybody did the best they could with what they had. It was shit all around. They haven’t even figured the final tally of lost troopers to send off to Kamino. You know, it drives me nuts how they’re just numbers to everybody else.

GeneralSunshine: I promise you, not a single Jedi sees them that way.

Sunny: I know. It’s not the Jedi, it’s the government.

Silence fell in the chat after she sent that and so she decided to order some parts, do some paperwork. Suddenly, the datapad was knocked out of her hand and she moved fast to brace herself as he pinned her down and cocked his fist back.

“Cody!” She said, cupping his face.

He opened his eyes, wide and wild as his chest heaved. He quickly realized that Kyra was not a battle droid and that he was very much not on the battlefield but in her apartment. The apartment that became a safe place for him. Nobody was demanding anything of him here, there was no war or pain here, just Kyra. Kyra, who had vivid understanding etched into her features as she gently cupped his face.

Cody shot up off of the couch like a wounded animal, retreating from the pain he almost caused.

“Cody.” She said, sitting upright now.

He gathered his plastoid and started to put it on quietly. She stood then.

“I shouldn’t be here. I should go.”

He had gotten too comfortable, too vulnerable. He had almost hurt her in his nightmares.

“Stop.” She said, grabbing his hand now.

He flinched at that, almost as if he was afraid just gently touching her would hurt her.

“There’s nothing you can do to harm me.” She said

“I wish that were true, mesh’la.”

He pulled his hand out of hers and left the apartment, the door clicking silently as he shut it gently. Kyra sunk onto the couch and grabbed her datapad.

Sunny: Rex should go check on Cody.

That was all she sent to the group chat before going radio silent for days. Kyra decided to bury herself in her work instead, trying not to worry. Cody would come to her when he was ready, right? She knows he was grieving something big and dealing with the trauma.

She really missed him, it hit her one day when she was getting ready for work. One cup of caf was clasped between her hands and she found his old note about sorry if it’s cold. She smiled a bit and looked around the apartment. The table they’d have take out on, the couch they’d cuddle on, and when she realized even her pillows still smelled like his soap she began to question what the nature of their friendship was.

Kyra decided to instead head out, shaking the thoughts from her head as she flagged down a taxi. A meeting with the Senator, Padme Amidala. She wondered what it was she wanted from her, she was just the lead for the technician team that repaired the Venator and whatever else crashed into her repair sector.

Kavra was there, walking beside her after she entered the senate building. She had gotten a pass, signing in with security.

“All red these days.” Kyra said as she walked with Kavra.

“They run a tight ship.” She replied.

“Why are you trailing me?” Kyra asked as she scanned her visitor pass to get on the elevator.

“Nobody’s heard from you for almost two weeks. Can’t I worry about my friend? And you’re here, with your messy bun and your bag full of paperwork. We miss you, you know.” Kavra said as she got into the elevator with her.

Kyra sighed and since they were alone, she pushed the stop button.

“Cody almost punched me during a nightmare. I haven’t seen or heard from him since, so I am burying myself in my work. My leg is healed, it just aches a bit when it rains. I’m eating, showering, sleeping. I’m functional.” Kyra said

“But are you okay?”

The question threw her off her guard for a minute and her vision got a little misty but she shook it off and pushed the button to make the elevator go again.

“Kyra.” Kavra frowned when she didn’t get an answer.

“I didn’t realize how I felt about him until he wasn’t around anymore and now it’s probably too late. He won’t let me in, I can’t force him. I have to go talk to the Senator.”

She got off the elevator on the floor she needed, leaving Kavra to frown at her after she also got off the elevator. Fox was walking by and noted the melancholy pouring off of Kyra as Kavra looked concerned for her friend. He approached her then as they began to mutter about senate business, going back down the elevator. Kyra brushed a few stray tears away before being escorted in by droids.

Obi-wan, Anakin, Rex, and Cody were found in Padmé’s office as Kyra entered.

“Kyra! Please have a seat. Would you like something to drink?” She asked

Kyra sat down and shook her head, offering a polite smile before digging around in her bag.

“I’ll make this quick, ma’am. I heard you wanted to see some of my schematics?” She asked as she pulled out a datapad.

“Yes. I’m curious about the ships the GAR is using and would like to present a budget increase to the senate, if you wouldn’t mind helping. I think more funds towards your work could help drastically.” Padmé said, demeanor as warm as her smile.

Kyra stopped and looked up from the datapad, “you want to fund my work?”

“Of course. Commander Cody and Captain Rex were telling me all about the hard work you do and if they have confidence in you, I do too.”

Kyra couldn’t help but blush slightly at that.

“I don’t work alone. I have several techs under my care who contribute vastly to the success of what we do.” She said, going back to pulling up the schematics on her datapad.

She slid it across the desk and Padmé took a look. After a few beats of silence, she smiled again.

“I’ll make sure you can have enough to pay them handsomely for their work too. Any parts you need, anything. I already know Senator Chuchi and Senator Organa are backing this idea with me. May I have a copy of these to show the senate?” Padmé asked.

Kyra began to feel a little nervous about letting go of her work, the outline of what she did, and gently slid the datapad out of the senator’s grasp. She felt a shift and looked over at Anakin whose eyebrows furrowed. Very overprotective.

“I mean no offense, ma’am…but I am a little hesitant to release this information. It’s not you, you have been very accommodating and kind.”

Padmé nodded in understanding, “so speak with me. Come to the senate meeting and present it yourself. The information stays in your hands and I still get to try and petition for more funds.”

She was very casual about this idea.

“Oh.” Kyra said, “my public speaking skills are terrible.”

“I want to help you.” She tried to reassure.

Kyra chewed the inside of her cheek and then nodded.

“Can you send me the details for the senate meeting and I’ll see you there?” Kyra asked

“I’ll do you one better, I can send a transport to make sure you and your data travel safely.” Padmé smiled

“Senator, that’s kind of you but you don’t have to.”

“I insist.” She replied.

Kyra nodded and stood. They shook hands.

“Thank you, Senator.” Kyra said

“Please, call me Padmé. You and I will be working closely together for a while.” She said, handshake firm and warm.

“I’m afraid I must take leave too, sir.” Cody said as his comm went off.

“No problem. I’ll continue to discuss with Obi-wan and he can brief you later on the final details.” She said

Kyra and Cody left the office together, although very quiet as they got onto the elevator. The tension between them was thick, he could sense she was clamming up a bit as she crossed her arms over her chest. She was grasping her arms instead of tucking her hands, eyeing the ticker for the floors. Cody sighed and decided to give it a go.

“I’m sorry, for what happened. For leaving. I haven’t had time to come by with everything going on. There’s a war going on, I don’t know if you’ve heard about it.” He said, voice modulated by his helmet.

Kyra moved fast, stopping the elevator and turning to face him.

“That’s your apology?” She asked

He pulled his helmet off and tucked it under his arm, to look her in the eyes as he spoke to her.

“Kyra. I can’t begin to express how sorry I am that you not only had to see me that way but that I ran. You offered me a safe space in my vulnerability and I got so scared of hurting you that I ran. Then, I did get swept up in my work but I thought of you every single day. I wanted to call, but time didn’t allow. I’ve been sitting with Rex a lot. He’s buried in paperwork after….” Cody couldn’t say it, feeling his throat tighten a little around the word.

Umbara.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I am sorry and I want to make it up to you if you let me.”

She crossed her arms over his chest and stared at him, closed off and guarded. Emotional but cautious. A Mando down to her core. Cody moved to push the button behind her to start the elevator but she grabbed him by his plastoid and pulled him into a kiss that seemed to startle him for a minute.

She almost pulled away, not getting a response from him immediately. Cody wrapped his arms around her and didn’t let her get away, kissing her back deeply. She moved her hands, tangling them in his hair as he picked her up effortlessly. Her bag clamored to the floor, contents spilling as his helmet also hit the floor. Neither could be bothered right now. He held her between him and the wall now, her legs wrapped around him as he rested his forehead against hers.

Kyra opened her eyes to see his closed, a sense of calm she hadn’t seen in a while passing over his features.

“Dinner. I want to take you to dinner…if you have time. I know you’re a very busy and important man.” She said, his eyes opening to look right into hers now.

A warm affection she finally noticed, calling it what it was.

“I’ll take you to dinner.” He said, knowing they were probably going to argue over the check.

He kissed her again, Kyra gladly welcoming it when a voice came out overhead.

“Hey, not that I’m not happy for you guys because it’s about damn time, but you can’t be holding up senate elevators.” Fox said

Right, he would see everything here. Kavra was practically slapping his arm in excitement as a squeal left her when she initially saw the movement after the security camera beeped about the elevator being stopped.

“Sorry, Fox.” Cody said, setting Kyra down.

“Not a problem, just don’t do it again.”

Kyra pushed the button, smiling to herself. She felt warm, tingly, biting her bottom lip. Cody put his helmet back on and stood up straight, all proper commander again despite the fact his codpiece may or may not have tightened a little. He helped her gather her things back in her bag before she slung it over her shoulder again. She played with the strap, fidgety. Nervous.

“Dinner.” Kyra said as they walked out together.

“I’ll come pick you up around 6. Is that okay?” He asked

She nodded, still smiling. They went to part ways outside, Kyra flashing him that toothy smile he was coming to fall in love with before getting into a taxi.

[of-nyon]

Fuck it. Moar.

“– the most expensive frame we've ever fitted, we have the paperwork to prove it, all the financials printed and signed, and he absconded with his debt unpaid –”

Well, you couldn't have spent that much on materials, given how small he is, Prowl thought. Absently, he drummed his fingers on his desk in a habit he knew he had picked up from Jazz, a mech who, in Prowl's experience, could only sit still if his life depended on it and even then his chances were middling at best.

On the holoscreen, sat comfortably in an opulent office a few megamiles away in Nyon, was the Head Curator of Sanctuary House, the last registered place of work of Rodimus Prime, né Hot Rod. The new Prime was still holed up in the apartment he'd initially fled to, the Primal Vanguard keeping careful watch of any comings and goings in the building and the immediate surrounding area. Curiously, his previous employer had requested a meeting specifically not with Optimus, but 'whoever else comes after him that's dealing with this whole situation.'

“Are you asking,” Prowl interrupted, his time with Optimus and Jazz having loosened him to where thoughts that he would before have kept to himself now, occasionally, when warranted, freely left his mouth, “for the Matrix-chosen Prime to be returned to you? To work?”

“W-well,” the mech's plating ruffled, withering under Prowl's unimpressed gaze. There was paperwork. There was always paperwork. And this fool was wasting his time. “The expenses, you understand, and he was one of our most requested models, we took a real hit in revenue when he left – left! It's an outrage!”

Hot Rod was young, but he was older than Optimus' ascension and subsequent reforms, born into the last throes of Functionism, ultimately under the thumb of a mech Prowl had immediately disliked the moment the holoscreen switched on.

“Send us your invoice,” Prowl said flatly. “We will cover any debts he accrued.”

“But the lost revenue –” Also couldn't be too much, at this point. Hot Rod had only left Nyon an estimated decaorn ago. They hadn't even submitted a missing mech report. Prowl had checked; nothing on the servers in the precinct at Nyon came up with his name except an old loitering arrest that, thankfully, hadn't yet made its way to the press. Prowl had quietly redacted and classified it while he'd been in the system.

“If your charges are deemed fair, we will pay it. Good day.” He switched the holoscreen off and reached out for a datapad in the same movement. Applications for the Primal Vanguard, currently recruiting to bolster their numbers given current events. He carefully evaluated each one, sending any approved to Ironhide and providing feedback to any rejected mechs, of which there were many. He did pay attention to younger mechs than he might have otherwise; a cohort of mechs closer to the Prime's age would be, overall, positive, given supervision and training by the older staff. After making it through half the stack, he checked in on Jazz again.

:Any updates?:

:Hi to you too, Prowler.: Jazz sounded chipper, although he usually did regardless of how well he was actually feeling. He would probably insist that he was fine even if he was bleeding out in front of Prowl's optics. Prowl blinked the thought away. He didn't need that imagery, or for the tac net to latch onto the scenario and start crunching numbers.

:He's up. We've, uh, been ignoring the news and whatever the infranet's melting down into. Some of his old pals in Nyon've commed him, seemed all right with it. Sounds like the festivals there are nuts right now. Been teaching him some beginner's electrobass, pretty fast learner I gotta say, and some basic lockpicking, though it turns out he already knew some o' that. My kinda mech. Likes copper flakes in his energon. Didn't have a clue what I was talkin' about when I tried to talk music, though. We have got to get this mech to a concert, stat. What are they teachin' 'em in Nyon?.:

:In his case?: Prowl replied, letting the words wash over him and picking out any actual information. Copper flakes; a message to the kitchens was quickly sent. :How to pleasure clients, most likely.:

:Ouch, you don't gotta come out an' say it like that.: Prowl could hear his wince. :They're sayin' some real gross stuff about him online.:

More damage control: mechs anonymously boasting that they had had his services before (unlikely, given the amount of claims) or fantasising about it in lurid detail.

:Guess they said gross stuff about OP too, but I dunno, he ain't even had his adult upgrades yet, he's old enough but they cheaped out on him.: Something to note for when Sanctuary House sent their invoice through, if they tried charging for it. And a message to Ratchet and his staff. Prowl received a quick, curt 'accepted' ping for that one; he could imagine the expression on the grouchy medic's face upon finding out that information.

:But hey, if we get the Matrix to him, all good, right? Free upgrade!: Yes, they would need to check in with Ratchet on whether it was preferable for Hot Rod to receive his adult upgrades first, or to let the Matrix reformat him to its pleasing and then deal with the aftermath as it came.

internet went out yesterday so I missed most of Tumblr Halloween which is bullshit. Have a new wip in lieu of boops.

The first Holy Act of Rodimus Prime, True-Chosen, warm white light still spilling off his frame, was to bolt.

He hadn't even come here for the Matrix! He'd come for the crowd, pushing and straining against each other for so much as a glimpse of the ancient artifact, and certainly not paying attention to someone slipping a hand into their subspace to grab whatever he could.

Hot Rod ran, ignoring the “Hey, wait!” from the guard who'd waved him through earlier. Optimus Prime apparently meant it; sure, the rich folk still got the top spots, same as always, but they'd let through a lowlife street mech like Hot Rod without him needing to sweet-talk them. He polished up good, when he had the means and the funds and the energy, and he'd put effort into tonight's look in hope it'd get him past the guards.

All for nothing, as he dropped into alt mode and sped out, tires screeching over someone's panicked 'Sir!'. The grand staircase was coming up fast, and someone – not him – yelled as he cleared the thing in one go without slowing down, enough momentum going that he was still going forward on his front tires as the rest of his frame crashed down to the priceless marbled floor. People screamed and scrambled out of his way, the big doors thrown wide open for all of Cybertron to come and view the Matrix, but the crowd outside was too much. He flipped back into root mode, experience helping him wrest himself through tight gaps. The groups of incoming mechs didn't have the news yet, so no-one tried to stop him as he fought through the press of bodies – at least anyone chasing him would also have to contend with -

There was a screeching of sirens behind him. That had the crowd's attention, and Hot Rod didn't dare look back as he finally passed under the main palatial gate, a strange shudder running through his frame as he took to his alt again now he was out on the streets. The white light had bled off, at least. Sure, it wasn't illegal to be chosen by the Matrix, probably, that was why Prime had set this whole thing up in the first place, but it was definitely illegal to have a subspace full of stuff he really needed to sell if he wanted to fuel any time soon.

The sirens pursued. If this was Nyon, he thought, taking a corner so hard he skidded on two tires before coming back down on four, he would already be down any number of boltholes, slag, he could probably hide in the Temple itself, there was a way to get up into the rafters no-one else knew. But Iacon was different - wide, expensive streets, no cover, no friends. Well-to-do-mecha – or, more likely, their gardeners – blinked at him as he sped past. Delicate crystals chimed in his ferocious wake, mingling with the sirens.

Slag, slag, slag. They were maybe a corner away. They always chased a running mech. He took back to root again, coming up jogging, slowing down to maybe not look as guilty and they'd think they were chasing some other guy, desperately trying to find the way out of this mess. He'd never been -

“Psst, kid!”

His head snapped up. An arm was waving out of the window of one of the expensive houses, one floor up.

“See that drainpipe? If you kick off that windowsill you can shimmy up and – yeah, you got it!”

Hot Rod didn't stop to think, just lunged at the offered way out. No-one 'psst, kid!'-ing him ever did it because they were in with the cops, and he took the matte black hand that helped him through the window easily.

“Whew!” His saviour said as he tumbled through, realising at the last moment to duck his head as the sirens wailed past not a moment later. “Close call, eh?”

“Thanks,” Hot Rod gasped, vents billowing, then he stilled. The sirens had stopped.

“Ooh, I bet I know who that is,” the mech, a little civilian car with a burning blue visor, went over to lean over Hot Rod and yell out the window: “Yo! Prowl!”

“Jazz,” the Enforcer's voice floated up, sounding prim and proper and not nearly like he'd been gunning flat-out after a racer. “Is that smoke? Are you on fire? Do you need assistance?”

“Eh?” Jazz wafted away the billowing hot air coming off Hot Rod's trembling frame. “Nah, nah, 's this new effect we're coming up with for the next show, real cool, real hot, I mean. Just giving her a test run. You get your guy?” He was leaning conversationally on the windowsill now, Hot Rod trapped between his legs and the wall.

“He appears,” Prowl's disembodied voice said, “to have vanished in the middle of the street, right outside your window.”

“Wow,” Jazz replied, one foot tapping out a restless beat next to Hot Rod's knee. “That's crazy.”

“He's not in trouble,” Prowl continued. “With the Palace. If you see a red and yellow speedframe, likely forged racer, wide yellow spoiler-wings, flame decals, possible – possible Nyonian origin, please let me know immediately. Once the footage starts circulating, people will start recognizing him, and we need to ensure his safety above all else.”

“Huh. All right.” Jazz switched feet on a beat only he could hear. “What footage are we talkin' about?”

---

“Wow, mech, you are in it,” Jazz whistled, low and melodious and impressed. Hot Rod buried his head in his hands. By the time he'd been scrambling through Jazz's window the news and infranet had set on fire with the tale of a new Prime, with the recordings to prove it to the doubtful. Headline after headline, post after post, a whole slew of fun new conspiracy theories springing up around him. The press had very quickly identified him, the registration document at the Nyonian hot spot of his spark, name, and function splashed across screens the planet over.

Hot Rod, Entertainer.

From there it would be a short skip to the House that had picked up and framed his spark and raised him for the legally-mandated timeframe of three orns before he was put to work.

“Yanno,” Jazz said, “Prowler did say you weren't in trouble. Like, he knows you're here, just figures you're safe with me for the time being. That mech don't lie.” A pause. “Well, he does when the numbers line up, but not about this, I think. He really doesn't want you to go get yourself slagged, is what I'm saying.”

Hot Rod lifted his head up, twin points of blue optics burning through the gaps in his fingers.

“I'm just sayin',” Jazz repeated, holding his hands palm-up in a gesture of truce. “Anyway, lemme treat you while you're with me, mech. You gunned it down here, I bet you could do with some fuel.”

---

Jazz was sat on the couch with one leg crossed over so his foot rested on his knee, idly strumming his electrobass, picking out low notes while Hot Rod was small enough to curl up a cushion over. He'd slipped into recharge some time ago, no problem, mech'd had a busy day.

:Jazz.: His comm crackled to life. :How is he?:

Jazz glanced over at his new charge before (quietly) plucking out a dramatic strum he associated with Prowl's appearance on the scene. If you were friends with Jazz for long enough, sooner or later you got a leitmotif assigned to you. More than one, if he really liked you. Prowl had the record, with four to his name.

:Doin all right, I think. Got some fuel in him, an' he's sleepin now. Cute kid. He really the new Prime?:

:The evidence is irrefutable.:

:Dang. Been kept busy, then?:

:You do not know the half of it.: Prowl sighed through the comm. :Please keep an optic on him, he's safe where he is right now while we deal with the fallout. We'll reimburse any expenses.:

:No problem, no problem.:

:And...if all goes well and he does take up the Primacy, and even if he doesn't, there is a reasonable chance your apartment will become a sacred pilgrimage site.: Jazz laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it, even knowing Prowl was as dead serious as he was with just about anything else in his life. :Optimus is more than happy to offer quarters in the Palace. I know your contract with Mellow is ending soon. We can bring you on-:

:What, as official good taste in music-haver?: Jazz asked, amused. And Prowl was right; Mellow liked to commission artists, pay for anything and everything they needed, then forget about it for a few decacycles until the contract was up and he got to see whatever it was you'd put together over that time. The mech had been on a night out with friends, scouting out his next big hit, Jazz had scored a gig as a temporary replacement bass player, and then was all but chased down by the guy after the show. And who would say no to what he was offering?

:If you'd like,: Prowl continued. Jazz had some idea that they were poking into Mellow's business, but that was no business of his, long as he got paid. He hadn't been interviewed about it, but Prowl was eager to get him out of the apartment and kept offering him a place up at the Palace.

:You know what,: Jazz said, glancing over to the sleeping probably-a-Prime and testing out some higher notes he thought suited Hot Rod. :Sure. It'll be funny, if nothing else.:

[companionwolf]

Toy Soldiers Ch 13

The snow melts, the world blooms, and the Commander recovers.

One morning, before the sun rises, they wake, get dressed, and grab their travel pack from its place in their closet. Central, half asleep on the second pillow, rouses at their touch as they pick him up and tuck him into a pocket.

You’re up early, he says.

“We’re going to HQ,” they say.

Oh, says Central.

They head down the stairs, pause only to say hello and goodbye to the other toys before they’re out the door, the house disappearing into the trees as they start into the forest proper.

How long will it take to get there?

“A while,” they say, “but I’ve been preparing.”

They make camp that evening, beside where the forest opens to a long empty asphalt road. The Commander makes a small fire, warms soup over it. In the dark, they look down at Central, who’s precariously perched on their knee. The firelight casts him bronzy orange.

You think there’ll be anything left?

“Maybe,” they say. “Can’t hurt to look.”

They continue this way for at least a week, traveling during the day and stopping in the evenings. They pass through ruined suburbs, navigate winding overpass tangles, slip past decaying fences and skirt ADVENT checkpoints. They ever stray toward any city center.

They reach the base on a warm spring evening, the Commander slipping through the broken door to the emergency stairwell. Down they go, blinking the black as they fumble for a flashlight.

Is it weird, Central asks as they heave the inner door open at the bottom of the stairwell, to be here?

They step out into the main control room, the Hologlobe dead, the computers overturned and dusty. Gingerly they walk through, barely breathing, as if they’re afraid to wake something. The place smells of smoke and death-- the Commander steps over bodies, tries not to recognize them, fails.

Distantly they hear gunshots, plasma fire, but they aren’t sure if it’s real. They’re white knuckled, one hand in their pocket gripping Central as if he’s a life line, and they guess at this moment he is.

I’m here, says Central.

“I’m glad you are,” they manage through the lump in their throat.

Their head hurts.

Their heart hurts.

The Commander distracts themselves by pulling down flags, rolling them up, tucking them away. Down in the research wing they prod and poke at ancient computers, try to boot them, fail. They rummage through the engineering wing, grabbing any overlooked blueprints and datapads.

Finally they go to the barracks, stand in the doorway.

“I can’t go in there,” they say finally, and turn away.

Where else is there to go?

A pause. “My quarters.”

Let’s go, then.

The walk is slow, hesitant. The Commander stands in front of the door to the small, stuffy suite, takes a long breath before they gently push it open and go inside. It is as if they never left -- a desk scattered with papers, a neatly made bed, bare walls, a long dead computer. They clamber up onto the bed, push aside a ceiling tile, and find the journal they’d hoped would be there.

What’s that?

“It was the main way me and Asaru talked,” they say, closing the ceiling tile again. “Besides internally, I mean.”

Oh, says Central. When you went to help the Reapers, did you learn anything?

“Not really,” they say as they sit on the bed, dropping their bag at the foot of it. “The Skirmishers said that they’d heard rumors of a new facility similar to the one I was in, up in the Arctic. That’s all I’ve got. No way to get there, either…”

I’m sorry, Commander.

“It’s -- it’s better this way,” they say. The journal sits heavy in their lap. They rub a thumb across the leather. They can’t bring themselves to open it, so they slide it into their bag and lie down, staring up at the ceiling.

You never answered my question, Central says.

“It is weird,” they say. “That’s the best I’ve got, is the word weird. I didn’t--- I guess I expected it all to be gone. For it to have died with everything else. For there not to be a corpse.”

The Commander pulls Central from their pocket, holding him against their chest. “It shouldn't be this way,” they say after a while. “It should be bustling and noisy and full of life and people, or pristine and quiet because we won and we don’t need it anymore, not in ruins.”

You did what you could, Central says. That’s all you could do.

“I should have expected it,” they say. Their throat is tight. “We knew the aliens had Psionic powers, we should have anticipated that those included mind control, that they’d send the best of the best, use every advantage they had.”

I think blaming yourself is just a way to try to control it, the toy soldier says. If it’s your fault, it’s easier, or something.

The Commander sighs. “I guess. I just…wish it hadn’t ended this way.”

There’s still a chance for a better ending, if you wanted to take it.

They huff out a laugh. “No, Central, I’m not joining the resistance,” they say.

But it might be worth it, he says. You could have a second chance at all this, maybe.

“I had my chance and blew it,” they say.

You’re so stubborn, says Central, it drives me mad.

“You’re stubborn right back,” they say. “You never shut up!”

Make me, says Central.

The Commander sits up, holds the toy soldier at chin level. The two of them stare at each other. Then: “When I was sick, I remember I asked if I could kiss you…and you said yeah. Is that-- was that real? Were you being--”

I meant it, the toy soldier says.

“Oh,” says the Commander, and their insides twist.

You still haven’t made me shut up, Central goes on. His voice is lilting, teasing almost.

“Maybe this’ll do the trick, then,” they say, and they kiss him.

At first it’s gentle, but there’s a hunger under it, and soon they’re kissing his cheeks, the top of his head, a peck on his shoulders, every palace they can get to. Central is laughing, and they’re laughing, and--

“So, does this mean anything?”

If you want it to, he says.

God, they want it to.

“Yeah,” they say between kisses. “Yeah, I do.”

Then I guess Shen’s right after all.

They break away from him, admiring him in the dark through soft touches. They stay like this for a while, kissing and touching, until the Commander stops, takes a breath.

Something wrong?

“I want to say it,” they say, “but I’m scared.”

I’ll do it then, he says. I love you, Commander.

“I love you too.”

[restitutiopax]

radioactivibee replied to your post: ��ne fourth-cycle and a wrecked apartment...

…A-Are you ok?

     “MY BOOKCASE IS ON FIRE. ALL BECAUSE I SLIPPED UP AND OVERLOADED. IT’S ON. FRAGGING. FIRE. WHAT IN THE SEVEN PITS OF UNICRON’S DAMNEDABLE INTESTINES IS WRONG WITH MY FRAGGING SPARK.”

[galacticgraffiti]

✿ Baati’gar ✿

Wordcount: ~800

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: slightly ill!reader, Wolffe taking care of you, some mildly lewd comments and innuendos, mostly just so much fluff

I am dedicating this ficlet to my beloved @pinkiemme who deserves the world and so much more. Love you babes 🥺❤️‍🔥

.•°°•. ✿ .•°°•.✿ .•°°•.✿ .•°°•.

Wolffe’s nose nudges yours.

“You awake, pretty girl?”

“No,” you groan and pull the blanket up. “Everything hurts.”

Wolffe grunts, placing one hand on your forehead.

“You’re hot,” he states. You snort and let the blanket sink down a bit to wiggle your eyebrows.

“Aren’t I always?”

Wolffe rolls his eyes.

“No joking about you being sick, you won’t distract me. You caught something.”

You roll to your side, groaning quietly when your aching joints refuse to cooperate. Wolffe’s large hands settle on your shoulders.

“Nuh-uh, you stay right where you are,” he commands.

“Yes Sir,” you mumble, earning an exasperated sigh from Wolffe. You chuckle quietly, then suppress a hiss when your head starts pounding. Wolffe, of course, hears you anyways.

“What is it, cyar’ika?” His face is carved in stone, but the worry in his voice impossible to overhear if you know him.

“My head hurts,” you murmur. Wolffe nods matter-of-factly, and swings his legs off the bed.

“Stay right there, sweetheart. I’m gonna take care of you.”

You try to protest weakly, but there is no force behind you words.

“I won’t hear it,” Wolffe calls over his shoulder as he rummages through the medkit in the fresher. “You’re sick, cyar’ika. You deserve to be taken care of.”

“‘s not your job,” you grumble, pressing your thumbs into your eye sockets to stop your head from pounding so hard you can barely breathe.

“Not my job, no,” Wolffe murmur. You flinch, you didn’t hear him come up to your side. A cold pack is placed on your forehead and you sigh in relief. Wolffe clicks his tongue. “Not my job. But my responsibility, sweetheart. And I want it to be. Let me take care of you.”

His voice is unexpectedly soft, and when you open your eyes to look up at him, you melt at the expression on his face. Instead of protesting more, you simply hum, and close your eyes again. Wolffe feeds you some bacta, and laughs at the faces you make at the stale taste. He makes tea for you, feeds you some porridge, he lets you lay on him with your head in his lap and gently massages your scalp until your headache is gone entirely.

You sigh and relax into him, falling asleep more than once. When you wake up, he is always still there, quietly holding you.

The day passes like this, quiet and content. You watch holo vids together, although you sleep through half of them. Wolffe makes broth - an excellent choice since it is the only thing he has the skills to cook - and lets you sleep and sleep and sleep. You fall asleep to his voice quietly humming a faint melody, a song you have never heard before but that bears the universal comfort of a lullaby in its tune.

When you truly wake up for the first time, it is already dark outside, Wolffe asleep beside you with a datapad on his chest. You pull yourself up to kiss his cheek, and he stirs under your touch.

“You feeling better, sweet girl?” His voice is rough with sleep. You smile softly at him.

“Mhm, all better. Thanks to you,” you kiss his cheek again. “My hero.”

Wolffe grumbles something under his breath, but you swear you can feel the flush in his cheeks against yours.

“I feel disgusting,” you complain eventually. “I’m gonna take a bath, I think.”

“Hmm,” Wolffe hums, his hand slipping around your waist and squeezing gently. “Want me to come with you?”

“What exactly are you implying, Commander?” you smirk at the insinuation. Wolffe’s hands slip down and down, pinching your thigh before settling on the swell of your ass.

“I’m implying whatever you feel up for, pretty girl. Let’s not overdo it, though. I’ll get into the tub with you if that’s… something you want.”

“Hm-hm,” you sigh. “That sounds perfect.”

“Good.” Wolffe groans when he gets up, but shushes you when you inquire concernedly. “My leg fell asleep is all. Come on, sweetheart.”

Strong arms wrap around you and lift you up bridal style. Wolffe carries you to the fresher, letting you cling to him until the tub is filled up. You moan when you slip into the warm water, and smile up at him, tugging at his hand.

“Come on in, baby.”

Wolffe snorts at the pet name, but he holds his tongue, quickly divesting himself and sliding into the tub behind you. Thick thighs wrap around you as he sighs in deep contentment.

“Thank you,” you whisper into the quiet room. Wolffe pressed his lips into your hair.

“Ba’gedet’ye, ner kar’ta.”

.•°°•. ✿ .•°°•.✿ .•°°•.✿ .•°°•.

Baati’gar - (roughly) Caring for you

Ba’gedet’ye, ner kar’ta - You are welcome, sweetheart.

Taggies for some moots 🥰

@baba-fett @cyarbika @thebitchformerlyknownaskenobi @twistedstitcher27 @rexxdjarin @rain-on-kamino @purgetrooperfox @rowansparrow @maybege @fett-djarin @ashotofspotchka @thefact0rygirl @rescuethewretched @clonecyare @tenderclio @maygalodon @spaceydragons @equalityforcats @solidago-sempervirens @rexscyarika @damerondala @shadesofshatteredblue @nahoney22 @ulchabhangorm

[zinzinina]

I was wondering... How do you think Delta Squad would react to seeing the reader in lingerie for the first time? 👀

Ohhh anon! I love this; thank you for sending such a sweet prompt to me! 💕 I’m so sorry; this has been sitting in my inbox for months and you’ve probably forgotten sending it, but I just rediscovered this today and felt a little burst of inspiration! x

Pairing: Boss x F!Reader, Fixer x F!Reader, Scorch x F!Reader, Sev x F!Reader Word Count: 1k Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: Lingerie, slight praise kink, some body worship, non-explicit mentions of penetrative sex, implied oral sex (f receiving), anything else I’ve missed please let me know.

Boss:

You won’t get much of a dramatic reaction out of Boss...mainly because he’s the one who bought you the lingerie in the first place

And you might be wondering how he managed to get his hands on such a beautiful set when he’s both time-poor and, like...poor-poor

But he considers it well worth calling in every favour he’s owed from vod and civilian alike when it comes to making you feel just as special as those girls living in the Upper Levels, all draped in silk and lace

He knows he can’t give you fancy dinners and romantic weekends away, though he’d give you all of that and more if he could

Boss would give you one of the diamond moons of Jelucan if if were remotely possible

So as soon as you step shyly out of the bedroom dressed in his gift, a slow, proud smile stretches across his features

He can’t quite believe you’re his; only his

All of his sternness melts away as you run your hands over your body, your eyes fixed to his

“There’s my girl. Bid mesh’la, ner cat’ra. Can you turn around? Show me how good you look, ad’ika. Just like that.”

And then later that evening, when he’s buried inside you, he’ll hold you facing toward the mirror so you can see exactly how beautiful you look with your eyes rolling back in your head from pleasure, dressed in the lace he chose for you

Fixer:

Fixer is so strictly no-nonsense that his reaction is alarming at first

You’re worried that something’s wrong with his brain, as though he’s experiencing a short-circuit somewhere in there

You’re still standing, your robe loosely open, as he stares at you

“Fixer? Are you okay?”

You’re rewarded with the sound of his datapad hitting the floor, his jaw hanging open

“What is—when did you—osik, cyare.”

You step closer, feeling a rush of affectionate amusement as he blinks at you

“They’re new. Do you like them?”

He manages to snap his mouth shut, then he starts shaking his head

At first, you feel a wash of self-consciousness

Maybe he doesn’t like it? Maybe he thinks you look ridiculous? But then his hands are on you, his fingers feeling around the tops of your thighs, dipping beneath the edges of the flimsy garters with a frantic clumsiness

“Hey, what are you doing?”

He looks up at you. “How do I get this off?”

Your face falls. “Because you don’t like them.”

He frowns, bewildered

“No. Because if I don’t get these off you, right now, I’m going to ruin them.”

Understanding blooms in the same second he yanks you down onto his lap, leaving you squealing in surprise

Scorch:

Scorch had been complaining all afternoon about his stomach growling in the lead up to your dinner date 

You don’t get to have nice date nights like this very often, with him away so much and with your own work schedule sucking up most of the free time you have

So you’re determined to make the most of it: new shoes, new dress, new underwear

You spend far longer than usual getting ready, paying careful attention to your hair, bending to lean in close to the mirror 

Which is when you hear him behind you

“Babe. Holy fucking shit.”

You glance over your shoulder, and he’s standing in the doorway, gawking at you

You snicker at the way his eyes are nearly falling out of his head at the sight of you standing in your underwear, half-ready and embarrassed

“Scorch, come on, quit fucking around! You need to go get ready—”

And then he’s on his knees in front of you, his hands on your thighs

“Babe. Babe, step on me. Please step on me. Holy fuck. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.”

You laugh properly this time, trying and failing to cover your face with your hand

“We’re going to be late! I thought you were starving, remember? What about dinner?”

At first you think he’s too busy pressing his lips to the thin fabric covering your cunt to respond, but then he grins up at you

“Forget dinner. I got something way better to eat right here.”

Sev:

You’re laid out on your bed, your eyes rolled closed against the feeling of Sev taking his time in slowly kissing every inch of you that he can reach

Which isn’t much, because he’s yet to remove a single stitch of your clothing

You don’t like to hurry him, no matter how desperate you get, because the way that he kisses you never fails to make you see stars

As he gently loosens your clothing, you sigh, leaning back and waiting for his lips to trail lower

But then he pauses, and you glance down, momentarily confused

He’s staring at your body as though he’s never seen it before, and you remember belatedly putting on the fine shimmersilk set this morning; one you’ve never worn before, so soft and comfortable that you’d forgotten it was even there

He’s still neither speaking nor kissing you and it takes you a second to understand his silence

Sev spends a lot of time telling you how beautiful you are; often with his customarily severe, almost-too-much intensity

Even when you aren’t; even when you’re tired and sweaty and sick and halfway through dirty, unglamorous tasks like cleaning the ‘fresher

But now, he doesn’t say a single word

Which is how you know that right now, to him, this is the most beautiful you’ve ever looked

Not using my usual list because this is a bit niche. I’m just tagging a couple of pals who interacted with my last RepComm headcanons and who might be interested (no pressure of course!) x @mandaloriandin @dikut @stalinsthirsttrap @imalovernotahater @saradika @lackofhonor @thirsty-void @just-some-girl-92 @fractiouskat @hardcasey @chewychewyque

[vodika-vibes]

Aww Ashanii copying Ahsoka whenever she praises her is so sweet! 🥰

Ahsoka's thought process is basically, "Skyguy never praised me when I did something right, so I'm going to make sure Ashanii knows that I'm proud of her." And then Ashanii mimics her because it's what she knows and Ahsoka just, like, melts into a puddle.

"Ash'ika," Blue chides gently as he pulls her milkshake away from her, "You need to eat your actual meal, not fill up on your milkshake." "But I love my milkshake!" Ashanii says as she reaches for the chocolate monstrosity that Dex brought her. "You can have it after you eat half of your burger." Blue bargains. She pouts at him, and then turns her pout towards Ahsoka, "Master-" "Listen to your father," Ahsoka says absently as she scans the current events on her datapad, "He's generally right when it comes to this kind of stuff." "Fiiiine." She slumps on the table and picks her burger apart to eat each individual piece on it's own. "Master?" "Hm?" "If Blue is my dad, and you're my mom, does that mean you're married?" Blue chokes on his soda, and Ahsoka jerks so violently that she almost sends her water flying. "No!" Blue blurts and then he takes a deep breath, "No, Ash'ika. It's not...our relationship isn't like that." "Yeah. We're friends who happen to be co-parenting a child." Ahsoka confirms, "Besides, I'm very, very gay." "Oh." Ashanii slides a tomato onto a napkin with a disgusted grimace, "Does that mean you're gonna marry Master Lumi?" "No? Besides, Jedi don't do marriage." Ahsoka replies. "Master Mundi has lots of wives," Ashanii says, "And Knight Skywalker is married-" "We try not to imitate Knight Skywalker," Blue and Ahsoka say in unison. "And Master Kenobi is married to Master Vos." Ashanii continues. "...is he?" Blue asks. "Uh...I mean, I don't think so?"

[dimorphodon-x]

Cycle’s End

—

“Come to berth, my love?”

“Already? It’s a bit early to think about sleep, don’t you think?”

Yellow optics blinked wearily as Starhawk simply smiled at him and patted the soft berth with a hand.

“Perhaps. Will you still join me?”

Rodimus puffed and set the datapad down. Magnus could wait for those signatures, “yeah, I’m coming.”

Hawk shifted to make space for the smaller grounder as he clambered onto the large berth. The obsidian jet rolled onto his side and held his arm out to pull the prime in.

Rodimus snuggled up against his chest, the top of his head lightly bumping against Hawk’s chin. The jet made something of a rumbly purr and ran his hand up his conjunx’s side, holding him close. His touch, Rodimus noticed, was slightly cooler than normal.

He didn’t get the chance to comment on it when Hawk lowered his head and gently kissed his lips. The prime all but melted into his soft affections, his words fading away into the back of his mind as he returned the kiss. The pair pressed their foreheads together when they broke away.

Rodimus had been with Starhawk for some many years now, but he was always overwhelmed by the amount of adoration in the obsidian jet’s eyes as he stared at him.

Hawk’s eyes dimmed, looking more orange than yellow as he ran a thumb over Roddy’s cheek, tracing the armor.

“I love you.”

The smaller grounder beamed, his spark fluttering, swelling with happiness.

“I love you too.”

Starhawk’s smile widened. He looked tired and felt cold.

Perhaps the day had been especially busy for him.

Rodimus again nuzzled into his chest, feeling secure in his arms. Hawk’s tiredness must’ve been contagious, as he started to drift off, half listening to a stuttering sparkbeat behind faded dark armor.

Weird, he noted as sleep overcame him, he should be a lot shinier…

…

It was very early into the next cycle when Ratchet was called to Rodimus and Starhawk’s shared quarters for an emergency.

Half an hour later, Starhawk would officially be declared dead due to spark failure.

Fifty days later, a decorated coffin would be ejected out into the star system Starhawk was born in.

[whirlybirbs]

FEVER-DREAM    ;    echo/reader 

summary: echo is fine-tuning his new prosthesis. you have experience, you help. unspoken feelings are acted on. adoration blooms. you learn what mesh’la means.

word count: 3k

pairing: echo / f!reader

tags: mutual pining, lots of tender looks, victorian-era hand-touching sluttiness, echo is a gentle soul, reader is head over heels, a touch of ptsd mention, set on ord mantell, mention of our boy fives, in this house we love assistive devices, enough sexual tension to power the death star

a/n: this is me round-house kicking the bad batch writers in the throat because they made echo cosplay a droid — but, also because this man deserves to be treated as more than a means to a mission’s end. majority of you know i am ~bitter~ (understatement of the century) of tbb’s plot/design/writing. but echo has been a favorite from the original days... so have some very soft fic.

i reference character redesigns by @nibeul​ in this piece — please go peep them here, and some updated character spreads here! they’re really beautiful and add a phenomenal layer of storytelling to the existing designs that’s lacking. nibuel’s art and writing is lovely. please give them a follow — i can’t rec their work enough. 

“How does it feel?”

The words are nearly whispered; it’s clear you didn’t want to startle him, and Echo can feel the pinch in his brow soften at your sudden appearence in the doorway. 

His bunk, at the back of the Havoc Marauder, is small — the space itself even more so. There’s a makeshift partition, hooked together with spare parts and meant to offer a bit of privacy on the cramped vessel. Its slate grey color has faded, and the edges have become tattered in the cycles of use. 

When Echo pulls his dark eyes up from his work, you’re leaning against the frame — your expression is earnest.

For a moment, the once-ARC Trooper is quiet. 

He wonders if he’ll ever get used to your attention. Each and every time, it sends him into a spiral; his heart catches as he inhales and tries to push down the warm stir in his gut. The sight of you is enough, nowadays, to melt Echo’s well-maintained irritability. His attention is stolen from his ever-present pain, if only for a bit.

There are plenty of days where he misses the old him — the wide-eyed, eager ARC Trooper who had his brothers by his side. His real brothers. Hevy, Cutup, Droidbait... Fives. 

Fuckin’ hell, Fives was probably staring down at him now laughing. 

No matter what changes, you’re still shit with the ladies, vod’ika. 

In a way he hasn’t fully admitted to himself, you make him feel like himself again. Like... Like some shiny cadet, on leave and distracted by the promises of pretty smiles passing-by. It’s good.

This makes him feel... good. 

He flexes, and his right hand — the new, gunmetal durasteel cyberized-prosthesis — closes into a tight fist. It’s taken him a bit, but the feeling isn’t so foreign now. It’s still... slow. Slower than he’s used to, but you’d mentioned it may take some time. The phantom feelings get better, too. All in all, it’s a good thing.

Your own hand, your left, glimmers back in the same gunmetal color.

(Echo had never pressed you about the missing limb — not until one day, in Cid’s, you’d joined him in a quiet corner. You’d spilled your drink and a complaint about getting the star-cherry syrup out of the joints had slipped out. Echo had laughed; a real laugh, the sort that was so rare coming from him, it had you staring at him as if he’d hung ever star in the sky. 

Can I ask how it happened? he’d said, breaking the heavy silence when your eyes never left his.

The Pykes, you’d said, and that was enough.)

“I haven’t, uh... Haven’t gotten the sensory calibration right yet.”

Then, his prosthesis cramps. His fingers go rigid, and Echo curses sharply as he reaches around his forearm to quickly reboot the appendage. It goes slack, then hums alive once more.

You wince.

You’re slow to move into the room — and you settle atop one of the crates Echo had stolen from the belly of the ship, an old Mantell Mix shipping container. You’re mindful to set his datapad aside, to not disturb his space too much. Before you reach for his hand, however, you lift your chin and open your hands in your lap.

“May I?” you ask, just as soft as before.

Echo feels small under your gaze.

Truth be told, you’re doing more than just... asking. You’re taking him in — appreciating him. It’s a habit that’s grown more and more apparent to not only himself, but the others.

In recent rotations, Echo has let his hair grow out — not long, but the once close buzz he’d kept has begun to curl at the top. Not entirely dissimilair to how it was before the Citadel. The dermal implants, the ones the Techno Union installed in order to parse the nuerological data in his head, stand out against his warm-colored skin. 

His usual AJ^6-inspired headpiece is resting on his bunk.

That damn thing.

A neccesary tool. One that, given the amount of user data Tech had procured when working on modifying the implant, Echo found himself immediately distrusting. It wasn’t as if the AJ^6 cyborg construct had a beautiful track record, and frankly, Echo would like to keep his personality in tact, thank you very much. There were plenty of days he felt machine enough. 

It wasn’t often you saw him without the headset; you knew it made linking in via his scomp easier to handle, it made the visualization of data transfers as easy as breathing. For Echo, it was a part of his vast kit, an important tool. For you, seeing him without it bubbles up a bit of a smile.

Echo catches it.

His eyes narrow playfully.

He looks... well. You — hell, are there words for it? For the way the sight of him makes you feel? It’s like there’s a world full of potential there, a thousand words unsaid, and feelings that have steeped in the warmth of longing gazes and half-there touches.

You’re still looking up at him, knees bent on the crate.

You blink, realizing you’ve been caught staring — not for the first time and certainly not for the last. In the beginning, it had left a sour taste in Echo’s mouth. But, now... Well, it stokes a sort of pride in his chest that he hangs onto. 

It never gets easier to recover from — certainly not when Echo smirks. He moves to allow you to take his prosthesis into your lap. The gesture is gentle; your fingers cradle the firm yet pliable metal.

“What?” he asks. His voice, low and rough and warm, is tinted with amusement.

“Nothing,” you say vaguely with a shrug — as if that’s supposed to explain any part of your enamored stare. Your attention moves to the prosthesis.

“Nothing?” he asks, moving to thumb his left ear with his free hand with a dash of nervousness. A habit. Echo tilts his head as his fingers brush the cochlear implant there. The panel rests neatly against the side of his head, a small rounded-off square. The bite of self-consciousness has dwindled around you — but still, it creeps back up every now and again.

The Corporal’s brows knot playfully as you turn his new hand over in your lap; you’re admiring the upgraded feel, the more seamless panelling in comparison to your own. Echo watches your lashes flutter in silent thought.

Then:

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

You blink slowly at the hand, swallow down your sudden sheepishness and ignore his gaze. You bite back the smile digging into your cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks suddenly, and you look up.

A baited trick. He’s smiling. 

The warm sort — the sort reserved for you and for Omega. The two souls that hold a piece of his heart, with all its ticking valves and electric timed pulses. There are machinisms that keep him alive, and then there is you. Your wide-eyed expression melts, giving way to the sort of smile he’s tried to memorize over and over. It’s the same smile that has warded off that reoccuring nightmare of the night on the tarmac at the Citadel, the same smile that has pulled him through the grit of phantom pains.

“What—” a sudden laugh bursts from your chest, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were staring, mesh’la,” he rumbles out as a reminder, enjoying the fact he’s suddenly become the center of your attention. Echo leans back, his boot toeing yours. You nudge it back. Your face feels hot. You ignore his pointedly teasing look with a roll of your eyes.

The nickname started a few weeks ago. You haven’t asked what it means — no, for now it’s meaning hangs in the balance. Untouched but there. The affection the word carries makes your heart feel heavier and unbelievably full.

“Bad habit,” you chirp back, looking up at him through your lashes.

His laugh is warm.

“Maybe not.”

“No,” you say quietly; your voice is soft as your eyes bounce across his face, tracing the lines of his face with your gaze, “I don’t think it is.”

There’s a silence that slips between you — a comfortable one. It’s heavier than before. That has begun to happen recently, especially with the petal-soft utterance of mesh’la becoming more and more frequent. You hold his gaze. Echo lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Then, you remember the task at hand.

You clear your throat.

“Uh... The access panel I’m looking for,” you say slowly as your raise your finger to point to your own arm, “It’s on your bicep.”

Echo blinks. He clears his own throat before looking down — he hadn’t even noticed that access panel. That could explain the jarring miscommunication stalling the limb. This model had more bells and whistles than he initally realized. 

Better than a fuckin’ scomp link, that’s for sure.

Wordlessly, Echo makes room on his bunk. You move to settle beside him, your bent leg resting aginst his hip as you half-straddle the bed; your other knee brushes his thigh — and Echo tries to sit still. You’re close, now. 

“Is it okay if...?” you trail off, fingers tugging on the short sleeve of his blacks; you pause until Echo offers a curt nod. You catch him swallow. You push onward, fingers nimbly rolling the fabric up over his broad bicep. 

Echo steals a glance your way as your fingers pass across a slip of his bare skin. 

In his lap, both his hands twitch.

He’s no small man. Lean and athletic, Echo is built like a soldier. Omega had said once that Echo was an ARC Trooper, one of the best of the best. You believed every bit of it, and you’d hung on her words when she’d rambled on about ARC training, about Kamino, and about who Echo was before you knew him. It was all in the past, though. That Echo is a part of this Echo but... They’re different men. He’s been changed by the things that have happened.

You don’t press him on the details. 

In time, they’re slipped into conversation here and there — between the here and now.  

In the beginning, when you’d found yourself amongst the crew of the Havoc Marauder — be it for a simple job on Cid’s behalf — Echo had hardly paid you a moment of attention, though you admit you’d been curious from the start. It had taken three jobs for you to finally see his face. Then began the slow and gradual bonding over catching joints, grating plates, and hardware updates. His legs, your arm. Two pieces of a pair.

Now, he has this. A beautiful new upgrade — something he’s wanted for a long time. A part of his old self is back, in a way.

You liked that it was more than just a tool. That, in having this piece of his body back, he felt like more than a tool. More than a scomp link. 

After all, he is a man — a... a very handsome man. One whose proximity is sort of distracting you, again, from the task at hand.

“The panel here,” you say as you slowly press on the seam that enables the settings panel to be revealed; you’re mindful to explain, “It controls sensory outputs, as well as synchonized synaptic commands. The panel on my forearm does the same to my hand, yours is just... well, you’ve got the new and improve version.”

Echo ducks his head as you work, watching you from the corner of his eye. “Feeling a bit jealous, mesh’la?”

“Maybe,” you breathe out with a smile. 

Then, you lift your eyes. You intended to see that he was still comfortable, but instead you come face to face with the Corporal. His nose nearly brushes yours when you lift you chin, completely dragged in by the closeness shared.

There’s a beat of tension. Echo’s mouth goes dry.

You fingers pause. You swallow hard. “How... uh, how does it feel?”

Echo tightens his grip, then releases. His breath tickles your cheeks. His eyes, a deep, warm brown, flit from your eyes to your mouth, and then back. His voice is a croak. 

“...Same as before.”

You tinker with a dial, eyes never leaving his; your voice is above a whisper. “And now?”

It’s immediate. Like a rush of cold air up his arm — and on instinct, Echo’s hand twitches. His fingers grip the fabric of his blacks, along his thigh, and... he feels it. The smooth, stretch of the material. It’s... it feels like a lot. His fingertips, metallic and cyberized, tingle. It’s distracting.

He can feel. 

His hand is slow. It moves across to bridge the space between you. His pointer finger settles on the curve of your knee; the feeling of your tactical pants beneath his fingertip is ignored, instead he chases the heat of your body.

Your breath catches at the touch. 

Echo’s face is turned to you, but... his attention has settled on his hand. His palm then sweeps across your thigh. He follows the curve, soaks in the feeling. You’re frozen in place, beating back the desperate sound of appreciation that threatens to be pulled from your throat. The touch is... more than welcomed. 

The closeness itself is making you dizzy.

Then, Echo turns — and the warm, durasteel-plated palm finds your cheek.

Your skin is hot. 

“Is this okay, mesh’la?” he whispers, words riding on a quiet exhale — the sort that make you feel... well, you don’t even have words for the way he makes you feel. Echo is... kind, honest, and loyal. Above all else, he’s gentle. Despite it all, despite every bit of horror he’d been put through, he’d never lost sight of the importance of a gentle hand. Especially now in a moment as intimate as this. It coaxes you closer.

You lean into the cybernetic attachment, cheek resting in his palm. You nod, then, with eyes eager to take in every bit of this moment.

He chuckles at the enthusiasm. Echo’s thumb, deft and smooth, then traces the line of your lower lip.

The feeling is... the gnawing pain that he’s felt for nearly a year has melted. Finally, the itch has been scratched in his brain and the hollow ache of his bones is gone. It’s relief, and comfort, and excitement and all these beautiful things — and you. 

You’re stuck — you don’t want to move, you won’t move. He’s rooted you completely, and when his other hand — the calloused and warm one of flesh and blood — finds it’s spot along your thigh, you swallow a lovesick sigh that would only exaserbate your desperation. 

Your mouth is moving before you realize it. 

“What does it mean?”

Echo’s eyes narrow, only a bit, and he runs his thumb up your cheekbone.

“What does what mean?” 

“Mesh’la,” it sounds foreign on your tongue. It’s not Hutteese or Twi’leki, not like any language you know, “Will you tell me what it means, Echo?”

The corner of his lips quirk. Your eyes jump to it.

You feel like someone’s reached right into your chest and given your heart a squeeze — and it only worsens when he laughs. He laughs, deep and quiet and warm, like a thunderstorm on a summer night. It feels cruel, to string you along like this when you’re here, lips parted, hanging off his every touch and his every word.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly as his other hand touches your jaw — it’s so damn reverent, this little moment in time, that you almost don’t believe it’s real.

It feels like a dream — like someone has come in and stolen your thoughts from you; like the unrequited yearning has finally stoked a fire large enough to burn you up entirely, a fever you never knew you wanted.

His nose brushes yours.

Your fingers wind into the fabric of his chest. You’re clinging, lost to the moment — and you can’t help wonder if this is how it feels when he catches you adoring him. He’s admiring you so tenderly that you nearly break.

You want to kiss him.

He’s thought about nothing but kissing you for the last five days at least. Longer in his dreams. Nowadays, it’s a constant pull, a constant want.

And now, it’s here — a present and current moment where it can happen. Where he can stop being a shiny cadet and he can make a move...

Enter Omega.

“Echo, we’re back—!”

The telltale hammer of a girl’s boots on the floor signals that the party is back from their supply run — but you’re so far off, spinning in a different universe, you don’t even hear her until its too late... Until Echo is yanking himself away and clearing his throat and rolling his wrist to test the prosthesis in a different way, a less intimate way. 

You blink, then rattle yourself back to the present. Omega is in the doorway staring with a quizzical look. Clearly, your state does little to dissuade the assumptions she’s already making and you can see the gears turning in her head. The dark-haired girl then slowly grins.

“Hi.”

You swallow. “Hi, Omega.”

“...Whatcha guys doin’?”

Echo coughs. “Uh, just fine-tuning the new upgrade.”

“...Riiiiiight.” 

You rub your cheeks and laugh — clearly forced and incredibly pained — as you stand up and nearly ram your head right into the top of Echo’s bunk. It’s met with a hiss of warning from the trooper as he jumps up to try and protect you from the impact. 

“Well! Uh, thanks for letting me help, Echo,” you clap, rocking back and forth on your boots, “I, uh... Oh, Cid called. I should... I should get back—”

“Yea,” he says, straining a bit to find the words, “Yea, I’ll... I’ll comm you if it starts to, uh... If it starts to act up?”

Omega watches the exchange, big brown eyes moving from left to right. 

“Good, great — yea, that’s,” you inhale as you rub your thighs and move towards the door, “Perfect. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bye!” Omega calls, waving.

You wave back, smiling. “Bye, Omega.”

Then, once it’s only Echo and Omega in the bunk, the tween speaks.

“...What the kriff was that?”

[kamino-blues]

Peaceful Mornings With the Bad Batch

Rating: Pg and sfw!!

Warnings: Super fluffy!! Kissing and just overall soft!Bad Batch

Note: Honestly imagining how the different Bad Batch members would interact with their s/o in the morning after waking up made me feel so warm and fuzzy 💕At the time of posting this I have not seen the new episode, but I have a feeling that it is potentially going to be angsty! So here is something to hopefully comfort you <3

Wrecker

Wrecker absolutely loves to sleep in, usually sleeping past when he’s supposed to get up

So when you wake up, you are engulfed in warmth, his arms holding you tightly to his body

It takes a lot to wake him normally, but a few kisses against his neck will cause him to slowly open his eyes

He is incredibly soft spoken (by Wrecker standards) when he first wakes up, burying his face in your hair with a small “g’morning”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, moving your arms to trace shapes on his back as your eyes close

Both of you never want to leave the comfort of your bed, but sadly being on the run means early mornings

Wrecker wouldn’t get up first, content in holding you, so you would slowly have to pull away (with a lot of light complaining by Wrecker)

You would help pull him up to sitting position, before he would grab you and pull you into his lap, catching you in a lazy kiss

It would take a lot to actually start getting ready, you again having to pull away to stand up

After you both got ready for the day, you two would spend a moment before going out to the rest of the crew

He would pull you into a hug, mumbling a small ‘I love you’ (and you of course returning it)

You both never knew what the day would bring, so having this time to be in each others presence grounded both of you

Echo

Echo was used to waking up early from his time in the 501st, so you would usually feel shifting in yours and Echos shared bed way before you would usually get up

With your eyes half open, you would reach over to where Echo should be, realizing that he got out of bed. You would usually let out a small whine at this, slowly sitting up

More then once you have sleepily made eye contact with a shirtless Echo, in the process of changing the top of his blacks to get ready for the day

He would always be flustered when he realized you were awake, but could never resist you when you made grabby hands at him. All you wanted was for him to come back to bed

After a few moments Echo would make his way back to bed, laying down next to you

You would automatically hold onto him, laying your head on his bare chest as you got comfortable

You mumbled a small 'I love you', which he quickly returned, pressing a small kiss to the top of your head

Echo would run his hand through your hair, slowly luring you back into a comfortable sleep

He would be there when you have to wake up, him lightly shaking your shoulder to lure you to consciousness

At first you would grumble, but as you move your head you make eye contact with Echo

His eyes are so light, looking at you with the most loving gaze you have ever seen

You couldn’t help but push yourself up on the mattress, sitting up so that you could press a kiss to his lips

He would melt into it, wrapping his arms around your neck

You wish it could last forever, but sadly you both had to get ready for the day ahead

So begrudgingly you both pulled away, getting up to start the day (not before stealing a few small kisses as you both got ready)

Tech

It was rare for Tech to go to bed and stay in bed, preferring to work on projects instead of sleeping

So often in the early morning you would feel the bed dip, arms pulling you close as you shift in bed

You usually ended up mumbling something incoherent, causing Tech to let out a soft laugh before giving you a kiss to the forehead

This was followed by him telling you to go back to bed, which you would follow almost instantly

As soon as morning hits, you feel shifting in your arms, trying to get out of your grasp without waking you

You would just tighten your arms at this, letting out a small noise as your eyes open

Tech would ask you kindly to let him get up, but you would distract him by moving your hand up to his face. You would trace the side of his face where his glasses normally rested

You would quietly tell him how cute he looked without his glasses, causing him to instantly flush

Catch him stuttering, still not very good at responding to your compliments

Silence him with a kiss, honestly he would be grateful for it since it gave him something to focus on

Tech would be the one to pull away, standing up while offering you a hand to pull you up

You would take it, and as soon as you were standing you would pull him into a hug, grabbing onto the back of his blacks

You both would exchange ‘I love you's’ before starting to get ready for the day

Tech would finish before you, sitting on the bed with his datapad while he waited for you

When you were done, you would crawl onto the bed behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso while leaning your chin on his right shoulder

No words would be spoken, you both staying there until Tech was ready to go or until you were called to the cockpit of the Marauder

Hunter

Hunter was very regimented, so he slept around the same time every night and woke up at the same time every morning

That was until you came along. Now he was used to staying up a little later to spend time with you, but he would still wake up relatively early

He would always wake up first, waking you up with small kisses here and there

Hunter loved it when you stretched against him, your arms wrapping around him and your legs intertwining with his

You would bury your face in his shoulder while mumbling a small 'morning' to him

He was content with laying there with you, his eyes closing as he basked in your presence

Sadly as he was seen as the leader of Clone Force 99, he would have to be on time to start doing his duties

So he would sit up, pulling you with him. If you wanted Hunter to, he would carry you to the refresher so that you could be near him longer

Hunter let you use the refresher first, mostly because he wanted you to help him with his hair

It calmed him when you ran your fingers through his hair, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch

After you were done, you would help him tie his headband, him pulling you into a kiss once you were done

You two would stay there for a few moments, not wanting to pull away

Hunter would pull you into a keldabe kiss, where you both would whisper ‘I love you’s’ to each other. Then it was time to start the day <3

Crosshair

It wasn’t often that you would feel Crosshair's arms around you, pulling your back against his chest

When you first started dating Crosshair, he was barely one to pull you into cuddles, but it started to slowly happen as you got much MUCH farther into your relationship

Crosshair is able to fall asleep very easily, but any movement usually wakes him. Thats was one of the reasons that it took so long for him to share a bed with you

So when you started to wake up with arms wrapped around you and Crosshair's chin on your head, you were the happiest in the world

As you woke up this morning, shifting slightly in his arms, you felt his grip tighten around you

He usually will tiredly mutter something along the lines of “good morning doll”, causing you to smile

At this point you would turn in his arms, laying your head against your pillow as you stared at Cross’s face

He would jokingly raise an eyebrow, no words being said before he pulled you against him. Lightly placing your forehead against his, you would stay in that position for a while, both of you comfortable in the silence

As much as Crosshair would never admit it to anyone else, he honestly loved to hold you. It brought a smile to his face

Seeing him smile was the highlight of your day, you couldn’t help but kiss him

You two would stay there much longer then you probably should, but you both didn’t give a damn

Crosshair would be the one to pull away after a while though, helping you up so that you both could get ready

Before you both left, he would pull you into one more kiss, before walking out of the room with his hand on your lower back

I'm thinking about doing a tag list! If you want to be tagged on my writing posts please let me know! 💖Thank you for reading!!

[dinsverdika]

Keldabe Kisses (multi-chaptered fic; chapter 2)

Pairing: Din Djarin/Reader

Tags (as posted on AO3): fluff, romantic tension, keldabe kisses, 5+1 things, din teaches reader mando'a, reader's gender is not specified but may come off as female coded from time to time, din is a nervous wreck, this takes place before grogu

Word count: 3,721 (all three chapters combined)

Notes: This fic is a part of my Din Djarin/Reader series on AO3. It takes place after Heartbeat and Huddling for Warmth.

< chapter 1 | ● | chapter 3 >

III.

You happily walked up the ramp with a box of Cloud Drops tucked under one of your arms and a said Cloud Drop in your other hand, eagerly munching. The fluffy texture melted on your tongue, the sweet taste spreading on your taste buds. You hummed in pleasure and rapidly took another bite. Din was following you suit, looking at you tenderly as you danced mindlessly around the cargo hold, enjoying the sugary treat. Seeing you this happy and carefree pulled at his heartstrings and he had to fight the urge to not hug you from behind as you went to get another piece of the cloud-shaped pastry from the box which you had just put on the edge of the cot.

You turned around and smiled at him after you had swallowed another bite, “don’t you worry, I’ll keep some on the side for you,” you joked.

The Mandalorian didn’t reply and stepped towards you instead until you were almost chest-to-chest. You were so close to each other that you had to look up a bit to notice that he was staring back down at you. Slowly, he brought a gloved thumb to one corner of your lips and wiped something off your skin.

You must have given him a confused look because he stepped away, putting space between the two of you again and briskly explained himself as if he had realised what he had just done, “you had a piece of meringue on the corner of your mouth.”

“Oh.”

Din stood stoically in front of you.

“Thank you,” you simply said, hoping it would ease his visible nervousness. You nodded at him and smiled to prove your thankfulness further.

Din was observing you through the visor of his helmet. His fondness for you spread from his chest to the rest of his body, making him feel weightless.

“I had a good day with you today,” he admitted in almost a whisper as if it was a secret.

“So had I,” you replied as fondly.

You closed the gap between the two of you and inhaled deeply, waves of warmth washing over you at your proximity to the bounty hunter.

Din instinctively lowered his helmeted face towards yours and you met him half-way, pushing yourself on your tippy toes. You stayed like this for longer than usual. From this up close, you could hear his soft breathing through the vocoder. You tried to match your breathing to his as an attempt to quiet down the giddy feeling coursing through you. You could hear your heart beating in your ears and it seemed like time had slowed down, granting you a moment of peace together.

Your eyes fluttered open as Din removed his forehead from yours, too soon to your taste.

“We shall get going,” he quietly said.

“We shall,” you agreed.

The Razor Crest took off and went into hyperdrive when it wasn’t in Bespin’s atmosphere anymore. The comfortable silence you had grown so fond of settled down within the cockpit as you travelled to your next destination together.

IV.

Din hummed pleasantly as he removed his fingers from the pulse point in your neck.

“Still beating?” you asked jokingly, a smirk appearing on your face.

“Still beating,” nodded Din.

He removed his gloves and set them aside and then gently cupped your face with his bare hands. Instinctively, you leaned into his touch and sighed, the feeling of his bare skin against yours was comforting you.

The bounty hunter had woken up in a touchy-feely mood, he hadn’t left your side ever since he had stepped out of his cot. His side had been flushed against yours when you had shown him the shopping list for your next stop on your datapad in the cargo hold. His hand in the small of your back had guided you to your seat in the cockpit when you had entered it. His gloved fingers had intertwined with yours when his hand reached for yours when the Razor Crest accelerated into hyperspace. All of these mindless touches had your heart fluttering and you were craving for more, you wished you could give back the affection he was giving you without having the beskar of his armour in the way. You had been tempted to ask if he could take off his gloves so you could feel his bare skin against yours instead of the leather his gloves were made of. But you didn’t want to cross a boundary, he had always initiated removing his gloves around you.

Din pulled you out of your thoughts as he started rubbing his thumbs across your cheeks. He couldn’t get enough of you today.

“Mesh’la,” he murmured.

That was a new one.

“Mesh’la?” you repeated.

“Mando’a for beautiful,” he replied.

Din watched your face attentively as your eyes grew wider. He stopped his ministrations and started to remove his hands from your face. “Was this too much?” he asked, tensed.

“NO!” you shouted and the sound of your own voice surprised you. “No…” you repeated, quieter.

You grabbed his hands and brought them back to your face. “I like it,” you admitted. You kept your hands over his as to lock his hands on your face and Din resumed the rubbing of your cheeks. You were both basking in the physical affection.

“How do you say ‘thank you’ in Mando’a?” you asked after a while.

“Vor entye,” Din replied, “it means ‘I accept a debt’ in a literal sense although you don’t owe me anything for saying the truth.”

You smiled at his words. “Vor entye,” you said to the best of your abilities, the words feeling foreign on your tongue.

“Ba’gedet’ye, mesh’la,” he replied. “You’re welcome, beautiful,” he added before you could ask.

“Ba’gedet’ye,” you repeated.

“I like hearing you speak in Mando’a,” he said quietly.

“Even when I butcher it?” you asked, teasingly.

Din hummed and nodded, “you just need some practice.”

“You could teach me, I like learning about your culture,” you said seriously, the teasing edge to your voice gone. You didn’t want him to think you were taking his openness for granted or that you were mocking it. The only word he had taught you so far was “cyare” as he had used it for you several times but you wanted to know more.

“I’ll teach you everything you want to know,” he replied. To prove his point further, he pressed his helmeted forehead against yours. “You just have to ask…” he whispered.