#hell his pants are usually hide or armor padded

[subetei-noykin]

Body Aesthetic - Subetei Noykin

[ BODY ] Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Toned thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Toned arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Beefy/muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Small waist. Average waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Narrow shoulders. Broad shoulders. Average shoulders. Underweight. Average weight. Overweight. 

[ HEIGHT ] Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm to 150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

[ SKIN ]

Pale. Rosy. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Moles. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scars. Birthmarks.

[ EYES ] Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Blue. Violet. Pink. Green. Gold. Hazel. Crimson. Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

[ HAIR ] Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Afro. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Past hip-length. Buzz cut. Bald. Weave. Hair extensions. Jaw length. Layered. Mohawk. Pony Tail. Dreadlocks. Box braids. Faux locks. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Strawberry Blonde. Ombre. Ash brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Graying. Jet black. Ginger. Red. Auburn. Dyed. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Plucked eyebrows.

[ TATTOOS / PIERCINGS ] Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. One tattoo. Face tattoo. Hand tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoos. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercings. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing. Lip piercing(s). Top of the ear. Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretched out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

[ COSMETICS ] Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Nude lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes.Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Wears war paint from time to time. Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Never wears make-up.

[ SCENT ] Floral. Herbal. Earthy. Fruity. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Fur. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Cold. Fresh. Metal. Rain. Chemicals.

[ CLOTHES ] Jeans. Tight pants. Overknee socks. Tights. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/Form-fitting dress. Cardigans. Tunic. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports-T-shirt. Sweatpants. Tanktop. Cut off t-shirt. Designer. High street. Leather jacket. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sun dress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. High slit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Waistcoat. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Harem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers/Boxer-Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sportsbra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Light colors. White. Black. Dark colours. Fur/Fauxfur. Revealing clothing. Heavy armor. Medium armor. Light Armor. Bandannas.

[ SHOES ] Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stripper heels. Bare feet. Loafers. Oxfords. Gladiator shoes. Leather boots.

Tagged by: @clover-hawthorne

Tagging: @star-wicce @the-false-ser-toes @shroudwayman @an-ale-of-a-tale @rokachan @cahli-tia @egg-of-mankhad @jax332 @modestmercenary @sunastre-o @fortysanthus and anyone else interested!

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Halfling || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

There is a startling lack of The Witcher fanfiction on this website, so I figured I might as well start writing some. 

Trigger Warning: Sexual Themes | Mentioned Sexual Assault | Mentioned Abuse

* * *

You didn’t remember falling asleep in Geralt’s bedroom, curled up on the small couch in front of the fireplace, the book you had been reading on the floor where it had tumbled after you’d dropped it.

You had been living at Kaer Moren for about two months now. After all of those years in Vizima, especially those last two years living with that gods-awful man in that gods-awful inn, a rotting shack in the woods would have felt like a palace. Whether for good or for bad, the ancient Witcher school had begun to feel like home alarmingly fast. You’d learned all of the secret passageways, all of the forgotten corridors, empty bedrooms, and unused rooms.

You tried your best to fight that feeling. You knew better than to trust the feeling of security. If the last few years of your short life had taught you anything, it was that everything was temporary—security could never last. Best to keep your guard up; it was the only way to keep from getting hurt. And yet, you were losing your internal battle. 

Despite your best efforts to treat your time behind the ancient walls as a job and nothing more, here you were—asleep in a man’s room. 

Not just any man–a Witcher. 

Those years at the Traveler’s Boot had hardened you. Hell, your entire life had hardened you. Apart from a few happy childhood memories, when the whole world still remembered Sodden and feared it, you had few happy memories. Your childhood ended at the age of three, when your mother abandoned you. Your father had abandoned you before you’d even been born. Those first few years, you were taken in by a kindly old human woman. Marta was unlike most of the humans she’d ever met. She hadn’t paid much attention to your elven features. She hadn’t treated you as some sort of monster. Unfortunately, Marta died when you were thirteen. Nobody else was kind as her; nobody else was kind at all.

In the war-torn North, your elven heritage was a target on your back. You were a worthless Halfling—a monster. You were eleven, and so the humans did not trust you. You were half human, and so the elves wanted nothing to do with you. No matter where you went, you were treated with contempt. You traveled from city to city, picking up jobs where you could, hunting and foraging when work was not available. But once the war started, the forest was no longer safe. The Squirrels would have shot you through with an arrow on sight. The humans would have done the same. And so, two years ago, you came to find yourself in Vizima, at Ikorak’s fine establishment. 

You’d sat in a dark corner of the bar, drinking away the last gold coins to your name. The watered-down ale tasted like dirty bath water, but it served its purpose. The pain that normally filled you was slowly eclipsed by numbness. Feeling nothing was the closest thing to feeling happy you got. Ikorak approached you after you had swallowed the third pint of ale, a fourth in hand. 

“You here alone, Miss?” he asked, arms braced on the old table. 

“Do I look like I need a chaperon?” You narrowed your eyes, still sharp even as the alcohol clouded her mind.

“Yes.” He had not hesitated to answer. He hadn’t even attempted to hide the lecherous look on his face, either. 

“Well,” you snapped, “You are mistaken.” 

“The cat has claws.” He smirked at her before turning and walking back to the bar.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was the desperate need to find steady work, but by the end of the evening, you had agreed to come work for him. He had promised steady work as a barmaid—occasionally flirting with the clientele. It was supposed to be easy, honest work. He even offered a room in the inn. It was small and cold and cost half your wages, but it was safe. At least, you thought that it was.

Naturally, not long after you’d begun working there, you realized you were not there to serve rowdy men drinks and harmlessly flirt with them for tips. You were the entertainment. Your long dark hair and wide-doe eyes–elven, except for their deep brown color, were fascinating to the local clientele and travelers alike. You did what any other Halfling stuck in a rotting hell-hole of a world would do. You did your job. It was easy enough to numb yourself, to imagine entire other lives, to dream about things that would never happen. It was easy to lie to yourself and say that you would be able to save enough money to get out of there by the time the year was out. 

Then, the war heated up. 

As blood poured on the battlefields and entire cities burned, your elven beauty turned only hateful glances, eyes full of reproach from elf and human alike. You were not to be trusted. Never mind that you were neutral, and wanted nothing more than this war to be over—whoever ended up crowned King in the end, you were treated like a parasite. How could you be anything but? There were those who promised freedom to people like you–inspiring bands of Scoia’tel to start offing humans in the wilderness. 

Kings raised armies against one another in the timeless struggle for power. There were no “good” sides, as far as you were concerned. Each one wanted nothing more than to kill the other off with as much proficiency and brutality as possible. 

Soon, most of the men visiting [Brothel] wanted nothing to do with you. Ikorak threatened to throw you out on the street, citing a long list of charges that you could never hope to pay off without a steady stream of clients. 

The first time he struck you, you’d been too surprised to think much of it. You had spoken back, after all. You’d opened your mouth to defend yourself when you knew that you had no right to. 

After that, each night you failed to find a willing buyer, [Brothel Owner] had his way with you. Always violent, never gentle. You woke up nearly every day with fresh bruises. Even those night that you managed to find a client, he would treat you much the same way. Angry with… well anyone. They would take it out on you. 

Geralt had been different. You could still see the image perfectly in your head. He’d slammed a pouch of Novigrad gold on the bar. He’d gruffly grabbed you by the arm and pulled you up the stairs to his lodgings. You had expected, once the door slammed shut behind him, that he would be cruel, like the others. 

But he hadn’t. 

He made no move to touch you once you once the lock clicked into place. You hadn’t trusted him. You’d almost decided not to leave with him when he offered. At least with [Brothel Owner], you knew what to expect. The silver-haired man had been a mystery. He wore armor, had daggers and swords hanging about his body. He was a killing machine. 

And yet, you’d come. And he’d kept his word. He’d allowed you to stay on at Kaer Moren for the winter, performing various household tasks–mending clothing, cooking meals–they were all things that you had learned to do throughout your life. It was easy work, and you were highly overpaid. You were even given your very own room. You had a trunk at the foot of your bed, and a bookshelf slowly filling with books. 

Yes, this place was home. 

* * *

Geralt could tell by her steady breathing that you was asleep. The book tumbling to the ground was another indicator. In the warm glow of the last embers smoldering in the fireplace, her hair shone. 

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, but decided not to carefully wipe away the smile, as he usually would. There was something about this woman, this little Halfling that he had felt such a strong urge to take from the horrible place back in Vizima, that he could not ignore. 

He realized after a moment that he was staring, probably too intently, at her small sleeping form. The blanket she had wrapped herself in was beginning to fall off the couch as well. It had been torn almost to shreds when she’d arrived–but she’d patched it up, and now it nearly resembled something soft and cozy again. 

Silent as a cat, he stood up and padded from his desk to the couch. He did not want to wake her, but he did not want her to wake up here, in his room, in the middle of the night, thinking the worst. He would take her back to her room, he decided. 

Gently, he hooked an arm under her knees, and the other round under her back, supporting her head so that she didn’t shock awake. What he had not expected was the way she seemed to melt into his arms, like she belonged there. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and he felt her settle against him, her cheek on his chest. 

“Geralt.” 

The utterance was so quiet, it would have been hard for anyone without his Witcher senses to hear it. She was still asleep, the utterance coming form somewhere in her subconscious. 

Feeling utterly powerless, he decided he would simply lay her in his bed–yes. So she would be more comfortable. He would sleep on the couch. It was an old, lumpy thing, but it was far more comfortable than the hard ground he often slept on during the warmer months outside of Kaer Moren.

Gingerly, he carried her to his bed and set her there, her head resting on one of the pillows. 

He was overcome with how much he wanted to reach out and stroke her hair; with how much he wanted to feel her soft skin beneath his calloused fingers. But… He could not. It would be breaking his promise. He might scare her. She was always so jumpy, peering around corners and hiding a flinch whenever someone accidentally snuck up behind her.

So, he set her down and stood up to go to his wardrobe and change into nightclothes–which was, rather unceremoniously the exact thing he wore under all his armor during the day. But with her staying here, he decided he would be much better if he slipped on one of the soft cotton shirts that usually remained folded in the bureau.  

As he slipped off his belt, tunic, and pants (making sure to remain craftily hidden behind the large door, he heard stirring from his bed.

He was in the middle of slipping a shirt on over his boxers when he heard that soft voice again.

“Geralt?” 

Geralt started, not having seen her eyes flutter as she awoke.

“I’m sorry, An Enid,” he began quickly, using the nickname Vizimir had given her when he walked into Kaer Moren with her that day. It dripped like honey from his lips—Little Daisy. “You’d fallen asleep, and I didn’t want you falling off of the–” She didn’t even seem to hear his explanation for how exactly she ended up in his bed. 

“Please don’t leave.” Her voice was still hazy with sleep, but those big, brown eyes were settled on him intently.

“I will not,” he found himself agreeing immediately. “I will be on the couch, right here,” promised. 

He saw hurt flash on her face for the briefest of moments, but she collected herself quickly. 

“There is more than enough room here, Witcher,” she said tentatively, like she was scared to even be speaking the words. But those were the only words he needed. These last few months–their interactions, conversations, the way that her arm occasionally brushed against his, sending a shiver down his spine. Perhaps, they had not been completely made up or meaningless. He crossed the room in a few large steps, laying down on the empty side of the bed. 

Her big doe-eyes were open once more, fixated on his mutant ones. He found himself unable to look away. And still, he made no move to touch her, not wanting to overstep some hidden boundary. His medallion lay on the bedside table, so the soft vibration he felt in his chest had nothing to do with magic. The pull he felt was no spell, but it may as well have been. 

Gently, he brushed a few loose strands of hair from her face, calloused fingers gently settling there, on the side of her face. 

“Geralt?” 

“Yes?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Touch me.”

She didn’t have to wait long. His hands were on her in a moment, one still in her hair, the other wrapping around her waist as he rolled on top of her, carefully distributing his weight so as not to crush her. 

Her lips were soft, but her kiss was eager. He did not rush the kiss. His lips moved against hers, eager but not forceful. Her lips parted as she sighed, and the Witcher took advantage of the moment to take control. She was intoxicating. The scent of lavender and cedarwood filled him with a desperate want. All of these months, he had told himself that he didn’t want her. He told himself that she didn’t want him. He told himself whatever he had to to keep his walls up. But with that one breath, with that pleading way she looked at him, with one kiss, the wall had crumbled. 

He groaned when he felt her small hand moving over his chest. Her hands were calloused like his own, but her touch was soft. He wanted to feel her hands all over him. As if she could read his mind, like the others, she continued to explore. She slid one hand up into his white hair, clutching him close to her. She broke the kiss, but only to move her lips down over his jaw and down to his neck, biting softly as she ran her tongue over his skin.

Geralt could already feel himself hardening, the whole length of him pressing against her thigh. And she could feel it, too, he realized, when she blinked up at him with a spark of mischief in her eyes. 

Gods, she might as well be an enchantress. 

Her hand slipped lower, tugging at the waistband of his boxers to stroke him. He moaned softly, lost in pleasure, before finally coming back to his senses. She was trying to, and succeeding in, pleasing him. But as wonderful as her skillful fingers felt, he wanted her to feel the same and more.

“Be still,” he said gruffly, taking her wrist and pushing it away to her side. His lips were on her neck now, teeth scraping over the soft skin there. He smirked when her breath caught in her throat and her grip on his hair slackened, her hand falling to her side, eyes closing listlessly. 

“Good girl.” 

He pushed himself up with one arm, free hand pulling at her shirt, tugging it up. She moved with him, shifting so he could pull the useless garment over her head. 

The Witcher sad back on his knees, cat-eyes dilating as they scanned over her bare chest—couldn’t say he minded that she wore no corset. He laced his fingers through her soft hair once more, leaning down to kiss her again. This time, his kiss was full of hunger, and she returned it with just as need. His free hand slipped lower, gently grazing over her breast. She whimpered—actually whimpered at that soft touch. 

‘Oh, Little Daisy, If my touch makes you whimper, just wait until you see what I can do with my mouth.’ 

He realized, of course, that she could not hear his thoughts the way that Yennifer could, but he was sure his eyes gave away exactly what he was thinking. In a millisecond, his mouth was on her left breast as he continued to knead her right. His calloused fingers pulling gently at her nipple as his tongue lapped at the other, drawing another moan from the half-elf. Her hands were balled into fists, clutching at the sheets like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. His lips closed over her taught nipple, sucking it into his mouth to continue lavishing it with his tongue. By now, she was writhing beneath him in pleasure. K Her breath hitched as he let his teeth scrape over the small bud, and he finally turned his attention to her other breast. He lavished it with equal attention, noticing the way she always sighed in pleasure as when his tongue flattened. He gave long, intentional licks as his no free hand traveled lower.

Her hips were already grinding against his, making it hard for him to concentrate on much more than his throbbing cock. He ached to be inside her, filling her completely as he thrust in and out until she screamed. But that could wait. A Witcher was always in control, and he had far more plans for her that night. He was so intoxicated with her—with her lavender and cedarwood scent, with her little moans and sighs, with the way her body moved under his and the way her small hands traced his shoulder blades and tangled in his hair—that he didn’t even remember ripping her skirt and underthings from her body. Neither of them minded. 

His large fingers found her core, already slick with her intoxicating juices. They danced over her clit, eliciting several moans from her beautiful lips. He was teasing her now—tracing feather-light circles around the little bud. 

Little circles, then back and forth, building up speed but refusing to press harder, enjoying watching her squirm. Her arms were almost flailing now, trying to grab at his hair, the sheets, or nothing at all. He didn’t need a mind-reader to tell him that she was not used to this kind of attention. He had no idea how any man could resist. He was almost worried he’d lose control just watching her pleasure-drunk eyes flicker open and closed. 

After he was sure she was thoroughly lost in a haze of nothing but pleasure, he finally slipped one large finger inside. 

“Fuck,” he half-grunted. She was so tight around his finger, her walls clenching around him. He couldn’t wait to bury his cock inside her. 

But still—not yet. 

He added another finger now, studying her face as he slowly drew them in and out, committing to memory each spot he touched that elicited the most reaction, and which ones made her head loll back on the pillow. 

He found exactly what he was looking for quite quickly, watching this utter satisfaction as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, his name leaving her over and over again as he curled his fingers back and forth over her g-spot. Her eyes were closed when he put his mouth on her, his tongue now playing with her hardened little nub. Over and over he worked her clit, starting ever so slowly, fingers still rubbing against her g-spot. Over and over he continued, slowly building the pace and increasing pressure. 

She was lifting her hips, trying to increase the pressure, urging him on faster and harder. He obliged without hesitation, listening to the wild thrum of her heartbeat. “G-geralt!” she gasped, voice breaking with the effort. “If you don’t… stop… I’m… going t—” 

He removed his tongue from her soft folds only to peer up at her from between her legs, a smirk on his lips. 

“Yes,” he said gruffly, “You are.” He used one hand to hold down her hips so she could not escape his fingers slamming into that same spot over and over. “You are going to be a good girl and cum for me.”

With that, his lips closed around her clit and he sucked it gently into his mouth, tongue dancing over the little nub as his fingers continued their assault. She screamed as she spasmed around his fingers, hips bucking wildly now as she rode out wave after wave of her orgasm. 

He helped coax her back down with slow, gentle thrusts of his fingers. His tongue flattened against her, subtle movements bringing her back down to Earth. 

* * * 

You lay, still adrift in a sea of pleasure. Soft aftershocks from your orgasm electric in your veins. It had been so long since you felt this way—so at peace, so safe. 

Geralt was up on his knees again, eyes fixated on you. He did not look at you with the harsh eyes full of contempt that you were so used to. He did not look at you as if you were a piece of silver. No, he did not look at you like you were his property, or like land he’d just conquered.

He looked at you like he wanted you. 

[To be continued?]

[diindjariin]

Have You Ever Been In Love? (Din Djarin x Reader)

Rating: t+

Word Count: 3.5k

Excerpt: “I like who you are now,” you say, hoping this will ease his pain, if only a little bit. The tilt of his head lets you know he’s smiling.

“And you?” he asks, “Have you ever been in love?”

“Oh yes,” you reply, breathless, and whisper for you in your head so many times you hope he can hear you.

Masterlist for this series

A/N: this is the third time i have tried posting this to get it in the stupid tumblr tags, so my apologies if you’ve seen this a billion times. also, the screencap sucks again. roast me, please. if you’ve been following this series, this takes place right after soft hands, so it is not only the newest fic in the series, it is the newest chronologically. also, i am currently taking suggestions for the name of this series. feel free to help me out! as per usual, this fic had a quick once-over before being published so…………….expect errors. i admit wholeheartedly that i am the worst TM.

“We need money.”

          You’re sat cross-legged on Mando’s cot sewing up a hole in one of his undershirts. Normally you wouldn’t bother, because he insists it isn’t necessary, but it’s your favorite; the brown one that’s a bit too small and shows off the muscles in his arms. You look up at him briefly and then return to your sewing, answering him without looking.

          “Okay. What’s the plan?”

          “I’m going to get in contact with my old partner.” Your whole body stops and the only movement comes from your eyes, which slowly inch their way up his body and rest on the T of his visor.

          “Mando –“ you don’t know what else to say. He’s told you about his past, bits and pieces at least, but enough for you to know that anyone he used to be in contact with were not people he should associate with again. He’s proud of himself for leaving that part of his life behind, has told you as much, but now here he is, going back.

          “This isn’t up for negotiation,” he doesn’t sound angry, but he sounds sure. “I just want to discuss what to do with you and the kid.”

          So, you do. You don’t want him to be alone, but you also have your limits. You have no desire to be involved in anything criminal, you tell him, which prompts him to remind you of the child and that protecting him counts as criminal involvement.

          “You could drop us off on Sorgan,” you say casually, stroking the Child’s ears idly. “I’m sure Cara wouldn’t mind the company.”

          “I don’t like the idea of the two of you out of my orbit,” he responds. Your breath catches in your throat but he doesn’t seem to parse the deeper meaning of his words. “If you both just stay on this ship you’ll be fine. You’ll never even have to see them. Ok?”

          “It seems like you’ve already made up your mind,” you say, turning slightly so you’re no longer facing him and go back to your needlework. The Child seems to sense the shift in your mood and whimpers, burrowing into your lap. Mando sighs and rests his hands on his hips.

          “Are you mad at me?”

          “Yes,” you respond, “a bit. Why do you ask for my opinion if you’re just going to do what you want anyway?” Mando groans, long and deep, and tilts his head in an attempt to get you to look at him.

          “Hey,” he says, but you don’t turn. He repeats himself, leans more into your field of vision. “Hey – look at me.” You do, albeit cautiously. “I care. What you think. But I’m the bounty hunter. I’m gonna do what I think is safest. But I still care how you feel about it.” Now it’s your turn to sigh, nod your head once. Your eyes fall shut and you rub at the space between your eyes.

          “I know…” you let your voice trail off as you desperately push against the beginning of a migraine. “I’m sorry for insinuating otherwise.” He nods his head, then turns on his heel and makes his way to the cockpit. You allow your upper body to fall backwards on his cot, legs still crossed, the slight bounce sending the child a few inches into the air. He falls back between your legs and giggles, crawls up your body so he’s snuggled under your chin. You close your eyes and sigh, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to be okay with this. You throw your arm over your eyes and push the thoughts from your mind.

———————————————————————————————————-

“Why can’t you remove your helmet?”

          Mando is indulging you. He knows how much you love the stars, the sounds of nature. There’s nothing pressing to attend to and so you park on a mostly uninhabited planet, open the hatch, and watch the stars. Not speaking but enjoying the other’s presence, nonetheless. Mando’s manspreading, something you tease him for mercilessly but love when he does it. It means he’s comfortable. He’s got his legs spread wide, leant back on his elbows. He turns his head as if to look at you out of his peripheral vision. Then he goes back to looking at the stars.

          “It’s… my religion,” he says. You think he’s going to stop here but, to your amazement, he speaks the most he ever has to you in one breath. “It wasn’t always this way, I’ve heard. But my people were hunted, had to go into hiding. It… made sense not to remove our helmets. For safety. And then it became about something else.” He pauses for a moment, searching for words, then continues. “It bothered me at first. But I got used to it, after a while. Sacrifices are necessary in life.”

          “Yes, but –“ you say, then stop yourself, not wanting to offend him. The Mandalorian tilts his head and turns toward you, his equivalent of an eyebrow quirk. “Your life shouldn’t be sacrificed.” He doesn’t have a response for that, but he does shift that much closer, enough that the length of your arms tough. You think he might agree.

“One more time,” he says, “what’s the story?”

          “If someone gets in, I’m your slave,” you barely get the words out, cringing at the thought of being owned by someone. “I don’t like saying that. You’d never do that.” Mando’s head ticks up quick and he looks like he wants to say something to that but changes his mind.

          “It’s the only thing that will make sense to these assholes without giving away that we have the kid. Okay? But you shouldn’t have to worry about anyone.” His fingers trace your cheekbone. He likes the way the leather looks against your skin. Then he’s turning, making his way over to the hatch. “Stay away from the hatch,” he says before lifting it, “and don’t make any noise.” Then he raises the door, shuts it behind him, and is gone.

———————————————————————————————————-

“Have you ever been kissed?”

          This is going to become a thing between the two of you, you know. Nights spent on barren planets, swapping secrets. It’s easier to get him to open up first, so that he has a reference point for how personal he can get with you.

          “No,” he responds. He stares at his feet instead of up at the sky, which just won’t do. You sit up on your knees and pitch yourself forward, grabbing his hands in yours.

          “Someday, then,” you say softly, big eyes staring up at him like you can see him. He doesn’t respond, but he does cup your cheek in his hand, bare thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

          “And you?” It takes a solid minute for you to figure out his meaning. When you do you smile, shyly, genuinely.

          “Oh yes,” you say softly, pressing a kiss into the pad of his thumb.

          “Who was your first?”

          “A boy named Dane,” you say, recalling the memory, “I was 15. He was nice,” you chuckle to yourself and add, “he wasn’t a very good kisser, but neither was I, I suppose.”

          “And now?” he asks. He’s never prodded you this much and you’re reveling in it, leaning deep into his space. He’s dressed down to a shirt and trouser pants, bereft of armor except his helmet. He looks soft like this, pliable. You could sit in his lap and feel him, if you wanted. Instead, you lean back a bit, give him space.

          “I’ve had lots of practice,” you say and leave it at that, returning to your own side and lying down, arms folded behind your head. In the moonlight, you’re blushing. Several minutes go by in silence and you’ve started to notice the chill from outside. You’re about to ask Mando if he’d like to go inside when he says:

          “I’ve never slept with anyone.” The silence that follows is deafening. You’ve assumed this, but having it confirmed is something else entirely. You struggle for words, any words, to respond to this confession until you realize with abrupt clarity that he doesn’t want that. He just wants to share. You decide you have something you wanted to tell him, too.

          “I can’t have children,” you say, almost too soft for him to hear, “but I’ve always wanted them. I always thought I’d… be a good mother.” There’s silence on his end. Then –

          “You are a good mother.” It takes about a minute to discern his meaning, but by then you’re blinking back tears.

———————————————————————————————————-

The hatch opens an hour later. The Child’s asleep in his cot, hidden away while you continue your sewing.

          “Mando?” you call, peeking around the corner of his cot. “Did you forget something?” He makes his way into your field of vision and you smirk at him, but something in his posture is… off. You realize why moments later.

          “Who do we have here?” asks a male voice behind the Mandalorian. From behind his shoulder comes a bald man, dressed in weaponry. And then another man, with red skin and horns, a droid, and the nastiest-looking woman you’ve ever seen. You immediately seek out Mando. He’s looking at you but he refuses to meet your eyes.

          “Oh, a little slave girl!” cries the woman with the purple skin, jumping in the air and clapping excitedly. “This will be fun!”

———————————————————————————————————-

           “What’s your name?” you ask him once between the breezes of the wind and the phases of the moon. You aren’t expecting an answer, and then -

         “Din,” he says breathlessly and quick, as if he’s been waiting for you to ask, “It’s Din.”

         “Din,” you say with reverence, caressing the side of his helmet. “I’m so glad to know you.”

———————————————————————————————————-

You should have told him no. Demanded to be sent to Sorgan. That’s the only thought running through your head now, watching him interact with the ghosts of his past. You learn their names after an hour: Mayfield, Burg, Q9-0, but it’s the last one, Xi’an that gives you the most pause. You watch how she circles Mando, strokes her hand down his arm, flirts with him. You know your immediate reaction is jealousy but the more you watch them interact, the more protective you begin to feel. He’s like a livewire around these people, on edge. Mayfield reaches to grab your arm and Mando reacts instantly, catching his wrist with a quiet don’t. But when Xi’an gets close to him… he freezes.

          But if you’re interested in Xi’an, she’s twice as fascinated by you. She watches you for hours while you move back and forth, keeping yourself busy. You and Mando shared a look when you’d picked up one of the child’s blankets off the floor, deciding through an unspoken dialogue not to allow these criminals to know of the Child’s existence. All the while she watches you, clicks her tongue. Sometimes she makes remarks that have the hair on the back of your neck standing up.

          “What does he have you do for him, huh?” Xi’an asks coquettishly, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I have a few ideas… but I don’t think Mando shares my appetites. Do you, sweetie?” Mando’s at your side immediately, manhandling you behind him.

          “Not even a little bit,” he replies. He steers you away from the rest of the group until you’re as far away as possible, leans close so you can have a semblance of a private conversation. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you know he means for everything.

          “I know,” you respond, “this is bad.” You trail off, not wanting to guilt him anymore than you’re sure he already is. There’s something that’s been nagging at you, in the back of your mind. You lean in closer, grabbing ahold of his forearms to stabilize yourself. “Mando, is she… the one you told me about?” All he does is stare, for a bit, and then he nods. Just once. You squeeze his arm and try to stave off your desperate need to hug him. “Okay.”

———————————————————————————————————-

“Have you ever been in love?”

          This night, you’ve been out on the hatch for hours, stars long since forgotten, preferring to stare at each other instead. Mando may as well be a star to you, making you burn hot in your core just to look at him. Maker, you think, watching him watch you, will this fire ever stop burning?

          “I – uh - no,” he says. “Once, I thought – but she wasn’t a good person.”

          “Oh?” You ask, hoping he’ll tell you more. You like to learn about him.

          “She was a criminal. She made me forget who I was. Hurt me. I don’t… like who I was when I was with her.” The words seem like an admission. You move the hand that isn’t propping your head up to intertwine your fingers with his. You pull his hand to that it rests over your sternum, stroke your fingertips down his forearm.

          “I like who you are now,” you say, hoping this will ease his pain, if only a little bit. The tilt of his head lets you know he’s smiling.

          “And you?” he asks, “Have you ever been in love?”

          “Oh yes,” you reply, breathless, and whisper for you in your head so many times you hope he can hear you.

———————————————————————————————————-

“She stays,” Mando says sharply. You’re sure he’s close to snapping, fingers digging into the meat of your arm. It’s starting to hurt.

          “She comes,” says the Devaronian, arms crossed tight across his chest. “I don’t trust her here alone with Q9.”

          “She stays,” Mando repeats, “she’d just be a liability. She doesn’t know how to fire a blaster.” Xi’an quirks the skin above her eye.

          “I wonder more and more what the point of her is,” she says, messing with her blaster a bit. “C’mon Mando. Give her a blaster and lets go.”

          “Just do what they ask,” you whisper to him, “I’ll stay out of the way. Let’s just get this done so we can get the hell out of here.” He nods once. Then you’re off.

The betrayal doesn’t come as a surprise to you. The murder does. You’ve watched Mando fight before, watched him shoot a bounty but you’ve never watched someone beg for their life before being killed in cold blood. You watched him fight with himself, trying to choose between safety and duty. You wish he’d been more selfish. Your body’s gone numb and you’re dissociating, mind foggy. Mando talks to you but you don’t hear him.

          “Hey, hey,” he says, smacking your shoulders, “come back to me. Come back. We have to finish this, okay? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry – you never should have, should have been here. But we need to get out. Okay? Lets finish this.” You nod, following his voice back to your body. Its hard work but you manage, and when you look away you realize you’re locked in a cell.

          “Okay, okay,” you say, repeating the word over and over until you feel mostly yourself. “Let’s do this.”

———————————————————————————————————-

“Can you never marry? Settle down? Have a family?”

          This is a dangerous game you’re playing, yet you can’t stop. Every star-filled night you’ve been building up to this question, needing to know the answer. There’s tension between the two of you that surpasses sexual. You know he cares for you. You have to know if there’s a possibility for more.

          “My clan is… very strict. There aren’t many Mandalorians left. Our lives are to be devoted to the creed.” He doesn’t sound disingenuous, but he does seem… detached.

          “Is that what you want from life?” you ask softly, watching him from the corner of your eye. “Life experienced from the inside of a helmet? Forever?”

He stares blankly back at you; no head tilt, no external indication of what his facial expressions might be telling you. You blanch.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” you say quickly, grabbing for his knee, “I only meant… I mean… Are you happy?” He takes some time to respond, but when he does he takes your breath away.

“It’s the only life I’ve known,” he says, resting his hand atop yours, “but that doesn’t mean it’s the only one. I’m… happiest when I’m with you.”

Your eyes close involuntarily, lips curling into a smile.

Oh Maker, you pray, happy tears stinging your eyes, let me love him.

———————————————————————————————————-

You awake to Mando shaking your shoulder and saying your name gently. You blink your eyes open to find most of the main lights of the ship turned off, the Child nowhere to be found.

          “He’s in his cot,” says the Mandalorian to your unspoken question. “Come.” He stands and extends his hand, which you take without hesitation. He leads you to the hatch, open it, and leads you outside. He’s brought you to another barren planet to watch the stars, only this one is… different. You gasp audibly, bringing your hands to cover your mouth. You’re fully awake now, eyes wide open in an attempt to take everything in because.

          Because wherever you are it the largest moon you’ve ever seen, enough surface area that, when the sun shines upon its surface, it gives off enough white light that everything on the surface of the planet is clearly visible. But the sky is still inky black, and millions of stars and planets can be seen from the ground. It’s a wonderous juxtaposition, one you didn’t know what possible. You turn to the Mandalorian in awe, hoping for an explanation.

          “I tracked a bounty here once,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “I thought you might like it.”

          “I do,” you say, with enough feeling that you might choke on it.

This scene is so similar to the ones before it and yet there’s an air of something. You can’t quite name it, but there’s a change between the two of you. You can feel is in the way he stares at you, how you can practically feel the heat coming off his eyes. His gaze scans your entire figure, ankles to eyes. It makes you flush. You’re both lying on your backs looking at the stars, so mesmerized that you haven’t spoken a word in an hour. You break the silence because he has to know.

          “I didn’t like the way she was looking at you,” you say, shifting so that you’re now on your knees. Mando watches you shift and then does the same, sitting up on his haunches.

          “Xi’an,” he says. He doesn’t need to ask. You nod.

          “I hate to see you look scared. Unsure.” Your hand snakes its way to his in the grass. Once you find it, he allows you to curl your fingers in his.

          “I’m okay,” he says, and that’s that.

          Except it’s not. He can’t brush this aside, you wont allow it, because there’s a tightening happening in your chest, like a fist around your heart and you know with sudden and shocking clarity that there will never be another. He is it. He has to know.

          Slowly, so as not to startle him, you shift your right hand to unclasp your fingers. They dance across his hand, up his arm, over the slope of his shoulder, up his neck. He stiffens but doesn’t push you away, trusts you, and the truth makes your heart ache. You stop once your palm has circled his neck, finger tips able to get a little ways into his helmet. You feel stubble there, scratching your palm.

          His breathing has picked up, the sound of it tinny through the modulator. After several moments of deep breaths he mimics your movements, right hand gliding up your body. His palm cups your cheek and he swipes his thumb over your lips in a gesture you’ve become familiar with. You stare at each other like this for what feels like hours, mimes of each other. Then he drops your gaze and looks at the grass, at your legs, anything but your face.

“There are things,” he begins, “that are normal for others. Expected. But not for me.” He’s staring now; waiting for your response, you imagine. You know what he wants you to say. To smile and nod and accept this answer. Leave everything unspoken, as you usually do. But not this time. You’ve been aching for months to put a name to your plight and now that you have one you must share it.

I understand, you think.

“I love you,” you say instead. He jerks so violently away from you that you’re afraid you’ve physically hurt him. He drops your jaw and your palm is remove from his face by the force in which he moves away.

“I… can’t,” his voice is breathless, desperate, scared. All at once you know that it’s him that’s holding him back, his trauma, not his devotion to his culture. He’s afraid to love you. It makes tears spring to your eyes. You catalog everything the Mandalorian has been through; the pain, the hardship. Broken and touch-starved. But he’s so soft and he loves the Child and no matter what he says you know that he loves you.

          “I know,” you say, tipping your head forward so your forehead rests against his helmet, hands cupping the side of it like a promise. “I know.”

[darkestfable]

Unexpected Adventure

Raetos grunted as he reached the top of yet another sand dune. Uldum’s terrain was saturated in sand… something the Lightforged’s hooves weren’t accustomed to. He’d been used to the dusty, Fel blasted landscapes of Argus, but this was quite different. He used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. Thankfully, evening was falling, so the desert heat wasn’t nearly as blistering as it could be. He looked around at the distant terrain, most of which he’d already seen on his previous trek through with Brent and Fable. He wondered what it had looked like before the Old God invasion, or if it had been much the same, just without the obelisks and other strange constructions brought about by the cultists. He pulled his train of thoughts back on track as he looked over at his partner. 

“Everything looks clear,” he stated, “I don’t think they’ll have any issues when it comes time to go. What did we mark on the map that was nearby? Was it remaining cultists? Bugs?”

Fable took stock of the landscape as they crested the dune, pulling the mask he’d donned down from his face. The sand carried by the wind was just enough to be annoying, so he’d given up a bit of comfort to protect his lungs from the particles. Unlike Raetos, the blood hunter moved atop the sand fairly easily, leather boots finding purchase despite the loose surfaces. “Bugs, probably. There ain’t enough cover for cultists in this area, ‘n the sun would eat ‘em alive,” he called over to his partner.

Despite his confidence, Fable was still pulling the map from its clasp at his waist to pinpoint exactly where they were. Everything was starting to look the same. By his calculations and based on the map, there should have been a hive somewhere around here. Desert winds changed the topography of an area so rapidly that the elf wasn’t sure they were even near the hive…

“Eeh, can’t tell if the hive was at the base of this dune or the next. Let’s keep goin’ ‘n just be careful, yeah?” Fable rolled up the map, clipping it back to his belt before starting to descend down the dune.

The Lightforged squinted as he looked down towards the base. It certainly didn’t look like there was anything there, but looks could be deceiving in shifting landscapes like this one. He looked over to Fable, unable to hide the pout at how easily and elegantly the Blood Hunter moved over the sand. He was envious, for certain. He’d had his hooves altered back during early adulthood to add padding that would allow silent  movement. It had served him well on Argus, and on scouting missions for the Alliance. Until now, that is. Despite its advantages, it took away from being able to feel the ground beneath him. A large problem in dealing with this particular terrain. 

He couldn’t complain too much about his partner leading the way, however. The tight pants Fable wore showed off the perfect curvature of his behind, a sight Raetos never grew tired of. He trailed behind, his tail swaying carefully behind him to help keep balance as he less than elegantly made his way down the dune.

--Easier said than done! The Draenei only made it halfway down the dune before his weight proved too much for the sand beneath him. He slipped and fell to his side with a grunt as the sand shifted. The steepness of the hill and gravity did the rest of the work, causing Raetos to slide down into Fable. It was official. Raetos was absolutely NOT a fan of the desert!

“Careful when you’re comin’ down th-” his warning was cut short by a draenei barreling into him.

Raetos’ large body hit the backs of his knees and knocked him facedown in the sand hard enough to knock the wind out of him, causing Fable to get a mouth full of the grainy stuff before his partner had rolled on. Unfortunately for the elf, he was caught in the wake of sand that followed the larger man, barrelling them both down the dune faster than he’d have liked. Not only was sand getting everywhere, but Fable was sure he’d seen the sand at the bottom churning long before anything hit it.

There was nothing left to do but ride the wave until the bottom, and into whatever it was that was hungry. There was no way to prepare for it, either. Instead, Fable tried to slow himself with his hands, squinting through the dust. It had to have been an illusion, but the elf swore he’d seen the ass end of an aqir…

There really wasn’t anything to stop the Draenei’s momentum as he tumbled down the dune and into the funneling sands below. He curled up, tucking his limbs and tail in as to not pull or break anything on his way down. The sand was EVERYWHERE! Keeping him well blinded until he finally hit the bottom of… wherever he was…

He hissed as pain erupted through his side at the landing. That was going to leave a mark for certain! The Lightforged rolled to the side and down the slope so that he wasn’t where it was all piling up anymore. He coughed, shaking his head in an attempt to get most of the gritty substance off. An impossible feat. 

“F-fable?” He managed to cough, finally looking up from where he fell, uncertain if the elf had fallen in behind him or managed to stay on the surface.

The entrance of the hive had been small, just big enough for burrowers to drag prey through. Raetos’ large form, however, had successfully opened up the tunnel to the cavern below. Before the sand had started to pour in, the ground had been sticky with waste from the aqir’s feeding, and slippery. The grit provided a little traction, at least. Deeper in the cavern, tunnels were lit by a sort of bioluminescent sac, the glow orange and ominous. There was a quiet chittering from the darkness, but it could barely be heard under the pouring sand and complaints from the elf that came with it.

Fable’s belly slide had turned into rolling down on his side, graceless and cursing into the hole that Raetos had so carefully broken open. As the elf sat up from the pile of sand, his partner could see the abrasions on his cheek and collarbones. He didn’t seem to pay any mind just yet, as the hunter was trying to cough out whatever had gotten into his mouth and throat. Sand was -everywhere-.

“Maker’s tits that was one hell of a ride…” he groaned, looking around the cavern and squinting. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, and he didn’t like what he was seeing. “Shit, Raetos we’re...fucked.”

“I mean… maybe a little?”

Raetos couldn’t help but grimace at what he guessed was the aqir hive. He managed to get up and make his way over to Fable. The Lightforged let out a pained grunt from the burning in his side; most likely a broken rib or two. Still, concern was evident in his features as his golden gaze looked his lover over for any serious injuries. His hand cupped his partner’s uninjured cheek, eyeing the scrapes and scratches. He cursed himself and his clumsy hoof steps. Had he been more careful in his movements, the two wouldn’t be trapped down here now. 

“Can you walk?” He asked in a hushed tone, “If not, I can carry you, but we need to get out of here. Like… right now.”

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. He was completely disoriented down here, and he couldn’t even tell which way was north.

Fable, though touched by the concern, seemed less worried about the blood and more worried about the fact that they were at least twenty feet below the surface. There was nothing but sand and heat above them, and a hive crawling with opportunistic bugs below them. He looked to Raetos for a moment, assessing his partner’s condition before slowly getting to his feet. Battered and bruised, scraped up, but they were both fairly functional.

“Yeah we just… We ain’t gonna be able to climb out. We gotta find the other end of the hive,” the elf shook sand out of his armor, out of his hair...everywhere, before stepping down from the small mound where they’d landed.

The blood hunter let out a slow breath as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He could see, no doubt, but he wasn’t sure if Raetos could. Beyond the low orange glow he could see movement; pulsing and glowing fat bodies of what Fable could only assume were aqir, or worse. Even if this were a smaller hive that could mean fifty or more, and the bugs were absolutely built to swarm.

“We gotta go down before we can go up, yeah? Most hives have two ends. One for pushin’ out the waste, one for bringin’ in the food. We found the food hole.”

Raetos was thankful to be wearing his armor, otherwise he would have been a glowing beacon for the insects to hone in on. Unfortunately, as luminous as his golden gaze was, it didn’t help him to see much further than a few feet in front of him. He’d have to rely on Fable to be his eyes. He squinted, seeing forms skittering about, but not much more.

“Well,” he whispered, hand gripping his side, “First thing we need to do is not smell like food. I’m no expert on aqir, but insects usually use pheromones to guide them. My rifle is a big no no down here… do you still have your bow to like… spear some and drag them over? It’s gonna be gross, but I’m thinking if we smell like them, we should be able to move among them.”

The elf just -stared- at Raetos for a moment. This was supposed to be an easy mission with a group, and here they were. Sitting in a hive, about to be covered in bug guts. Fable let out a slow breath and reached back for his bow. Had he tumbled as badly as Raetos the thing might have broken. His fingers found the clasp and brought it forward, grateful that it was in one piece. Wordlessly, the elf retrieved an arrow, knocking it and letting the shaft rest in the arrow rest while Fable looked around the cavern. He’d heard what sounded like a larger aqir trundling up the tunnels, and as he and Raetos fell silent he could see the telltale glow of the bug rounding a corner. Over the soft chittering sounds was the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut, and Fable’s breathing slowing as he focused.

Raetos’ attention was less on the bugs, and more specifically on Fable at this point. There was something about how the Blood Hunter looked when he was concentrated on a task; the way his brows knit and the intensity of his gaze. He’d caught that same look whenever the elf studied his cartography and worked on his maps. Here, in the almost pitch black cavern with almost only the glow of their eyes illuminating his features, and even covered in sand, scratches and bruises, the elf was absolutely entrancing. Reatos couldn’t look away. Fable, of course, was blissfully unaware of Raetos’ moon-eyed look. His whole mindset had switched over to work mode. 

Around the corner came the large bug, its carapace almost glistening in the dim orange glow. An arrow sizzled through the air and found its mark, right behind the head of the creature. It let out a screech and flailed, tiny legs reaching up but unable to grasp the shaft of the arrow. It was moments, but to Fable it felt like forever until the aqir collapsed. “Wait. We need to see if any of ‘em was alerted,” he glanced back at Raetos, waiting.

The Draenei nodded, the creature’s screech had been more than enough to pull Raetos out of his daydream-like state and pull his attention back to the task at hand. He remained perfectly still, even holding his breath as the smaller aqir had scattered about the cavern. They knew something had happened, that something wasn’t right, but didn’t have the senses to tell where the attack had come from.

Thankfully, this deep into the hive, the aqir present were simple workers, not sentinels or attack drones. Sensing the falling insect’s distress signal, they quickly scattered out of the  food alcove and into the tunnel, giving the partners the opening they needed. Raetos let out a relieved sigh.

“Nice shot,” he said, ginning to Fable, “We don’t have much time. They’ll be back with sentinels soon enough.”

He took out his sword as he approached the slain insect, grunting as he brought it down to sever its head from its body, before using it as a vice to split open the carapace with a sickening crunch. That done, he sheathed the weapon and proceeded to use his large hands and a dagger to get to the gland he needed. It was as big as the Draenei’s hand, fat and full of whatever juices it contained. The smell was almost sickening… It was perfect!

“Got it!” he exclaimed, like some big excited kid. Apparently, Raetos had been in enough horribly dangerous situations that he was easily able to move past it and enjoy the adrenaline rush of the moment., “Seems pretty potent, so I’m thinking a little will go a long way. This should be plenty for the both of us.”

The elf put his bow back into its clasp, walking down the pile of sand to meet his lover and the...rather disgusting gland. While Fable had smelled some pretty raunchy things in his life, this was certainly up there. He felt his stomach turn a little, and wondered how Raetos could still retain his boyish charm…

“Maker’s tits that thing is disgusting. Let’s just...ugh. Spread it ‘n let’s go. The sooner we get outta here, the better. Ain’t wantin’ Saedre to worry too bad,” Fable looked down the tunnels as he spoke, trying to get a sense of direction.

Deeper into the hive there were sounds of movement. A soft chittering, buggy feet on the ground and whatever else was down there. It was only adrenaline keeping Fable from feeling the wounds sustained in the fall, and now that he could see his lover better there were telltale bruises forming on his skin as well. Not the way he wanted to start out the first mission…

“Spread it and go,” Raetos couldn’t help but chuckle, “Yeah, I can go for that.”

He shot Fable one more dumb grin before squeezing some of the gland’s slimy contents into his hands. 

“...that ain’t what I mea… Oh fuck this smells so bad,” Fable had started to protest the way Raetos took what he’d said, then the smell reached his nose and he almost gagged.

The Draenei covered his partner in it first, using it as a great excuse to get his hands all over the Blood Hunter. Even with how potent the smell was, he put a bit extra on the elf for good measure. 

This was so degrading, in Fable’s mind. Though he couldn’t lie, having his lover’s hands all over him did make things a lot better. Until the draenei ruffled his hair. With the slime. Now his hair was standing up in random directions, looking as if he’d just rolled out of bed with cum in his hair… 

Squeezing more out of the gland, Raetos covered himself in the stinky substance. 

“That should do it,” he said, tossing the drained organ away over his shoulder, “We’re going to need a few baths to be presentable to the public again, but that’s a positive, right?” He extended his hand out to Fable, nodding towards where the approaching chattering was coming from. “We should be able to walk right by them, now. Just need to figure out which way is out.”

Fable’s pale blue eyes shifted from the tunnels, to Raetos’ hand, to the tunnels again before he took the offer. This way they wouldn’t get lost, and they could pull each other out of danger if it arose. He didn’t want to admit to himself that this kind of affection made his heart flutter, and embarrassed him in the best ways possible. The lap sitting and kissing in public was one thing, but holding his lover’s hand even in such a dangerous area was so… pure… so much so that it almost scared him more than the aqir. Almost.

“Oh yeah, uh… Should be one of ‘em that kinda looks like it goes down, then starts anglin’ back up. Can’t use the smoke trick in here though, ‘cause the aqir might get alarmed,” the hunter did take the lead as he spoke in hushed tones, towing Raetos along behind him.

The chitters and whispers of wings on carapaces hushed as their footsteps passed, like a wave of silence emanating from each step. The tunnel, which had gotten so deep and dark that even Fable had considered turning back, was now starting to come alight with hints of daytime. The air, which had grown heavy and acrid at the deepest parts now smelled of sun-warmed sand losing its heat and the crisp coolness of a desert’s twilight.

Fable wanted to run towards the fresh air, but he was wary of sending vibrations through the tunnel. They had managed to not rock the boat so far, and it wouldn’t do to be so close to freedom and arouse the sentinels. Their pace slowed a bit as a result, but escape was so close he could taste it!

They breached the surface a few moments later, the last portion of the tunnel being a bit of a climb. With Raetos having broken ribs, Fable had climbed out first and braced himself to help his lover out of the hole. The sun had set, the air in Uldum was downright cold now, and they were a good five miles away from the bottom of the dune that had swallowed them whole. The hunter just sat in the sand for a moment, taking a deep breath and looking up at the stars.

Raetos let out a sigh as he laid out in the sand and joined his lover in staring at the sky. The fresh air felt amazing, MUCH better than the humid atmosphere of the cave. He took in a deep breath of fresh air. Even with him and Fable covered in stinky slime, the cool breeze did wonders!

He still kept his hand clasped around Fable’s, enjoying the closeness it brought. His other hand clutched at his side.

He turned his head to look at his partner again, once more admiring his handsome face in the moonlight.

“You’ve got one hell of a sense of direction! No way I would have made it out of there by myself. I’d probably still be stumbling around in the dark. Was lucky to have you in there with me.”

“Yeah I guess. Your idea of the pheromones was brilliant though. Ain’t gonna take away nothin’ from that,” Fable said to the sky, then looked over at Raetos.

He was startled to see the draenei looking at him, and it was apparent with how his cheeks colored enough to be seen in the starlight. Fable cleared his throat and gave his lover’s hand a squeeze. It was late, it was cold, they stank. And most of all, he’d noticed Raetos’ energy flagging as they reached the last leg of their journey. The poor guy had fallen hard, and he wasn’t sure the armor had absorbed enough of the impact.

“Hey, babe, we gotta get you to the medic. I think you hit pretty hard.”

“Eh… just a couple broken ribs, I think. Nothing lethal.”

Raetos flashed his partner a grin, bringing his other hand up to stroke the blood Hunter’s cheek. He was tired, and didn’t feel like moving at all. Still, he knew better than to fall asleep in the middle of a desert without proper shelter, even at night. And as much as he enjoyed staring at Fable’s lovely face, he was especially looking forward to taking a nice hot bath with him after a quick visit to the mender.

“Alright,” he grunted as he sat up, and winced. Not only were his ribs hurting, but his muscles ached now as well from that brief period of rest. 

No doubt they’d both be sore the next day. Still, he leaned in and briefly pressed his lips to his lover’s.

“Signal Saedre? Hopefully one of the bookworms can port us back.” (With  @raetos , @arcanist-starweaver for mention!)

[ry-ders]

g i ve me 2

real talk i... didnt fill in this prompt correctly but i was already 700 words in and i couldn’t bring myself to rewrite it.....

Title: Punch Drunk LovePairing: Zach/Reyes Summary: In which Peebee gives him a suggestion, and he will definitely not act on it. Nope. Nuh-uh.A/N: This got about as NSFW as I can make it without actually being NSFW. It’s... approximately 2741 words of me building up to a scene without actually putting that scene in.

I don’t know what I’m doing. 

“You and Reyes should just bone already,” Peebee nonchalantly says as she flips through the pages of a magazine, her feet propped up on the table in front of her as she sinks into the couch. She doesn’t even look up at him, instead preferring to ogle at the models.

Zach chokes on his water, coughing hard enough for him to double over. Once that fit stops, he straightens up and gives Peebee the most incredulous look he can muster, straight at the back of her head. “Where did that come from?” he asks, still a bit breathless. There’s some spilled water on the front of his shirt, turning the brilliant white transparent.

“Oh, c’mon, Ryder.” Peebee closes the magazine, using one of her fingers to keep her place. She slings her arm across the back of the couch, turning to look at him with hooded eyes. “The way that you two talk to each other? There is some serious UST there. And I see the way you look at him sometimes. There’s no hiding that.” She has a smug little smirk on her face, and her eyebrows wiggle up and down.

The way they talk to each other? All they do is hurl insults if they’re not busy ignoring the other! How could that even be considered a sign of attraction? ..And, okay, maybe Reyes is a bit hot, but that doesn’t mean anything. He might have a handsome face, but his personality (and morals) are lacking. Zach would not be caught dead-

“He looks at you, too,” Peebee says, her smirk growing into a full-blown, shit-eating grin. She knows exactly how this is affecting him, and he hates it.

“I’m not going to sleep with Reyes,” Zach snaps. Reyes is lucky enough he didn’t push Sloane out of the way during that mess in Draullir. Sleeping with him? He is a luxury few can afford, and he’s pretty damn sure Reyes can’t.

But, God, would it really be that bad? Reyes must know some tricks, and it could just be a one and done thing and- yes, it would be a bad idea. A terrible idea. Zach won’t lie. He gets attached easily, and he’d rather not end up clinging onto Reyes because of one night. Push those thoughts out of your head and into the dustpan, Ryder. 

Peebee’s eyebrows rise up and she holds her hands up in defense. “Just makin’ a suggestion. Touchy.” She goes back to her magazine, but Zach swears he saw her smile before she turned around.

And now, he’s left with thoughts and a half empty bottle of water. Maybe he should kick Peebee off the ship. He grumbles something before padding off to his room.

“SAM, set a course for Kadara,” he finds himself saying as he walks into his quarters.

“Yes, Pathfinder.”

Goddamn it.

…

He doesn’t miss that self-satisfied look Peebee gives him as he gets off the ship. A particularly rude gesture is waved in her direction, and she just laughs.

Still clad in his (thankfully now dry) Tempest attire, he steps into Kralla’s Song and spots Reyes leaning against the bar, chatting to Umi. Strange. Isn’t he usually in Tartarus? Ah, might as well.

“Vidal,” he says as he sidles up next to Reyes. He holds up an index finger, signalling that he wants a drink. Umi halts the conversation, putting down a glass in front of him and turning around to get him his beloved whiskey.

“Ryder,” Reyes replies, voice as smooth as ever. “Taking a break from being the Initiative’s pet?” He swirls the clear liquid in his glass, not even bothering to look at him. Reyes himself has nothing against the Initiative; he just knows how much that title irritates the Pathfinder. 

“Don’t tell me,” Zach starts as Umi walks back over, pouring the whiskey out, “that you forget that it was this ‘Initiative pet’ who gave you what you wanted.” Umi quickly walks away, obviously not wanting to be a part of this. She’s already been asked to pick sides before, and it’s never ended well.

“Still hung up over that event, I see,” Reyes chuckles. He downs the rest of his glass, stealing a glance at Zach out of the corner of his eye. “Why won’t you let it go?”

“Because it’s fun to rip on you about it. And I like reminding you that you owe me for not doing anything.” He follows Reyes in drinking his whiskey, popping his lips once done.

“Do you come here just to bother me?” Reyes asks, an amused edge to his voice. He’s enjoying this teasing, and Zach just wants to punch him. That would feel nice. “I’m a little flattered, Pathfinder.”

Zach snorts into his drink. “I was expecting you to be at Tartarus. And I didn’t come to Kadara for you, I came because Vetra has a deal to close out here. I just want a drink.” It’s a blatant lie and he knows that Reyes knows that it is. Still, he manages to keep a straight face.

“And yet here you are, talking to me.” Reyes gives him an infuriating smirk, and Zach does nothing but scowl. It’s caused by the smirk and the fact that he doesn’t have a comeback to give Reyes. “I guess I could go to Tartarus right now,” he purrs, leaning in closer, and Zach swears the room got 20 times hotter. “Catch up, if you want.” Reyes fluidly turns and actually swaggers away. Who the hell swaggers? 

“Pathfinder, your heart rate increased dramatically during that conversation with Reyes,” SAM’s mechanical voice sounds off in his head, “and I detect increased activity in your sweat glands.”

“Yeah, SAM, I know,” he mutters under his breath. His grip on the glass is so tight, he’s surprised it didn’t shatter. He finishes the rest of his whiskey and all but slams the glass down, making the bottles on the counter rattle. “That asshole,” he breathes out.

“Reyes’s heart rate increased as well,” SAM adds. That doesn’t really help him. 

He pushes himself off to leave, but is stopped by Umi’s voice. “Are you going to pay for your boyfriend?” she asks, voice monotone and hands on her hips.

Zach sighs, exasperated. “He’s not-”

“Doesn’t matter. Someone has to pay.”

He doesn’t really feel like being on the end of Umi’s knife, so he calls out his omni-tool and taps around on it, wiring her the credits. “Good?”

Umi has her own omni-tool out, checking the amount. She swipes right once and nods. “Good.”

Now that he's free to leave, there’s a particularly annoying charlatan he has to catch up with.

He tells the Tempest that he’s going to the slums. Yes, with no armor, and yes, without squadmates. Tartarus is his only destination. While talking to Kallo, he swears he hears Peebee snickering in the background. He’s definitely going to kick her off the ship.

The music in Tartarus is heart-thumpingly loud, but when is it not? There’s an asari and salarian couple tangled up in a couch in the corner, watching him, and it makes him itch. Ignoring their eyes, he makes his way over to Reyes’s private room. “Vital monitoring only, SAM,” he tells the A.I. in his head before stepping in.

“Of course, Pathfinder.” There’s a quiet hum and then nothing.

The woosh of the door opening heralds his arrival.

“Pathfinder.” Reyes smiles. He takes a drink from the bottle in his hand, and Zach wonders if the man ever gets drunk. Or maybe the bottle is just empty. “Nice to see you here. I thought you only took orders from Tann.”

Zach scowls. “Shut up, Vidal.” He takes a seat on the couch opposite, taking the farthest seat away and stretching his legs out on the available space. “I just came in here because it’s cooler.” And it’s not a complete lie. Tartarus’s name is well deserved. The heat of the neon lights and the sweat of the mingling bodies make it near unbearable. Reyes’s room? It’s the arctic compared to outside. But he mostly came for Reyes. Not that Reyes need to know that.

There’s barely any warning before Reyes throws an unopened bottle at him. A surprised noise spills from his mouth as it hits him square in the chest. He’s about ready to go off, but Reyes opens his mouth first. “It’s water. You look a bit thirsty.” Zach picks up on the double meaning of that word, and he hopes the pink wash of the room hides his flushed cheeks.

“No thanks,” he says, setting the bottle on the table, a steady glare trained on Reyes. Or as steady a glare as he can manage. He crosses his arms as he leans back.

“Why, I’m offended, Pathfinder!” Reyes says, putting on a faux offended tone and placing his hand on his chest. “I got that specifically for you.” He winks, and Zach’s glad that SAM doesn’t blare something about another elevated heart rate. It’s probably unhealthy at his point.

“Are you playing with me?” Zach asks, crossing his arms. He thinks it’s a fair question. All this banter and stolen glances, one can’t help but to feel curious.

“Only if you want me to,” Reyes responds. There’s something in his eyes that Zach can’t quite pin down, but it looks intense. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel anything between us, Ryder.” Reyes’s voice becomes a breathy whisper, and oh, God, get him out before he does something. “Your squadmates have felt it too, no?”

A flashback to the time at the Roekaar base where Liam teased him about not being able to keep it in his pants plays in his head. He didn’t talk to Liam for a few hours after that. And Jaal has asked him about his and Reyes’s relationship, stating that he found it odd that they seemed to dislike each other, and yet they were enamoured with the other. Then, of course, there’s Peebee.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, Reyes,” Zach says. His voice cracks, which is just perfect. That seems to draw a laugh out of Reyes. He balls his hands into fists, steeling himself.

“No, I think you know, Ryder.” Reyes’s voice, at this point, is best described as melted dark chocolate. At least according to Zach. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Zach’s breath hitches, and there’s something stirring in his gut. He could leave right now, denying Reyes of anything that he wants, but also simultaneously denying himself. Might make for a few awkward moments down the road, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Or, he could stay and give in to his desires, but risk those turning into something more.

The logical option would be to leave.

Zach Ryder, however, is not a logical man.

“Reyes,” he breathes out, obvious heat in his voice. His skin feels too tight, and it feels like there’s not enough air in the room. God, he’s going to suffocate on his own damn feelings.

“I think I like it when you say my name like that,” Reyes chuckles. “Why don’t you come over here?” He gestures with one hand, beckoning the other over.

His body moves on autopilot, all but launching himself off the couch and straddling Reyes’s lap. He slowly runs a hand up from Reyes’s pec to the curve of his jaw, rubbing his thumb across a cheekbone as he cups his face. That sensation in his gut seems to spread to other parts of his body.

Reyes grabs onto his hips, looking up at him with a cocktail of emotions in his eyes. His grip is tight, but it’s not uncomfortable. Their faces get closer and closer, before they can feel each other’s breath on their lips.

Reyes reaches up and fists his hand into Zach’s hair, pulling him down into a bruising kiss, putting the other hand on the small of his back to support him. Moans fill the air, and they rarely pull back long enough to be able to breathe.

And that’s how Zach found himself sleeping with Reyes, that guy he swears he hates, on a couch in the backroom of Tartarus. How romantic.

 ...

“Congratulations,” Peebee says, leaning against the wall and grinning saucily. He refuses to even look at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He hopes that he could get out of this conversation by playing dumb. He’s sore, he’s sweaty, and he wants to sleep. Preferably now.

Peebee looks at him from head to toe, scrutinizing his appearance. “Mhmm,” she hums, sounding a bit like that child on the schoolyard who always thought they were right. “Your hair’s all messy, you smell a hell of a lot like Tartarus, and there’s hickies on your neck “

Zach’s hand shoots up to cover his neck, but Peebee just laughs. “I was kidding about the hickies. Not that it matters. It seems like you took my suggestion. So, how was he?”

“None of your business,” he grumbles, stomping past her and through one of the archways.

“Ooh, that good?” she giggles, following right behind him. She seems positively giddy, and Zach is sure that the rest of the squad will find out about it at the end of the day. He’s gonna need to prepare for all the looks and questions he’s gonna get.

“Peebee,” he says, voice taking on a warning tone as they approach his quarters. “I’m not discussing this with you.” There’s a finality in his tone.  No amount of prodding will make him reveal more. The door to his quarters opens, waiting for him to step inside.

“Fine, fine, have it your way,” Peebee replies, backing off. He takes that as his cue to go. Before the doors close, he hears her speak again. “But just so you know, you picked up the wrong shirt.”

Groaning, he looks down, the door sliding shut behind him. She’s right. The shirt is white, yes, but it’s missing the AI logo, and it has buttons. How did he mess up this badly? He’s 5 seconds away from throwing a tantrum, before he realizes something.

It’s an excuse to visit Reyes again.

[anonymous-human]

Ah, sure! Sorry about that. How about... Rung, Ratchet, Rodimus, Megatron, Swerve, First Aid, and Ultra Magnus?

(I’m like 80% sure they spoke English on the LL, but I could be wrong. I mean, the con’s would not have spoken English on Earth in the old cartoon if they didn’t. Usually, in 80’s cartoons, Aliens would be speaking a different language if they didn’t know English. But I’m just theorizing! I’m not good at First Aid since i don’t know his character, so sorry about that! Also, sorry for the lateness! this goes for everyone’s requests! it might take a day or two but I promise I’m working on them! I’ve just gotten busy all of a sudden. it’s alright, though.)

Rung

When he catches you singing alone, he just staying outside the door and smiles to himself. He loves your voice! He’ll leave early, but on nights where he can’t sleep, he’ll ask if you can sing. He’s embarrassed about it, but he sucks up his pride just to hear your hidden talent.

Red alert. He told him. He tells him everything. But when Rung was first told, he didn’t entirely believe it. He found it kinda silly, but still listen to what red had to say.

So he asked if you wanted to have a small date in his office, of course, you accepted, but when rung told had Red was talking about you, you felt your sweat drop. Looks like you disabled the camera too late. When he was done explaining the whole human thing, you put your hands up and admitted. It was going to have to be said sometime, right?

He asked if he could see you- the real you, in which you obliged. When you crawled out in your shorts and tank top, he seemed emotionless behind his glasses, but really he was just shocked and a little excited.

You looked kinda really cute. Having you been one of the first humans he has met, at least.

He’s not mad, actually, it’s kinda like holomatter and cybertronians, except you have a metal suite. He’s an accepting person, so yeah, he’ll date a cybertronian who is just a human in a suit. :)

It’s weird and exciting! He’s really excited to see how it pulls through for both of you.

Ratchet

Like Rung, when he catches you singing alone, he just staying outside the door and smiles to himself. He will leave early though, he has work to do.

When you scratch your armor, he just guessed you had been hiding on earth for much too long, giving you human habits.

He didn’t guess you were actually a full blown human in a metal suit.

When he found out, you must’ve lost power after a few too many days without refueling. The thing is you were stuck in the doorway of the med bay, and you couldn’t move. And the backup open in this situation was dumbly put on the outside of the suite.

“Ratchet!” you called out. The microphone wasn’t working, so you needed to practically scream if he was going to hear you through the metal. You leaned up against the front side of the suit. It was nighttime for them, so First Aid and Ambulon were most likely asleep. Ratchet as well. Lucky for you, he had some data pads to go through, so when he heard you, he finally decided to persist on what the hell you needed at this time.

“Do you need me right this second?! Y/n, I’m-” he was cut off by the scene in front of him. When he saw the cold dark eye’s in the suit were off, he became horrified and confused. Your cybertronian body was offline, yet he still heard you calling his name.

You told him there was a panel he needed to open on the front, and a big, red, flashy button he needed to push. When he found the button.

He must have found the button, because the front of the cockpit quickly popped outward, kinda like a sideways parachute, you along with it.

You hit the floor with a grunt and gasped as the cold air hit your arms and legs.

“Primus, do you guys have a built-in heat system?” you complained as you rubbed your arms. It had been the first time out of your suit while not in your hab.

When you finally looked up at the medic, his emotions were mixed. He was angry because he was courting a fragging human, he was freaked out because his s/o was a fragging human, and yet he was emotionless. He quickly came to the assumption he was dreaming or hallucinating from his old age or lack of sleep and Energon.

He just looked down at you, then he looked at the suite, then back at you.

“You’re… you’re human?” he was definitely shocked.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Ratch.”

After this whole scenario, he left to think through his actions, rethink his life. I mean, yeah, it made total sense now but… why?

He needs a drink for this.

After some time with you, he warmed up to the fact your human, he keeps it a secret too, if that’s your plan.

He’s okay with it actually. It just means he can hold you in his hand and he can hold your giant cyber hand.

Rodimus

When he caught you singing he listened for a bit. If it was a song he knew he’s gonna sing with you.

He found out you were human when he ‘flamed out’, burning your metal suit so it metal was really hot from the flames and heated up on the inside, long longer suitable for a human such as yourself to wear.

You dashed back to your hab to get out until the heat chilled. They didn’t need you right this second, did they?

The thing is your pants got caught on the hot metal and you were stuck as you struggled for freedom of the burning metal.

Rodimus happened to walk in as you were hanging from your pant leg.

He froze.

Of course, you hadn’t told him you were human! You had the idea in your head Rodimus would tell the crew your secret.

The SECOND thing I should mention is that he came in with Drift behind him. And now you were haNGING FROM THE END OF ONE OF HIS SWORDS. DRIFT, BUDD, IT’S ME HOLY SHI-

Anyway, Rodimus initially thought you had killed his conjunx, but when he noticed the cockpit in your giant cybertronian suit, it all made sense to him.

How you knew so much about the earth, the references, your habits!

They were all human! But why would you hide in a metal suit?

You told him you did it because that way you could eat the rohot pussy ((shaddup anon)) you could blend in easier. You weren’t some sort of assassin, just didn’t think cybertronians liked humans.

And what were you supposed to do? You were already in too deep in. “I’m sorry for not telling you.” you apologized. You told him you’d be cool if he wanted to break up with you.

Are you fragging serious?! No way! This is too cool!

He says you look cute as a human, and shouldn’t wear the metal suit all the time!

Megatron

When he catches you singing, he doesn’t know the song (he likes old-before-the-war songs), but he likes your voice.

In his writings, he writes about how he regrets killing the thousands of millions of human lives he destroyed. He tells you how he wishes he could apologize to them or go back in time and stop himself.

“I forgive you,” you said as you were with him alone together in his quarters. You mentally smacked yourself upside the head. When you said that. Well, you obviously did forgive him. You were in a red relationship with the ex-tyrant.

He was confused by what you meant then, but when he found out, he looked horrified. (I don’t know how you tell him, use the imagination i don’t have!). You. a human being. From earth. Who survived his destruction. Who watched as he killed many of your own kind. Forgave him.

He broke down if and when you two were in private. He would completely lose posture he would lift you up in shaking servos. He would apologize over and over.

“It’s alright.” you would tell him as you rubbed his helm. “It’s all over now.” but it wasn’t. He was still feared everywhere he went.

He vowed to himself he would love a protect you for the rest of your short, sad life.

If you tell the crew, he lets you sit on his shoulder or hands for mobility. Big-bucket-head-bodyguard-boyfriend. It’s awesome.

Swerve

Can i just say right now, since you don’t actually drink the Energon you have your suit drink, SO, you can win a drinking contest?

If your suit makes you look like a bigger bot like Skids or Rodimus, which I imagine you would, he’s all about that life™.

When he catches you singing, like Rodimus, if he knows the song, he’ll join you. It’s all fun.

Whether you tell him you’ve ‘visited’ earth or not is up to you though.  

If you do tell him, he would be ecstatic! He’s never been there before! What was it like?  The next time you plan on going, can you bring me with? please?!

He’s really excited.

Instead of catching you out of your suite, the walking talking about how cool it would be too. So, despite it being the dumbest idea that could destroy your relationship, you took a chance. you would have to tell him someday, anyway.

You planned to tell him on his creation day and to lead him to your hab and get out of the cockpit when he was ready.

It went smoothly. You lead him there, letting him in first and walking in with him, locking the door so there would be no interruptions.

“Are you ready? This… this may be a shock to you.” you said, nervously rubbing your servos together. He nodded, Yeah! Yeah! Show me already!”

You, not ready yourself took a deep inhale and a long exhale. You flip some switches in order to power down the suit and the engine stops. You take off your gloves and helmet. You push some cords back and you pop open the front of the cockpit. You climb down and look up at the red and white mech before you.

Swerve is speechless. Well, not entirely. In the first 5 seconds, he was quiet. Then he tried to put together words as he spoke, but they came out and gibberish. He looked like he was about to faint.

“H-hey- hey, hey. Calm down,” you said, putting your hands up, trying to keep his attention so he literally wouldn’t faint. Can cybertronians faint?

“… but! asd-HOW?!” he tried to ask. He was going through shock city and was slowly coming back. You explained to him cybertronians were so advanced, you were curious HOW advanced, so you disguised yourself in a giant metal suit to blend in.

“If you want to break off the relationship, I’m chill with it.” you said, you avoided eye contact as you said that.

“Are you serious?” he said, a grin spreading across his faceplate. “This is awesome!your awesome! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

He’s really happy actually! Well, for one thing, he isn’t the smallest anymore. And Another thing is HE’S EARTH DATING A HUMAN. He’s the happiest camper.

Once you’re ready to tell the rest of your friends, you’ll let him tell, he’s lit.

Ultra Magnus

He loves music, and he’s no stranger to human music. So when he catches you singing, he stops and stares, not wanting to disturb you. It was obviously an earth song, not recognizable to him, but he was enjoying your voice anyway.

When you finally see him, you gasp! He quickly gets embarrassed and apologized, turning around out of your hab, down the hall… out the airlock, he goes. Not really, but when he’s embarrassed he regrets like no tomorrow.

You had thought he was going to pull another all-nighter, so you got out of your metal armor to stretch after a long, long day.

Yet, you miss judged the timing, and you fell asleep on your berth.

You woke up to Magnus just looking between you and your suite.

He doesn’t understand what he’s witnessing until you explain, and in the end, he reveals to you his own secret to you as well.

Your giant metal suit buddies.

[reapers-carino]

Uncertainty

Being pursued by an Alpha was positively flattering and absolutely nerve-wracking at the exact same time. You were an omega. When an Alpha of caliber began to take interest in you, your pheromones yanked you one way while your ever logical mind pulled you in the opposite. You were analytical, calculating, smart; your wits often trumping your instinct when it came to these mating dances that Alphas liked to start.

To most Alpha’s, getting an Omega was a game, a notch in their bed post, a tally mark on their roster. Laying with one they hadn’t marked as theirs was enthralling, exhilarating but ultimately a simple ends to a means. Omegas, however, had a susceptibility to forming emotional attachments to those they laid with during moments of high hormonal exchanges. While it was by no means definite in every encounter, there was a chance and you didn’t want that. Of course, you knew, Alphas and Omegas were individuals. While base biology laid out a framework, personalities, genetic makeup,  culture, individual hormone levels, sexualities, any number of factors could change one's true selves and how their secondary sex affected them. But still you couldn’t risk it.

Except you wanted to. God you wanted to. For him at least.

Reaper wasn’t like other Alpha’s. You had chastised yourself so many times for thinking that cliched chick flick line. But it was really how you felt. Talon was not lacking in agents that fell along the entire secondary sexual spectrum; Alphas, Betas, Omegas and even the occasional Gamma. Reaper was a Prime Alpha, the top of the top, whose simple aura demanded assent from fellow Alphas and subservience from Betas and Omegas. He had the ability to bed whomever he liked and any who ended up there would thank him for the opportunity. And yet, the man had never flaunted his status. Hell, you had barely seen this man take an interest in anyone around him other than Sombra and Widowmaker, which seem strictly professional if somewhat familial, or the occasional agent who incurred his wrath. Until you. You had initially taken his attention for trouble, assuming you had drawn the ire of the organization’s top mercenary by running your mouth.

You were a field agent, albeit one who didn’t get to see as much high-intensity action as he did. You usually were one of the first in; assessing the area, analyzing weak points, pointing out pitfalls, setting up exit routes and traps before getting out and allowing shock troopers to pour in. It wasn’t uncommon for you to stay on comms to instruct agents on where to go. You had learned very early to grow a thick skin as an omega, more often than not Alphas on the field didn’t want to listen to you. They openly bucked up against your instructions, questioning your decisions and mocking your suggestions. ‘Your life is in my hands and if you want to fucking live you will listen’ had become your motto.

You had said that statement so many times it fell from your lips automatically, so when you had spat it at Reaper you immediately paled. It had been instinctual, Reaper was being cornered by that Soldier: 76 vigilante and he seemed hell bent on pursuing him further into the factory despite the fact the building was being stormed by recalled Overwatch agents. So you yelled your line, let him know that there was a air duct he could mist through several halls back and that if he wanted to make it he would take it. Then silence had hung heavy and terrifying in the comms until Sombra’s entertained laughter crackled through the line. Reaper growled, and the noise had sent every single Omega instinct inside of your reeling, demanding that you apologize while your pride refused to let you. Watching your holo-pad you watched him double back, fingers dancing over the screen as security feed turned into thermal and Reaper made his way back to where the rest of his small team was. Before signing out of your device, ‘RIP’ in bold neon purple lettering popped up across your screen.

Since then, the Reaper had made it a point to seek you out. You were shocked the first time you heard him say your name, a shiver rushing down your spine when the deep timbre of his voice reached your ears. You had frozen, waiting for him to yell at you for bucking out of your position, but it never came. Instead, without saying the exact words, it felt like he gave you a begrudging thank you. He had made it a point to seek you out, a few words the first few days morphing into near daily conversations whenever you both were on the base together. You found yourself seeking him out despite your mind telling your mind telling you to be cautious, your pheromones overwhelming them and building a small bit of hope against the barriers you had set up to protect you from situations just like this.

He made you feel surprisingly comfortable, his biting sarcasm and wit making you laugh and giggle(fucking giggle), and you could feel something building inside of you every time you were around him. He didn’t question your intelligence, he enjoyed listening to you speak about your interests and you in turn the same for him. The both of you were strategical and a mutual respect formed when speaking about battle plans. After missions, he’d come to your quarters with absolutely no false pretenses, he’d just listen to you explain how things had gone on the field and occasionally he’d share how things went on his missions. For someone as guarded as you, allowing an Alpha into your quarters was a huge step, and he recognized that. He granted you his name and you had felt honored, this gift better than any bullshit jewelry or piece of clothing or food some other Alpha had tried to woo you with before. Woo...that’s not what this was supposed to be, although you were doing a poor job of convincing yourself of that.

You raked your fingers through your sweat-soaked hair, releasing a slow, shuddering breath as your tried to center yourself. Reap--no Gabriel, was due to stop by this evening; he was returning from a week-long mission in Egypt and you knew he would be by here soon enough. You tried to calm the excitement that was growing in your stomach, but you truly didn’t know if you wanted to. Your heat had swept in hard and fast, your mind was a confused jumble as you tried to find reason in what you were feeling. You liked him, or at least you thought you did. You piqued your interest, he didn’t question your intelligence, he made you feel wanted. And he wanted you too...right? Or was that your heat-riddled mind reading further into this than what it was.

Shaking your head, you huffed and shook your hands hard as if that would help to shake away those feeling of uncertainty before going back to building your nest. You had already spread all the softest blankets and cushions onto your bedroom floor, your normal nest gear, but now you were hovering in your living room. Comfortable living had always been something you focused on, soft pillows and blanket laid across your small couch. The scent of Gabriel had soaked into them and your heat heightened senses drew you to them like a magnet. But every time you went to pick up one of the pillows or the thin blanket, to drink in his scent, you hesitated. Could you trust these feelings?

Ambivalence hung heavy in your breast as your fingers grazed over the blanket, your hand tightening into the fabric and shivering as his heady scent filled your nostrils. Your fist tightened around the soft fabric, your movements still timid as you pulled the blanket into your arms, hugging the fabric to you. An unconscious keen rose from your throat, a lazy smile tugging across your lips. Smoke and sandalwood and musk intertwined with the normal lighter, sweeter scent of you.

“You look much happier when you give in cariño.”

“Holy fucking shit!”

You practically jumped out of your skin, actually jumping two feet into the air and away from the part man-part wraith, twisting around to see his smirking form. Another perk of getting close to the Alpha was he allowed you to see his unmasked face. Another shred of evidence perhaps? Shaking your head you tried to calm your drumming heart, knowing that your shouldn’t have been too surprised. You and Gabriel had a system involving the decorative magnets on your door; if the cute round barn owl was up, the man could wraith in, if it was down, he had to message you before he entered. You had left it up, unconsciously wanting him to immediately come to you. You couldn’t hide your delight that he had.

The man stood before you, sans his normal trench coat, gauntlet and body armor. Just those impossibly tight black cargo pants, his black combat boots and a black t-shirt that you swore had to be painted on over the succulent muscles of his chest shoulders and arms. His dark skin had that impossibly cool gray undertone, your fingers itching to drag over the scars and keloided wounds, to learn the stories behind them. You wondered how his thick black curls would feel between your hands, clenched between your fists as you pulled him to you and begged--oh god you were tumbling down that rabbit hole hard.

You gulped hard, trying to temper your body’s volatile reaction to him. Pleasure instantly began to pool in between your legs, your thighs squeezing tight together, your face flushing in desire as you tried to form words. No, this wasn’t right. You couldn’t do this. But god did you want this, wanted him. Your eyes were big as you stared at him, gaze frantic as you looked at the man, trying to calm the sea of emotion that churned in your mind. Gabriel took a half step forward, his hand reaching out to rest on your cheek confidently. His touch was cooler than you imagined, small tendrils of black smoke curling off of his dark skin, your body unconsciously melting into his contact. His thumb brushed right under you eyes, your gaze jumping up to meet his sanguine orbs; the calmness he exuded beginning to penetrate your frenzied mind.

“Why are you resisting your nature?”

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, your mouth open and closing several times before you were able to form anything comprehensible.

“I-I want…n-no need… I… fuck… I-I’m confused”, you stuttered, before your words melted into a soft purr as he awarded you with an affectionate stroke of the cheek for sharing. You couldn’t see, but your pupils were already dilated, more black than iris in your gaze, a tell-tale sign you were beginning to tiptoe further into your heat.  “I-I th-think I want you….I-I re-really do b-but I can’t! I-I can’t...”

“Why can’t you querida”, he asked, turning your face in his hand, no judgement behind his eyes. He simply wanted your answer. “Resisting your nature is only going to make it worst. I can smell it on you. You want this, you want me to make you mine. Hell, I want it too, Y/N. So what are you fighting for?”

“What if it’s just the heat”, you exclaimed, your hands pushing the blanket tighter against your chest. You took a half step back, immediately missing his touch as you left his range. He allowed you to move away but you could see that he was not going to leave, not that you would ask him to. You fidgeted with the blanket, wanting to tear your eyes away but you couldn't. Your body was practically swaying, the sudden rush of body heat making you dizzy. But you were determined to get your point across. You didn't want to blow this with him, you didn't want to possibly lose him. “I feel like I want you but I don't want...don't want to second guess it. Can't… Can't you fuck me without claiming me? Please?”

You fidgeted, trying to force down the keen that was in your throat as you looked at him, unconsciously pouring charm in waves towards the Alpha. Gabriel gave you a small half-nod, your eyes growing round in surprised excitement, the excited noise that left your throat making the Alpha chuckle.

“We can take this as slow or fast as you’d like cariño”, he answered, opening his arms up for you to move into. He was allowing for it to be your call, no pressure, no intimidation. Your eyes dropped to his chest then back up to his face before you surged forward, the blanket still held tight to you.

The self control that the Prime Alpha had been exerting was lost when you threw yourself at him, one of your arms looping around his neck as you pressed your lips hard to his. He growled ravenously against your lips, his arms looping around your waist, crushing your body hard against his. You shuddered, your body on fire as his hands finally had their chance to explore, running up and down your spine and sides, drawing desperate mewls from your mouth. His tongue swept at your bottom lip demanding entrance, your lips parting to oblige, moaning desperately as you tasted him for the first time. He tasted like smoke and spice and just--right.

“N-nest pl-please”, you begged, pulling away from his lips as you tried to pull air into your lungs. Your mind was beginning to go, you were turning into nothing more than a bundle of nerve and instincts and you needed to be in your nest with him. You barely heard his growled ‘where’ as your kiss swollen lips found his again, stuttering softly against his own. “B-b-bedroom!”

You gasped in surprise as Gabe hoisted you up by your thighs, your legs wrapping around his waist as he walked through your small apartment. Your nails dug into his shoulders, his head dipping into your neck and nipping and suckling at the sensitive skin at the crux of your shoulder. Your legs tightened around his waist, pressing you more firmly against his covered length, your head leaning against his when he finally made it into your room. He was ridiculously careful when he put you into the bundle of blankets, a shiver rolling down your spine as he hovered over you. He licked his lips, a slow smirk crawling onto his features, a predatory gaze taking over his features. Still he waited for a tick, his eyes drifting up and down your body, his hands hovering but not exactly touching yet. Testing, making sure.

“Please”, you begged, back arching up and off of the soft cushions, your eyes growing misty. He was not your Alpha, but in this moment there was nothing, no one else but you two. “I’m burning up, please Gabriel…”

“Shh”, he ordered, straddling your waist, his cool hands moving under your shirt and pushing the fabric up and off. The tears in your eyes rolled down your cheeks, your body arching towards his touch. “Quiet now, I’ll take care of you.”

Gabriel’s hands made quick work at removing the rest of your clothes, a soft sigh falling from your lips in absolute relief as the cooler air of the room caressed your skin. He sat back, admiring your body, a low rumble of appreciation in his chest. Your entire body was flushed, a light sheen of sweat covering you from head to toe. Your thighs and nethers were covered in slick, your nipples hard, your lips parted and your eyes half shaded as you stared up at him, hair fanned like a halo around your face. You were the perfect image of desire and he wasn’t going to hold back anymore.

His shirt came off and his shoes had been toed off before he entered your nest, his lips finding your nipples and pulling them into your mouth. He groaned around the hard bud, your hands tightening into his hair. His tongue flicked and circled the hard bud, sucking hard until your back arched off of the nest once more. His hand dove between your legs, a scream torn from your lips as soon as his finger touched your heated sex. He wasted no time, slipping between your sopping lips and finding your clitoris, an orgasm tearing through your body. Your thighs clamped around his hand and trapped it, or at least they tried. He was stronger than you on a regular day. When you were in heat, pushing your thighs back open was effortless, his fingers circling around your hypersensitive bud.

“No no amorcita”, he practically purred to you, pulling away from your breast with a pop. Your face burned even brighter now, your body on fire with the need to feel him, to have him inside of you. “You’re burning up right? You need it right? I’m not small, querida. You gotta be nice and relaxed…”

You nodded at each of his questions, whining desperately, taking his lack of immediate action as a no.

“P-p-please”, you begged, your hand dragging down from his hair and to the side of his neck. Your fingertip traced over the sensitive areas that a mating mark would go, an extremely erogenous zone as you begged. You could see the shudder roll through him, the bare chested man releasing a low, warning growl as he looked down at you. “Please please….I need….please?”

He pulled back, tears actually flowing from your eyes as he sat completely back on his feet, a petulant sob leaving your lips. He shook his head at you, a chastising look at trying to coerce him into fucking him before you were ready. Gabriel kept his fingers on your soaked cunt, his other hand moving to rest gently on your hips to keep you in place and prevent you from sitting up. His fingers dragged down from your swollen clit before two of his thick digits were pressed inside of you, your hips rocking to try and gain more traction. Your walls were molten hot, Gabriel biting his bottom lip at how tightly you were squeezing his fingers. Gabriel moved slow, scissoring his fingers inside of your carefully as he stretched you out. It wasn’t enough, your hips trying to rock and twist to take more of him inside of you. A third joined the first two, more slick spilling over his fingers and hands, a choked keen of need rising from your chest. Still, the Alpha kept up his work, winding your body up and stretching you until he made an approving sound in the back of his throat.

When Gabriel pulled away from you completely, you felt as if you might fall completely apart, reaching out for him. He unbuttoned his pants with one hand, the other smoothing over your forehead, quietly shushing you, comforting you as he pushed his pants away and down. You drank in his touch, turning your face and nuzzling desperately against him, keening your need to him wordlessly. His cooler body temperature was heaven against your burning skin, and the physical contact calmed the raving need in your mind.

His other hand came to your face, making you focus in on him as his forehead came to touch yours. Your eyes were round and watery, his gaze heated and primal, his thumbs stroking either side of your face as he pressed several gentle kisses to your pleasure swollen lips. Soft, happy mewls met each his, your hands moving to gently hold his wrists in place, not wanting to lose his touch as he stabilized himself on his elbows.

“Spread your legs a little more”, he orders between tender kisses, your body obliging the Alpha as you tried to keep up with him. “Now relax cariño…”

His kisses got longer, deeper, hungrier as you felt him began to push himself forward, his lips capturing your moan as his head pressed against your entrance. Your breath caught in your throat, gaze finally tearing from his as he pushed inside of you, eyes shutting tight. Your own kisses stuttered against his as he pushed himself in half way before pulling out, a wanting sob wrested at the emptiness you felt. Gabriel stole the whine away, his lips crashing into yours as his thickness pressed into you again, your hips arching to meet him needily. He pulled back though, sending a clear message that he was in control and in charge of your pleasure, his hips rolling to push further into you and graze against the bundle of nerves inside of you. You sobbed and writhed beneath him, your body overwhelmed by every single sensation you were feeling.

Your lips and tongue were his, nips and kisses making them even more sensitive.  Your hands could only claw at his forearms and shoulders and neck and back, completely lost at what to do with your hands, unable to ground yourself as you floated in pleasure. Every single stroke he drove inside of you sent slick dribbling, your thighs and calves and lower stomach twitching in pleasure. You were enraptured, you could die like this if it meant experiencing pleasure like this for your final moments. With him. God, this was all you could ask for, wasn't it?

“Ahn!”

One of Gabe’s hand dragged away from your face, forcing itself between your bodies and finding your clit. No, this is how you would die. You jerked against him but his thrusts and touch were firm, his thumb circling your clit in tandem with a thrust against your g-spot. Every muscle in your body went stiff before you began to quake as your first true orgasm of your heat slammed through you, white taking over your vision as you arched into him. He didn't let up, his thumb remaining dimly pressed against your clit as he continued to fill you up, your cries melting away into mewling, surprised breaths, another orgasm burning through you. Your vision went pleasantly fuzzy, your head lolling to the side as you were overcome with yet another orgasm. Gabriel’s dropped his face into the crux of your neck, kissing and nipping but pulling back just short of biting or claiming you, your body shivering as his brutal pace slowed, his cock still inside of you.

“Don't worry”, he said, marking his words with a gentle kiss. “I've got you as long as you'll have me.”

[diindjariin]

Have You Ever Been in Love? (din djarin x reader)

Rating: t+

Word Count: 3.5k

Excerpt: “I like who you are now,” you say, hoping this will ease his pain, if only a little bit. The tilt of his head lets you know he’s smiling.

“And you?” he asks, “Have you ever been in love?”

“Oh yes,” you reply, breathless, and whisper for you in your head so many times you hope he can hear you.

Masterlist for this series

A/N: the screencap sucks again. roast me, please. if you’ve been following this series, this takes place right after soft hands, so it is not only the newest fic in the series, it is the newest chronologically. also, i am currently taking suggestions for the name of this series. feel free to help me out! as per usual, this fic had a quick once-over before being published so................expect errors. i admit wholeheartedly that i am the worst TM.

“We need money.”

           You’re sat cross-legged on Mando’s cot sewing up a hole in one of his undershirts. Normally you wouldn’t bother, because he insists it isn’t necessary, but it’s your favorite; the brown one that’s a bit too small and shows off the muscles in his arms. You look up at him briefly and then return to your sewing, answering him without looking.

           “Okay. What’s the plan?”

           “I’m going to get in contact with my old partner.” Your whole body stops and the only movement comes from your eyes, which slowly inch their way up his body and rest on the T of his visor.

           “Mando –“ you don’t know what else to say. He’s told you about his past, bits and pieces at least, but enough for you to know that anyone he used to be in contact with were not people he should associate with again. He’s proud of himself for leaving that part of his life behind, has told you as much, but now here he is, going back.

           “This isn’t up for negotiation,” he doesn’t sound angry, but he sounds sure. “I just want to discuss what to do with you and the kid.”

           So, you do. You don’t want him to be alone, but you also have your limits. You have no desire to be involved in anything criminal, you tell him, which prompts him to remind you of the child and that protecting him counts as criminal involvement.

           “You could drop us off on Sorgan,” you say casually, stroking the Child’s ears idly. “I’m sure Cara wouldn’t mind the company.”

           “I don’t like the idea of the two of you out of my orbit,” he responds. Your breath catches in your throat but he doesn’t seem to parse the deeper meaning of his words. “If you both just stay on this ship you’ll be fine. You’ll never even have to see them. Ok?”

           “It seems like you’ve already made up your mind,” you say, turning slightly so you’re no longer facing him and go back to your needlework. The Child seems to sense the shift in your mood and whimpers, burrowing into your lap. Mando sighs and rests his hands on his hips.

           “Are you mad at me?”

           “Yes,” you respond, “a bit. Why do you ask for my opinion if you’re just going to do what you want anyway?” Mando groans, long and deep, and tilts his head in an attempt to get you to look at him.

           “Hey,” he says, but you don’t turn. He repeats himself, leans more into your field of vision. “Hey – look at me.” You do, albeit cautiously. “I care. What you think. But I’m the bounty hunter. I’m gonna do what I think is safest. But I still care how you feel about it.” Now it’s your turn to sigh, nod your head once. Your eyes fall shut and you rub at the space between your eyes.

           “I know…” you let your voice trail off as you desperately push against the beginning of a migraine. “I’m sorry for insinuating otherwise.” He nods his head, then turns on his heel and makes his way to the cockpit. You allow your upper body to fall backwards on his cot, legs still crossed, the slight bounce sending the child a few inches into the air. He falls back between your legs and giggles, crawls up your body so he’s snuggled under your chin. You close your eyes and sigh, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to be okay with this. You throw your arm over your eyes and push the thoughts from your mind.

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“Why can’t you remove your helmet?”

           Mando is indulging you. He knows how much you love the stars, the sounds of nature. There’s nothing pressing to attend to and so you park on a mostly uninhabited planet, open the hatch, and watch the stars. Not speaking but enjoying the other’s presence, nonetheless. Mando’s manspreading, something you tease him for mercilessly but love when he does it. It means he’s comfortable. He’s got his legs spread wide, leant back on his elbows. He turns his head as if to look at you out of his peripheral vision. Then he goes back to looking at the stars.

           “It’s… my religion,” he says. You think he’s going to stop here but, to your amazement, he speaks the most he ever has to you in one breath. “It wasn’t always this way, I’ve heard. But my people were hunted, had to go into hiding. It… made sense not to remove our helmets. For safety. And then it became about something else.” He pauses for a moment, searching for words, then continues. “It bothered me at first. But I got used to it, after a while. Sacrifices are necessary in life.”

           “Yes, but –“ you say, then stop yourself, not wanting to offend him. The Mandalorian tilts his head and turns toward you, his equivalent of an eyebrow quirk. “Your life shouldn’t be sacrificed.” He doesn’t have a response for that, but he does shift that much closer, enough that the length of your arms tough. You think he might agree.

 “One more time,” he says, “what’s the story?”

           “If someone gets in, I’m your slave,” you barely get the words out, cringing at the thought of being owned by someone. “I don’t like saying that. You’d never do that.” Mando’s head ticks up quick and he looks like he wants to say something to that but changes his mind.

           “It’s the only thing that will make sense to these assholes without giving away that we have the kid. Okay? But you shouldn’t have to worry about anyone.” His fingers trace your cheekbone. He likes the way the leather looks against your skin. Then he’s turning, making his way over to the hatch. “Stay away from the hatch,” he says before lifting it, “and don’t make any noise.” Then he raises the door, shuts it behind him, and is gone.

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“Have you ever been kissed?”

           This is going to become a thing between the two of you, you know. Nights spent on barren planets, swapping secrets. It’s easier to get him to open up first, so that he has a reference point for how personal he can get with you.

           “No,” he responds. He stares at his feet instead of up at the sky, which just won’t do. You sit up on your knees and pitch yourself forward, grabbing his hands in yours.

           “Someday, then,” you say softly, big eyes staring up at him like you can see him. He doesn’t respond, but he does cup your cheek in his hand, bare thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

           “And you?” It takes a solid minute for you to figure out his meaning. When you do you smile, shyly, genuinely.

           “Oh yes,” you say softly, pressing a kiss into the pad of his thumb.

           “Who was your first?”

           “A boy named Dane,” you say, recalling the memory, “I was 15. He was nice,” you chuckle to yourself and add, “he wasn’t a very good kisser, but neither was I, I suppose.”

           “And now?” he asks. He’s never prodded you this much and you’re reveling in it, leaning deep into his space. He’s dressed down to a shirt and trouser pants, bereft of armor except his helmet. He looks soft like this, pliable. You could sit in his lap and feel him, if you wanted. Instead, you lean back a bit, give him space.

           “I’ve had lots of practice,” you say and leave it at that, returning to your own side and lying down, arms folded behind your head. In the moonlight, you’re blushing. Several minutes go by in silence and you’ve started to notice the chill from outside. You’re about to ask Mando if he’d like to go inside when he says:

           “I’ve never slept with anyone.” The silence that follows is deafening. You’ve assumed this, but having it confirmed is something else entirely. You struggle for words, any words, to respond to this confession until you realize with abrupt clarity that he doesn’t want that. He just wants to share. You decide you have something you wanted to tell him, too.

           “I can’t have children,” you say, almost too soft for him to hear, “but I’ve always wanted them. I always thought I’d… be a good mother.” There’s silence on his end. Then –

           “You are a good mother.” It takes about a minute to discern his meaning, but by then you’re blinking back tears.

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The hatch opens an hour later. The Child’s asleep in his cot, hidden away while you continue your sewing.

           “Mando?” you call, peeking around the corner of his cot. “Did you forget something?” He makes his way into your field of vision and you smirk at him, but something in his posture is… off. You realize why moments later.

           “Who do we have here?” asks a male voice behind the Mandalorian. From behind his shoulder comes a bald man, dressed in weaponry. And then another man, with red skin and horns, a droid, and the nastiest-looking woman you’ve ever seen. You immediately seek out Mando. He’s looking at you but he refuses to meet your eyes.

           “Oh, a little slave girl!” cries the woman with the purple skin, jumping in the air and clapping excitedly. “This will be fun!”

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            “What’s your name?” you ask him once between the breezes of the wind and the phases of the moon. You aren’t expecting an answer, and then -

          “Din,” he says breathlessly and quick, as if he’s been waiting for you to ask, “It’s Din.”

          “Din,” you say with reverence, caressing the side of his helmet. “I’m so glad to know you.”

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You should have told him no. Demanded to be sent to Sorgan. That’s the only thought running through your head now, watching him interact with the ghosts of his past. You learn their names after an hour: Mayfield, Burg, Q9-0, but it’s the last one, Xi’an that gives you the most pause. You watch how she circles Mando, strokes her hand down his arm, flirts with him. You know your immediate reaction is jealousy but the more you watch them interact, the more protective you begin to feel. He’s like a livewire around these people, on edge. Mayfield reaches to grab your arm and Mando reacts instantly, catching his wrist with a quiet don’t. But when Xi’an gets close to him… he freezes.

           But if you’re interested in Xi’an, she’s twice as fascinated by you. She watches you for hours while you move back and forth, keeping yourself busy. You and Mando shared a look when you’d picked up one of the child’s blankets off the floor, deciding through an unspoken dialogue not to allow these criminals to know of the Child’s existence. All the while she watches you, clicks her tongue. Sometimes she makes remarks that have the hair on the back of your neck standing up.

           “What does he have you do for him, huh?” Xi’an asks coquettishly, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I have a few ideas… but I don’t think Mando shares my appetites. Do you, sweetie?” Mando’s at your side immediately, manhandling you behind him.

           “Not even a little bit,” he replies. He steers you away from the rest of the group until you’re as far away as possible, leans close so you can have a semblance of a private conversation. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you know he means for everything.

           “I know,” you respond, “this is bad.” You trail off, not wanting to guilt him anymore than you’re sure he already is. There’s something that’s been nagging at you, in the back of your mind. You lean in closer, grabbing ahold of his forearms to stabilize yourself. “Mando, is she… the one you told me about?” All he does is stare, for a bit, and then he nods. Just once. You squeeze his arm and try to stave off your desperate need to hug him. “Okay.”

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“Have you ever been in love?”

           This night, you’ve been out on the hatch for hours, stars long since forgotten, preferring to stare at each other instead. Mando may as well be a star to you, making you burn hot in your core just to look at him. Maker, you think, watching him watch you, will this fire ever stop burning?

           “I – uh - no,” he says. “Once, I thought – but she wasn’t a good person.”

           “Oh?” You ask, hoping he’ll tell you more. You like to learn about him.

           “She was a criminal. She made me forget who I was. Hurt me. I don’t… like who I was when I was with her.” The words seem like an admission. You move the hand that isn’t propping your head up to intertwine your fingers with his. You pull his hand to that it rests over your sternum, stroke your fingertips down his forearm.

           “I like who you are now,” you say, hoping this will ease his pain, if only a little bit. The tilt of his head lets you know he’s smiling.

           “And you?” he asks, “Have you ever been in love?”

           “Oh yes,” you reply, breathless, and whisper for you in your head so many times you hope he can hear you.

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“She stays,” Mando says sharply. You’re sure he’s close to snapping, fingers digging into the meat of your arm. It’s starting to hurt.

           “She comes,” says the Devaronian, arms crossed tight across his chest. “I don’t trust her here alone with Q9.”

           “She stays,” Mando repeats, “she’d just be a liability. She doesn’t know how to fire a blaster.” Xi’an quirks the skin above her eye.

           “I wonder more and more what the point of her is,” she says, messing with her blaster a bit. “C’mon Mando. Give her a blaster and lets go.”

           “Just do what they ask,” you whisper to him, “I’ll stay out of the way. Let’s just get this done so we can get the hell out of here.” He nods once. Then you’re off.

 The betrayal doesn’t come as a surprise to you. The murder does. You’ve watched Mando fight before, watched him shoot a bounty but you’ve never watched someone beg for their life before being killed in cold blood. You watched him fight with himself, trying to choose between safety and duty. You wish he’d been more selfish. Your body’s gone numb and you’re dissociating, mind foggy. Mando talks to you but you don’t hear him.

           “Hey, hey,” he says, smacking your shoulders, “come back to me. Come back. We have to finish this, okay? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry – you never should have, should have been here. But we need to get out. Okay? Lets finish this.” You nod, following his voice back to your body. Its hard work but you manage, and when you look away you realize you’re locked in a cell.

           “Okay, okay,” you say, repeating the word over and over until you feel mostly yourself. “Let’s do this.”

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“Can you never marry? Settle down? Have a family?”

           This is a dangerous game you’re playing, yet you can’t stop. Every star-filled night you’ve been building up to this question, needing to know the answer. There’s tension between the two of you that surpasses sexual. You know he cares for you. You have to know if there’s a possibility for more.

           “My clan is… very strict. There aren’t many Mandalorians left. Our lives are to be devoted to the creed.” He doesn’t sound disingenuous, but he does seem… detached.

           “Is that what you want from life?” you ask softly, watching him from the corner of your eye. “Life experienced from the inside of a helmet? Forever?”

He stares blankly back at you; no head tilt, no external indication of what his facial expressions might be telling you. You blanch.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” you say quickly, grabbing for his knee, “I only meant… I mean… Are you happy?” He takes some time to respond, but when he does he takes your breath away.

“It’s the only life I’ve known,” he says, resting his hand atop yours, “but that doesn’t mean it’s the only one. I’m… happiest when I’m with you.”

Your eyes close involuntarily, lips curling into a smile.

Oh Maker, you pray, happy tears stinging your eyes, let me love him.

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You awake to Mando shaking your shoulder and saying your name gently. You blink your eyes open to find most of the main lights of the ship turned off, the Child nowhere to be found.

           “He’s in his cot,” says the Mandalorian to your unspoken question. “Come.” He stands and extends his hand, which you take without hesitation. He leads you to the hatch, open it, and leads you outside. He’s brought you to another barren planet to watch the stars, only this one is… different. You gasp audibly, bringing your hands to cover your mouth. You’re fully awake now, eyes wide open in an attempt to take everything in because.

           Because wherever you are it the largest moon you’ve ever seen, enough surface area that, when the sun shines upon its surface, it gives off enough white light that everything on the surface of the planet is clearly visible. But the sky is still inky black, and millions of stars and planets can be seen from the ground. It’s a wonderous juxtaposition, one you didn’t know what possible. You turn to the Mandalorian in awe, hoping for an explanation.

           “I tracked a bounty here once,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “I thought you might like it.”

           “I do,” you say, with enough feeling that you might choke on it.

 This scene is so similar to the ones before it and yet there’s an air of something. You can’t quite name it, but there’s a change between the two of you. You can feel is in the way he stares at you, how you can practically feel the heat coming off his eyes. His gaze scans your entire figure, ankles to eyes. It makes you flush. You’re both lying on your backs looking at the stars, so mesmerized that you haven’t spoken a word in an hour. You break the silence because he has to know.

           “I didn’t like the way she was looking at you,” you say, shifting so that you’re now on your knees. Mando watches you shift and then does the same, sitting up on his haunches.

           “Xi’an,” he says. He doesn’t need to ask. You nod.

           “I hate to see you look scared. Unsure.” Your hand snakes its way to his in the grass. Once you find it, he allows you to curl your fingers in his.

           “I’m okay,” he says, and that’s that.

           Except it’s not. He can’t brush this aside, you wont allow it, because there’s a tightening happening in your chest, like a fist around your heart and you know with sudden and shocking clarity that there will never be another. He is it. He has to know.

           Slowly, so as not to startle him, you shift your right hand to unclasp your fingers. They dance across his hand, up his arm, over the slope of his shoulder, up his neck. He stiffens but doesn’t push you away, trusts you, and the truth makes your heart ache. You stop once your palm has circled his neck, finger tips able to get a little ways into his helmet. You feel stubble there, scratching your palm.

           His breathing has picked up, the sound of it tinny through the modulator. After several moments of deep breaths he mimics your movements, right hand gliding up your body. His palm cups your cheek and he swipes his thumb over your lips in a gesture you’ve become familiar with. You stare at each other like this for what feels like hours, mimes of each other. Then he drops your gaze and looks at the grass, at your legs, anything but your face.

“There are things,” he begins, “that are normal for others. Expected. But not for me.” He’s staring now; waiting for your response, you imagine. You know what he wants you to say. To smile and nod and accept this answer. Leave everything unspoken, as you usually do. But not this time. You’ve been aching for months to put a name to your plight and now that you have one you must share it.

I understand, you think.

“I love you,” you say instead. He jerks so violently away from you that you’re afraid you’ve physically hurt him. He drops your jaw and your palm is remove from his face by the force in which he moves away.

“I… can’t,” his voice is breathless, desperate, scared. All at once you know that it’s him that’s holding him back, his trauma, not his devotion to his culture. He’s afraid to love you. It makes tears spring to your eyes. You catalog everything the Mandalorian has been through; the pain, the hardship. Broken and touch-starved. But he’s so soft and he loves the Child and no matter what he says you know that he loves you.

           “I know,” you say, tipping your head forward so your forehead rests against his helmet, hands cupping the side of it like a promise. “I know.”