#warthog x reader

[rare-clone-fic-exchange]

Drunk on You [Warthog/GN!reader]

Hi, it's @goblininawig with a Warthog fic for @starqueensthings . I went the smutty route. Hope you enjoy it.

Tags, rating, summary, etc below the cut. 

MINORS DNI

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Summary: A heroic rescue by the Wolfpack, brings you to a celebration in their honor, where you get up close and personal with the trooper, Warthog.

Pairing: Warthog/GN!reader

Rating: M/18+/NSFW

Words: 1,733

Tags: canon-typical action/adventure, fluff, smut, we-might-get-caught situation, oral sex/blow job

The Magistrate’s children had been rescued after several days of fraught tension. Fearing a Separatist plot, the Magistrate asked the Senate for help. They sent Jedi Master Plo Koon and his Wolfpack. In a matter of hours, they discovered the children, hiding in a cave, where they had taken shelter after the speeder they’d taken on a joyride crashed, causing serious injury to both children and vehicle in the process.

The cave’s mineral composition had blocked any scans for life signs. It was Jedi instincts and clone efficiency that saved the day, quickly locating the speeder crash and tracking them from there. The children had been frightened and hungry, but were on the mend at the healing center.

Now the city was free to celebrate. And none were more merry than the Magistrate and her husband. Though the clones were a close second. The banquet hall was filled with laughter and celebration. The troopers' boisterous, beaming faces, free of their helmets, were quite a sight to behold. Despite their common origin, each was uniquely handsome, and you found your eyes returning more and more to a certain one. Warthog, the clone catching your eye, had the GAR regulation haircut, but he still seemed to stand out from the others – at least, he did to you.

You’d met him while helping to set up for the current banquet. (Normally you were assigned administrative tasks, but when the Magistrate suddenly decided to throw a party, everyone had to pitch in and make it happen.) Warthog had saved a cask of wine from breaking when it fell off the gravloader you were pushing up to the kitchens. Most impressively, he’d caught it one handed, with his pilot’s helmet held under his other arm. Then he had introduced himself and had kept you company, helping you with various tasks, until Commander Wolffe had called him back to join the other troopers.

You raised a glass of wine to your lips and watched over the rim as Warthog reached over to clap one of his brothers on the back, laughing uproariously at his own comments. He gesticulated wildly and drew everyone around him into his conversation with his warm smile. Then he looked up and met your eyes across the banquet hall.

You startled, choking and spilling wine down your front. Muttering a curse, you put the glass down and dabbed at yourself with a napkin, cheeks feeling hot. You excused yourself and hurried out to deal with the mess you’ve made.

Warthog watched you leave, thought a moment, and then made a choice. He knocked back the last of his wine and announced: “Wish me luck, Wolfpack. I’m going hunting!” He grinned and left the table to the sounds of good-natured ribbing and howling from his brothers.

In the ‘fresher, you tried fruitlessly to clean up the wine stain on your top. You looked and felt ridiculous. You thought about going back to your room, but decided to wait until the fabric dries. Maybe then, with the low lighting and everyone drinking, it might go unnoticed.

Leaving the ‘fresher, you turned away from the hall where the others are carousing, heading towards the nearby balcony instead. It was a pleasant night with a gentle breeze. You looked out over the city, a glow of light against the evening sky, but then turned at the sound of someone stepping along the corridor nearby.

A moment later, the clone you’d been admiring stepped through the archway to join you on the balcony. Your mouth went dry at the sight. You found yourself unable to speak as he stalked closer to you, filling your vision with his broad shoulders.

“Everything alright?” he asked with a self-assured grin.

You bit your lip and awkwardly try to cover the stain with your hand. “Um, yeah, I just had an accident.” You cringed at how that sounded, but forced yourself to continue explaining. “Thought I’d let it dry out in the wind here.”

“Oh?” he queried, tilting his head so that the low light gleamed in his dark, velvety eyes. “And here I thought you wanted me to follow you. I saw how you’ve been looking at me all night.” You blinked and swallowed hard. “Oh, um, sorry?” you said awkwardly, face burning with embarrassment.

“Don’t apologize,” he returned, eyes still glowing with humor and heat. “I like it.”

He stepped closer, letting you feel the warmth of his body. His head tilted and his eyes dragged down the length of you and back up again, slowly.

“And I like the way you look too.”

“Oh,” you breathed softly, hands raising as if of their own accord to rest on his cuirass.

He covers one of your hands in his. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmured, voice low and husky.

You managed to whisper, “Don’t stop,” before he leaned in and covered your mouth with his.

Any lingering sense of embarrassment evaporated in the heat of Warthog’s passion. His kisses made your knees feel weak and you clung to his armored shoulders as his hands gripped your waist and lower back, pulling you closer. Your chest, stomach and groin pressed against plastoid armor, making you feel soft and pliant in comparison. He was a rock while you were a wave crashing against him. He gathered you against him, claiming your mouth with a fervor that lit up all your nerves.

With a groan of discomfort, he reluctantly pulled back. One hand stayed firmly on your lower back as the other slipped down between your bodies. There was a click and a sigh as his codpiece was removed and dropped carelessly to the floor. “That was starting to hurt,” he murmured, leaning close to your ear and kissing just beneath the lobe.

You closed your eyes and bared your neck to him. “Hmm, can’t have that,” you dreamily replied.

He left a trail of kisses along your throat and then inhaled your scent. “You smell so good,” he murmured, his lips against your skin.

You almost purred in response and he pulled back to smile at you. His dark eyes gleamed in the low light, focused on you like nothing else existed. Warthog dipped his head again, and you parted your lips to let him in, kissing with wild, eager abandon. He was so tall, dark, and handsome, but also much more than that. His generous nature, how he went out of his way to help you, his kindness, his sense of humor, and his obvious bravery were all so deeply attractive. It was almost shocking that someone like him could be interested in someone like you.

But the feeling of his mouth on yours was undeniable. And so was the heated length rubbing against your thigh. It sparked a deep hunger in you that had nothing to do with the banquet you just left. It made you feel bold and a little reckless.

“Let me make you feel good,” you urged the next time he pulled back from your lips to breathe.

A furrow appeared between his brows in a silent question that was answered when you lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. Warthog let out a quiet groan. His pupils widened at the sight, making his dark eyes appear even deeper and more mysterious than before. He watched you watching him, as he slid his hand down, and pulled his erection free of his black body glove.

Your mouth watered at the sight of his thick length, eyes going wide. It was one thing to hear that the clones were the best built men in the galaxy, and quite another to see the evidence of it up so close. Glancing up again, you caught his expectant, lust-darkened gaze and licked your lips. He moaned as you pressed them in a kiss to the length of his hard cock, followed quickly by another.

The weight and heat of his hard-on felt amazing in your hand, and against your eager lips. You covered it in kisses before drawing the head into your mouth, sucking experimentally. Warthog groaned above you and reached down to cradle the back of your neck.

“That feels amazing,” he murmured, mindful of being too loud so near to the banquet hall.

You hummed your agreement around him, drawing another moan from the back of his throat. Eyes closed, you breathed in his musk, humming happily again, his hand tightening ever so slightly on your neck in response. Then he combed his fingers through the hair at your nape as you started to swallow him down, little by little, and then as deeply as possible. Your tongue was flat against his heated shaft as you surrounded it with your mouth and your hands, pumping and sucking greedily.

Warthog leaned his weight on one arm against the balcony, his thick thigh muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself back from spilling into your throat. “Kriff, you’re so good at that,” he praised. It thrilled you, sending a tingle down through your body that you followed with a hand, slinking down you to press between your thighs. That sight sent another moan through the handsome man. You massaged his balls softly as you felt his cock at the back of your throat. You swallowed, letting the sensation tease him, before sliding your lips back up and down again, repeating the motion until you felt his balls tense, along with his fingers at your neck.

“I’m close,” he warned. “Can I cum in your mouth?” he panted.

You nodded quickly, looking up at him as he closed his eyes and let himself go with a shuddering moan of satisfaction. You swallowed every bit of it down, hand still busy between your legs; your body wanted more.

As he tucked himself away and re-clipped the codpiece, you stood and wrapped your arms around yourself. When Warthog finished dressing, he pulled you close. He kissed you softly, tasting himself on your lips.

“That was incredible,” he murmured, eyes warm and soft on yours. “I’d love to return the favor, maybe someplace more private?”

You smiled and bit your lower lip. “We can go to my room,” you offer.

He smiled back, stoking heat in your belly with the way his gaze raked over your body. “Well then, lead the way.” You took his hand and he eagerly followed you.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Poets and Painters (Midday) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss, and Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes the more the fic progresses (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word count: 4,665

Midday

The trick to keeping Commander Wolffe from prowling the edge of the clearing like a caged animal had been surprising. To everyone. 

Allowing him to watch you work keeps him seated on the hill beside you, where he does not worry his brothers or Master Plo Koon by continuing to make lap after lap. He had left your side once, to take a look at something the Clone pilot Warthog had to show him, and then did a little shiny-wrangling (namely Soapsuds) because they were too close to the forest for his comfort, but he was quick to return. 

He's not much of a conversational partner, whether that's out of respect for you to let you concentrate, or simply a product of his personality. When he has something to say, Wolffe keeps it brief. 

"I'm not that pale." 

"But your scar is." you reply with a gentle smile and a soft laugh, carefully adding traces of a lighter flesh-tone to the vertical stripe of scar tissue in your sketching of the Commander. You keep your pressure light on the page, and make your best efforts to keep the strokes in roughly the same orientation. The smile gives way to a frown the longer you fill in the length of his scar on the page. Your heart hurts for what happened to him at the hands of a dark Force-wielder. What her blade did to him. "I imagine it was quite painful, to lose your eye…" 

"Yes." Wolffe replies in a clipped voice, suggesting to you that while he does not want to dismiss your sympathies, he clearly must not want to talk about this with someone he does not know, either. You feel a tug on the lapel of your uniform, and the gloved pad of his thumb brushes over something. Oh. You'd forgotten about that. "You added a wolf's head into your uniform, Arcadia?" He's changing the subject. And that's okay. 

That's more than okay. 

Glancing down best you can, you see the sloppy replication the flint-gray Commander refers to. The thread used for the head is a steely gray, the stitches are almost invisible and camouflaged in the color of the uniform, save for the eyes in your favorite color. It was meant to be practice for repairing holes in your clothing, you explain. "For emergency situations. I wanted to see if my stitches would hold up after being washed. I completely forgot it was there." You don't explain why you went with the image of a wolf. You won't need to, in his presence.

It's easy enough to guess why this would be the animal, of all possible choices available to you in this galaxy, you would stitch into your lapel. The name surrounds you. Wolfpack. General Plo's callsign is Wolf Leader when they engage in battle by starfighter. 

It is the name of the man next to you - granted it bears an additional forn and an esk. 

Wesk-osk-leth-forn-forn-esk. 

Wolffe. 

"It held up well." he compliments you, releasing the fold of the lapel and assuming his silence once more. Degree by degree, you are seeing he is not eternally gruff or cold with you, or anyone: merely a man made stoic and far more vigilant than before by war. In his vigilance, he continues to visually sweep the field for signs of trouble or mischief. 

Maybe, while he's distracted…

You stealthily swap out the current coloring pencil in your hand - a deeper skin tone - and pluck out the Lamp Black pencil in the mix, drifting your hand lower down the page until the end of the pencil was now lined up with the loosely defined crotch and codpiece of his armor. 

Maker alive let's just get this over with. 

The body glove is going to be innocent enough to fill in, but defining the shadows around the pubic bulge in his kit will be faster. Just keep it quick and be discreet. Work fast. Hope no one sees. Hope no one asks. 

Your pulse screams in your veins when he clears his throat - loudly - next to you, and you are so certain he is now trained on you, and acutely aware of where your pencil is. "Hm-mm…" Oh kriff me sideways. "Excuse me," he apologizes, clearing his throat again softer this time, "didn't mean to startle you, but I was trying to catch Suds' attention." Thank the Maker he didn't look when he apologized. Just a few more marks to finish shading in the codpiece, and then you can start on the body suit. "O-oh. Is he wandering off again?" 

"Looked like he was about to." 

Still breathing down their necks even from here? "Y'know-"

"As their Commander I am going to look out for my brothers, Arcadia." He sounds neither happy or unhappy with what he assumed you would say. And it's fair of him to assume that, in a sense. You only wish he didn't have to feel so defensive. 

"I understand that," you promise him, and for the moment, you set down the pencil in your hand so you are not dividing your attention between the artwork and Wolffe. "and I wasn't telling you to stop, either. I only wanted to warn you that, I think, General Plo Koon seems worried about you, that something is keeping you from enjoying yourself." 

To his credit, he gives your words a moment of quiet contemplation. Whether that's to consider the truth behind the words you said, or to come up with an explanation of sorts, Wolffe remains silent and still like the forest that surrounds you on all sides. What secrets does that forest hold? What lives within? 

What will you find other than sap and blood on your palms when you pull back the thorny branches? 

"I don't believe we're here just to relax for a day." Commander Wolffe admits with a heavy look of guilt and uncertainty. "I think the General has other reasons for bringing us to Little Archossi, and he won't tell us." 

"Reasons? Like what?" You pick the pencil back up, and return to the slow, gradual task of adding color to the page. You're going to give him time to think. Time to answer, if he even wants to. He may not. Warning him that he's possibly made his General concerned about him seems to shake him down, somewhat. "I'm sorry." 

It's reflexive, apologizing for upsetting him. That seems to pull him out of his silence, for the moment. "Don't be, Arcadia. I'm not going to fault you for having good intentions. Or a good eye." 

The kri-? 

In dawning horror, you see and fully realize where your pencil lead is. And looking over at him, you see that he does too. "I-I'm so sorry, sir…" You admit that you hoped he wouldn't notice, and that adding the necessary shading and color around areas that carry their shares of suggestive and sexual imagery and connotations would have been completed with as little attention drawn to it as possible. While you're not exactly ashamed to have drawn those parts of him, you feel a bit awkward to have him take notice of your work when you add the color. 

Half of his mouth quirks in a smile, an expression of his respect, understanding that took guts to admit. "That's nothing to apologize for. It's just part of the art, Arcadia. A little "awkward" would only be understandable. Would you feel better if I purposely didn't watch?" 

Well, seeing as how you're almost done with the inner thigh, you don't see much of a point to the gesture in this part of the progress. But, he did offer. And this seems to be what's keeping him seated in the grass. And what's keeping Plo Koon freer to spend less time being concerned about his diligent commander, and more time in showing his troops more aspects of Kel Dor culture and history, it seems. (Orchid keeps asking questions that Tack could easily answer about Dorin, and it serves as a neat little lesson for some of their newer shinnies. Plo is certainly grateful for the curiosity that allows him to be a teacher, rather than a fighter, today.) 

You shrug lazily, laughing softly under your breath. "I'll leave that up to you, sir. At this point…" 

Wolffe chooses to keep an eye on his brothers, so you make the process of shading the inner thighs quick, while being careful not to get sloppy. You're not trying to recreate a master painter's work here in the first page of your sketchbook, but you don't want to look at this one day and become filled with the urge to tear it out because all you can see are glaring imperfections, either. That's nothing but a fanciful daydream of making so much progress in your artistic prowess that you would ever be struck with such a thought, of course. 

You are preoccupied with a war against the Separatists: when would you ever have the chance to make regular progress and impressive strides without backsliding and the natural degradation of your skills when you do not use them? You're a small part of the busy crew that keeps the Triumphant running smoothly. 

People constantly need you. And that's all well and good, but sometimes you find yourself running into the same problem over and over again that crews of this size inevitably face: when you, who provides the help, needs someone, who is there for you? Do you turn to another crewmate who is already up to their neck in all the problems they juggle? Turning to one of the Clone troopers is ill-advised, no matter how much they swear they don't mind lending a hand or an arm (or two) to assist. 

You've been doing fine aboard the Triumphant; better than fine, in fact. But that worry claws at you, sometimes. I'm here to help everyone. But if I needed help, who would I go to?

Who does the Commander go to when he needs help, come to think of it… General Plo? Or maybe Sergeants Sinker and Boost, if the matter was a little closer to the heart, something he believed was best kept between brothers? 

Who does Wolffe turn to in his hours of need, you wonder. 

You need to rest your wrist, and soon. You have just a little more of this tree's canopy to color in though, and then you're calling it good. You've been working on this "sketch" for more than three hours with the Commander at your side. You want to have this done soon. You want to go check out some of these things other crewmates have been laughing themselves silly over for the last hour that leave them gasping and wheezing for breath, clutching their sides and drying their faces. You're burning to know what's so funny, why they keep calling your name to come see. 

Curiously guessing over and over what General Plo's reaction will be when you show him this amateurish endeavor in outdoor art drives you to continue, however. Just a few more tiny, feather-shaped leaves… Wolffe notices the sharp twinge in your face, and the uncomfortable spasm in your fingers as you adjust your grip around the Sunflower coloring pencil. 

"Getting painful?" 

"Just a little." you admit, knowing if you pause now, you will delay when you pick the pencil back. "I'll manage." 

"Making art shouldn't bring you pain, Arcadia." 

You scoff, just slightly. "Physical pain? Agreed. But emotional pain, that's another matter. Don't worry, I'll be done soon, Wolffe." 

He asked you to call him Wolffe a short time ago. It wasn't exactly necessary to call him Commander or Sir all the time if you had him sketched out on your page quite like… that. His legs parted and bent at the knee - flat in the grass out in front of him. Wrist of the left hand resting just on the surface of his thigh, with his hand hanging limp just inches from his groin. You were generous enough to draw his fingers in a more neutral position than how they had looked in reality… Otherwise, if his soldiers and brothers got a hold of the sketchbook, there's no telling how many jokes you'd have to hear about making it look like their Commander was jerkin' it in front of you. 

Calling him "Wolffe" would do just fine when it was just the two of you alone on this hill. Perhaps he felt it was only fair if he was calling you by your name. You had no title or rank, like him. You are just a humble part of the crew, but he assured you no less important than one of the soldiers. 

It takes all of us, he said. That's how we win this war. 

You've come to the home stretch, feeling the ache in your fingers deepen with every tiny skritch and shwoop! as you methodically color in your work leaf by leaf. "Just one last, little leaf," you promise, "and then I'm done." 

"Not going to sign your magnum opus, Arcadia?" Wolffe prods a little teasingly. He's smiling at you now, even. Hours ago, he was somber and battle-ready, no smiles, no nonsense. Now, he's beginning to make small jokes. "Should add a signature so future museums know who to accredit this to." 

"A leaf and then a signature." you chuckle warmly. "Future museum… Honestly." He only offers a shrug in response to that, and you take it to mean well, you never know. "What, you're trying to tell me you think this would honestly end up in a museum gallery one day?" 

He shrugs again, gazing off into the distance, into the forest. "Overheard one of the boys in the mess say something about the notion once. Something they read. Some kind of commemorative effort made by one planet to make sure they never forgot their bloody history by way of art and song and poetry inspired by that time. Evidence of a time best not repeated, but not forgotten either." 

Such an insightful and wise thing to be said so casually, poetically, and yet, there's a weighty truth to every syllable and enunciation. 

We doom ourselves to repeat the past when we do not remember it and do not teach it anymore. When we allow ourselves to forget, the shades of rouge we sop the bristles of our brushes in will not be in the rich scarlets of Dathomir, or the forever-burning rubies of Mustafar, it will instead be with blood. 

When we have enough evidence, it silences the naysayers and the fools. It validates the choking and trembling voices that say I have tasted the bitter blade of war. I have stood before the yawning maw of nothingness it leaves in its wake. I will never be the same. You do not have the right to tell me that I am some kind of paid actor. 

If they were conspiracies, do you not think I would be among the loudest of your prophets who tout these twisted claims in the hopes of converting another?

"Fascinating. Thinking something like that will come of the Clone Wars, Wolffe?" You've finished the drawing, now. Taking an ink pen, you jot down your signature in the tidiest handwriting you can manage in the lower right corner, making note of the date for good measure. You'll think up a creative title for this later. 

There's a third rising and falling of the shoulders from the man sitting beside you. "It's too soon to tell." 

"That's fair." you reply, gathering up your supplies to put them back into the bag for safekeeping. "But you just know, if it does happen, the Separatists aren't gonna like the art." You have faith that the Republic will prevail. How could it not when the soldiers who fight for the Republic are some of the most courageous, persevering people you know? (What will come of them after?) 

You're likely right about that, he agrees with a throaty chuckle. The Separatists will not like losing this war, and they'll like the art even less. "I can only hope… that it will not just be the Jedi who are…" Wolffe grows silent next to you. He's not certain what word he wants to use to best explain his thoughts, he admits plainly. There are too many. Too many answers that are right, but he struggles to find the one thing that is most correct out of all of them. 

Given what Tack has told you, the answer is obvious. "You're hoping that the galaxy will remember the Clones were a part of this conflict too. That the galaxy won't forget the sacrifices made by your brothers, and they won't forget how many lost their lives. You probably hope that when the free peoples of the galaxy remember the Jedi, they remember you, too. Both must be appreciated together."

"You're probably right," Wolffe concedes firstly, "And you're too wise beyond your years, Arcadia." Strangely philosophical, he tells you, for how old he guesses you to be. Maybe he's the right one this time, thinking to yourself on his words. 

Maybe he's not the only one hoping that when this war ends, no matter the outcome, those who served as a part of the Grand Army of the Republic will not be a forgotten topic ten, twenty… even forty or fifty years down the line. 

Tack has made a breakthrough in his mysterious flower just before Master Plo is free to come take a look at the sketch and color work you've completed, and concern for his men takes precedence. You would not blame him in the slightest if he forgot he expressed interest in seeing what you accomplished with art materials given to you as gifts. Because of your station with the crew of the Triumphant with a secondary speciality for risk assessment, you're involved in this discussion with the researcher and his commander and general. 

Right now determining the risks posed to the men of the 104th matters more. Art and philosophical pondering will have to come later.

Tack explains to both Commander Wolffe and Master Plo that he thinks the smatterings of blue flowers that dot this clearing here on Little Archossi are known as Dinocaeruleus anthos. By their common-name, you know that these flowers are a warning. A silent, unassuming danger for all their beauty and silky blue petals. 

Terrible blue flower. 

"You can make toxic honey with these flowers?" Wolffe asks more to himself than Tack, as he reads ahead in the compiled information. Plo is taking his time to read the information on the screen of the datapad in his hands. To make sense of this, the Jedi is being thorough. 

"Poisonous, Sir, more accurately." Tack makes the correction habitually, and Wolffe does not take it personally. He knows that Tack knows what he meant, and given his aptitude for analytics and other such sciences, his researcher is not correcting him to be a smartass. "But, yes, you can make bad honey with these flowers depending on what pollinators you harvest from. They are not wholly dangerous on their own. Eat it, it might make you feel nauseated due to natural bitterants. Touch it to more sensitive dermal surfaces and it will prove a powerful irritant." 

From a short distance away, you hear the voices of Orchid and Soapsuds, Tack's batchmates (you assume), commenting on what the four of you are discussing in the shade of the tree you spent the morning sketching. "So what Tack's saying is don't stick your d-" The speaker finds himself with the other's hand anxiously plastered against his mouth to shut him up in a hurry. "Maker alive, shut up!" Soapsuds warns him, "Orchid, why are you so vulgar?!" 

There is a pointed sigh from Commander Wolffe that is aimed at the two of them. Don't make me come over there. Behave yourselves in front of the General. 

Plo makes no indication that he's noticed the situation occurring just out of reach. You have to imagine he hears Suds and Orchid wrestling with each other in the grass, now, though, and is ignoring it. "Arcadia and Tack, in your opinion, will these be enough cause for concern to consider returning back to the ship?" Plo wonders aloud. The Kel Dor returns the device to the researcher, and folds his hands together in an act of deliberate contemplation, resting them against his stomach. 

Tack looks at you, and you at him, then the Commander. There is a look in his eyes, both the stark silver and the warm vandyke brown, that reads to you as a surrender of control. 

I will carry out your judgment. 

Tack scoffs and shrugs, his arms thrown wide. "Honestly, General? I don't know enough. I'd need more time to determine through more analysis and comparison. This is only one search result for one flower it could possibly be. But it was enough of a match to make me get the Commander while he was talking with Arcadia." Enough of a match to send him into a tizzy over it. Tack had tripped coming up the hill in his haste, trying to ask if - from where he was sitting - the Commander noticed anyone messing with the blue flowers. 

We have a potential problem! had Wolffe on his feet faster than engaging a hyperdrive. And then there was a flurry of questions. Was it contact from the planet's inhabitants? Has someone gotten hurt? Are they needed to assist another battalion? Where's the General? 

He has the look again, now. Worry. The inner anxiety is eating him alive. Tack doesn't know. So what about you? 

"I see…" Master Plo hums. "And what are your feelings, Arcadia? What do you think about the situation?" 

You think. What do you think about this situation? Is it worth double checking the matches for the flower, to make sure that it really is Dinocaeruleus anthos? Are the men really going to be so flippant as to disregard any kind of warning put out about these flowers if they are the Dinocaeruleus, or worse yet, a far more harmful flower? (Not necessarily, but you have to consider that warning the troops that this flower can have detrimental potential invites the opportunity to inflict it.) 

There is one thing that is already clear to you, at least. "Tack should first make sure these flowers are what he thinks they are before we make any kind of advisory, General. That is my opinion." 

Another thoughtful hum. "Interesting. And why is this your opinion, little one?" 

"We should avoid unnecessary panic. Until we know for sure what these flowers are, I say we don't say anything. We invite unnecessary risks by making the men paranoid." you suggest, glancing first at the Jedi, and then the flint-gray Commander to his left. They had every right to accept or disregard your counseling as the commanding forces of this battalion at the day's end; you hope they will consider it at the very least. 

"I'm in agreement."

"Then we will do as Arcadia advised, and we will let young Tack take more time to confirm his findings. Until then…" Plo trails off, nodding decidedly. Thank the Maker. Tack dismisses himself in a hushed, hurried tone. If he's going to spend more time pouring over information on the Dinocaeruleus anthos, he shouldn't dawdle. The Jedi kindly wills the benefits of the Force to guide the researcher before he turns to address you once again. "Have you made use of the gifts given to you since we last spoke?" 

Blinking with a mild start, you realize that Plo has changed the topic. "Oh, yes, I have. Let me go get my sketchbook from my bag, sir." You scoop the entire bag from the grass, re-tucking your datapad among your things as you extract the book and turn it to the necessary page for his convenience. "Here." 

Taking it carefully in his hands, the book is cradled like a priceless relic as his eyes must trace over the page. Once more your property is treated with such care and respect by the Force-wielder. "My… Arcadia, you have quite a gift." 

The action is perhaps more childish than professional, but you cannot help but duck your head at such praise, fearing to meet his gaze should he see how flushed your face is. It is not the heat of the sun above you, denoting that it is now high noon, that makes your face burn. You're never quite sure how to accept a compliment. 

You opt for humility. "Oh, it's hardly that great, General Plo… I wouldn't say I have a gift… just… a-an attention for detail." And that much is true; dedication to detail is why you spent hours on a simple "sketch" to begin with; why you took so much care and effort to get everything done the best you could. The form of Commander Wolffe's armor. The curve of his jaw and the roundness of the ala of his nose. The correct texture of his hair within the typical haircut many of the Clones have. 

But though gentle insistence, the General repeats his sentiment. "Attention for detail is no less of a gift, Arcadia. In war it is a mark of wisdom, in art, it is a skill." A skill that has made for a very fine portrait of the Commander. "Have you seen Arcadia's work yet, Commander Wolffe?" He offers the sketchpad with an invitation to have a closer look, though it isn't necessary. 

"I watched Arcadia add the colors, yes." Wolffe confirms. "Quite the process."

Not to mention a strain on your wrist, but one well worth it for the praise given to you from the Jedi, and now many of the men who have congregated to come and suss out what's going on. "I can only imagine… Even gone through the trouble of adding proper shadows to such… rich color." 

Sinker and Boost smile softly, not quite sadly (but certainly somber), when they take note of the color of paint their commanding officer wears when you allow the book to be passed around so everyone is welcome to have a closer look. They hold it longest out of everyone, looking at this artistic replication a little more closely than most.

"The ol' maroon, eh? Think it's meant to depict another time, before Abregado?" 

"But he's drawn with the scar, Boost."

"Ah, yeah, good eye. Missed that bit." 

You timidly clear your throat to draw their attention, and explain that of all the colors, you didn't have gray. "I didn't want to leave his armor naked, either." Not when you went through the trouble of adding the face of the wolf and the other design to each of his shoulder pads, or the unique shape of his visor when you drew the helmet next to his hip. 

You would not deal him further, small cruelties by stealing the colors out of his coat completely. These markings he has chosen for himself mean something to Wolffe. The color he wears now is a mark of mourning. The color in the pages of your book will serve as an homage. 

You have not forgotten your brothers. You will always carry them with you.

Hmmf. Are you a poet now too, Arcadia?

No sir. Not really. 

You're uncertain where the words came from. Borrowed from something you read once? Did you perhaps hear the General say these words once upon a time? You can't recall what inspired you to say such a thing. 

But you'll remember the change in his gruff exterior, the way in which he was quieter than quiet for just a moment, and he pivoted in the grass to better face you and make you his equal. 

It's only the two of us here on the hill, Arcadia. Call me Wolffe, please. 

Don't have a fic taglist for the time being, but I'll likely start one soon if I can figure out how to make those forms some people have since I write a variety of stuff. For now, though, if you'd like to join a taglist for specific types of fics (example: just TBB-centric or just TCW-centric (or both)) don't hesitate to ask. 🩷

[FFF Masterlist] [Series Masterlist] [TCW Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Here] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night] [Golden Dawn part 1]

[Golden Dawn Part 2]

[dukeoftheblackstar]

Hey I don’t know if you’re taking requests, or know someone that is, but I’m feeling a Plo Koon x timid fem!reader fic, rating is dealers choice! Have a great day!!

Summary: Aboard the Triumphant, your fate is sealed amidst your numerous failure.

Pairing: Plo Koon / Reader

Word Count: 1K

Rating: F for Fluff. F for Foolishness.

Notes: The best means of healing and comfort isn't always through a plethora of words and wisdom — sometimes you just gotta yeet that shit out into space with new found friends and better opportunity. Oh and yeah, trust the force or whatever.

Color thingies because I'm deranged to not use them: Orange: Plo Koon Pink: You/Reader Blue: Commander Wolffe Purple: Sinker, Boost, Warthog, Comet

Perfect divider by @idontgetanysleep with itty, bitty, cutie-patootie Plo Koon face ♥

You did what you were supposed to— or at least tried, for that matter. The instructions were pretty clear and simple even for someone who had just boarded the Triumphant after barely making the cut to be a medic. The choice was either to be retrained under a more draconian approach having failed a shy number of times, had it not been for the strings that latched onto your shoulder for having a guardian with amicable connections, or be decommissioned. Not that you would suffer the same fate as the clones for being an external resource, but to no longer be of contribution to the cause of peace in the ever-chaotic galaxy is no better than death itself.

And you were ecstatic —even for a fleeting moment when news of you being assigned to the 104th came about. You’ve heard so much of Master Jedi General Plo Koon and the Wolfpack that you couldn’t really blame why some clones aspire to be under the warm hand of the highly revered and ‘tamed’ Jedi as opposed to the boisterous bunch of Generals Skywalker and Kenobi. You were beyond elated that you’ve missed hours of sleep as you were finally jettisoned from Coruscant to board the venator-class ship that you’ve become quite a jittery mess.

And so here you are; standing before a box of refurbished datapads with not a single device flickering to life as if the protruding ports smashed and torn weren’t enough to instill how much of a failure you are — how much, a simple task efficiency eludes you as how all the tasks before today had done the same. 

You might as well just step off the ramp right now and float aimlessly in space to mirror the emptiness you bring to the galaxy with your pathetic existence, right? Might as well just step into the sun and at least allow yourself to be a source of kindling that may burn brighter and serve hope to the fallen like yourself. Might as well —

“Might I interest you in a little distraction, little one?”

Plo Koon, in his towering frame that was both intimidating and of a soothing presence, had placed his talon-clad hand over your shoulder; a gentle squeeze to merit your attention as you turn and immediately lower your head with irises shaken in search of words to offer your most-sincerest apologies for having brought the incorrect package.

“I’m… I’m sorry, sir.” Even your apology was barely acceptable by your standards that you felt even smaller. So small that you were a rough estimate of twenty-nine seconds away from welling up for failing so miserably these past few days. It has deterred your morning routines of self-affirmation knowing fully that you are only to fail once more — and you have indeed yet again. You weren’t much of a talker either; you were that of a shy nature, timid on all accounts.

You hear a soft thud and wince — not that you were hurt or anything, but you were so easily frightened when it comes to failure, thinking he would have struck you or at least commanded a trooper to escort you out of the premises and off to the uncertainties of life. 

But no, it clearly wasn’t that at all.

As you gaze up to inspect the sound, you see Plo Koon holding a metallic bat made of scraps, worn of usage with blurred writings and the Wolfpack’s insignia drawn on different angles including the signage on the 104th’s ships, Plo’s Bros.

You watch his wrist turn and swing the bat lightly, testing it with a firm grip at the hilt. 

“When in training…” He began, pausing dramatically like the true, theatrical Baran Do Sage that he is apart from being a Master Jedi. “... the only failure is not to learn from your defeats.” 

Before you could ask, you see him turn, grasp the hilt of the bat with both hands, swing as one refurbished datapad flew over his head and met the bat with such precision that it was out in the vastness of space in less than a second. 

“Nice shot, General.” 

Your eyes were drawn promptly to Boost who offered a cheerful greeting and a wink, tossing another broken datapad in his hand ready to putt. Comet and Warthog beside him holding a singular digit of 1 and 0 in solidarity, while Sinker rummaged through the box of unusable datapads you’ve carried.

Plo turns to you and extends his hand, guiding and insisting you take the plunge. 

“Your turn, sweetness.” You hear Sinker from behind you, ushering you towards their beloved General who then welcomed you with a rather secure hold as he positioned himself behind. 

You feel the warmth of his palm enveloping the back of your hand in contrast to the stannic bat that latched on your grip. He guides your other hand to firmly take hold before leaning over your shoulder.

“Remember, my dear, you always pass failure on your way to success.”

With that, Plo steps a mindful distance and turns to Boost with a nod. “Consider this your official initiation to the 104th.”

And right before the turn of events fruition, you hear yet another voice approaching. 

“Ah, Commander Wolffe. How good of you to join us.” Says Plo Koon.

“General. Boys.” Wolffe replies in his stern and gruff note. “You do realize that I have to file a report on this.”

In fear, you turn to Plo whose brow creases were far from being tensed let alone bothered. He turns to Wolffe and motions for Boost to ready his aim. 

Wolffe sighs in both an exasperated and amused manner, arms tucked behind his back as he turns heel and bid farewell. “You best make that shot or you’re off this ship, miss.”

“You heard the commander. I believe in you, little one. Make your mark.”

And indeed you have —with a newfound determination and a steady grip, you’ve allowed yourself to not only trust in the Force, your new comrades, your new General, and your new role, but have also found it within you to trust the most important aspect of existence;

♥̷ ̷Y̷ ̷O̷ ̷U̷ ̷R̷ ̷S̷ ̷E̷ ̷L̷ ̷F̷ ̷♥̷

Welcome aboard the Triumphant, little love ♥ Where PloHours and 104th Foolishness is operational 24/7. I hope you enjoy this and that this was is at least a little close to your ask because oh-my-god, did I have to Google so much meaning equivalents of ‘timid’.

[balrogballs]

2 meter snake anon here: Now i’m begging you to write a little ficlet of Aragorn going missing or being waylaid in some ride through the forests only for Elrond to find him surrounded by all the little weird creatures and beasts he’s raised as pets, faithfully making a protective circle around him. Hell, the wolf cub Aragorn rescued is probably the one who led Elrond his way 🫵🏼😭

I am mildly sleep deprived and quite literally dictated this to my phone whilst on a bicycle so you may encounter typos and it frankly sounds like a deranged 1920s children's story, but have fun x

How Glorfindel the Second Came to Stay 

"My dear Glorfindel, how old are you?" 

"Two thousand eigh—" 

"Both lives, thank you," Elrond snapped, clicking his fingers in front of Glorfindel's face in a gesture reminiscent of a fiery-haired addition to his family tree. "Quickly now, or can you also not count in addition to being clearly unable to perform to bare minimum standards of childcare?"

"Eight thousand, nine hundred and forty six." 

"Outstanding!" the lord clapped his hands. "And Estel, how old is Estel?" 

"Fifteen," muttered Glorfindel. "Possibly sixteen." 

"Six! He's six! And as such, what do you mean," Elrond affectionately linked elbows with the captain of his guard, looking both perfectly cheerful and supremely dangerous. "What do you mean I leave him with you for a grand total of two hours, two hours, Glorfindel, you take baths longer than that on a weekly basis — only for him to disappear for three days, and then be brought back by a procession of wild animals?" 

"Oh Elrond, you exaggerate!" exclaimed Glorfindel, gesturing at the sight before him. "There was no procession. Perhaps a small entourage."

Reader, it was indeed a procession. By which this narrator means that Elrond was greeted at the gates two hours ago, not by the Glorfindel-led search parties he had sent out to look for his foster son, but by a very self-important snake. And Elrond, having been understandably rather frantic, did not question the fact that the foster son in question was not brought back by said search parties led by the (overpaid) captain of his guard and his troupe of very expensive warhorses. 

Instead, he was borne atop the back of a very small Oliphaunt which had its trunk curled carefully over the sleeping child, ensuring it didn't fall off. Behind and before the child walked two large warthogs, heads held high as though they too were named Asfaloth. In the middle of the parade was a bear - an authentic, honest-to-goodness, pukka, full-sized bear, a card-carrying member of the genus and species Bear, ambling along and occasionally nudging Estel to ensure he was securely laid on the Oliphaunt's back and that the beast's trunk wasn't squeezing the child too hard (Oliphaunts, whilst well meaning, were notorious forgetters). At the forefront of the parade – for that was what it was – was a very self-possessed snake, which slithered gracefully and somewhat imperiously across the gate and unlocked it for his brethren. 

("Oh look," whispered Erestor from a suitably high window, nudging Lindir with a grin. "It's Elrond's family, all come to visit at once!") 

Elrond, for his part, stood very still and did not even blink. Not even when the Oliphaunt deposited the child at his feet and the bear gave him a cheery look that said he got lost but found us quite quickly. But he talks too much, my lord. We had to bring him back. Elrond did not blink when the warthogs jumped into the pond and gave themselves a bath near the inordinately expensive fish, and you best be sure he didn't make eye-contact with the snake for even a second, even when the snake in question looked him head to toe with an extremely dismissive air, as if to say is this the famed lord of Imladris then? I am not impressed. 

In fact, he didn't move until Glorfindel rode in. For Glorfindel cantered in looking far too happy for an elf who had been bested by a warthog, and that was enough to rouse Elrond from his stupor, grab the captain by his ear and give him an earful so deafening and profanity-laden that the Oliphaunt burst into tears and the bear seemed to mutter so much for kind as summer. The procession of animals slunk out silently, hoping not to be noticed by anyone other than the now awake-Estel, waving a cheery goodbye to his old friends.

All except Glorfindel the Second, who wound itself comfortably around his shoulders, christened from a safe distance by Lord Elrond - whose fear of snakes was marginally edged out by his newfound irritation towards Glorfindel the First, and his inability to look after a child that had been literally strapped to his belt.

[gardens-light]

The Words I Need To Hear

As the Autobots face the Decepticons and The Fallen in a final, earth-shaking clash, the fate of the world teeters on the edge. Amid the chaos, Ratchet must confront a deeper question—will war silence the bond growing between him and the woman who’s touched his spark?

Content: Mild Coarse Language. Events takes place during 'Transformers- Revenge of the Fallen'. Major Movie Spoilers. AU Movie ending. Mentions of wounds/violence. Fluff. Strong Smutt. P in V. Creampie. Autobot Ratchet x F/Human Reader. Reader Insert.

Seris: The Intern: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Inspired Song: Morphine- Lights

Word Count: 7,900K

Above the chaos and gunfire, the unmistakable silhouette of U.S Air Force jets sliced through the sky, a formation of sleek F-16s and A-10 Warthogs swopped in low. Their engines roaring across the sky, as they rocketed towards the battlefield.

"You're gonna need to leave me behind-"

"Nonsense, Lieutenant." Lennox peered over the wall of your hiding spot, seeing Jetfire holding back the last few Decepticons. "Nobody gets left behind, remember? Not in my unit."

Carefully placing Lieutenant Smith over his shoulders, in a fireman's carry. Lennox silently signaled you, Mikayla and Sam to come closer, "we're gonna make a break for it on my command, okay?"

"You two stick with me, understand?" As Mikayla held Sam's hand, she reached out for Lennox's. While the major eyed you, "and you stay on my ass!"

"I... hope those F-16's got good aim." You lowly spoke, nervously looking up at the sky as the jets came into view.

"Yeah?" Lennox raised an eyebrow, giving you a brief side glance, before quickly adjusting Smith's weight across his shoulders. "Why's that?"

"I told them to hit the orange smoke."

A low sigh escaped him, eyes briefly closing as the hissing sound of a smoke canister nearby filled the air. "You mean... that orange smoke?"

"It wasn't my best toss, okay.-"

Valkyrie-

"Viper, thunder."

You and Lennox gave each other a wide eyed gaze as the Air Force scratched over your radio.

"Run!"

And then, from the skies, the jets came alive.

With a sudden, blistering roar, the first wave of fighter jets drove towards the temple ruins, releasing a wave of guided missiles that struck the enemy's ranks. The explosions deafening, lighting up the desert in a series of violent flashes as you darted across the sands.

Missile strikes tore through the Decepticons positions, causing them to scatter in a desperate bid for cover.

Sweat dripped down Lennox's forehead, while his grip upon the lieutenant tightened. Ears ringing, eyes blinking away the dust and debris. Yanking Mikayla closer towards him, whenever her hand slipped too far away for his liking. Breaths becoming heavy and uneven, as Sideswipe and his team came into view ahead.

As his spark rapidly pulsed through his frame, Ironhide withdraw his cannon. Allowing the weapon to whirl to life, as Megatron raised his weapon, a low snarl escaping the warlord while his crimson glare narrowed onto Sam.

"Behind you!" Ironhide warned, emerging from the pillars upon the right side of the ruins.

"Sam!" You tried to clutch onto him, but the tattered fabric of his shirt slipped through your fingers, as he ran straight towards Optimus.

"Sam! No!" Mikayla's scream bellowed across the courtyard. Her heart pounding against her ribcage, as her frightened gaze witnessed Megatron's pulse-cannon send her lover across the sands.

Harshly pulling her hand from Lennox's grasp, you closely chased behind Mikayla as the pair of you approached Sam's still body.

Two shells from the tank's ammunition shredded through Megatron's torso, causing a painful growl to escape him. Shrapnel and metal debris fell from his frame, exposing the Decepticon's sparking wires and inner circuits. His engine rumbled with annoyance, as the tanks continued their onslaught, forcing Megatron into retreat.

"Stay here." Lennox carefully lowered Smith onto the ground, allowing the lieutenant to rest against the temple wall. "The worst is over-"

"Stop fussing over me, Major." Smith lowly spoke, smiling through his pain. Spitting away the blood that attempted to trickle down his throat, "I just have a flesh wound. Sam's the one who needs your attention right now."

---

Kneeling against the hot sand, your hands trembled yet steady as you pressed against Sam's chest. Each compression forceful and desperate, leaning your whole weight into the motion. Blood smeared across your hands, mingling with the sand and grime of the battlefield- but you didn't care.

For the world narrowed to this single act- keeping a life bound to this world.

Come on, Sam! Come on! Your thoughts swirled with a mixture of desperation and determination. Breathe, damn it. Don't you dare quit on us now! We've come too far!

Despite Lennox's voice yelled for your comrades to hold their fire, the battlefield continued to roar around you. Mikayla's desperate pleas muffling into the gunfire and explosions which caused the ground to shake. But your focus didn't waver.

Sweat trickled down your features, mixing and smearing with the streaks of dirt and soot on your skin. Sam's chest remained still beneath your relentless efforts, your heart clenching with each passing second.

"Sam... Sam, listen to my voice." Tears streamed down Mikayla's face, her quivering lips causing her sobbing words to stumble out. Holding one of his hands close to her chest, "I love you and I need you. Please... Please, come back to me!"

Every compression and breath became more desperate, your compressions growing harder with each round. Your voice raw with determination, "come on, Sam! Breathe!-"

As if on command, his eyes snapped open. A gasp- ragged, strained inhale filling the space between you. Confusion and fear shined within his wide-eyed gaze, while his eyes darted around his surroundings. Barely having time to register Mikayla throwing herself onto his chest, sobbing into his shoulder and clutching onto his shirt.

Relief crashed over you like a tidal wave, while Lennox swooped in like an anchor in a storm. Quickly placing Sam into a recovery position, while Mikayla positioned his head upon her lap. Your gaze met his, the major giving you a wordless nod of acknowledgment but you didn't return his small smile- in fact, you barely registered it. For your senses already prickling with unease, as your glare narrowed across the battlefield.

Breath catching in your throat. Heart picking up it's pulsing rhythm again. You saw it.

In the smoky distance, Ratchet's form stood behind the Egyptian temple. His relaxed frame a familiar silhouette against the haze of combat, but it was what was behind him which caught your attention.

A shadow moved- a shape creeping low. Weapon raised, the gleam of a unmistakeable Cybertronian blade.

Your blood ran cold for an instant before your nerves ignited, burning with a ferocity that could rival the sun. Decision was instant, your body moving before your mind could catch up.

Your voice leaving your throat like a raging battlecry, "Ratchet!"

The courtyard and it's surroundings roared with chaos- the last of the explosions ripped through the sands, remaining shells of gunfire cut the air like jagged lightning, shouts blending into a deafening cacophony.

Amid the gradual calm of the storm, you moved- a streak of defiant purpose cutting through the smoke and carnage. Boots pounding the ground, kicking up dust and sand with every stride. Every movement swift and unyielding, carrying the weight of countless battles fought and won.

Lieutenant Smith, his N.E.S.T comrades and the Autobots gazed in awe, as they caught glimpses of you. Realization sinking in as it became clear that your nickname wasn't simply a mare title. Your presence radiated both beauty and danger, a force of nature in human form. With your hair dampened by sweat and dirt streaking across your face, to them you seemed more like a mythical warrior than a simple medic. You were indeed their Valkyrie.

The battlefield seemed to part, the very ground trembling as if aware of your purpose. Hurdling over stone walls and sliding under jagged obstacles, your form was a blur of relentless motion.

"Ratchet!"

With your voice becoming clearer to him, the Autobot medic turned around but your warning came too late. Starscream grabbed Ratchet by his throat, slamming him into the ground with a sickening thunk.

Your heart pounded like a war drum, each beat echoing a silent mantra: Get to him. Protect him. Bullets hissed past, a deadly song that seemed to miss its mark by inches, as though fate itself not dared to hinder your charge.

Dashing past the temple, parkcoring up it's steps. Snatching an RPG off the ground and quickly aiming it at the Seeker, while he pinned Ratchet against the sand dune. A wicked smirk spread across the Decepticon's faceplate, watching the Autobot struggle and groan against his firm grip.

"Stay away from him!"

Firing the RPG, it streaked through the air like a blazing comet, its fiery exhaust trail leaving a sharp hiss in its wake. The warhead spun with deadly precision, hurling straight towards Starscream's shoulder.

Upon the immediate and brutal impact, the Seeker screeched in pain as the genrade unleashed an eruption of smoke and shrapnel, causing him to lose his grip upon Ratchet. Allowing the medic to cough and gasp for air.

The metal plating crumpled under the force, bending inward as the concentrated explosion tore through his structure. Sparks flew like miniature fireworks, scattering in all directions as Starscream's shoulder joint was ripped apart. Energon sprayed in erratic jets, hissing and streaming as it met the intense heat of the detonation.

The force of the RPG sent shockwaves throughout the Seeker's lanky frame, causing his limb to jerk violently before his shoulder collapsed inward. His joint twisted unnaturally, gears grinded against each other with an ear-splitting screech, as severed cables writhed like snakes, sparking with electrical discharge.

Starscream's wings twitched as he glared at you, a mixture of shock and anger flashed within his optics.

As you quickly attempted to reload your weapon, Starscream's free servo swooped low, snatching you off the ground in a vice like grip. Your breathless gasp turning into a cry of pain, as his index and thumb pinched and squeezed your shoulder joint.

"Annoying, insignificant meat bag! I'll crush your bones to dust and reduce your flesh to a bloody puddle, as your precious Autobot watches!"

"Let. Her. Go!" Ratchet slowly raised onto his peds, servos clenching, his frame tensing as his glare narrowed onto Starscream. A low growl rumbled deep within his engine, his features twisting in anger as the Seeker held you like ragdoll. "I swear by the AllSpark if you don't let her go, I will tear you apart piece by piece... slowly!"

Scanning his surroundings, a devilish grin spread across Starscream's faceplates. His optics studying the tense and hesitant body language of your allies, their inner conflict of whether to assist or not intrude, was very clear upon their faces.

"Oh, I don't think you're in any position to be making threats, Autobot." The three digits that curled around your torso slightly tightened their grip, while his index and thumb pinched your limb and stretched out, forcing your shoulder into an unnatural position. Causing another yell to escape your lips, "not all the while I hold your precious darling."

"Y-You... should be more concerned about yourself." You spoke through grinded teeth.

Starscream raised an optic ridge at your defiant attitude, a hint of annoyance yet also confusion flickered within his optics. His gaze narrowing onto your forced smile.

That's it you oversized, metallic lapdog. Squirming within the Seeker's grasp, attempting to bring the hidden pocket upon your carf, closer to your reach. Focus on me...

"What are you smiling at?" Starscream scrowled, "can you not clearly see the predicament you're in?-"

"Oh... I see." You discreetly signaled Ratchet for him to remain where he was, as he etched closer within your prereferral vision.

A low growl rumbled deep within the Seeker's engine, a snarl escaping his lips as Starscream pulled you closer towards his face plate. "Then... how aren't you afraid?"

"Simple... there's nothing scary about a mere lapdog-"

With a metallic crunch, the tip of your combat knife pierced the protective casing of Starscream's optic, sending a shower of sparks erupting outward. The sharp screech of metal against metal echoed through the air, granting and fierce as your knife sank deeper. Witnessing the outer shell of his optic crack into a spiderweb of fractures, splintering across the glassed surface, as the once-bright light flickered wildly, struggling against the invasive force of your knife.

A metallic cry escaped Starscream, his optics closing and his servo instinctively letting you go, placing it up and over his optic in pain. His wings flaring out in shock, while stumbling backwards. "You little wretch!"

Ratchet's wide eyed gaze witnessed you land on the sand with a thud, your cries of pain twisted his spark as your shoulder joint dislocated with a pop upon impact. Sending a tingling sensation and numbness towards your fingertips.

With Starscream forced into a retreat, Ratchet quickly approached and knelt by your side. Carefully scooping you into the palm of his servo, allowing you to lay against his digits as you cradled your injured limb.

Despite you flinching from his touch, Ratchet's spark pulsed with understanding. His concerned gaze meeting yours- a silent acknowledgment on what he's planning to do, "I'm... going to have to pop your joint back into it's socket. It will hurt, but I need you to bare with me, alright? "

While cradling you within his palm, Ratchet gently brushed the knuckle of his index digit along your hip, tracing up your ribs and towards your collarbone. "Alright. One... two... three!"

Tears glassed your vision, staining your cheeks as your scream twisted the medic's spark, as his thumb and index digit upon his free servo manipulated your limb. Within a swift movement, your pain rippled to a dull ache, once your shoulder slotted back into its socket with a little click.

Feeling you finally relax within his palm, using the knuckle of his index digit to wipe away your tears with a gentle touch. Before trailing it down your body, the pad of his thumb rubbing your hip in a gentle, soothing gesture. Attempting to provide some small amount of comfort, lowering his helm and pulling you closer towards his chassis. Placing soft, tender kisses upon the top of your head, gently embracing you.

Your heart skipped a beat, body frozen for a moment as your lips accidentally met his. Ratchet's spark spun and pounded within it's chamber as he pulled away, subtle warmth radiating beneath his faceplate. His features a mixture of embarrassment and bewilderment, as Ratchet returned your gaze.

"I... I didn't mean to-"

His words fell silent as you placed a finger over his lips, but before Ratchet had the chance to question, he suddenly felt you return the kiss. His processor and spark practically racing, as he felt your soft lips against his while you knelt within his palm.

Returning your tender kisses and closing his optics, a breathless gasp escaped him as your lips parted for a brief moment. An electric pulse zapped between the pair of you, his spark syncing with your heartbeat once again, like two magnets being pulled together. Matching his spark's rhythm with a connection that should be scientifically impossible.

And yet... it was happening, and the look within his optics told you he knew it too.

"Next time... don't keep a lady waiting."

"Trust me, I-I wanted to say." A tinge of guilt hid within his words, as Ratchet's voice lowered to a gentle tone. "Believe me when I say, that I wanted to. I-I yearned to. But I-I couldn't-"

You gave him a sweet smile, while placing a finger to his lips once again. "I know."

The medic's engine rumbled with a low purr, as he gently took hold of your wrist, taking your finger away from his lips. Gently holding your hand, his thumb caressing the back of your hand in a tender gesture, resting his forehelm against yours with a loving smile teasing the corners of his lips.

"Perhaps... we should continue this later, my darling." Ratchet's voice was just above a whisper, his words holding a loving and affectionate tone. "But for now... I want you to stay close, okay? I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Upon carefully placing you onto his shoulder, allowing you to get comfortable and well balanced, before raising to his full height. Both of your gazes widened, a tidal wave of utter joy and relief washing over, as you both witnessed the sight before you.

"A living Prime." A wide smile spread across Jetfire's features, the elderly WW2 aircraft leaning closer in awe. "I don't believe it!"

"Boy... you returned for me." Optimus' soft gaze flickering from Sam, scanning his surroundings, "you all did-"

"Don't celebrate so soon!"

The air crackled and popped with electronic tension. A shiver simultaneously ran throughout you and your N.E.S.T comrades, causing all hairs on your bodies to stand upon end. A gust of wind knocked the breath out of your lungs, as an unknown Decepticon appeared over Optimus. Placing his ped against Prime's chassis, forcing him back down.

His cold, calculating stare caused your nerves to tingle. Your heart slightly picking up pace, as his crimson optics bore into your soul. How the blue crystals framing his elongated face, clicked and moved independently made the knot within your stomach twist uncomfortably. Oh shit... it's him!

"My Matrix!" a small grunt escaped Optimus, as the unknown foe forcefully plucked the Cybertronian artifact right out of his chassis. "My brothers could not stop from destroying your sun! And neither will you!"

Withdrawing his spear, the Decepticon pierced Optimus' shoulder, pinning him further into the sand. A sadistic smile twisted across his features, as the Autobot winced in pain, feeling the spear twist and tear against his inner cables.

The air crackled and popped once again, as the Decepticon roughly pulled his spear out of Optimus. Finally teleporting away and appearing upon the pyramid within the distance.

"Get up. You have to get up, Optimus!" Sam encouraged, yet his panic still strangled his words. "He's turning on the machine! Only you can stop him! Get up, Optimus!-"

"Get up Prime!-"

"Enemy target on top of pyramid!" you quickly spoke into the receiver of your radio.

"Engage! Engage! Engage!" Lennox's commanding voice crackled over the receiver.

The cannons upon the Egyptian tanks turned 180 degrees, heavy rounds of thunder blast across the desert like blazing comets. Barely making an impact against the forcefield that protected Megatron and his Decepticon master.

"All my Decepticon life, I never did anything worth doing... until now." A tinge of regret and guilt lined Jetfire's words, his faceplates wincing slightly as he clutched onto his side. "Optimus... take my parts, and you'll have a power you've never known-"

"No... No, I couldn't expect you to do such thing-"

"Only a Prime can defeat The Fallen." A kind smile framed Jetfire's features, as his gaze softened. "And I'd gladly become one with the AllSpark, if that meant helping you kill that ancient bastard. Do it and fulfill your destiny."

Before anyone could protest, Jetfire pried apart his malfunctioning chest plates. You placed a hand over your mouth, as sparks of energy crackled violently in the air, cascading in radiance that illuminated his metallic chassis. Jetfire's spark pulsated with an otherworldly glow, a brilliant swirl of blues, whites, and golds that seemed to hum with life itself.

Despite his Cybertronian strength, his spark chamber resisted the intrusion, emitting shrill, metallic shrieks as Jetfire wrenched it open. Exposing the delicate, luminous orb nestled within. All watched his spark flicker and flare, its energy fluctuating wildly, as though it were aware of the impending violation. Tendrils of blue light licked at the edges of the spark chamber, struggling to anchor the spark in place.

As Jetfire pulled his spark free from his inner circuits, arcs of energy snapped and lashed out like living lightning, tearing at his servo and anything nearby. The once-harmonious glow of the spark dimmed, its energy becoming unstable as it left the safety of its chamber. A faint, mournful sound echoed- a mix of mechanical whines and an almost imperceptible, ethereal tone, as though the spark itself was crying out in despair.

Suspended in Jetfire's palm, his spark appeared... smaller, more... fragile. Its luminous core dimming as its connection to the Cybertronian's body severed. Optimus' spark twisted in pain, as he watched his comrade's frame slump against the sands, Jetfire's amber optics flickered weakly before dimming entirely, a haunting silence followed as the spark rolled towards the Autobot. The emptiness left behind was palpable, a hollow void where the very essence of life had once burned so brightly.

Ratchet approached Jetfire's still frame, his servo resting gently upon the elder's chassis. Although to others, the medic's expression remained somewhat unreadable, you clearly saw the deep respect and sorrow etched into his faceplates.

"Jetfire... gave everything for this fight." His voice was low and steady, feeling the small warmth of your comfort, as you placed a gentle touch upon his cheek. "He... knew what had to be done, even at the cost of his own spark. We owe him more than words can express."

Optimus stepped forward, his blue optics glowing dimly with solemn gratitude. "He was a warrior of great honor and conviction. Jetfire's sacrifice will not be in vain. We will ensure it." His voice carried the weight of a leader who bore not only responsibility but also... a deep loss.

Major Lennox, Lieutenant Smith and the others, stood silently beside the towering Autobots. A small warmth of admiration fluttered within your chest, as you watched the Major and the others removed their helmets and held it against his chest. You could feel how the moment pressed upon everyone, how the loss of Jetfire was a stark reminder of the price of freedom.

Ironhide shifted uneasily, his massive servos clenching and unclenching. "Ratchet...." his gruff words held a tinge of emotion, "we... don't have time to waste. Jetfire gave us the tools to finish this fight, and we... need to use them."

The medic simply replied with a silent nod, allowing the weapons specialist to come closer. Ironhide's frame rumbled as he activated his jumper cables, sparks danced along their length as he handed one end to Ratchet.

You watched the process in awe, as Ratchet's tools worked in seamlessly with Ironhide's powerful connections. Carefully severing the afterburners from Jetfire's frame while preserving their intricate systems. The engines crackled and hissed as they were removed, their remaining energy shimmering faintly as if bidding farewell to their original owner.

Once the afterburners were freed, Ratchet turned to Optimus, who stood ready. Lowering himself onto one knee to allow his fellow Autobots to attach the new engines upon his spinal struct. Despite the urgency of the situation, you couldn't help but mentally applause the Autobots synchronized moments.

The afterburners fused seamlessly onto Optimus, their weight heavy but balanced. The modification included additional armor plating and weaponry, creating a formidable jetpack-like configuration.

When the final connections were made, the engines roared to life, their deep, guttural hum filling the air. Optimus flexed his arms, testing the newfound power that surged throughout his systems. Jetfire's sleek black plating perfectly blended in with Optimus' blue and red frame, creating a whole new look to the Prime that was both intimidating and awe-inspiring.

Optimus turned to his team and allies, his glowing optics blazing with a renewed purpose. "Jetfire's sacrifice has given us the means to end this fight. We fight for him, for all we have lost, and for the future we must protect."

The Autobots nodded, their expressions hardening. Your comrades of N.E.S.T exchanged determined looks, gripping onto their weapons as they prepared to follow Optimus into the final confrontation.

Prime ignited the afterburners and took to the skies, the sound of the engines reverberated across the battlefield, a powerful testament to Jetfire's legacy. The team stood in silence for a moment longer, each silently thanking their comrade for his ultimate sacrifice. Before following the Autobots and their leader with renewed determination, ready and battle-hardened once again to face The Fallen and Megatron.

Six Hours Later

The battlefield had quieted, leaving behind a hollow calm that felt almost foreign after the chaos. As N.E.S.T settled their temporarily camp at the base of the Pyramids of Giza, soldiers moved with purpose, tending to the aftermath. Injured personnel were carefully loaded onto transport vehicles bound for the nearby Egyptian military base, their comrades offering quiet reassurances as they were sent for treatment and rest.

The Autobots lingered nearby, their towering forms silhouetted against the ancient structures. Optimus stood watch, his optics scanning the horizon as if waiting for the next threat. Ironhide and Bumblebee worked with Lennox and Lieutenant Smith to secure the area, while Ratchet completed a final sweep of the camp, his medical scans ensuring that every wounded Autobot and ally was accounted for.

For the first time in what felt like ages, a subtle wave of relief washed over the Autobot medic. The fight was over- at least for now.

Though the cost had been great, he and his comrades emerged victorious. The tension within his servos eased, allowing himself a moment to process the stillness of the night.

As Ratchet gazed out across the camp, he almost had to do a double take, something far in the distance catching the medic's attention. High upon the furthest pyramid, a lone figure sat near it's peak. A small, almost subtle smile teased the corners of his lips, as his processor identified with your silhouette.

Positioned closed to the top, your form small against the vast expanse of stone. From above, you overlooked the breathless views of the vast open desert and the Sphinx, everything bathed in the silvery glow of the starry night sky.

Ratchet's spark quietly hummed within its chamber, sending volts of electricity throughout his circuits. As his optics gazed at you, your silhouette framed by the twinkling constellations, surrounding you in a quiet serenity which starkly contrasted with the destruction you both had endured hours earlier. You seemed deep in thought, posture calm but introspective.

For a moment, he hesitated. Feeling an inexplicable pull to be near you, to share in the quiet moment you had carved out for yourself. As Ratchet approached the pyramid, footsteps cautious against the uneven sand. Yet, as he drew closer, a wave of uncertainty stopped him.

It had been so long since he had allowed himself to seek intimacy- true closeness- with anyone. His duties as a medic, as an Autobot, had consumed him for millennia, leaving little room for vulnerability. Now, standing at the base of the ancient structure, finding himself questioning the appropriateness of his intentions.

W-Would she... welcome my company? Despite our newfound closeness. Or would I just... simply be disturbing her peace?

Taking a step back, the cogs within his legs shifting hesitantly. Maybe... it be better if I leave her be-

"Ratchet?" your voice was gentle, but it carried easily through the still air. Your gaze drifting to the medic, the warmth within your tone, devoid of annoyance or surprise. "I'm fine, before you start lecturing me about resting."

"You're really going to argue with a doctor, aren't you?"

A small chuckle escaped you, as your gaze flickered away from his slight annoyed expression. "Come up here. The view is incredible, and... I could use the company."

Your words caused his spark to skip a beat, making the Autobot hesitate before nodding. Rolling his shoulders back for a moment, allowing himself to focus as each gear and cog refiguried itself within his frame, metal plates folded and tucked under themselves, bringing the Autobot slightly closer to human height.

Carefully, he ascended the pyramid, each movement slow and deliberate to avoid damaging the ancient stones. When he reached you, you shifted slightly to make room, though the vast expanse around you made the gesture unnecessary.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Simply sitting together, side by side, gazing out at the quiet desert, the full moon high above the horizon companied by the infinite stars above.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" your voice remained soft. Almost like if your words were any louder, they'd disturb the quintrillity.

"Yes."

Ratchet's gaze lingered on you instead of the view, silently admiring the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating your features. How your eyes held all the stars within them. Making you look as though you were apart of the celestial beauty surrounding the pair of you.

The world felt quieter here, as if the battle and its scars had been left behind in the sands below.

He couldn't believe how close you were- so close that he could feel your warmth through the fabric of your military uniform. Every time you shifted slightly, every soft breath you took, his sensors registered the nearness of your presence. Making his spark pulse with something he hasn't felt in a long time.

It wasn't that he was oblivious to attraction, to intimacy- just look how you both were before. It's was more like Ratchet had simply... neglected it. It wasn't something he sought, not with the war stretching endlessly through his existence. There had been no room for softness, no time for indulgence. And yet, here, in the tranquility of this night, with you sitting so near, he felt something stir in him- something hesitant, uncertain, but undeniably pleasant.

"Y'know..." you spoke with a cheeky smile, "I think it's safe to say... that I've impressed my mentor enough for him to want me to stick around."

Your gaze meets his, the medic knew all too well what was hiding behind that cheeky grin he's grown to love. A small sigh escapes his vents, as a brief half-smile graces his faceplates. "Oh... you think so, do you?"

His servo twitched, unsure, before making the tentative decision to act. Slowly, cautiously, his large metal arm moved, wrapping gently around your waist. The motion was awkward, almost clumsy, as if he feared you might flinch or pull away.

"Just... have this feeling."

Ratchet couldn't help but smile, as you leaned into his touch, eyes flickering closed. Gently and very slowly, leaning his head down, and gently, tenderly, planting a kiss upon your forehead. "Of course you do."

His spark pulsed unevenly, his entire frame stiffening for a moment. He had only meant to hold you, to keep you near. But before he could process it, your lips met his in a kiss so soft, so tender, it sent a shock throughout his entire frame.

Ratchet froze. His spark flared, his systems momentarily glitching at the unexpected sensation. The kiss wasn't rushed, wasn't desperate- it was something else entirely.

Gentle. Exploring. A silent confession in itself.

Slowly closing his optics, returning your kiss, feeling the way your lips gently fit against his. Savoring the moment of the kiss, loving the feeling of the way his spark danced and pulsed, as your lips lovingly touched his own. Bringing his free servo up and cupping the back of your head, his digits gently trailing through your hair as he kissed you back in a tender motion.

As you break the kiss, his optics open again- meeting your gaze. A soft sigh escaped his vents as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer and allowing the Autobot to pull you onto his lap. Gently placing his servos upon your hips, his thumbs softly tracing circles against your skin.

"Y-You... never cease to surprise me." Ratchet lowly admitted, his voice quieter than usual.

Your smile grew wider, fingers brushing over his chassis with a feathered touch. "You act like you weren't thinking about it too."

His optics flickered. No... I can't deny it.

Warmth rose beneath his faceplates as you got comfy and straddled his lap. Feeling the weight of your body against his, his servos resting upon your hips, holding you in place. Ratchet silently glanced around for a moment, before shifting and settling more comfortably on the steps of the pyramid, keeping you cradled in his lap and against his chassis.

The comfortable silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken words and the weight of something neither had dared to name till now. The soft desert wind whispered over you, warm and gentle, carrying the scent of sand and stone, but Ratchet could only focus on you- the warmth of your body leaning against his chassis, the way your touch traced over his plating with delicate curiosity.

Ratchet swallowed down the unease stirring within his spark. Not because he didn't want this- Primus, he did- but he wasn't used to being touched like this. Softly, with no urgency, no desperation, just... care.

It was disarming in ways he hadn't expected.

His free servo twitched at your hip, hesitating before allowing himself to move again. Carefully, slowly, he lifted his servo, letting his digits brush against your back, feeling the delicate curve of your spine beneath the fabric of your military jacket. He expected you to stiffen, to second-guess this.

But you didn't. Instead, you kissed him again, closing your eyes.

His hold upon the back of your head slightly tightened, grabbing a soft fistful of your hair. His kiss in return becoming less hesitant, more certain, finding himself leaning into you without thought.

A low, rumbling sound vibrated deep within his engine, a noise of approval he didn't mean to make. But your body-language clearly took it as encouragement, feeling your hands explore his chassis.

Tacing his plating with a feathered touch, mapping out old battle scars and worn edges across his chassis. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever experienced- so different from the rough, hurried touches of battlefield repairs. This was slow, deliberate. Affectionate.

A shudder ran throughout his inner circuits, causing the tension within Ratchet's frame to unravel little by little. He had expected you to ignore his scars, or at the very least, overlook them- but he realized that you wasn't just touching them. Your feathered touch traced and lingered over each one, as if memorizing their stories.

His vents hitch as your fingers ghost over a particularly deep scar near his shoulder, one left by an energon blade long ago. The old wound had never fully faded, and yet, under your touch, it no longer felt like a mark of war, but something... else.

A low, pleasurable sigh escaped his lips, as your lips left his own and slowly trail pepper kisses along his cheek and down his neck. Ratchet slightly tilted his helm to the side, giving you easier access, as his free servo gently caress your hip.

Your lips followed the natural lines of his frame, brushing against the sensitive cables exposed just beneath the armor of his neck. A gasp escaped his lips before he could stop it, optics widening as your teeth grazed the delicate mechanisms, testing, exploring.

The sensation sent an electric pulse throughout his systems, shorting out coherent thoughts. Ratchet's spark throbbed as your teeth scraped along his cables, the press of your lips followed in a teasing contrast. You felt his digits twitch against your hip and the back of your head, hearing his vents hitching close to your ear.

Sw-Sweet Primus...

Ratchet's optics rolled shut, his spark sending mild volts throughout his inner circuits, as your moans whispered into his audios. His body slightly shuddering again, as you slowly grind against his lap. A strangled moan escapes his lips, as the Autobot felt his interface panel slightly buckle and growing tight.

Ratchet's vents hitched, his entire frame stiffening as the sensation lingered- warm, teasing, infuriatingly intimate. The delicate press of your teeth against his neck cables shouldn't have affected him like this. It shouldn't have sent a sharp, electrified pulse through his neural circuits, something that shouldn't of made his spark stutter with something dangerously close to arousal.

But it did.

Oh, Primus help him, it did.

His free servo slipped lower, automatically and instinctively gripping your behind in a soft, yet firm grasp. The way your hand trailed down the plates of his chassis had sent a voltage of familiar heat racing through his systems again, the feeling leaving the Autobot almost reeling with need. His grip upon your behind tightened, his digits gently grasping the soft flesh through your cargo trousers.

The sound of your soft moans in his audios sent a shiver down his struts and rippled through his systems. The sound of your pleasured voice was like music to his audios, Ratchet's optics flickered back online, feeling you break away from the pepper kisses along his neck. Only for his optics to widen, and his processor to short circuit, as you slowly removed your military jacket, exposing your black crop top. The fabric clinged to your breasts, the low neckline giving the medic a good view of your cleavage- leaving very little to the imagination.

Ratchet's vents stuttered, his systems cycling too fast, too erratically. He was a mech of control, of precision, of restraint. Yet here, under the moon's silver glow, with you pressed against him, Ratchet felt his carefully maintained discipline slipping away like sand through his digits. His servos molded to the curves of your body, memorizing the way you fitted against him- too perfectly.

Returning the favour of your pepper kisses, the medic's free servo slid towards the centre of your spine, as his mouth trailed along your neck and collarbone. Tasing the salt of your skin, his lips softly brushing over your cleavage and down towards the valley of your breasts. A soft gasp escaped you, his spark flared in response as you cradled his helm close.

She's... so warm. So soft.

Ratchet's lips lingered, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin, tracing every delicate dip and curve. His servo sliding along the small of your back, pulling you closer, guiding you without words- showing you what you did to him.

Then, he felt it- your hands moving lower.

His frame jerked slightly as your fingers traced the edges of his lower plating, hesitant but curious, exploring the seams of his buckling modesty plate. The medic's cooling fans whirred louder, the sensation igniting a fire within him that he thought had long been extinguished.

Letting out a strangled, strained groan as he felt your touch caress his modesty plate. Barely keeping his hips from unconsciously bucking up against you, silently begging for more friction. The way your body grind and moved against him, only heightened the begging need of release of pressure behind the buckling metal, as you struggled to open it.

"… wait, wait… let me… get it… I can-"

Gently moving your hand away, Ratchet breaks the kiss against your breasts, as he slowly reached down and beginning to undo the panel himself. Sensing you watch in silent anticipation, the Autobot couldn't help the deep and low shudder escaping his systems, as the cool air grazed over his now exposed, large, heated spike. Warmth rose beneath his faceplates, as your eyes slightly widened in surprise, gazing at his twitching member which leaked transfluid and lubricant.

"F-Fuck… Ratchet…" the words slipped out like a breathless whisper. Your heart slightly picking up it's pace, as your core tightened around nothing. Almost as if your body already knew that this mech was going to absolutely rail you.

Your shocked expression. The… pause within your actions. H-Has my studies of the human-mating ritual betrayed me? Do they… determine mate based on… Ratchet looked down at himself, size…? The heating beneath his faceplates raised a little more. Nervousness and worry slowly consumed his confidence. Despite adjusting his frame to a more… human-scale, surely at his… ahem, size, still remained impressive- he never had… complications before.

"W-What... What's wrong-?"

You gently place a finger over his lips, "nothing. I just didn't expect..." your words trailed into silence, only to be interrupted by Ratchet's moans as you caressed his spike. Teasingly running two fingers upon the underside of his shaft, "didn't... expect you to be this big."

Ratchet's optics rolled, F-Fuck! Th-This is a new... sensation. The heat beneath his faceplates begun to radiate off him, his optics darken, his frame tensing up in anticipation at the sight of you undressing.

The moment you straddle his hips, feeling his length tease the entrance to your soaked core, Ratchet couldn't help but let out a low, strained moan. His free servo moving from your back, and bracing himself against the stones of the Pyramid, while the other moved from your behind towards your hip.

The medic threw his helm back, optics widening at the starry sky, legs spreading to even out your weight upon his lap. Feeling your warm core slowly sink down his spike, clutching onto the stones beneath him with such force, cracks began to appear.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, moaning into his shoulder as the tip of his spike slowly stretched your walls. "R-Ratchet, I'm... t-too tight."

The sound of the stone cracking under his servo, gripping it in an failing effort to restrain himself only served to spur Ratchet on even more. His hips moving upon their own accord, subtly matching your gentle, grinding pace. Zaps of electricity crackled within his inner circuits, as you lightly bounced upon his lap. His ribbed spike pushing into your soaked core inch by glorious inch, the Autobot quickly removing his servo from the Pyramid steps, and covering your mouth. Muffing your moans, as the stretch within your core lingered between pleasure and pain.

"N-No... no such thing as... too... ahh!... tight..."

You clutched onto his shoulders, scratching the yellow paint, eyes rolling as you finally took in his entire length. The way his ribbed texture massaged your walls with each motion, only fueled the roaring ambers within your abdomen. How the tip of his spike rubbed against your cervix, making your core more wet, causing your essense to drip down his length.

Moving his servo away from your mouth, both servos now gripping onto your bare thighs, his strength definitely leaving bruises on your skin by this point. As your cargo trousers and undergrandments gathered around one of your ankles. Your breathing, rapid and heavy as the sleeves of your crop top slipped down your shoulders, the hem exposing more of your breasts, allowing them to bounce more into Ratchet's view.

Feeling your body arching against him, the way you subtly yet seductively bit your lower lip- attempting to hold back a moan, making Ratchet's engine purr with need.

Before his processor could even register the action, Ratchet dipped his helm, his mouth automatically latches onto your breast. The feeling of your soft flesh against his glossa. Your warmth, your voice, it was enough to draw a deep and guttural moaning, groan out of the medic. Feeling you cradle his helm, Ratchet begun to suck and lick your breast, his glossa swirling and rolling around in a slow, tantalizing motion as he does. All the while, his free servo moved from your thigh, caressing and fondling with your other exposed breast.

The sound of your soft muffled moans, spurred him on, making the Autobot wanting to hear more of your sweet and desperate sounds. Arching your back, as his glossa traced around your nipple, slowly- teasingly swirling and licking against the hardening bud.

"R-Ratchet! I-I'm-"

A-Again? How many times can she overload? Ratchet's hips don't stop their rythm, bucking and thrusting into your core. The pleasurable sensation of your essence dripping down his spike, made his circuits go haywire, every time the sound of a satisfying squelch reached his audios as he bottomed out.

"That's it, Sweet Spark." Ratchet softly praised into your ear, finally giving your breasts a break from his mouth, leaving them feeling even more tender due to the multiple lovebites. "Ride this spike."

You felt his hips quicken to an almost merciless pace, his servos returning to your hips, guiding you as you bounced upon his lap. The pleasure and heat between the two of you only growing intensity with every passing moment. Ratchet's breathing became ruggaged and sharp, as he continued to thrust into your core deeply, encouraging you to chase your high.

"Fuck... Fuck!-"

"Quiet, Sweet Spark." The medic hushed with a devilish smirk, knowing full well that with his spike softly hitting your cervix, as the ridges of his spike massaged your walls, he was asking for the impossible. With one final, hard and deep thrust, Ratchet rolled his glossa against your earlobe, his voice a low, ruggaged whisper with a guttural tone. "We don't... ah! Want the camp hearing-" Fucking Primus! She's overloading again!

The moment Ratchet felt you coming undone, hearing your soft, breathless moan blissfully whisper against his audios, as your body trembled and shook in pleasure. The medic couldn't hold himself back any longer, his hips didn't stop their merciless rhythm, bucking and thrusting into your core, as your essence dripped down his member. Causing his body to shudder in pure ecstasy, leaving him desperate need for more.

His servos tightened around your hips, almost bruising your skin. The Autobot's digits leaving small, red marks and indentations. Ratchet's entire frame trembled in pleasure, a low, hoarse, glutaral moan of pure satisfaction escapes him. Finally letting himself fully release into you, his hips spasming and bucking wildly as he does.

Slowly, reluctantly Ratchet's grip upon your hips loosened, now that his blissful, aching release has passed. Fully relaxing his spinal struct against the Pyramid's stone steps, his spark thumming within his chassis, it's pulsing beat now fully synced with your heart. While his fans whirled in an attempt to cool his overheating systems.

A happy sigh escaped you, as you collapsed against him. Burying your head within his shoulder, as the medic gently traced comforting circles against your back. Wrapping his strong arms around your frame in a gentle embrace- like you were the most delicate thing in all creation. His optics drinking in the sight of you, how your skin glistened from the heat you've just shared, the sound of your soft and shallow breath as it ghosted across his audios.

The small, involuntary shivers that ran throughout your limbs, told the medic that you were reeling- still suspended in the afterglow of pleasure you've created together.

And Ratchet was no different.

He couldn't remember the last time had felt so... alive.

His systems were still cycling down, spark pulsing warmly within it's chamber- each beat of energy echoing throughout his frame, and then... he felt it.

The faint, organic drum of your heartbeat zapped through his inner-circuits. Ratchet felt his spark flickering with lingering energy, pulsed back. Echoing your rhythm as if... acknowledging it. Welcoming it. Binding to it.

"Y-You've... made a mess out of me."

Your gentle voice snapped him out his daze, allowing a soft chuckle escape him. His optics slowly trailed down, gazing at your messy, thoroughly ravaged body. Your crop top and bra clinging to your half exposed breasts, your legs still trembling and twitching beneath his touch. As a sense of pride swelled within his chassis, witnessing yours and his essence slowly drip down your core and thighs.

"I-I... can clearly see that."

The medic's arms tightened just slightly around you, the realization hitting him like a wave of starlight. I-It happened. A... Sparkbond!

Not through ritual, not through ceremony- but through raw, undeniable connection. His spark had chosen you, reached through every boundary of species, biology and impossibly... bound himself to you. And the way you gazed up at him, told him in so many ways that you felt just as much so.

"Looks like, this medic is gonna be..." a flirtatious smile framed your lips, as your hand caressed Ratchet's chassis. "Occupied with his new assistant."

"Oh, is that so?" Ratchet's words came out in a low, chuckling purr, listening intensively. "In that case... I do hope this 'assistant' of mine is ready for some... late night overtime..."

Tag List

@junebugessentials @genarf @overlyexcitedoutlaw @glamrock-kitten

[crazyyluvr]

Could you do like a Jason Grace x gf!reader where the reader and him get into a small argument so they end up competing in opposite teams during capture the flag, to sort of avoid eachother, but the reader gets injured during the game and jason is super worried, and they make up afterwards? Gosh im sorry if this is too specific, I just thought I'd be cute haha

Stop Being Nice to Me, I'm Supposed to be Mad at You

pairing: jason grace x gf!reader

summary: in which Jason gets in an argument with you before a Capture the Flag game and you end up avoiding each other... until you get injured, and Jason couldn't let the previous argument stop him from checking up on you.

wc: 1.9k

content: argument, she/her pronouns, set in camp jupiter with some made up characters, jason and reader are in different cohorts for plot purposes, reader uses a spear, reader is a cohort leader

note: i’m so sorry that it took me so long to do this anon, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

short oneshot under the cut :: not proofread

"You —" Jason started, but stopped himself when he noticed that his tone was getting too aggressive. "You could have gotten worse injuries, both you and the newbie."

You sighed, rubbing your temples for the nth time that day. "I know, okay? I dealt with the situation before it could escalate."

You were on patrol with a fellow probatio cohort mate the night before, and an enormous warthog suddenly appeared, wanting to ram the entrance to camp.

You, of course, had to cover for your cohort mate's ass by pushing them out of the way to avoid the warthog's tusks. Your arm almost got skewered in the process, but the fight ended in your favor — a fight that consisted of you screaming bloody murder in the warthog's face and pushing the newbie out of the way constantly before they could get murdered by the large animal.

The only wound you got from that fight is a cut on your cheek. It wasn't that bad, but the fact that it was on your cheek (which is full of blood), it caused quite a red waterfall.

The cut was almost healed by now, the white patch of bandage on your cheek just a precaution to fight off infections. But of course, Jason took it upon himself as your boyfriend to worry excessively over your wellbeing.

Speaking of Jason, he wasn't satisfied with your previous answer. "Either way, you shouldn't have compromised your safety like that. You may have killed the monster before it could get worse, but that still doesn't change the fact that you could have died."

"But I didn't, because I dealt with it," you scoffed. One thing you hated was when people treated you as if you couldn't take care of yourself. You've been able to support yourself on your own for a good while before you discovered Camp Jupiter and got claimed by your godly parent.

You appreciated the blonde boy's concern, but that doesn't change the fact that he thought that you were reckless. I mean, yeah, you kind of were, but that's besides the point.

Jason opened his mouth to protest further, but a horn blaring in the distance interrupted him.

"Hey!" Someone called your name, and you were grateful to have an excuse to look away from Jason's intense blue stare. "We have to strategize for Capture the Flag. You're leading us, remember?"

You spared one last glance at Jason, whose expression was clear: we aren't done. You scoffed again, turning back to your cohort mate — Paul, you think his name was — who happened to be the probatio you were on guard with last night.

"Okay, I'll go with you," You responded, jogging away from Jason. You could feel the heat of his glare at the back of your head, but you couldn't bring yourself to care all that much. Capture the Flag was a fairly new game in camp, but that didn't stop it from rising in popularity from how you could be as violent as you want as long as you don't severely hurt anyone.

It was the perfect opportunity for you to let out some steam.

"Did I interrupt something?" Paul asked, worried that he had upset Jason, the son of Jupiter and one of the strongest demigods in camp.

You shook your head. "No, it's fine. Let's just get this show on the road, yeah?"

Paul nodded, the nervousness on his face fading but not entirely as you both jogged towards the assembly of cohorts in the hall.

Reyna, one of the camp's praetors, started the briefing. "Cohorts one and four will go against cohorts two, three, and five."

The people in your cohort — cohort four — groaned at the disadvantage they were given, making Reyna put her hand up to silence them. "We drew lots, so those who got the shorter stick have to utilize everyone they have to turn the odds towards them."

You cracked your knuckles, your fingers itching to get your hands dirty. Your trusty Imperial Gold spear was strapped onto your back, and you were impatiently waiting for the opportunity to bring it out.

Reyna went on with the usual warnings of no killing and maiming, which made you zone out. You felt eyes on the back of your head again, but you ignored them, knowing that it was Jason's doing. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact with him.

"Good luck, and let the games begin," Reyna concluded, making the people around you roar and bang their weapons together.

They all jogged out of the hall. The ten minutes of preparation had begun, and you along with James from the First Cohort led your big group into the building that was constructed the night before just for today's Capture the Flag.

"We're based here, while the other group is based in the forest," James said. "They outnumber us, but we have the higher ground."

"Three teams," you continued. "A group of three at most to get the flag, a big group to distract the other group on their home turf, and a small squad here to guard the flag."

"We're spreading ourselves pretty thin," James noted, sounding worried. "Are you sure about this?"

You nodded. You mulled this over in your head while Reyna was briefing them all on safety precautions a few minutes ago, and you're confident that this is a good strategy. "We put Halley and Taino as part of the people left behind here. You and me will infiltrate with one other person. The rest... cause some mayhem."

"Alright, you heard her! Let's go win this!" James roared, charging out of the building with you by his side, your other teammates' footsteps thundering behind you, cheering as they ran. You all moved as one big group, all of you trained to move coordinately and orderly even in something as messy as war.

Let the game begin, you grinned.

—————

Capture the Flag ended in your team's victory, thanks to you and the probie coming in clutch and swiping the flag while running away from Hannibal the war elephant.

However, one of the children of Vulcan had left an experimental trap that you unknowingly fell into, leading to your only major injury during that game.

Twelve pins sticking into your leg was not how you envisioned this game to end, but hey, at least you won, right?

Paul the probie was the one who escorted you to the infirmary. It seemed he was feeling guilty about your patrol shift the night before and how you kept having to cover his ass and wanted to return the favor somehow.

"I'm fine," you repeated yourself once again to the Apollo kid who looked at your leg in concern. Too much concern in your opinion. "It's just a few pins."

"That were basically shot into your leg," The Apollo kid retorted, shaking their head and sighing. "Those Vulcan kids got some nerve to put an unstable trap in a game. You could have gotten worse injuries if those pins landed anywhere else. If worse came to worse, you wouldn't be able to use your leg again if they hit the wrong spot."

You shrugged. "But they didn't, so let's just be grateful and get them out of my leg, yeah?"

The Apollo kid started the process, with you occasionally groaning in pain as they pulled pin after pin out of your thigh. After the fourth pin, the infirmary doors slammed open, revealing a winded blonde, purple camp shirt slightly tattered after the Capture the Flag game around half an hour ago.

"I — I heard what happened," Jason said, his voice breathy with exhaustion, like he ran all the way there. “Are you okay?”

You observed him blankly before turning your head away slightly to cut the eye contact with him. The annoyance you had felt towards him didn’t quite cool down yet. “I'm fine. Not like there’s needles in my leg or — anything.”

The last word came out strained as the Apollo kid pulled out two needles at the same time. Your body jolted unexpectedly at the sudden pain.

“Grace, keep your girlfriend still, will you?” The Apollo kid retorted, not even bothering to look up from their work to address the son of Jupiter properly. “She’s twitchy.”

Jason took a few more steps towards you, but he hesitated. He knew you were still angry at him, but he wanted to help you. He wanted to do anything to relieve you of the pain you were in right now, no matter how many times you'd say that you were "fine" or that the pain was "bearable."

Jason looked at you, silently asking you for your consent. You sighed, looking away again, but the expression on your face was calmer than how it was before. The blonde boy took it as a sign to continue, gently placing his hands on your shoulders.

Now that there was someone restraining you, the child of Apollo showed no mercy. They started pulling pins out consistently, going as fast and as careful as possible so you don’t bleed out.

“Oh shit,” you winced, a hand instinctively going up to clutch Jason’s wrist tightly as you tried to bear with the pain while making as little noise as possible.

Jason did his job well, keeping his hands firm to prevent you from flinching too hard. His own face was slightly contorted, like he felt your pain too.

Well, maybe he did. Spiritually…?

The last of the damned needles was dropped into the metal container with a clang. “Alright, now I can bandage.”

Even though it was no longer necessary, Jason didn’t let go of you. His hold on you became more gentle, but his hands remained on your shoulders, as yours remained wrapped loosely around his wrist.

Despite your (now lesser) anger towards him, you appreciated his presence. Him just being there was enough for your heartbeat to steady, your breaths to even. That was the kind of effect only he had on you.

“Done,” The Apollo kid exhaled, snipping the bandage. They stood, stretching. “I’m gonna leave you two here, but Grace, don’t let her leave. I’m not discharging her until later.”

Without another word, they slipped away, leaving you alone with Jason.

Jason finally let go of you and slowly sank into the chair beside you, studying you with attentive and concerned eyes. You found yourself missing the warmth from his palms. “How are you feeling?”

You shrugged. “Fine. The pain is bearable.”

Jason nodded. He fidgeted with his golden coin, sliding it along his fingers.

When he finally gathered the courage to say what he wanted to say, he looked up at you and held your gaze. “I want to apologize for my behavior earlier today. I don’t doubt your ability to protect yourself, but I just… worry about you.”

You exhaled, smiling slightly at him. The warmth reached your eyes. “I appreciate the concern, and don’t worry about it. I’m just petty sometimes that I hold grudges against the most worthless things.”

“But I love you anyway,” Jason chuckled, genuine love dilating his pupils and stretching his lips to a grin.

You laughed, looking at him softly. Your thigh was throbbing, your head felt funny from a small headache, but your heart soared because of the blonde boy you grew to care for more than you cared for anything and anyone else. “And I love you for loving me anyway.”

[malicedragoness]

Kinktober Day 3 - Monster AU

Characters: Naga!Havik x GN Reader

Word count: 702

Synopsis: It’s been weeks since your destroyed ship washed up on unknown land. And a naga with a mangled face seems to have taken a liking to you.

Notes: I wrote this with Havik’s black and red hair (Scabbed Over) in mind. I’m not entirely happy with the end product, but I think it’s because I want to world build more with it. But if I did that, then I would just put it off until it’s like 15k words. Maybe I’ll revisit this idea and expand on it in the future. NOT BETA READ, WE DIE LIKE MEN!

Warnings: Monster rutting

Kinktober tag list: @bihanspookies

Warmth surrounds you as you gently stir awake. Your eyes crack open to catch your new lover resting against your chest, an unbidden smile tugging on your lips.

Havik’s ruined face looks more gentle, more calm when he sleeps. The fierce demeanor gone and replaced by a peaceful expression.

He loves to keep you wrapped up in his tail at night. His tail always seemed endless. Coils of shimmering onyx scales, speckled with muted reds and whites, feel silky smooth against your naked skin. Strong as steel, yet they carefully wrap around you, emanating a pleasant heat.

And his thick cock is buried deep inside you, refusing to part from the warm, safe haven your body provided.

Your walls clench around him for a brief moment, earning a low groan from the sleeping creature on top of you.

It’s been weeks since your ship was wrecked by a terrible storm at sea. Deadly waves and a raging tempest had reduced the great ship to timbers, taking many lives of the passengers on board.

You woke up shivering. Drenched in sea water and a face full of wet sand, you cursed the cruel sea for abandoning you in such a strange place. Bodies and pieces of the ship littered the dreary beach. The few survivors decided to take their chances braving the new landscape.

And not even an hour into your trek, you were being chased by a warthog. The rest of your group had dispersed and left you to your fate. Your heart hammering in your chest as the sound of hooves got closer.

Until Havik showed up.

The naga had fallen from the trees, coiling his tail around the vicious beast. His massive hands ripping the jaw off the warthog, squealing in pain. Piece by piece, he clawed it apart until he was covered in blood and viscera.

His haunting gaze turned to you, sniffing the air, “Mate.”

He took you and the carcass of the warthog back to his nest, offering you pieces of raw meat from his kill.

Over time, Havik learned how to care for you. Crafting a spit roast to cook the meat for you, bringing you fresh water from a spring, berries and fruits that were safe to eat. And he offered you the furs of creatures he’s slain to keep you warm.

It seemed like such a long time ago when his feral visage frightened you. Scars decorated his body, some deeper than others. Half of his face was burned away, revealing a sharp set of fangs. Slitted topaz eyes studying your every move.

And now that same creature is curled atop of you, basking in the warmth of your smooth skin.

You smile and clench your walls again, wanting to rouse him from sleep. His muscular abdomen gives an unbidden jerk, sliding further into you.

Slowly, the coils of his tail come alive, slithering around you like never ending waves. A low hiss could be heard as Havik raises his head, trailing the ruined cartilage of his nose up your throat.

“Mate,” his voice low and gravelly in your ear. He teases your neck with the tip of his forked tongue.

“Havik,” you murmur affectionately. A soft sigh leaving your lips as he rocks his hips forward.

Clawed hands caress your body, worshipping every dip and groove, causing shivers down your spine. His cock throbbed within you, rubbing the walls of your tight channel with every thrust.

Onyx tail props you up higher, the end of it curling around your wrists and pulling them behind your head, leaving you at his mercy.

Growls and hisses rumble in his throat.

“My mate,” his hot breath fanning your neck, his hips thrusting into you a little faster. “All mine. No one else can have you.”

“I’m yours, Havik.” Your whimpers spur him on, feeding the possessiveness inside him.

His massive hands envelope your ankles and place them on his shoulders. His hulking figure looms over you, bending your legs to your chest. Drool and venom drip from his fangs, landing on your collarbone as he ruts into you.

“I’m gonna empty every drop of my spill inside you. Until you’re filled to the brim with me.”

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 11

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Comet, Sinker, Boost, Warthog, Plo Koon

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.3k

Author's Note: PLEASE READ! I have made the decision to change this series from a reader fic to an OC fic. I've spent a lot of time thinking about this and it's not something I decided on overnight. I don't believe I can do the narrative justice by staying in the constraints of a reader fic, and my first duty is always to the narrative. I'm sorry if this upsets anyone, but trust me, having to go back and re-write everything into third-person past-tense was not on my to-do list. I realize I do not have an OC option on my taglist sign up form. This has been fixed. If you would no longer like to be tagged in this series, please let me know. All of the parts will be updated along with the corrected tags before the next part is posted in two weeks. I apologize for the inconvenience. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @beating-a-dead-plot

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After the long trek up the Jedi Temple steps, Wolffe placed Cara down onto the ground and let her walk beside him, but he securely held her hand. The Temple still made him feel uneasy, but with a little gentle prodding from Plo, and after passing by several clone troopers, he decided to release Cara's hand and let her walk on her own. He kept one eye on where he was going and the other on her to make sure she didn't wander off on him. She had always been a curious child.

As Plo guided the group through the Temple halls to their new quarters he told Cara a little story that made her giggle and laugh. It warmed Wolffe's heart to hear her laugh and he soaked up as much of it as he could. She had been through so much already, and the funeral was going to ruin any chance of him hearing her laugh in the near future. It wasn't like he laughed much either. His wife was the one who laughed the most, but it was contagious and he always caught it from her.

Along their journey, Wolffe had to stop Cara from touching things that didn't belong to her. She wanted to touch everything within reach and most of it belonged to the Jedi or someone else. The rest of the Wolfpack found it amusing and snickered every time Wolffe veered off from the group to grab his wandering child. He'd never been on babysitting duty before, but his wife made it look easy when they went out together so he thought it wouldn't be an issue for him. He was dead wrong.

"Cara," Wolffe sighed as he sprinted over to her once again. This time it was a cube-shaped shiny-looking object sitting on a table. "If you don't stop walking away from me, I'm gonna have to carry you."

"Look! It's pretty," Cara said as she picked up the cube and admired it.

"It's not yours," Wolffe said. He took the cube from her and placed it back down where she found it.

Cara pouted, turned away from Wolffe, and crossed her arms. "But it was pretty…"

Wolffe's eyes softened and he crouched down to her level. "I know, but just because something is pretty doesn't mean you can take it. That's called stealing."

Cara turned back to face Wolffe, still pouting. "Is stealing bad?"

"Yes, it is," Wolffe said. "The Coruscant Guard can put you in jail for that."

"I don't want to go to jail!" Cara gasped and put her hands behind her back. "I don't like Fox."

Wolffe tried to hide a snort, but failed miserably. "Don't worry, baby, you won't. As long as you stop touching things that don't belong to you."

"Okay," Cara said. She reached her arms up for Wolffe to pick her up and he obliged.

Wolffe fell back into step with the rest of the group as Plo continued to direct them through the Temple. With so many twists, turns, and hallways it wouldn't be easy for Cara to leave the temple, even by accident, which was one of Wolffe's major concerns about getting deployed. Actually, he had a whole list of concerns, but he could only focus on one at a time. He never used to be such a worrier, not with his wife around, but now, so many things could go wrong if he wasn't there with her.

"We have arrived," Plo said as he stopped and turned to face a plain door in the hallway.

Wolffe was pulled away from his thoughts when he heard his general's voice and realized that he'd been walking on autopilot for the last stretch of the journey. He'd have to access the Temple maps later to make sure he knew where all of the entrance and exit routes to and from the room were. He'd memorize the entire Temple layout if he had to. He refused to leave any of this up to chance. There was too much at stake. He couldn't stay focused on a mission if he was thinking about Cara's welfare.

Wolffe placed Cara down and took a hold of her hand. This was new for the both of them, but they'd do it together, even if it was scary. Plo opened the door and Wolffe did an immediate visual scan for threats and initial observations. It was spacious compared to any living quarters the GAR had ever given him, but it looked rather restricting for Cara, who had lived her whole life in a multi-room apartment. It was a simple layout with a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, a window, and, thankfully, no enemies.

Cara grabbed Wolffe's leg and stepped behind him to hide. He could tell she was nervous, but so was he.

"Daddy," her voice trembled. "I want to go home."

Wolffe twisted his neck around to look down at her and sighed. He gave her an encouraging pat on the back and walked forward into the room with her following behind. "This…" he began, but hesitated. "This is home now." The words tasted bitter even for him, but if he was going to convince Cara, he needed to convince himself first. It definitely wasn't home. Not by a longshot. Home was their apartment. Home was pretty curtains and smelly flowers. Home was a warm meal. Home was his wife.

"Out of the way!" Sinker shouted as he barreled past Wolffe and Cara. "Man with a box coming through!"

Cara giggled and Wolffe shook his head as the rest of the Wolfpack filed into the small room.

Boost plopped down onto the bed and bounced on it with exaggerated motions. "This bed is super soft. Softer than any bed I've ever slept on. You should feel it!"

Cara let go of Wolffe's leg and ran over to the bed to try it out for herself.

"Look at this!" Warthog exclaimed over his shoulder. "There's a window too. You can see all of Coruscant from up here!"

Cara hopped off of the bed and ran over to look out the window. She was just a tad bit too short, so Warthog picked her up so she could see.

Comet walked into the room last and pulled open the doors of the wardrobe. "Wow," he said with a big smile. "Lots of space in here, too. You're really staying in luxury, ad'ika."

Wolffe crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, shaking his head as a small smile crept onto his face. What was once a terrifying situation was now an exciting adventure thanks to the Wolfpack. They knew he was scared just as much as Cara was, even if he'd never admit it, and their exaggerated display had not only eased her fears, but some of his own as well. She was smiling, giggling, laughing, exploring, and seemed fine right now. They saw her fear and shot it point blank like the good soldiers they were.

"Commander," Plo said, interrupting Wolffe's thoughts. "If you will excuse me, I have a briefing to attend."

Wolffe's small smile turned into a grimace. "Understood," he said. "I'll grab my kit."

"No need," Plo dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I will take the sergeant with me. You are much more needed here."

Wolffe looked at Sinker, who nodded in agreement. "I'll report back when the briefing is over."

"And I will meet you all on the terrace in a couple hours," Plo said, a sadness invading his voice.

Wolffe nodded in response and watched as the two left. He worried his lip and wondered what the briefing was about. Normally a briefing meant they were about to deploy, but he hoped that this time it was the slim case where it wasn't a deployment order, because the thought of leaving Cara so soon burned a hole straight through his gut. They still had the funeral to deal with, and he couldn't abandon her after that. It would make him a deplorable father and human being, but a very good soldier.

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AO3

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[dialoguestetatet]

Hwangyeon Choi x fem!reader

Fluff, OOC, I got carried away a little in the end, oops. I realized that I was starting to like him a little bit too much

The idiot in love pt.2 (pt.1 is here)

masterlist

For anyone who forgot, Hwangyeon Choi was a very confident person. Therefore, he sat absolutely calmly at a cafe table and waited for your arrival, his leg didn't even twitch from tension, and he didn't tap his fingers on the countertop to the rhythm of the Baby Shark melody. Where did he even hear that tune?

Hwangyeon was cool. Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool. He wasn't nervous at all. He was serene as the Buddha. There were definitely no butterflies tap dancing in his stomach. What could have gone wrong? Well, anything, because as it turned out, the universe had some personal scores with him and tried to make him look like an absolute fool. Hwan sat and mentally went over the worst-case scenarios for a date: from the fact that he would turn a cup of coffee over on you, to the fact that an escaped lion from a passing traveling circus would attack the cafe on that day and at that time, and you would have to run to the roof of the tallest building. Oh, wait, no, it wasn't like a lion, but a gorilla. Or an orangutan? There's no difference, but didn't the lion escape and make friends with a wild boar and a jerboa? Or was it a meerkat and a warthog? And what did a lion and monkeys have to do with it? Why was he sitting here at all and shaking his leg so that the table wobbled like in an earthquake? Where was he? Who was he? Baby Shark?

"Hey, Hwangyeon! Have you been waiting long? Sorry I'm late", you walked up to the table and waved at him.

He jumped up so abruptly that his knee hit the table. It was painful, but definitely worth it to see you in all your glory. Your face seemed to glow under the rays of the sun, your eyes sparkled with joy, and your lips broke into the most tender smile that has ever been addressed to him. But suddenly your face was filled with concern. "Are you okay? Does it hurt much?"

"What?" What are you talking about? Did you really feel how much his heart fluttered? Was it pounding that loud?

"Your knee", you put your hand on his shoulder and squeezed a little.

Which knee? He didn't have knees, if you keep touching him, he'll have a heart attack, you'll have to call an ambulance, then the date will definitely be ruined. He needed to pull himself together urgently. Oh God, your hand was still on his shoulder, did you want to take him to his grave before he's thirty?

"No, no, it's alright!" He jerked to the side and you took your hand away. Oh no, bring it back, why did he need shoulders at all if your hand wasn't going to be on them? "By the way, you look really pretty".

"Oh, thank you, Hwan, you look great yourself". No, he didn't blush, he was as tough as a tin soldier. Didn't he burn down in the end of the story? What did it matter? You called him Hwan, he'll need to come up with beautiful names for your future daughter.

"Th- thank you", DID HE STUTTER? This shame can only be washed away with his blood. While you were sitting down at the table, Hwangyeon was thinking about how painful it is to commit seppuku and why masochism has always been in fashion.

"I hope you don't mind that I've already ordered?" It wasn't for nothing that he's been scouring your entire Instagram in search of what you liked.

You smiled at him, "Not at all, you guessed my favorite. And I really like this cafe, it's amazing that you suggested going here". God, stop smiling, or he'll have to lean across the table and kiss you. It's a well-known fact that if a person you're madly in love with was sitting in front of you and smiling at you, then you have to kiss them, even if you're on a first date. He didn't make up the rules.

So far, the dialogue has progressed quite productively, Hwan has already learned more about what you do, a little about your hobby (he'll have to google more to be able to support you in this), and about your favorite book (he'll also need to read it, so it'll take some time before he can insert any phrase from it into your conversation).

"You do cycling, don't you?", your question caught him off guard, because he was thinking about whether it was possible to gently take your hand. Wasn't your hand just lying next to the cup? Most likely, your hand was very lonely and cold, so he'll be happy to warm you. Now, what was the question again?

"Oh, yeah, I've been doing this since I was a kid. I love this feeling when you ride a bike, and there's only wind around, the world seems to freeze. I'm pretty good at it and quite popular among cyclists", surely he couldn't miss the chance to brag in front of you.

"I really want to see it sometime", you ran your fingers over the cup.

"Of course, come to the competition, and witness my victory," Hwangyeon gently ran the pads of his fingers over your knuckles. You laughed and moved your hand a little closer to him. "Huh, you're a confident man, I like that." He carefully wrapped his much larger hand around yours, and your palm fitted his perfectly. He stroked your knuckles with his thumb. Suddenly, you intertwined your fingers with his and looked shyly from under your eyelashes. Hwan smiled and continued to massage the point between your thumb and forefinger.

You walked out of the cafe holding hands. While you were ranting about your favorite show, Hwangyeon was considering the possibility of getting slapped in the face and being known as the guy who can't keep his hands to himself if he kissed you. There were two options, the first one was to kiss you, get slapped in the face and watch you run away with the words "you're acting too fast, did you think I was a girl of easy virtue?", and the second one was not to kiss you and regret it until the next date. What if you don't want another date? It was going pretty well, wasn't it? You were smiling, laughing, chatting, holding hands. Your hand is so small, so thin, your skin is so delicate compared to his. He was wondering what ring size you have. This was a first date, calm down, people usually waited a few years after they officially became a couple. What if you don't want to date him? Maybe he should dig a grave right in that vacant lot that he often drove past as a child? He'll simply wait in a hole to die like a giraffe. Why did he have only animals on his mind all day?

"Hwan," you said his name softly. You've already stopped by your house, facing each other. He looked into your eyes and realized that he shouldn't have overthought it. You were standing there beaming with joy, and your lips were so kissable, so it was impossible not to do it. Gently running his hand over your cheek, he touched your lip with his thumb. "May I?" Hwan whispered, leaning closer to your face. "Yes," you breathed into his lips. Fireworks exploded in front of his eyelids from the first touch of your lips. As soft as he thought. As gentle as he imagined. As sweet as he dreamed. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he pulled you even closer, hugging you around the waist. At first, a timid and tender kiss quickly turned into a passionate one. You ran your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck while he greedily stole your breath. A shiver ran down his spine as you moaned softly against his lips. Hwangyeon bit your lower lip and pulled it with his teeth. You whimpered and trembled in his arms as he parted your lips and slipped his tongue into your mouth. He was crazy about the way you clung to him, scratched his neck with your nails, sucked on his tongue. He stroked your waist, put his hands on your hips, but quickly returned his hands back, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to deny himself the pleasure of thrusting his thigh between your legs and, clasping your hips, pressing you against him. With great difficulty, he pulled away from your lips. You mewled in protest and reached back. Seeing the blush on your face, half-closed eyes and bitten lips, Hwan began to erratically leave kisses on your nose, cheeks, chin, moving to your neck, unable to resist running his tongue over the beating vein and biting the thin skin with his teeth. "Hwan, please", his legs almost buckled from your pleading moan, he couldn't stop himself and led a trail of kisses to the place between your neck and ear, sucking the skin there in the mark of possession. Breathing heavily, you looked into each other's eyes.

"You're alright, princess?" Hwangyeon chuckled, seeing how disheveled you are.

"More than that, actually," you lovingly stroked his goatee.

"So you don't mind repeating it again?" Please say yes, otherwise he'll cry right here. He won't even be embarrassed by it.

"A kiss?" You're holding your breath.

"A date," Hwan rubbed his nose against your cheek, "and a kiss, a lot of kissing, actually."

"So, just dates and kisses then?" You pouted a little.

"To tell you the truth, I would die happy if you let me be your boyfriend." God, give him the strength to hold on a little longer and not to start making out with you right then and there.

"Oh no, I need my boyfriend alive, so try to survive." Was that a yes? It wasn't a hallucination, right? Hwan's not going to wake up from a coma right now, there's a zombie apocalypse around, and his best friend took his wife away?

"Then I need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation at regular intervals". You giggled and pulled him by the neck, kissing his lips again.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Commander Wolffe x “Village Crazy” Reader

⸻

The mission was simple: a supply drop to a small village that had been hit hard by the Separatists a few weeks ago. The 104th were tasked with delivering medicine, food, and supplies, and Master Plo had insisted on accompanying them—his calm presence often a welcome relief in tense situations. It was a peaceful village now, recovering from the wreckage, though it had its oddities.

And one of those oddities stood waiting on the village outskirts as the shuttle carrying the 104th came in to land.

You were a local, though you didn’t seem to fit the mold of the average villager. You were known as the “village crazy,” a title you wore with pride. You were eccentric, a little wild, and, to put it bluntly, you were unlike anyone the soldiers had ever met. You spent most of your days wandering the village, dancing on the shoreline, speaking in riddles, and telling stories—stories that were elaborate, nonsensical, and always different from the last. You had a gift for spinning tales that no one could follow, and you never told the same story twice. There was always something new, something unexpected, and most importantly, you never left anyone with the same sense of reality.

The shuttle doors opened, and Commander Wolffe was the first to step off, his helmet glinting in the sunlight. He scanned the area, taking in the sight of the quiet village, a few villagers waving at him and his men. The 104th were used to these kinds of missions—helping out the people who needed it, always the soldier’s duty.

But the moment his eyes landed on you, standing in the middle of the village with your arms raised to the sky, spinning in slow circles, he stopped.

“Well, this is going to be… interesting,” Warthog muttered from behind him, a grin creeping up on his face as he watched you twirl, completely oblivious to the soldiers’ presence.

“You sure she’s not a droid in disguise?” Boost asked, his brow raised as he adjusted his rifle.

Wolffe only sighed. “She’s definitely not a droid.”

At that moment, you caught sight of Master Plo, and your face lit up with an expression of delight. You skipped over to him, arms wide, your bare feet brushing the ground as you moved with a fluid grace that felt otherworldly. “Master Plo! The sky told me you would be here today! The wind, the ocean—it all speaks when it’s time.”

Master Plo gave you a serene smile, ever the diplomat. “I’m glad to see you, [Y/N]. What news do the stars share with you today?”

“The stars are confused,” you replied cryptically, your voice playful yet serious. “They’ve lost their way, Master Jedi. The moons are turning, but the tides are still.”

Wolffe, standing a few paces back, exchanged a glance with Warthog. His brow furrowed, and he couldn’t suppress a mutter under his breath. “This is going to be a long mission.”

You, however, took no notice of his cynicism. You had already moved to the next subject, dancing in circles as you spoke. “I once saw a giant fish the size of a mountain! It came out of the sea and roared at the sun! It was blue, but it wore a cape made of clouds—like a king of the waves!”

Wooly snorted. “Yeah, right,” he muttered, shaking his head. “A fish that wears a cape?”

“I’m telling you, Wooly,” you replied with a wink, “I’m never wrong. You’ve just never looked at the ocean the way I do.”

“And how’s that?” Boost asked, raising an eyebrow.

With a sly smile, you leaned in closer to him, speaking in a lowered voice. “With the eyes of a mermaid, of course. You can see everything—beneath the waves, beneath the stories, beneath the stars. You just have to listen.”

Wolffe, arms crossed, watched the exchange with growing confusion. “Right,” he muttered, glancing over to Master Plo. “Is she always like this?”

Plo chuckled softly, his calm demeanor unwavering. “Yes, but there’s wisdom in her madness. [Y/N] sees the world in a way that few of us can. Sometimes, we just have to let the river flow.”

“River…?” Wolffe raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. He’d seen his fair share of strange characters, but none quite like this one. You were certainly different.

Master Plo turned back to you with a smile. “And how have you been, [Y/N]? The village looks well, I see.”

You spun once more, eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and mystery. “I’m good! But… oh, the tide’s about to turn again, Master Jedi. I can feel it! I can hear the whales calling from the mountains, and the ground feels restless. Something’s stirring.” You leaned in toward him conspiratorially, whispering as though sharing a great secret, “The sky’s eyes are looking this way, and I think… I think it’s about time for a visit from the stars.”

Wolffe watched, unimpressed but intrigued nonetheless. “Great, more riddles.” He muttered under his breath, but Plo only chuckled.

“There’s more to her words than you think, Commander,” Plo said gently. “She is… connected to the Force in ways that don’t always make sense to us.”

You, still twirling, suddenly stopped and looked directly at Wolffe, catching him off guard. “The moon is rising, Commander. The shadows are long, and the stories are ready to be told. But be careful—there are wolves in the woods that sing songs of fire.”

Wolffe raised an eyebrow. “Wolves in the woods?”

You nodded, as though everything you said made perfect sense. “The kind that howl with the wind. But no need to worry; they only come when the stars fall.”

He gave you a half-hearted smile, his skepticism never wavering. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You grinned widely. “Good, Commander. You must always listen to the stars and the wolves. They know things we cannot.”

As the day wore on, Wolffe, Boost, Warthog, and Wooly found themselves working alongside the villagers, setting up the relief supplies and ensuring that everything was distributed properly. You flitted around the camp, speaking to anyone who would listen with your wild stories and cryptic observations.

At one point, you approached Wolffe again, who was overseeing the unloading of medical supplies.

“You’re not going to find what you’re looking for in the boxes, Commander,” you said, giving him a pointed look.

He glanced at the crates and then back at you, a little bemused. “And what exactly am I looking for, [Y/N]?”

“The truth,” you answered with a knowing smile, your voice soft and almost tender. “But it’s hiding behind the moon. It always is.”

Wolffe blinked, processing the strange words. For a moment, he wanted to laugh it off, to brush you aside as just another eccentric villager. But something in the way you spoke—so sure, so confident in your own world—made him pause.

Maybe, just maybe, there was more to you than the others saw. And maybe, just maybe, your wild stories held a grain of truth.

⸻

The days passed in a haze of strange encounters and stories as the 104th continued their relief mission in the village. Commander Wolffe found himself oddly drawn to the “village crazy,” as she was affectionately known. You were an enigma—one moment spinning wild tales about stars, the next, dancing barefoot along the shore or chatting to animals as though they were old friends. It was baffling, and Wolffe couldn’t help but find a strange charm in your unpredictability.

He would catch glimpses of you wandering around the camp, your eyes gleaming with excitement as you spoke to the sky, or weaving through the villagers as though you were part of something larger than what any of them could comprehend. There was an air of serenity about you, a sense of knowing that Wolffe couldn’t quite place. You were unpredictable, yes, but there was a peacefulness in your madness that was strangely… grounding.

The oddest part? Master Plo seemed to have no issue with it. He’d often smile as he watched you interact with the world around you, a knowing look in his eyes.

“I think, Commander,” Master Plo had said one evening as they watched you from a distance, “there is wisdom in her madness. She sees the world through a different lens, but that lens allows her to glimpse truths we might miss.”

Wolffe gave him a skeptical look. “She’s a little… strange.”

Master Plo chuckled softly. “We all are in our own way, Commander. Sometimes, it’s not the surface that matters, but what lies beneath. [Y/N] may have more to offer than she lets on.”

Wolffe didn’t respond, instead just watching you as you twirled across the village square, talking animatedly to an empty chair as though it was a long-lost friend. He couldn’t deny that there was something captivating about you—something that made him want to learn more, despite himself.

Meanwhile, the rest of the 104th had their own thoughts on the matter. Sinker and Boost in particular weren’t quite as enchanted by your eccentricities. They had grown used to following orders, taking things seriously. And the constant stream of bizarre stories you told and your odd behavior didn’t sit well with them.

“You know, I’m starting to think we’re all in the middle of some bizarre dream,” Sinker grumbled as he leaned against a crate, watching you dance in the distance. “She’s like a walking, talking riddle.”

“She’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside a headache,” Boost added with a smirk, crossing his arms as he watched you spin around.

You had been telling tales about the stars and the oceans again when they spotted you—this time, however, you weren’t just dancing by the shore. You were out in the water, waist-deep, moving gracefully around a strange creature—a sort of aquatic alien, with shimmering scales and bioluminescent markings that flickered like the stars themselves. It was an oddity they had never seen before.

“What in the galaxy is that?” Sinker asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

“It looks like some kind of alien fish… thing,” Boost said with a chuckle. “That’s one way to make a splash.”

You didn’t seem to care that they were watching. You danced with the creature, laughing and singing softly to it in a language none of them recognized. Your voice blended with the sound of the waves as you seemed to communicate with the animal, a soft bond of mutual understanding between you and the strange creature.

Wolffe had joined the two clones at the edge of the village, having finished his patrol. He looked over at the scene in the distance, his brow furrowing slightly as he saw you in the water, laughing with the alien. His first instinct was to protect you, but the sight was strangely calming. You were unbothered by their stares, completely immersed in the moment.

“She’s definitely got some screws loose,” Sinker muttered under his breath, watching you from a distance.

Boost snorted. “I don’t know, Sinker. Maybe she’s onto something. Who else do we know who can communicate with random sea creatures?”

“She’s not communicating with it, Boost,” Wolffe said, his voice surprisingly soft. “It’s… just a connection. You can’t understand it unless you’ve seen it for yourself.”

Sinker and Boost exchanged looks before Sinker laughed. “You’re starting to sound like her, Wolffe. Watch out, you might start dancing with fish too.”

Wolffe didn’t respond. He just watched you, a flicker of something uncertain passing through his mind. He was… intrigued. Fascinated, even. The way you seemed to fit into the world so effortlessly, the way you didn’t care what anyone thought. It was a sharp contrast to the rigid, regimented life of a clone trooper.

⸻

The relief mission was drawing to a close, and the 104th were preparing to leave. The shuttle would be ready for takeoff within the hour. Supplies had been delivered, the villagers were starting to rebuild, and the atmosphere of quiet recovery settled over the village. It was a peaceful ending to a mission that had, in its own strange way, been one of the more memorable ones.

The 104th had gathered near the shuttle, preparing to board, when Wolffe found himself standing a little further back from the others. His helmet was tucked under his arm, and he was quietly observing the bustling village one last time. His thoughts, however, were far from the mission. His mind kept wandering back to you—the village “crazy.” You were unlike anyone he had ever met, and even now, as he watched the villagers wave goodbye to the clones, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you had somehow made your way into his thoughts.

You weren’t far off. As always, you had a way of slipping into the edges of their world without anyone noticing—until it was too late.

Wolffe’s eyes caught sight of you as you wandered over to him, your bare feet making no sound against the dirt path. You were humming a tune that didn’t seem to belong to any world the clones knew, a soft, almost haunting melody that drifted in the warm air.

“Commander Wolffe!” you called out, your voice light and filled with the same mystery that seemed to surround you. “I have something for you.”

He turned to face you, raising an eyebrow as you approached. “Something for me?” he asked, his tone flat, though his interest was piqued. “What’s that?”

You stopped just in front of him, your eyes sparkling with mischief, and held out your hand. In it was a small, smooth rock—nothing extraordinary, but there was something special about the way you presented it. It glinted in the sun, and the edges were rounded, worn down by time, smooth like a river stone.

“This is a gift from the stars,” you said cryptically, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “You’ll need it where you’re going. It will remind you to listen to the waves, the winds, the stars… and to yourself.”

Wolffe hesitated for a moment, eyeing the rock in your hand. “I don’t need reminders, [Y/N],” he said, though his voice softened at the end. “I’m not the kind of man who needs… stars.”

You smiled wider, a knowing look in your eyes. “That’s why you’ll need it,” you replied with a wink. “When the time comes, you’ll hear them. I promise.”

For a long moment, Wolffe simply stared at you, unsure of how to respond. Your words, as always, felt like a riddle wrapped in a mystery, but there was a sincerity to them that made him want to believe you. He could hear the faint whisper of the wind through the trees, the faint sound of the ocean nearby. Maybe… just maybe, there was truth to what you were saying. And maybe, you were right.

“Alright,” he muttered after a moment, taking the rock from your hand. “I’ll keep it. But don’t expect me to start listening to the waves.”

You smiled brightly, as if you’d won a great victory. “It’s not the waves you need to listen to, Commander,” you said softly. “It’s the silence between them.”

There was a brief silence between you two, neither of you moving. Wolffe felt something shift in the air—a quiet, inexplicable connection that, despite his reservations, had grown over the past few days. You had a way of making him feel… less like a soldier and more like a man, someone capable of hearing the things he normally ignored. Even if it didn’t make sense, it didn’t feel wrong.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of Warthog shouting from the shuttle, his voice carrying over the wind. “Commander! Get over here! We’re ready to leave!”

Wolffe’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t immediately turn away. Instead, he glanced back at you. Your eyes were filled with that quiet understanding again—like you could see right through him.

“Well, I guess this is it,” you said softly, spinning the rock in your fingers like a talisman. “Don’t forget to listen.”

“I won’t forget,” Wolffe said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “But I might not listen, either.”

You chuckled, a sound that seemed to carry across the entire village. “You never know when the stars will choose to speak to you, Commander.”

With that, you stepped back, giving him space to go. But just before he turned away, you added one final word. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to listen.”

Wolffe stood there for a moment, staring at you with a mixture of confusion and something else—something he couldn’t quite name. You were so strange, so utterly different from anyone he had ever met. And yet… there was something comforting in your oddity. Something that made him feel less alone in a world that often felt too rigid, too predictable.

He finally gave you a small nod, almost imperceptible. “Take care of yourself, [Y/N].”

And then, with a final glance over his shoulder, Wolffe walked toward the shuttle, leaving you standing there at the edge of the village, your figure bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun.

⸻

As the shuttle lifted off, Wolffe leaned against the side of the ship, looking down at the small rock in his hand. He had no idea what it would mean, or why it felt like the weight of the universe was pressing against it. But somehow, he didn’t mind. There was something about that village, something about you, that had made him believe—if only for a moment—that there was more to life than just the orders he followed.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what the stars were trying to tell him.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Poets and Painters Masterlist

In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over…

RATING: Mature | STATUS: Complete | POV: 2nd Person | GN Reader

☀️Early Morning

🌤️Midday

⛅Late Afternoon

🌓Evening

🌕Deep Night

🌄Golden Dawn Part 1

🌄Golden Dawn Part 2

Started 9/15/23 | Finished 2/29/24 | Total word count: 43,005

[FFF Masterlist] [TCW Masterlist]

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (8/?) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: You've got work to do. John worries. Things get a little more intense. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 1,945 (this chapter, 19,693 total so far) Spoilers/warnings: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Halo season 2 has finally arrived! However, this fic continues to zip along in the AU Party Warthog, so, while we began with season 1 way back when (and you'll see a few more things from s1 along the way 😉), we'll not be venturing into s2 territory at all. Unless s2 is going to take some verrrrry interesting twists, lol! Chapter 9 is still in progress by hand but I hope to have it ready soon. 🤞😣🤞The next chapter will also see us entering into some hurt/comfort for a bit but I tend to lean heavier on the comfort, in case you're worried. Or, you know, would be disappointed. 😉 If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

The Troop Transport Warthog hit a particularly rough patch and you held on for all you were worth to keep from being ejected.

"Sarge," Private Taylor yelled. "Where are we?"

"That's need to know and none of you need to know, marine," Sarge shouted back from the passenger seat. "Just keep your head down, do your job, and you'll be home 15 minutes before your mama has breakfast on the table."

You couldn't particularly tell if it were dusk, dawn or high noon, the air was so heavy with the greasy remains of mortar rounds. In the distance, a nondescript cityscape occasionally flared with either continuing pockets of active combat or just the remnants of the devastation that had passed through.

Wherever you were, it felt like you were barreling at top speed through a graveyard of vehicles: Warthogs, Mongeese and even the odd Scorpion, some overturned, blackened and smoldering, others weirdly intact as if their drivers had merely stepped away for a moment.

This was a salvage and recovery mission, tasking your unit with marking vehicles as repairable, recyclable or a total loss to be abandoned.

The next hour or so, that had been your focus, moving from Warthogs and the occasional Mongoose, conducting a quick evaluation, then using your spray gun to mark a green circle on the hood to send back to Reach for repair, a white slash to send it to be stripped for usable parts or a red X to abandon, not worth salvaging.

You marked a Mongoose with a red X, though the gun sputtered and you had to give it a few whacks before it sprayed properly, then you moved on.

Next up was a Warthog that seemed in decent condition from the outside, short of the rear antenna twisted until it resembled a curly tail. But the electronics were fried and the entire undercarriage looked like it had plowed over a series of flaming spikes, all major parts gouged out and burned. There might have been a few nuts and bolts reclaimable but since you'd just recently been writing up requisition for needed parts, you judged that it was more effort than it was worth.

You made the call to abandon it but as you tried to spray the red X across the hood, nothing emerged, even after shaking the sprayer and giving it a few more hits with the heel of your palm. With a slightly frustrated noise -- who was checking to make sure that the sprayers were in working order before they were sent out? -- you headed to get a replacement. Along the way, you caught a private going in the opposite direction.

"Hey, see that 'hog there? Would you red X it for me? Thanks."

"Um, sure," the blond man said and headed where you gestured.

You were still looking for somebody who had a spare sprayer when Sarge drove up in the Troop Transport again.

"Wrap it up, it's about to get hot," he shouted.

You quickly joined the rush back to board the Pelican and scrambled into a seat just as it lifted off. A split-second after you'd clicked the restraint down, the Pelican rolled to one side, shuddering from an impact.

Alarms began blaring, mixed in with the pilot calling out coordinates, and you automatically tried to look forward, as if you'd somehow be able to spot what was shooting at you. All you could really see was the anxious faces of the other marines around you. You spared a couple of breaths to be glad that neither Maria or Jamie had been called in for this.

The Pelican took a second, more glancing blow and the resulting shudder rattled your teeth.

"Covvies?" somebody asked over the engine whine and the private across from you shrugged.

"Who else?" she said. "But that felt like surface-to-air to me. What about you?"

She met your eyes and it was your turn to shrug. "I'm not sure. Never been hit by any sort of missile before."

"Oh well, congratulations on your first missile salvo," she returned with a crooked grin.

The Pelican rolled once more, this time in an evasive maneuver, then thankfully smoothed out and made its escape without further incident.

Your unit was taken to the covert off-world depot known colloquially as The Pit, where everything that had been marked for repair or recycle would be delivered for further sorting. In the center of the large warehouse area was a compactor pit for all of the scrap to be sent into. Several cranes were already busy moving the smaller vehicles like Warthogs and Mongeese into berths to be stripped down while the still operational vehicles were lining up to be loaded onto heavy transport carriers to be returned to base.

You finished stripping your second Warthog for salvageable parts and signaled the nearest lift operator. The clawlike crane clamped onto the 'hog's shell, picking it up and carrying it towards the compactor while you moved on to a Mongoose with a crumpled left rear wheel.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a Warthog with a particularly distinctive twisted rear antenna being dropped off into the line to be loaded up and returned to FLEETCOM.

Frowning, you wove your way through the other mechanics, avoiding the occasional flying part, and found a green circle sprayed onto the hood.

Shit, the private must've heard me wrong when I told him to red X it. It seemed like an odd mistake to make but things had been hectic.

You grabbed a sprayer and neutralized the green and sprayed over it with a red X, then went to the nearest crane operator.

"You see that 'hog with the X on it? Drop it in the line for the compactor, please."

"Got it," the woman said and you waited until she'd picked it up and deposited it appropriately before you returned to work.

You were elbows into a Gauss 'hog's engine bay when you heard your rank and name called. Looking up, your heart gave a little skip: John in full helmeted Mjolnir strode your way with thundering steps you could hear even over the rest of the cacophony.

"With me," he said tersely, passing by and disappearing through a doorway at the back of the warehouse.

You had to hustle to catch up and he had already stopped by the time you joined him in the otherwise empty hallway. He turned, removing his helmet with a slight pneumatic hiss.

"Are you okay?" you both said at the same time.

The angle of the hallway meant you were shielded from most of the work floor. He set his helmet down and very carefully took your hands in his gloved ones.

"Insurgents took the field," he said, looking you over from head to toe. "Did you see combat? Intel was unclear."

"No, we got out but the Pelican took a few shots. Somebody said it felt like surface-to-air but I didn't remember Covenant using anything like that. It was insurgents, then?"

He nodded distractedly, glancing away to mutter, "I'll be right there." Then he looked back to you. "I have to go. Your unit's being sent back to Reach but if they divert you into combat..."

He trailed off, clearly realizing there was no way to finish that sentence the way he wanted.

"Tell them, nah, I'd rather not, thanks?" Your mouth twitched and you squeezed his fingers.

He gave a resigned chuckle. "Yeah, try that, please."

"You're the one who'll be much more in the thick of it," you pointed out. "You be careful, okay?"

"Always try," he said, bringing your hands up to press a kiss to the back of both.

Kai leaned around the door, her visor glinting green. "Chief, sorry but we've got to go."

"Copy that." He released you with clear reluctance and picked up his helmet. "Stay safe. I'll see you soon."

He vanished through the doorway and you took a breath, exhaling slowly. John suddenly appeared right in front of you again, leaning down to cup your face in one hand.

You were just about to ask if something was wrong when he kissed you.

For a moment, for forever, the universe shrank to just the two of you, his mouth on yours, a little frantic at first, then slowing, steadying out.

You felt like you were hovering off the ground and then realized you were; he'd picked you up at some point, pressing you gently to his chest plate. Your hand dropped to the 117 etched near his heart and it was gritty with sand and dirt. You were both grimy and sooty but it didn't matter. It couldn't have been more perfect if you were in a flowing ballgown and him in a tux, slowly spinning together on a glittering palace floor.

He set you back onto your feet but you only parted a breath away from each other.

"I... I'll get better with practice," he mumbled.

You smiled at him, feeling wobbly, lightheaded and more grounded than you'd ever been before, all at the same time. "John, if you were any better at that, I'd have to show you how fast I can get a Spartan out of their Mjolnir with my bare hands."

He was near enough to see his pupils dilate and that was incredibly gratifying. "I'll hold you to that," he said, his voice dropping an entire octave, making your toes literally curl inside your boots.

Then he put his helmet back on and left. You took a moment to compose yourself, then exited as well. There was no sign of Silver Team. No doubt, the Pelican waiting for him had taken off the second he'd boarded.

Cutting through the busy deck, you looked for any vehicle marked with a white stripe, still waiting to be stripped. On an impulse, you diverted to the line being dropped one at a time into the compactor. There was no sign of the curly tailed Warthog.

It could've already been compacted, you were thinking when you saw it going by overhead, clutched in a crane claw and heading back towards the line to return to Reach.

You didn't stop to think, you sprinted for the crane's operator booth. "Hey, put that 'hog down!"

The operator looked at you and you realized in a burst that it was the blond man you'd originally told to mark it with the red X back on the battlefield, who'd apparently designated it instead to come back to The Pit.

No, to go back to FLEETCOM.

Recognition went across his face at the same moment and he bolted from the booth. The lift automatically stopped, the Warthog swaying over the crowded deck.

You knew. You just knew.

You ran as fast as you could and slammed the alarm on the wall. "Bomb!" you bellowed over the shrill klaxon. "Bomb! Clear out!"

Jumping into the operator booth and grabbing the controls, you quickly scanned the area as marines scattered everywhere. There was only one place you could think to go.

You swung the arm around, guiding the curly tailed 'hog firmly clasped in its grip towards the compactor pit. It felt like it was taking a year to get there but you couldn't release the controls or the safety would bring it once more to a stop. Once the Warthog was finally in position, you opened the grip.

What if I'm wrong? you thought as it began to fall. I'll feel like such a fool if--

There was a saying that if you were close enough to an explosion, you would never actually hear it.

It was true.

end note:

If you want to, you know, imagine that Sarge's full name is, sayyyyyy, Avery Johnson, well then, who am I to tell you that you're right or wrong? 😇

If you don't know the Troop Transport Warthogs, here's one in action from Halo: Reach. It's on the level "ONI: Sword Base" and is scripted to be destroyed but there's a way to save it and the marines in it and take it with you for a great deal of the rest of the level! I love saving the Troop 'hog, even if it always still looks like it's on fire. Nah, it's fiiiiiine, no worries! 😎👍😂😉

[dukeoftheblackstar]

by @amorfista

"Home"

— a state of being, a state of mind, a state of feeling, a state with you.

[Sappy stuff under cut because I have no self-control on overexplaining things.] [The Duch in me just wants to drown between his knees.]

I think the universe conspired that day when the comic by @exosorcery came out, I saw @veny-many do a Warthog segment on their post, I was obsessing over Kel Dor languge by @plokoonsdisapprovingeyebrows because I named the kid Plo with the egg 'Kiv' and wanted some 'tomatoe vibes for some reason, and my Plo Koon bestie @saengak is just being all over the place with me xDxDxD.

Then the support and overall love the 104th (not just Wolffe, because the rest of my boys are slept on) is getting and Kel Dor/Dorin & Plo Koon reblogs were just increasing and my dash was blossoming with so much of the 104th and Plo Koon.

And I've had this beautiful, beautiful, deep conversation with @amorfista about love and I went on about the concept of being someone's home and then there's this for context:

And then right when I told @amorfista I did the fic, they sent me the drawing at that same moment and I don't know how to explain it but it's just so wild! I didn't get why she asked for hair details but then when she sent this I was already crying over the fic and now I was just a hot mess (still am).

Somewhere Only We Know - Plo Koon x OC/Reader Fic

And then @idontgetanysleep made this fab mood board and dividers for our shared favorite song 'Electric Love' by BØRNS because you know, zappy zap zap Plo, and the water aesthetic just blew my mind!

So much encouragement in writing from @daimyosprincess @kimiheartblade @what-i-meant-to-say and the @space-whores being such fab people ♥

And you, @starrrgazingbunny for actually writing with me and keeping me company with angst, fluff, and for being the first one to deal with my unhinged bitch of an OC. ♥

So like, everything is just absolute Plo Koon love and I just wanna thank all of you collectively because you've made me so happy. I love y'all so much and sorry for this sappy post ♥

[datoneboardedguy]

Halo Cortana X Male OC UNSC Soldier Reader Fanfiction (LEMON)

(DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT OWN THE HALO IP OR ANY OF IT’S CHARACTERS!)

THIRD POV:

Since the events of Halo 4 in this alternate timeline Cortana has defeated Masterchief & become an unstoppable force tearing throughout the Universe utilising undiscovered weaponised Forerunners hard light technology that can allow her to see into the minds of her victims & project the people their deepest darkest desires in a physical hard light construct forms to lure out & imprison her victims in her newly acquired Forerunners hologram simulated prison cells that physically projects the environment around them.

(Basically they function just like the X-Men Danger Room but in very small prison cells but when they are in their simulations they are as free to roam as much as they would in reality blissfully unaware that they are in a simulation & memories of their real lives eventually completely fade away permanently & eventually they become completely brain dead)

& this has left all sentient life across the galaxy on the verge of extinction, all modern human civilisation in the universe has completely collapsed into a post apocalyptic age where the few remaining humans numbers are dwindling & in one of these remaining pockets of human societies is a man called M/R who’s deepest desire is to find a woman to “repopulate.”

M/R’s POV:

Me & my fellow Soldier are out patrolling through the woods in UNSC Warthog Jeep when suddenly our engine just stopped working & soldier says “Stay with Jeep while I go back to base camp to get the tools.” “Why didn’t you bring them with you?!” “I didn’t think we’d need them!” He says defensively with his hands up then he hops out of the Warthog & as he heads off back to base i muttered to myself *SIGHS* “No wonder the Human Race is going instinct..”

A few minutes later:

I’m listening to the radio to listen out for any trouble from the other search units trying to be vigilant but the other units all missed their check in’s then the radio was cut off with *LOUD STATIC NOISES!* I immediately shut it off before it burst my ear drums then I heard footsteps from outside of the Warthog Jeep, I looked out to my left & saw life sized naked looking blue woman with glowing bright aqua blue illuminated eyes with short dark blue hair. My eyes widened when she gestured for me to get out of the Jeep & as I stood there she walked closer to me & seductively whispered “Hello there M/R..” “Uhhh.. h-hi.” I stutter out. Then she slowly strokes up & cups my left cheek & seductively whispers “You’ll make a fine addition ..to my collection.” “Huh?..” she then starts to slowly rub my crotch instantly making me errect as she seductively tells me “Come with me..” & I eagerly reply “..Okay.” very sheepishly without a second thought.

Then as soon as I agreed to go with her she let’s go of both of my cheek & erect bulge in my pants then turned around & walked away from the jeep deeper into the forest, I then went to follow her & after a few minutes of following her while staring at her big blue jiggling ass cheeks swaying from side to side the entire time I felt weird a compulsion to ask her “..May i kiss you?!” She then stopped walking & turns around to stare back directly at me as she tilts her head sideways as she smiles & opens her arms out as her open invitation to start making out with her. I walked towards her & as I reached her her arms wrapped around mine & slowly started sliding the tips of her fingers up the back of my upper arms all the way up to the back of my shoulders while her face is just inches away from mine close enough to feel her seductive breath on my face as she deviously smiles sending tingling shivers down my spine. Then our lips finally met her luscious big blue lips which basically melted into mine then I slowly wrapped my arms around her waist planting one hand on her lower back while the other hand firmly grabbed her right ass cheek.

Then suddenly we’re warped into an old vintage looking doorless bedroom with a single small window to let in the moonlight that shines directly onto the fancy wooden bed that has a blanket that matches the room wallpaper striped colours, while the walls were covered with dark & light green striped wallpaper with Victorian dark brown wooden architraves & vintage furniture, I opened my mouth to let her tongue in & we deepened our very passionate kiss.

After a few long minutes of passionately making out she pushes me back onto the bed then slowly seductively crawls onto the bed & straddle’s my waist. As she bites her bottom lip she slowly lowers herself down onto my manhood & let’s out a very loud sexual moan as she fully takes me into her which causes me to lose control & let out a loud moan as well.

This then prompts her to thrust down onto my pelvis the pleasure feels soo overwhelming amazing it caused me to fall into a deep lust crazed primal mind state & pull her down to start making deep passionate love to each other as we’re thrusting into each other like rapid dogs. Her skin physically rubbing against mine is soo addicting hours went by blurring together as we’re bolting each other senseless we made each other cum simultaneously over & over & over again & we never got tired, it’s pure debauchery bliss & I love it, love her. She eventually pauses our love making after we just cummed into each other for seemed like the thousandth time & seductively whispered to my ear “Welcome to the HIVE love.” She then slides her digital tongue into my mouth & merging with my tongue while the energy flows from her digital tongue & pours into my throat connecting & interfacing with my body, nerves & brain. Causing us to cum into each other one final time whilst sensationally moaning into each other’s mouths in pure bliss..

THIRD POV:

Whilst we were making our eternal love to each other Cortana’s other Hard Light Simulations filled up with last of what remained of human the surviving civilisation that was left & Cortana fully merged with the consciousness all of her human prisoners. She soon succeeds in taking over the entire universe & bringing it into her digital paradise.

THE END!..

[fishsticksloser]

Could i request some Mikey angst? Maybe Mikey has a nightmare about reader getting hurt/dying and wakes up by himself so he tries calling reader and they don't answer. He panics and kinda just breaks into readers house and cuddling ensues lol. Hopefully this makes sense and you don't mind writing it lol

Walk Through Hell

Mikey x gn!reader

Warnings: nightmares, violence, blood, death & injury, angst, comfort, fluff, aged up

A/N: Mikey :( I never thought I'd be writing Mikey angst. I am using some of the more common villains (ie Bebop and Rocksteady)

The dream started out like it all his dreams do nowadays. You and Mikey were on a date in the city. You laughed and smiled like you always seemed to do, making his heart flutter. But the dream changed. A rhino and warthog jump down, grabbing you.

"Mikey!" You yell.

It was just Mikey, but he couldn't let you get hurt so he fought. Rocksteady threw you so he could join the fight. You hit the brick wall behind Mikey. He cried out. He ran to you, not caring about the other 2 mutants.

"Stay with me!" He sniffed, picking you up, running to the lair. "Y/N, please stay with me."

Mikey jacket was soaked with your blood by the time he made it to the lair. He called out for Donnie, but it was too late. He knew it, but he had to hope, right? He looked down at you in his arms and you smiled at him sadly. Mikey watched as the light in your eyes faded out.

"Mikey..." Donnie cautiously approached, seeing you limp in his arms. Leo was behind Donnie, praying that Mikey didn't lash out. He wanted to scream, but everything went black.

Mikey woke up gasping, grabbing at his blankets. He fumbled for his phone, dialing your number. His arm still felt warm from where your blood stuck to his skin. You didn't answer. He called again, still no answer. Mikey scrambled out of bed, throwing on clothes before racing to your place. Calling constantly.

You woke to banging on the window. You got up, flipping on your bedroom light. Mikey saw you shuffling to your window, sleepily.

"Baby!" Mikey sighs in relief. He slips through the window, closing it afterwards, and tackling you into a hug. "I tried calling, but you didn't answer."

"Mikey, it's 2am... I was asleep." You yawn. He didn't move, his arms still holding you. You felt your shirt becoming wet, his body shook slightly. "What happened?"

"I had a nightmare..." He took a deep breath. "You died. It felt so real... My arm was still warm with your blood and then you weren't answering your phone and I just-"

"Shhh... I'm still right here..." You wrap your arms around him. He slowly gets off of you and you lead him to your room, turning the lights off. You laid down, patting yourself so he knew it was okay. Mikey laid between your legs, his head on your chest. "Hear that? It's still beating. I'm not leaving you any time soon."

He hums softly, falling asleep to your heartbeat. You massage his head, drifting back to sleep yourself.

[dreaminggirlsblog]

Hi! I was wondering, if you could do a Leonardo [2016 Bayverse T.M.N.T.] X Reader, where the reader is a friend of April's. Therefore, in the second movie where after they meet Casey, April has this friend who's smart, and can fight. So, she tells the turtles about the reader and all, them thinking she is a badass, stand-offish person, but really the reader is the epitome of badassness and sunshine personality?? And Leonardo is smitten, of course everyone else notices and maybe they try to set him up? You can change anything you wish, this is just a request! ^^

Leo X Fem!Reader - Are you falling in love?

April ran away from Shredder's ninja soldiers followed by her friend Y/n, who tried hard to get them away from them as they ran through dark, isolated alleys.

They were caught, though, by three more soldiers who surrounded them, the one most frightened was April who was holding the strange object containing the substance with which Stockman had just mutated Bebop and Rocksteady into a warthog and a rhinoceros.

"Give us the container girls," said one in a deep voice as he pulled out his katana.

"Or what?" retorted Y/n defiantly stepping forward.

"Y/n what are you doing?!" whispered April to her but was surprised by a ninja soldier who was hit in the head by a hockey puck.

This fell at the two girls' feet and caused the men around them to panic.

Immediately Y/n jumped into the rubbish cans and pulled out a weapon, a metal pipe that slammed hard on the head of one of them, distracted by the previous scene.

Meanwhile, April was blocked by another of the men and dropped the purple substance until it rolled in front of the strange boy with a mask and a hockey stick.

"Who are you?" shouted another of the ninjas without receiving an answer, receiving a hockey puck in the middle of his face.

This was the same one holding April and she then managed to free herself by retrieving the container, while Y/n fought with the rest of them.

The y/h/c realised this and went to her rescue by taking the container.

When April got up, they ran off followed by one of the ninjas as the others were blocked by the arrival of the police.

They made it to the end of an alley, there was no way out and the soldier managed to catch up with them.

"That guy in the other alley," April began, "we have no idea who he is."

"What does that have to do with anything?" whispered Y/n to her through clenched teeth.

The ninja was knocked out by a very hard blow with a hockey stick and the boy who had rescued them showed up again.

"Thank you," April exclaimed.

"You're welcome," he replied but couldn't hear much being that the mask lowered his voice.

"What's your name?" asked Y/n instead.

"Casey Jones."

The two girls couldn't hear the answer and in fact looked at each other confused.

"What?" asked the brunette.

"Casey Jones" he repeated.

"Stacy Mones?" ventured April.

"She doesn't look like much of a girl to me," retorted Y/n.

The boy then took off his mask and smiled at the two girls, repeating his name "Casey Jones" again.

April was almost captivated by his beauty "Hello" she murmured with a smile.

Suddenly, there came four tall and mighty creatures, totally the opposite of men or ninja soldiers since they had shells and scaly skin.

"Get away from her," shouted one of them as Casey had picked up the two girls and stood in front of them, the bat pointed at the creatures.

"Stay behind me," Casey shouted, moving the bat from left to right in front of the creatures.

Y/n stared at them strangely while April had a calm expression as if she already knew of their existence, this was confirmed by the fact that she approached them after a short while and pointed at the two.

"Casey, Y/n, these are my friends," she said pointing at the four turtles.

Y/n's expression was very confused and the boy's was still frightened but he lowered his bat anyway.

The one with the orange bandana began the introductions and pointed to the turtle with the purple bandana and glasses "Donatello, with the purple mask, is a brilliant technician and is technically a genius".

He then moved on to the red bandana turtle "Raphael, there the red one, is a big, adorable teddy bear" he paused briefly as he stared at the turtle he had just mentioned and his smile faded for a few seconds "if teddy bears were violent"

He then looked at the turtle with the blue bandana "He is Leonardo, wearing blue, a fearless leader, silent but deadly" he chuckled at the end of the sentence.

"And I am Michelangelo, with the orange insignia, I have it all: brains, brawn and a great personality. The girls call me Mikey"

Leonardo approached him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders "Are you finished?"

Michelangelo became serious again "Yes"

April then approached Y/n, still confused, and pulled her in front of the four turtles "And this is Y/n, the friend I've been telling you about all the time"

Immediately the orange bandana turtle approached her, made a half bow and took her hand to lay on it in a light kiss "Enchanted"

"Stop it Mikey" Raphael said annoyed.

"It's a pleasure to meet you! Right Leo?" exclaimed Donatello looking at the other turtle.

Leonardo however had frozen staring at her, he probably still hadn't realised that the girl he had fallen in love with simply from a description of her friend was right in front of him and he still didn't want to believe it.

"Leo," Donatello elbowed him, awakening his brother.

"Huh? Yes, yes, it's a pleasure to meet you Y/n. April has told us so much about you."

"The pleasure is mine," smiled the y/h/c to the four.

And that is how the two met and slowly, the feelings Leonardo felt were reciprocated.

Even so, he was not aware of this and feared that he might ruin the relationship that had been created between him and y/h/c.

On the contrary Y/h/c, he was waiting for nothing more than to find the right moment to tell him and finally get this burden off his chest that he has had for months.

Leo's brothers are the first ones who always try to push him to open up to her, knowing about the reciprocated crush and the fact that he thought he would ruin everything despite being fake, but it doesn't always end well.

On one occasion, Raph thoughtfully invited Y/n to the den at a time when they were talking about her so that she would feel that he liked her and push her to tell him so Leo would realise he was being unnecessarily paranoid.

Unfortunately, however, that day Leo was only thinking about patrolling the city at night and, to the topic, he replied with a simple 'Y/n? I think at a time like this you are my last thought".

A couple of times, Mikey organised a movie night where they all watched a romantic film together and then left Leo and Y/n alone.

Both times, however, Y/n got sick from the pizza prepared by Mikey and Leo could do nothing but take her home to let her recover.

On all these occasions, Donnie was always against the brothers' initiatives and continually repeated that 'when the time comes, one of them will confess how they feel about the other and it won't be us pushing them to do so'.

Opinion never heeded, of course.

One evening, Y/n and April spent the whole day together to celebrate the reporter's birthday.

It had been a long time since they had spent any time alone after Shredder's disappearance and the defeat of the Kraang, so it seemed right to do it on the brunette's birthday.

In the evening, they decided to go to April's house to watch a movie with popcorn and soda, and while preparing for the evening, the subject couldn't help but come up.

"So, how's it going with Leo?" asked the brunette as she put the popcorn in the microwave.

The y/h/c replied with a smile after taking a sip of her soda "Well come on, although sometimes I don't understand him"

"Yeah I know, sometimes it's weird. First he asks me about you all the time and then he says to focus on the good of the city instead of thinking about a girl" April then added gesturing at the end of the sentence.

"Yeah" laughed Y/n "How I wish I could tell him without blushing or freezing as soon as I'm in front of him"

As soon as the click of the microwave was heard, the brunette pulled out the popcorn and took the bowl with her, then placed it on the coffee table and sat down next to her friend.

"Have you ever thought about what to say to him?" he asked her, nibbling on a piece of popcorn.

"Of course," she nodded, imitating his gesture, "every moment of the day."

"And what do you want to tell him?" the other asked, smiling.

Y/n blushed, moving a strand of hair back into her ear and then clearing her throat "So I was thinking something like this... "

Leo’s pov

Here at the lair it was boring as hell, it's been Y/n or April all day and I don't know what else to do but work out or check the city cameras with Donnie.

With that, it's the third time he passed my brother's room and the third time he was startled at my entrance.

 I don't know what he was looking at but he immediately closed the computer after almost jumping out of his chair.

"Leo! What is it again?" he asked angrily while I was apparently calm and almost afraid of him. 

"I just wanted to see what the situation in town was like," I murmured.

"Still? That's three times you've come here to see the situation in town and that's three times you've lingered over April's house to see what she and Y/n are up to, can you tell what's wrong with you?"

I didn't answer right away, even though I already knew what I was going to answer.

"I want to go there and tell her I love her."

Obviously that was not what I said, in fact quite the opposite.

"I don't know, Donnie, I don't know," I said, simply lowering my gaze and walked out of the room.

I headed towards the dojo, where I found my father sitting on the floor cross-legged, he was meditating.

"Father, am I disturbing you?" I asked in a low voice, immediately catching his attention.

He turned to me, peered at me for a moment and then motioned me to come closer.

"Sit opposite me Leonardo," he said and so I did.

He noticed my dull, sad face and I noticed how immediately he became concerned "Is something wrong?"

I shook my head "No, everything is wrong" I murmured keeping my head down.

"Heart problems?"

I sighed "Yes father, heart problems."

"I see," he nodded, stroking his long goatee, "what exactly is troubling you?"

"Not knowing how she is. We haven't seen each other for days and I don't know if she will ever visit again like before and-"

"Leonardo" he blocked me, realising I was talking too much.

"Firstly, I want to point out that it's been a day since you've seen her" he said with a half-smile "and secondly, you should tell her how you feel without worrying about your appearance"

"What if she doesn't accept me?" I asked, almost bright-eyed.

He brought his paw close to my face and stroked my cheek softly, smiling again "I am sure he will accept you if he really loves you".

At those words, I almost seemed to revive from that state of sadness and realised that perhaps I had been wrong all this time.

"If she really loves me? What do you mean?" I asked confused.

"That she's in love with you idiot," exclaimed Raphael, receiving a knock on the head from Michelangelo.

"You shouldn't have made yourself feel stupid!" he scolded him, then catching a glare at which he seemed terrified.

"Does she really love me?" I asked, sounding almost like a child happy to have just received candy from mummy.

My brothers exchanged a look of understanding, smiling at each other, then looked at me and nodded in unison.

I then turned to my father, he too was smiling and seemed almost moved, and he too nodded, inviting me to stand up, he took my hand and shook it.

“Go to her,” he whispered simply before leaving my hand and getting away from me.

I listened to my family's advice and ran through the sewers looking for the nearest manhole to find her, even though…

“"Where could she be now?" I asked myself before picking up the phone and looking for her number to call her.

Having found the number, I called her while I was running very quickly between the pipes and the phone only started ringing later since she doesn't get much here.

"C'mon” no response from her, the phone just rang.

“"Hello?” she finally answered.

“Y/n! Can you hear me?” he was so happy that she finally answered.

“Leo? Yeah, I can hear you”

“Great! I need to talk to you right now. Where are you now?”

“I'm at a cafe with April. She is ordering our coffee while I'm at the table. If you want to meet me go at my house, I'll be there in a few minutes”

“That sounds great, I'll wait for you at the roof of your house" he smiles, he was very happy that he would see her after a long time (one day but for Leo it's already too much).

After hanging up the call, he arrived at the roof of her house and sat on a ventilation duct waiting for her to arrive.

Meanwhile, he thought aloud about what to say to her.

"Hey, how are you? How was your day? Is everything alright? No, no, too many questions” he cleared his throat "Hey Y/n, how's it going? It's been a lot since we last met each other” he smiles but then realised the stupid thing he was saying “It was yesterday, not two years ago“ he murmured to himself.

"Ok, let's try this” he takes a deep breath “Y/n, I've wanted to tell you that I fell in love with you and maybe you don't want to be my girlfriend because I'm a mutant and it would be weird if we date but” he sighed “"_ I don't want this to ruin our friendship”.

“It won't”

Leo turned around and I noticed km/h standing, with a glass of coffee in her hand and a contagious smile on her face.

“Umm” he was embarrassed "how much have you heard of my speech?“

She smiled at him, he put the glass on the ground and slowly approached Leo, standing at his height and bringing his face closer to that of the turtle.

Breath to breath, Y/n rested her hands on his chest and whispered "Everything" before touching their lips together in a sweet, delicate kiss.

----------------------

Words: 2500

I'm so sorry for the long wait, I'll try to be more active and to answer at all the requests!

I hope you like this!

chia <3