#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 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

[Masterlist] [TCW Masterlist]

[knightprincess]

Scars (Commander Wolffe x Jedi Reader) Part 3

Warning: None Words: 1.9k Pronouns Used: She/Her - Use of Y/N and N/N (nickname)

"Koh-To-Ya, Master Plo," whispered (Y/N) upon waking. Looking around her quarters, she saw Plo peacefully reading over something on his datapad in the corner of the room. The room was just as quiet; no sound seemed to penetrate the durasteel walls despite the airbase being just meters away. 

"Koh-To-Ya, Little (N/N)," called Plo in response, shifting to place the datapad down and move closer to her. As normal, his voice was calm and filled with wisdom. All his swift motions across the room suggested that the concerns plaguing him had finally been settled. "How are you feeling?" questioned the wise Jedi Master the moment he was at her side. The medics had done a good job patching her up; a few stitches were all that remained of the head injury she'd sustained, and in a few weeks, there would be no trace of it. The gash to her side, however, would take a little longer to heal properly; it still sent numbing twinges or a sharp shot of pain to remind her it was there. 

"Like I fell down a chasm," replied (Y/N), her voice scratchy and broken from a prolonged period without use. Your Commander, is he okay?" she asked with concern, forgetting her own injuries and well-being in favor of the battle-worn commander she'd tried to save. As her fuzzy memories cleared up, she recalled catching him with the stem cells and vaguely recalled his yelled response. "Is he still pissed off?" she questioned, not bothering to sugarcoat her words, even in the face of her master. 

"Wolffe made a full recovery and was cleared for active duty a few days ago," responded Plo, not speaking of the changes he noticed regarding the loyal commander, at least not yet. "He's not angry, more confused, conflicted even," he added, bringing a taloned hand to his chin as if to ponder the changes. Many times, Plo found Wolffe watching over (Y/N) while off duty. His view of Night Sister, in particular, was changing, or at least his previous opinions of (Y/N) had. She was no longer an enemy, although Wolffe was clearly trying to figure out what she was to him now. 

"How long have I been out?" questioned (Y/N), at least having enough sense to realize it was far longer than a few hours, even more so if Wolffe had been cleared for duty days prior. "The 916th, what's to happen with them?" she added, her concern turning to the troopers she'd previously led rather than to her own health and healing. Rightly so, the Jedi Knight knew she'd be reassigned soon enough. The council never seemed to hesitate to send her around the galaxy. 

"Calm (N/N), the 916th are well taken care of; Master Yoda has taken command for now," asserted Plo, placing a hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder as if to aid in calming her and ensure she did not overexert herself. "You've been asleep for five rotations," he informed, seeing the shock wash over her features before being replaced with a more neutral expression. After a while, (Y/N) simply nodded, although she was still collecting her scattered thoughts and senses. She'd been out that long, and no one tried to transfer her back to Coruscant or a long-term medbay. Quickly, she figured Plo had prevented it; after all, her fear, almost hatred of medbays, wasn't a secret she kept to herself. Anyone who knew her knew she refused to be near a medbay after the events that transpired as a child. 

"I'm to be reassigned, aren't I?" commented (Y/N), her tone flat as she worded the question more matter-of-factly. She knew she would be reassigned, but the question was where and for how long this time. 

"Indeed you are," voiced Plo in response, taking a seat at her side once again, taking on the role of a father figure rather than a Jedi Master. "Shaak Ti has requested you return to Kamino. She says there is a specific unit that will benefit from your training," spoke the Kel Dor. "While there, I'd advise you to acquaint yourself with the Commando units. You're to be assigned as their permanent commander." 

"What changed the council's mind?" asked (Y/N) before she had a chance to stop the question from leaving her lips. However, she didn't regret asking it. She knew that if she didn't, it would eat away at her until she eventually found the courage to ask. 

"I put the notion to the council after the Wolf Pack mentioned it. As did several council members, both the senate and the commandoes agreed," recalled Plo, hearing the quiet thank you in response. Although he was sure, she meant it for more than just her new assignments. More than likely, she referred to remaining at the base instead of waking up in a clinical medbay somewhere, surrounded by reminders of the past she tried so hard to suppress and bombarded by the memories and anxiety it would cause. 

Just moments after (Y/N) fell into peaceful slumber again, a buzzing sound emanated from the door. The second it opened, Comet entered, holding on to (Y/N)'s lightsabers, the graceful weapons he'd spent hours most nights trying to mend, with little luck. The most he'd been able to do with his limited knowledge was to get the damaged one to buzz and overheat before powering off. Other than that, his only success was to add a little wolf charm to the hilt of the twin duel lightsabers. If only so (Y/N) had a reminder of them when she eventually left. 

"Wolffe's pacing around the hall again," gently spoke Comet, his voice quiet so as not to wake the peaceful Jedi again. Plo nodded once more before leaving the room, placing a hand on Comet's shoulder. 

Since the fall, Wolffe has been different. He's all-focused and still does his job perfectly when on duty, but he seemed confused and even conflicted when off duty. Plo had noticed and subtly told his commander he was there should he feel the need to speak of what bothered him. The wise Kel Dor could sense the conflicted feelings and confusion revolving around (Y/N) and her actions to save him and will to do so at a great cost to herself, even after his prior treatment of her. 

"Runi," quietly voiced Comet, his words no louder than a whisper. His attention was on the lightsabers clutched in his gloved hands. I tried fixing your lightsaber, but it doesn't like me. It buzzes and overheats now. Kinda like Wolffe when he's off duty," he joked, stepping closer to (Y/N), seemingly peacefully sleeping. No doubt, the powerful painkillers had kicked in. "I don't know if anyone else said this, but thank you for saving our grumpy brother. He appreciates it too, even if he doesn't outwardly show it," finished Comet, as he gently placed the lightsabers on the shelf just behind where (Y/N) slept. After completing his task, he left the room once more, making sure the door slid shut properly before leaving, only glancing back upon hearing Wolffe's familiar all-be-it hesitated growls, likely warding away the civvi medic again. 

"This is the most I've seen Wolffe confused in some time," stated Boost, witnessing as the commander began to pace back and forth. He was agitated, confused, and clearly conflicted, more so than he normally was. There was little doubt (Y/N) was the cause of his confusion, especially if the mumbled words in the dead of night and sleep were anything to go by. 

"I don't know; he was pretty messed up after losing his eye," replied Sinker, recalling the struggle well. In Wolffe's mind, all Jedi became lightsaber-wielding maniacs, even their wise General Plo. Civvi's were still unknown territory for Wolffe; he'd yet to regain the confidence he'd once had before the Malevolence and losing his eye. After the Malevolence, the commander had begun to shut himself off and closed off his heart from caring about others for fear he'd lose them like all those at Abregardo. 

Asajj Ventress, taking his eye, forced away any softness Wolffe may have had toward those outside his brothers and Wolf Pack. He became so much colder towards Civvi, always expecting judgment from them, normally harsh judgment at that. Most of the time, he didn't give civvies a chance to know him or see the softer side that had become a well-guarded secret. 

"He likes her. What's to be confused about?" voiced Warthog, leaning against the wall. Normally, he'd take the chance to tease Wolffe, but he knew better than to do that at the moment. Especially when the chances of his head being bitten off were higher than normal. "You know, other than she's a Night Sister, and he swore to hate all Children of Dathomir," chuckled the pilot, knowing if Wolffe heard him now, he'd be growled at for days. 

"Did you return her sabers?" came Wolffe's booming voice, startling the group of four. Warthog, in particular, paled as he turned to face his commander. He'd expected to see the normal flat unamusement painted on Wolffe's features, but instead, he was met with something else entirely. Wolffe clearly displayed his exhaustion, although that didn't stop the commander from whacking the pilot upside the head, at least confirming he'd heard his words. "I'm not confused. I just ... don't understand her." 

"She'll be leaving soon. Should be easier for you to forget about her and return to your grouchy self," spoke the second civvi medic. This one was male and hardly a joy to be around. Most of the time, he'd taken delight in naming each clone insulting names, calling them by their identification numbers, or just outright being callous. "I doubt that would be much trouble for the rest of you mindless soldiers."

"Is it still against the rules to shoot civvi personnel?" asked Sinker, making sure his words were loud enough for the civvi to hear as he all but stomped away. No doubt, he was heading to (Y/N)'s quarters to check on her. Now she had woken, it would only be a matter of time before she was set to Kamino for her next assignment. 

"Unfortunately, yes," voiced Boost in response, rolling his own brown eyes at the thought of having to put up with the civvi for several more months, at least until his rotation with them ended. "As much as I agree, the temptation to commit said war crime is there. It's not worth the court marshaling we'd get for it." 

"General Plo's disappointment would be far worse," Wolffe said before walking away, hearing the boys following along as if they understood his silent intentions of returning to the barracks. However, the commander became suspicious of their motives. Were they following to keep out of trouble or to begin the thought-out interrogation they had been summing up the courage to commit for days? 

Series Masterlist

[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’.

[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.

[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! 😎👍😂😉

[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.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Poets and Painters (Golden Dawn Part 2) - 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. Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Scheming brothers. Brief miscommunications. Mutual pining? 👀 Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word-count: 6,743

It did not take little Mir long to find several samples of art and poetry to share with the cluster of curious on-lookers that have grown around her sister while she prepares bundles of incense and dried flowers. Petals and dried leaves are taken in clusters of twenty-seven before being tied tightly with twine, and carefully passed over the fire to the individual by name. Among the first bundles she gives, one is offered to Plo Koon, who has joined you since Mir had to ask for Solladara’s help in finding a particular piece of poetry and it interrupted their discussion. 

“This is for you, Plo Koon.” 

“That is kind of you. Thank you, young Gi.” the Jedi professes his thanks once he’s able to extract one of his occupied hands, more of the Chossi children than before sitting around him or in his lap, now. He has nowhere to put it, for the time being, so while you’re busy reading some of the poetry Mir found, Commander Wolffe takes his general’s bundle of incense and finds a place for it in one of the many compartments in his utility belt. 

The Basic that’s carved into thin sheets of bark may be slightly broken and disjointed, but the verbal painting performed here is no less incredible. So… is it really the doing of the Dinocaeruleus anthos that everyone’s been so… inspired? The mere pollen in the air, where that pleasant and faintly familiar smell has followed you all day long, is responsible for all this?

All the sketches, the thoughtful conversations you’ve had today, even the thoughts you’ve been having about the commander, that could all be the influence of the pollen? You’re not sure how you feel about that. Stars above, you live in such a strange galaxy…

“It will only be effective for those who reach maturity.” Mir’s older sister explains to her curious onlookers and those fielding questions, like Tack, preparing a new incense bundle that will be given to you to take back to the Jedi cruiser. “To those who have not reached maturity, like Mir, the pollen and petal incense will only smell sweet.”

Beside you, you hear Tack now quietly mourning that it will only ever smell nice for poor Orchid under his breath. Orchid snarls back at him to shut up, saying that that was a cheap shot. He can be plenty mature! He is so fuckin' mature, thank you! 

“If you're talking about your language and your choice of reading material, sure… Now pipe down, both of you. Don't be rude to Gi!” Suds mutters, wagging his head disapprovingly of both brothers’ behaviors. “Sorry about them…” 

Gi offers only an impish smile, finding humor in the brothers’ bickering. “It won't work for Mir. But, it would work for you, Arcadia, and Wolffe.” she adds with a nod, offering him his own bundle of anthos incense. “I will make some for your brothers, too. If they are interested.”

“That’s very kind of you, Gi.” Wolffe answers as he pockets his own bundle beside General Plo’s, nodding to show his gratitude for the generosity of your hosts here. The members of their community that were once cold and standoffish before to the battalion have since thawed out some more, making further offers to show elements of their culture, their homeland here with you as off-worlders. 

We’re all just the universe trying to make sense of itself. Shouldn’t that be enough to unify us? Wouldn’t it be nice if that was all it took? 

No. Unfortunately the galaxy was just far too vast for that optimism, that sweet naivete. It would never be enough to settle the differences in Republic or Separatist opinion. 

It would never be enough to bring back Wolffe’s lost brothers, either.

Brothers he forever carries in his heart no matter if he knew them in maroon or gray. Five hundred seventy-four brothers were lost in the Battle of Abregado. As was the original Triumphant: the new flagship is unofficially filed as the Triumphant II, for the time being. If only you had the appropriate leverage to do it (or maybe you talked to enough of his brothers to rally them around the idea) you would propose Resiliency for the Star Destroyer’s new name to honor Commander Wolffe’s inspiring refusal to be deterred from his service, his duty, his creed of brotherhood and loyalty. 

It’s a lovely thought anyway.

One for another time. There’s still so much to do tonight. Gi’s still making bundles of incense for members of the Wolfpack, but there’s been offerings from the Chossi to show more of their homeland, and what they accomplish under the light of the moon as a nocturnal culture. Children Mir’s age are willing to share star stories, naming various constellations you can see when you look in the gaps of the leafy canopy of their community homes. (They’re calling it star-sowing, which sounds adorable.) Children Gi’s age have simple chores to do, and several of Wolffe’s men offer their hands in aid. 

Already, a few have assembled themselves in groups, rather like the squads they’re familiar with, and are ready to “report” to the youth of the Chossi. One rookie admits he doesn’t know what ground-squash looks like, but he’s willing to help with harvesting the ripe ones. They’ve spent all day relaxing. And though they spend more days than not getting their hands dirty, it’s from things like droid oil, and soot, oftentimes blood. Getting a bit of dirt on their hands while digging through a communal vegetable patch? Yes, that’s technically work on a day their General took them here to relax, but it’s relaxing compared to what they normally do.

“Might be the only time we get to dig holes we don’t have to fill back up.” another soldier says with a shrug, deciding he’ll join in after taking anthos incense from Gi. “Wait up, guys!”

“What did he mean by that?” you ask, half turning to Wolffe after noticing his eyes becoming half-lidded in thought. 

“Graves, most likely.” A stiff shrug is offered, showing he’s not sure himself. “Don’t trouble yourself with it.”

Tack, having eaten his hash-sah fruit while you’d been distracted, butts into the conversation between you and the commander before it grows any more grim. “You really got to try the fruit, Commander; it’s delicious. Arcadia’s should be big enough to share.” He can show you how to eat it, too, since it’s best to hold it by the soft rind, otherwise you’ll end up a bit of a mess like Orchid. 

“Ah shit, got my gloves and damn vambraces all fuckin’ sticky.”

Soapsuds hisses for him to be better. “Cool it, fresher-mouth!” he’s displeased that his brother’s not minding his tongue with so many little ones around. The little girl from earlier he’s given his chocolate to still hasn’t let go, for the most part; he’d rather not have one of his brothers prove a bad influence in her galactic vocabulary. 

You agree to get the large hash-sah fruit from amongst the things in your bag, gingerly extracting it when the flint-gray commander takes note of the time and suggests you need something to eat. If you’d returned to the Jedi cruiser with the rest of the crew, you’d probably have gotten dinner long before now. “Can’t have you going hungry, Arcadia.” Wolffe says, another instance of it being more than a suggestion. 

It’s a veiled request.

Afterwards, perhaps together, you can find something more to do. This time it is a suggestion. 

You figure anything will work, so long as it means he’s not about to start patrolling the perimeter of this community like he had in the clearing. You’ll count it as relaxing if you could get him to at least sit while he frets about his brothers. Especially if the brother within his sight is a shiny, thinking back to how he had asked if you could tell who among them were freshest out of the tube while working on his own sketch. 

Teeth and claws.

You really have to apply a firm grip on the soft rind of the hash-sah fruit in order to keep it from slipping out of your fingers once Tack’s gotten it divided equally between you and the commander, nails biting into the outer shell and leaving deep ruts as the juice runs between your fingers. 

“Stars above, scarcely started and I’m already wet…” you say as it drips into the lap of your uniform, catching the lewd innuendo far too late. “Orchid, don’t even.” 

He gives you a smile, but nothing more. 

“I mean it.” you warn him.

Laughing, Orchid now holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Can I at least ask if you think the fruit’s good?”

The commander's opinion of the local produce comes quietly before you answer his brother. ”It’s not rations.” Neither negative or positive, merely neutral. If he finds it bitter, or sweet, or savory, he doesn’t share. It’s simply not rations. 

“‘Anything’s better than rations’, I know. But is it good, Commander?”

Wolffe gives it a moment of thought. “It’s… like eating sweetened rainwater.” 

It doesn’t make much sense, but no one can figure out a way to argue against his description either. The matter gets chalked up to sitting near the fire for too long where Gi had been hard at work wrapping clusters of twenty-seven petals and leaves of a plant responsible for encouraging a person’s creativity and inspiration. 

It’s the pollen talking, you all reason amongst yourselves.

You and Commander Wolffe part ways for a short time, Plo Koon begging for your forgiveness as he explained (a little vaguely) that Wolffe was needed for something Dara had remembered, something they had forgotten to do around the ceremonial welcoming fire. After you had finished your portion of the hash-sah and cleaned your hands best you’d been able of the juices, someone had been by with more trinkets for the battalion to take with them if they wished. Leather bracelets of sorts with three beads of hammered copper, meant to be worn on the dominant arm. 

That’s when Dara remembered there was something special that was meant to be offered. It’s nothing Wolffe or the Jedi have to take, but as a culture that values their generosity, she and the rest of the elders feel it’s important to at least show it. Best guess anyone has is it’s likely some kind of clothing unique to the planet. Maybe art. 

“It would be impolite to refuse without seeing it first, General.” Wolffe agrees with the Kel Dor after briefly conferring with Kwill for the best course of action. He promises to come find you later. If it’s permitted by the elders, he’ll have Kwill take images of the offering in the event it’s something they feel they can’t (or won’t) take, so you can see it. 

“Don’t worry about me.” you promise, feeling safe between his DeeCee in your belt, and the familiarity in the company of his brothers. Though you are a lamb among so many wolves as a civilian, you couldn’t be safer. “I’ll find something to pass the time, General.”

“Thank you for your understanding, Arcadia.” Plo Koon replies kindly, dipping his head into a respectful bow of thanks. 

You’re not sure if it’s a Jedi thing, or a him thing, but you find yourself mirroring the motion this time. Respect earned, respect returned. 

He and Commander Wolffe shouldn’t be gone terribly long with the elders, so you decide to stay relatively close to where he’d departed from you just for now. Your head feels a little clearer than before, distanced from the incense where those stirring feelings had distracted you before. 

Twilight troubles, named for the harm they can do, could be simultaneously helpful. Funny how there’s so many things like that in this galaxy: good things, even good people, with intimidating names.

You’ve met a few troopers with hard, edgy names, their hearts softer than tooka fur. There’d been no bristle or frigid shoulders from men named Bane or Dukes or even a Bonesaw like your co-workers had warned you to steer clear of, what feels very long ago now, when you were very new to the job. They’d been the ones to help you navigate the durasteel halls while you learned where to go, what your duties were, your first few days. There’d been a Scuffle, too, who helped you, even at great inconvenience to himself. (Curiously, his armor bore some paint in sap green. Had he been transferred from a different unit?) Each had called you a rookie, but it was more of a casual, almost affectionate sort of thing, when they offered you their help. 

Here, sir, helped your lost rookie find their way. Got a little turned around in the halls. (Hey. Don’t worry, Arcadia, you’ll learn your way around in no time.)

Clones look so similar at first glance, a sea of sameness and uniformity. But you know better. These brave men are not wholly made of justs and sameness - a Clone who’s been invited to try his hand at throwing at a foot-pedal pottery wheel may have the same fingerprints as a million other brothers, just another Clone made in the after-image of a dead warrior, but his mark in this galaxy is unique because he is the one who put it there as the iron-rich clay squishes between his fingers in his first attempt. He laughs it off as the Chossi woman showing him how to throw encourages him to try again. 

“Well that’s certainly one way to get a feel for the clay!”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” she chuckles while she helps him start again. 

Trying again, he makes a concentrated effort not to immediately squish and squelch the red earth-matter, experimentally scooping into the mound she’s made to try pulling it outwards, like she showed him. Clones are remarkably fast learners, no matter if the result is a bit messy. Specks of clay plip against his stark white armor after he adds a bit too much water, distracted by Sergeant Boost joining the crowd of on-lookers. 

“Waiting here for the Commander, Arcadia?”

Answering somewhat to the affirmative, you tell him you’re mostly just looking around. “Just watching Lasher at the wheel for now, really.” Lasher’s having a good time, and watching the veteran ceramics at work is kinda mesmerizing. 

While you’re distracted, Sinker sweeps up Orchid, Tack and Soapsuds behind you, urging them to be silent. You’re none the wiser.

“Thinking you might add pottery to your list of talents?” Boost asks, teasing lightly. 

You roll your eyes, a sarcastic lilt in your voice. “Yeah sure, if I can find somewhere to squeeze it in between all the poetry and painting and woodworking and a thousand other things I’ve ever wanted to try my hands at with my precious free time since I’m just swimming in credits.”

“Hah,” Boost laughs, bobbing his head both knowingly and sympathetically, “Probably a good thing Clones don’t exactly come by much in the way of credits. There’d be too many half-used hobby kits lying around the cruiser.” 

While you’re asking him where Clones do get the credits for things like the popular Clone bar on Coruscant, Sinker is trying to persuade one of his brothers to do something for him to little success. “Please? It can’t be me or Boost.” It needs to be one of the younger brothers of the battalion who does this. He’ll sweeten the pot if need be, if it convinces them. “A dirty holomag. Round of drinks at 79’s. We won’t make you clean the gunships. Something.” 

“You had me at dirty holomag.” Orchid answers, grinning as he gleefully rubs his hands together. “What do you need me to do?”

Sithspit he didn’t actually have one on hand back at the cruiser, but he knows how to get one. That's a problem for later. “Listen carefully, when the Commander gets back-” Sinker begins, casting a careful look over his shoulder to make sure Boost still had you properly distracted. The two of you are making idle chatter, still. Sounds like Boost has you talking about potentially going back to the gathering fire with him later, where the inviting blaze would keep you warm in spite of the night’s chill. Just in case Commander Wolffe ends up being a while. 

You’re hemming and hawing about it, admitting you’re not sure just yet, but it’s kind of him to offer in the spirit of the oft-shared sentiment from the inhabitants of Little Archossi the Jedi, Clones and you are the humble guests of tonight. 

More friends the merrier. All are welcome under our shared skies. 

“Sure, no problem Arcadia,” Sergeant Boost says agreeably, “Night looks promising to have a lot of excitement still, so I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to - oh, I dunno - step back for a bit and find somewhere quiet. It is pretty late.”

Or, early, rather. It had been well past 1:00 when last you looked at a chronometer, putting you an hour into a new day. It’s probably 2 or even 3:00 am by now. It could be another three hours before dawn, give or take. You’re definitely not getting any sleep tonight, but you may at least need to rest. (You may need a lot of caf to get through the day when you get back to the cruiser.)

There’s a tree not far from here that seems a little more isolated at the edge of the settlement, Boost pointing it out to you when you say you think it might be a good idea, so it may be a good place to rest and work on another of your sketches if you want. 

“Thanks Boost. I think I might.”

From here, the activity and chatter of the settlement has fallen away into a comfortable lull of background noise, punctuated with hearty laughter and dramatic sound effects used by the troopers to spice up their storytelling. In the cold glow of the moon, you could once more study the artwork Wolffe had made of you while you twirled one of the coloring pencils in your hand absentmindedly. 

Color it however you like. 

Trouble is, you keep changing your mind, or run into complications. First you thought about choosing your favorite color, but the end of the pencil was too dull and you couldn’t find a sharpener among your things to remedy that. (How did you not have a sharpener?) Then you thought about coloring yourself in maroon too, the end still plenty sharp, but putting yourself in such a significant color to the history of the battalion felt… strange. Like maybe you felt you weren’t worthy of it. You’ve gone through a few more colors in your bag, putting away one and pulling out another, but you can never seem to bring yourself to put the pencil to paper. 

A rhythmic sound coming from the community, like the beating of a heart, pauses your skylane of thought for a moment. Growing louder, closer, you realize its two sets of boots tromping down the path, one heavy and deliberate to combat the other’s backpedaling. 

“Orchid, what is the meaning of this?!” Commander Wolffe demands at last, realizing his brother isn’t going to stop for anything, not even the threat of refresher and gunship duty. His brother only marches him further and further through the dark pathway where the crowns of the trees keep all the light for themselves. A datapad clipped to his hip rapidly knocks against the plastoid at the pace they’re going. “Let me go, or tell me what’s going on!” 

“Respectfully, Commander,” Orchid begins in a voice that leaves no room for interruption, “it’s time for you to stop circling the gunships and get to the hangar already!” He gives Commander Wolffe a firm shove from behind, sending the man a half-step forward into your small circle of light with a mischievous cackle. “Don’t worry about the rest of the battalion for the night, we’ve got it covered with the General!”

It’s now coming together for Wolffe, piece by piece. “... Boost and Sinker put you up to this, didn’t they?”

“Not quite, Commander. But they know I’ve got just enough younger brother privileges to still get away with this.” Orchid replies with a shit-eating grin, pleased with himself. 

“I’m putting all three of you-”

“Yeah, we’ve got it covered Commander! Have fun!” Orchid calls back over his shoulder as he retreats into the boundaries of the Chossi community. “Elder Row says don’t go any farther than the fifth cairn stack!”

Have fun? Fifth cairn stack?

Gulping back some nervousness, you apologize to the commander. “I’m so sorry that they’re… Well, I don’t even know what. I’m just as much in the dark as you, actually.” You’re not sure what Sinker or Boost had planned, or how exactly Orchid got involved in it, but you’re positive it’s giving Wolffe a headache. “I… might have a theory though.”

“... what?” Wolffe dares to ask, hesitant. 

“Sergeant Sinker told me earlier that I… s-seem to be having better luck than them when it comes to encouraging you to relax, so it’s… part of the reason I keep offering to keep you company.”

He stares at you in silence, contemplating perhaps, but it’s more likely that he’s working up something to say. 

Instead he sighs. “Hmm.” 

Putting your things to the side, you climb to your feet and dust off the seat of your pants, unsure if you should approach him when he’s currently clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. It doesn’t seem to be a completely conscious action as he finally drops his gaze and sighs once more. 

“Damn him.” comes the bitter grumble, a regretful expression cracking the commander’s stoic shell. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have started to lose my temper with-” Swallowing back the rest of the sentence with some difficulty, Wolffe looks at his feet instead, registering just how far he is from the settlement now, too. Sometimes, he finds himself forgetting just how strong the youngest troopers are. 

He’s been in this war for so long now, it feels, that trying to remember his own days fresh off Kamino proves a struggle. He used to be one of the four marshal commanders of the Grand Army, but the man you’ve gotten to know today is just a commander now. 

Wolffe notices something below his left boot just as you find your voice. 

“Wolffe? Are you okay?”

Your concern is touching. “I’m fine now, Arcadia.” he promises, pulling back his foot as he stoops to see what it is. Ah. Must have stepped on one of the Dinocaeruleus anthos after Orchid pushed him. (Anger and annoyance has been replaced with pride for that little pain in the ass.) He plucks the terrible blue flower with smashed petals from its home in the soil, looking regretful. Sorry little thing. He hadn't meant to trod over it. 

“What did Gi say these were called again?” he asks you, thinking to tuck the ruined blossom in his utility belt until he can find Tack. (Maybe even a ruined specimen can serve the researcher, in some way, he hopes.)

“Twilight troubles.” you answer, your voice softer than the gentle breeze. 

His head dips with a thoughtful nod as he plucks the neighboring, uncrushed flower too, “... come here.” Commander Wolffe requests in that golden tone that sends shivers down your spine. Close enough for his liking, Wolffe finds some buttonhole in your uniform to thread the stem through, adorning you with further tokens. “A little more color to catch the moonlight.” 

The stitched, gray wolf head with thread in your favorite color for the eyes was the only addition that graced your uniform just this morning. Now, there was the long leather cord of three copper beads wrapped around your wrist, and the Dinocaeruleus anthos - a delicate and beautiful galaxy when kissed by the rays of the moon - in the buttonhole to your breast pocket. 

“There,” Wolffe says decidedly, “think suits you rather well, Arcadia.” There’s a glimmer of moonlight reflected in the surface of his cybernetic eye, the cold and delicate beauty of it serves for a lure. You’re staring, and he can tell. 

He turns his face from you, eyes growing half-lidded. “Looks strange in the moonlight, doesn’t it?” The murmur is bashful, or perhaps more accurately, more self-conscious. Funny, you’ve never believed Commander Wolffe to be in any way conscious of his appearance like this in all the time you’ve been aboard the Triumphant. Never for a moment would you have pegged him to harbor insecurities, until today and all the many opportunities he has left himself vulnerable under your sight. 

Been permitted to know him better.

He’s allowed himself to be pulled apart, scrutinized and examined all so you can continually paint him with your praises, making your promises that you see him for the whole of the man he is. Beyond the flint. Beyond the designation number. Beyond his status as a commander, or simply just yet another rain-soaked son of Kamino. To you he is not Kaminoan or even Republic property, a mere product ten years in the making, a culmination of what a good, dutiful soldier was imagined to be and nothing further. No. You’ve witnessed too much today to pretend otherwise. 

He’s so much more.

“No. Strange isn’t the word I’d use.” you reply with a somber edge in your voice, “It’s… brighter in the moonlight. Like… like it becomes a beacon of light. Or a moon of its own.”

Instance after instance, you continue to impress Wolffe. Stump him repeatedly. Just when he thinks you can’t possibly offer yet more worshiping words, you conjure more. You’ve never seen him painted in the aching pains of rage that come in the heat of battle, but your tongue lifts only in reverence when you speak of his once-maroon paint and the phase one helmet. You’ve witnessed the hands that comforted and guided his brothers today, the very same hands that show a readiness in drawing his weapon today or any other day; never once did you shy away from such displays. You looked on in awe, instead. Or fear, not for yourself, but for him. 

He hums low in his throat. “Sounds like pollen-talk.”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s not. But would you believe me no less if it was, Wolffe?”

“‘Sounds like’ is not the same thing as ‘that is’, Arcadia.” the commander informs you, clarifying his meaning with a soft voice like hissing cinders. “But I never meant to imply I did not believe you…” Of course he believes you. You’ve proven your respect for him today, instance after repeated instance. 

It’s time he showed you more of the same respect in kind. You’ve been… so selfless, and kind, in giving him your time today. You could have told him to fuck off when he got in the way of the tree you’d been drawing, and you didn’t. You didn’t have to keep him company when Plo Koon had gone scouting, but you had. And you chose to remain behind when the rest of the crew left. How better can he repay all of that than to be honest with you?

Hoping he comes across in earnest, he meets your eye. “I would still believe you, even if it was from the flowers, because it’s you talking.” Wolffe promises. 

Now alone, fully isolated from his brothers rather than surrounded on all sides like so much of today, both you and the commander grow bolder, speaking freer than when you find yourself in the midst of the wolves. “Earlier: what was it that Waves said?” you ask, setting your things down now that you’re out of visual range of the battalion. 

Steeling himself with a long draught of his canteen first, Wolffe does not immediately meet your eye. He had taken you a little further away from the edge of the settlement, fearing his brothers would repeatedly come to gawk at the pair of you. What he says next, paired with the location, should be cautious. He’s aware of what it looks like. 

“Orchid seemed - seems…? - to think you'll have my privates standing at attention before morning, as a way to get me to relax, the next time we were alone.” 

It's exactly as you suspected, a sexual innuendo.

Both you and the commander break eye contact with the other at the same time. Yeah. You know exactly what the 104th will think when they learn that you two snuck off alone, staying within the boundaries of the third and fourth cairns - rock formations a whole head taller than Wolffe - in order to get a little alone time. 

“Permission to turn him into flower food, sir?” you request half-sarcastically with a deep groan, face in your hands. Did Orchid get that idea from his choice of reading material? Was the clever if crude play on words involving military rank and one's genitalia something he found on the Holonet? You and the commander… you barely know each other, let alone-! “Fucking hell… I think I’m gonna kill him.”

“He’ll wish you had after a week of fresher duty,” Wolffe says with a mild laugh, now offering you the canteen. “But I’m afraid the general and I need that little pain in the ass in one piece.” 

You chuckle. “Spoil-sport…” With not much in the canteen, you take a small drink with the intention of conserving some for later. The rest of the water was for you, he had said. You thank him after setting the canteen beside your bag, where you once more pull out your sketchbook as well as the second datapad you had offered to carry. When Orchid had shoved the flint-gray commander, the force combined with the weight of the datapad had compromised the clip holding it to Wolffe’s belt. At least that was going to be an easy part to replace. 

“So before I forget… what did Solladara want to show you and General Plo?”

Finding the pictures, Wolffe shows you the items, “Artwork of the clearing, where they found us. And… this.” It looks like it’s supposed to be some kind of shirt, but the material is surprisingly transparent. “You can understand why we accepted only the artwork, I’m sure.” Wolffe adds, shaking his head with a soft laugh as your eyes roam the image, trying to picture him in it while he mentions he’s going to try to get a small fire going to stave off the chill of the night. There’s a shallow pit, kindling and firewood that you can use here already, to your good fortune.

“I’m almost tempted to draw you again, wearing that Chossi attire that was offered to you this time.” you admit with a splitting smile, twirling the 2-besh pencil in your hand teasingly as you continue to study the image.  

You’re not really going to draw him in it, knowing that it’d leave very little to the imagination with a body type like the commander’s. He’s not slender in the same way the peoples of Little Archossi are, certainly much broader, and with well-defined muscle… Well. 

There was no way such a thing would be appropriate to wear anywhere other than the privacy of his own quarters. You’ll end up making the man look like a pin-up model in a state of semi-undress.

Wolffe clears his throat meaningfully. “You really should rest your wrist. I think you’ve drawn enough for the night, Arcadia.” Stretching out his hand, he silently beckons for the sketchbook to be turned over to him once he’s gotten the fire going. 

“Seriously?” You’re less than impressed with him for the moment, and it shows. You want to be touched that he’s concerned about your comfort, but him acting like a parent or other figure of guardianship in your life taking something away because you’ll misbehave with it in your possession is not the way to go about it. “I think I’m capable of showing some restraint on my own, thanks.”

Wolffe gives an unpleasant twitch when he realizes how this looks. How he believes he’s offended you. “I didn’t mean to imply that- Yes of course you are, Arcadia, you’ve proven that. I only wanted to ask to see it for a moment. I’m sorry.”

Oh. 

Oh Maker. Talk about a total overreaction when you don’t have all the facts. 

You hand him the spiral bound, eyes turned away. “I’m sorry. For assuming, and overreacting like that. I shouldn’t have.” The apology comes out in a strained voice, far more choked than you’d like. There are a million half-formed thoughts racing over your tongue right now that will never make it past your lips. You do not trust any single one will be coherent when it’s clarity you feel he deserves. “I think… I think after being around all this creativity-boosting pollen today it kind of just left me… wondering where all the thoughts begin and end.”

“Do you think you need a minute?”

“Yes…” you admit slowly. Wolffe starts to climb to his feet and panic begins to bubble up in your chest. “B-but I’d like you to stay! I’m not asking you to leave.” You don’t want him to leave, because you don’t know when he’ll come back, or if you feel this is worth potentially troubling a medic over. 

He listens, and he stays. The distance between you however, has changed. Wolffe’s put himself much closer to you now. Previously at arm’s length, he’s now close enough to lean against. He has the sketchbook in his hands, flipped open to that page of you in uncolored armor, but it’s you that he studies. In his quiet observance, Wolffe’s expression changes several times in the fluttering firelight, each change gradual and small. Softening brow. Pursing lips. Eyes full and fixed. 

“You’re a hard man to read sometimes, Commander Wolffe.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to say it, or how he’ll take it after what just happened, but maybe he’ll appreciate knowing what’s on your mind. “I think it makes me nervous. Sometimes.”

You know he doesn’t mean to. But you can’t help the way you feel either.

“I don’t doubt that, Arcadia.” 

He’s sorry that he makes you nervous, as well, Wolffe adds. Of course it isn’t his intention. Of course he understands that feeling this way can’t be helped sometimes either. He’s familiar with that feeling and its cousins. Nervousness and dread. You’ve seen enough proof of it today. The pacing. Safety drills. Lecturing Suds. Arguing with his sergeants. Throwing himself over you to keep you safe. 

Without hesitation. Like you were one of his own brothers… 

“Hey, um-” you start, glancing over at your sketchbook, “H-how’d you draw me so quickly? Can’t just have been ‘inspiration’.” It’s not the question you want to ask first when you disturb the curtain of silence, but it’ll serve as a good starting block.

Commander Wolffe gives you a small, guarded smile. “The idea is to be quick when you’re drawing outdoors, is it not? That’s what you said to me this morning.”

Oh the utter cheek in that reply - whether it was intended or coincidental - could drive someone wild were there not so many questions on your mind. And there’s just so much. 

“Force, I… I almost forgot I’d said that, in all honesty.” you admit a bit numbly, staring ahead into the dark sea of foliage. “You- Well no, you remembering that would make sense. I guess I should be more surprised by how much detail you captured in so short a time.” 

Muttering something to himself in thought, he repeats the word detail several times before coming to an important decision. 

Commander Wolffe's hand darts into the low fire pit, snatching out a charred hunk of wood. As you're wondering what the hell's gotten into him, if he's burned his hand through the gloves, he takes the art book in his opposite hand and flips it to his sketch of you. Sort of tickling the page with one end of the charred wood, Wolffe is carefully smearing the appropriate areas of the armor with ashes, blowing away the excess once he's done. 

“That takes care of gray missing from all of the coloring pencils.” He nods once, stiffly, satisfied with his ingenuity. “Now you truly look the part.” 

Look the part? But you're just drawn in Clone armor and colored in gray, just like the 104th battalion. What's so special about-?

Oh, Force. Oh galaxy and all her stars…

Commander Wolffe means you look like the rest of the one-oh-fourth, that you fit in. 

“Are you saying that…?” 

Osk-nern-esk

The eyebrow above his cybernetic eye lifts just so, nearly missed in the flickering firelight. “Use your words, Arcadia.” he teases. 

Osk-forn

“A-are you saying that I’m… b-but I'm just part of the crew!” you insist, certain that he's not serious about this. He can't truly mean what he's been writing, word by word beneath the first mantra. 

Trill-hesh-esk

“But you are, Arcadia. You're one of us.” Wolffe promises, voice low and reverent. “The 104th would not be the same without you. Not after what I've seen… felt today.” 

Wesk-osk-leth-vev-esk-senth

ONE OF THE WOLVES.

Whether they were still the magnificent maroons of the past, or the grizzled grays of today, you have been added among the names - the number perhaps thousands or more - of his brothers that he will forever carry in his beating heart, forevermore his wolves. This is a silent oath that when he fights for the glory of the Republic and the downfall of the Separatists, he’s doing so for his general, for his brothers, and for you.

For good measure, Wolffe scribbles down his rank and name, bringing the end to the work on his magnum opus with a signature. It's only fitting. Here, at this private fireside, he lays his heart and intentions bare to you. “I’m probably about as poetic as a gargled mouthful of Aurebesh soup, but Arcadia… while I know you well enough to consider you one of the Wolfpack, I'd… I'd like to ask if you'd be opposed to getting to know you better. As new friends do, first, perhaps, or…”

You blink once, maybe five times before finding your voice. Friends. In his own way, he confirmed you were friends. “I wouldn't be opposed at all… I-I’d be happy to, even.” 

You're nearly breathless, heart racing a thousand kilometers an hour, just short of warp speed. 

Does the slight stress to “or” mean he's grappling with other feelings about you on his mind, like you do for him? The love versus limerence? 

“As friends is a… good place to start.” you offer additionally, matching that tender, relieved smile he shows you. 

“Have to start somewhere, Arcadia,” the Commander replies plainly, trying to appeal to his and your own sense of logic perhaps. “Just to make certain of any… feelings.” 

Taking you under his arm, against his side, Wolffe is content with waiting out the remainder of the night under the curtain of stars for the sky to lighten and give way to another glorious, golden dawn. The 104th will depart for the Triumphant at daybreak, and the war efforts will resume as normal. You just hope Plo Koon cooks up a satisfactory excuse in the event someone asks him what happened today. (Or, technically yesterday. (What time is it?)) For all you know, nobody will ever ask or care to know, or it'll be decided what happened on Little Archossi is by-and-large an unspoken secret. 

Which would kind of be a shame. 

It'd be terrible to keep the day you became friends with the flint-gray Commander under wraps, never get to explain the truth behind him coated in maroon while you're in gray in the pages of your sketchbook. Never be able to explain the full context of meeting the Chossi, or what they've taught everyone. 

Or how, murmured under his breath into the shell of your ear after the stars begin melting into the backdrop at long last, Commander Wolffe admits that perhaps for once, he's never been more relaxed since the start of the war.

That's a wrap! Thank you so much to everyone who read this series; I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing this.🩷If you would like to be join my taglist for future fics, the form can be found here.

Tag list: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar

[Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Midday] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night]

[Golden Dawn part 1] [Finished!]

[knightprincess]

Scars (Commander Wolffe x Jedi Reader) Part 2

Warning: Reference/Implied Injuries - Bit of backstory for the Reader Words: 1.8k (Ye bit of a short one) Pronouns Used: She/Her - Use of Y/N

A/N - Sorry for the delay. 

The rescue seemed to be taking forever, or so Wolffe thought. The seemingly endless darkness made time slow down or even come to a stop completely. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours, and hours felt like days. Although Wolffe was certain it had been days, the quietness certainly wasn't helping his haunted mind keep hold of the sanity he had left nor keep his persistently yelling thoughts at bay. The only reassurance he had was (Y/N). Although she had since lost consciousness again, the call of sleep gripped her longer as she fought to keep her energy. 

"Cat'ra," called Wolffe, attempting to be soft when he heard her pained gasps. However, his attempt resulted in a pained growl of his own. "Help is coming; just hold on a little longer," spoke the Commander, reaching out to pull the Jedi a little closer; he wanted to help, needed to help her. Despite the terrible start to their journey together, he found himself unable to bear losing her or anyone else for that matter. "Don't give up on me, Cat'ra," he added, attempting to will her awake or at least make her a little more comfortable than she was before. 

"Commander Wolffe," Plo said in a fuzzy voice just as the dim light far above shone down on the pair. The LAAT was so far above it almost seemed like a star in the darkened sky, the high beams being the course of the dim light shining down. "Are you and (Y/N) able to use the cables?" asked Plo, his normally calm voice filled with a mixture of urgency and concern. 

"(Y/N)'s barely conscious, General. I'm pretty banged up too," replied Wolffe, once again reaching over to (Y/N), this time without the previous hesitation. Gently, he pulled her closer, holding on to her as if she were the temporary gravity replacement. Trying to stem the bleeding long enough for help to reach them. Mentally, the commander scolded himself; why hadn't he done this sooner, just pushed aside his conflicted feelings and her distrust? A sudden wave of determination washed over Wolffe. He wasn't going to lose someone else. He'd lost all his brothers in the Abregado system and failed so many when the Grevious showed the power of his super weapon, the Malevolence. 

"Commander," whispered (Y/N), shortly before a sharp pain rippled through Wolffe's arm, followed by the sensation as the pain wracking his body numbed and became obsolete. Quickly, Wolffe grabbed her hand as it fell, only now noticing she'd had hold of something this entire time. Stem cell injections. They were empty now, although it soon dawned on the commander why. 

"No, no, no," grumbled Wolffe, examining the three vials with haste, hoping to find one with something in, "Why did you do that, Cat'ra?" almost yelled the commander, urgency flooding his voice and his actions as he attempted to keep (Y/N) awake. She seemed to enjoy defying him, making him think and wonder. 

"Commander," called Comet from above, Boost and Sinker following behind on the cables. No doubt, Warthog was keeping the ship steady, and General Plo was waiting for their return. Wolffe reluctantly shifted his gaze to the three descending through the long chasm he and (Y/N) had fallen down. Once the trio had reached them, they quickly got to work. Sinker connected Wolffe to the spare line before signaling for Plo to pull him up, much to the commander's protest. 

"How bad is she, Comet?" asked Sinker, suspecting it was worse than any of them liked to think, especially if Wolffe's reaction was anything to go by. 

"She has internal bleeding. I can cut the pain, but we need to get her to a medical facility," answered Comet, quickly administering the painkillers before carefully maneuvering (Y/N) into the harness. Upon completing the task, Boost wasted little time attaching her to his own line before being hoisted up. Comet and Sinker retrieved (Y/N)'s lightsabers and what remained of Wolffe's smashed armor before returning to the ship themselves. 

"She ... She saved me," muttered Wolffe when the ship began to make its way towards the base. His mismatched eyes locked on (Y/N) lying on a stretcher across from him. Plo was between them, with Comet, Boost, and Sinker holding onto the overhead rings. "How can I repay her?" he whispered, finally settling to sort through his muddled and complicated mixture of feelings. Of all things he felt almost afraid, his mind had settled enough to tell him he owed her a debt and one that couldn't easily be repaid. 

"(Y/N) has always been defiant, Commander, even to the Council," worded Plo with fondness as he remembered the years spent training her. She was stubborn but also empathic and warm-hearted. At times, she didn't care to hold back her thoughts; instead, she voiced them regardless of such consequences. Many times, had traits from her life before the Jedi shone through—traits from her time as a Sith. 

"How so?" asked Comet, allowing his curiosity to get the better of him. Even more so when Plo spoke so fondly, as a father would for their daughter, rather than how a Jedi Master would speak of their former Padawan. 

"She has a way of wording things. Direct and normally sarcastic, it is not unusual for her to disguise cleverly worded insults. Nor is it out of the ordinary for her to disregard orders," replied Plo, recalling some of the times she'd completely ignored orders. She did so during her final assignment as his Padawan. The council had called her back after deeming the assignment a lost course. (Y/N) However, refused to leave the people of Lothal to fend for themselves when they clearly needed help. So she stayed and completed her original assignment, although it had come at a cost. 

"What was her specialty?" voiced Wolffe, lying back on his own stretcher once he was certain (Y/N) wouldn't be going anywhere. The question gained the attention of both Plo and his brothers. 

"I'm not sure one would call it a specialty," replied Plo, trying to find the best words to answer the question. There were many things his former Padawan was skilled at, from combining lightsaber forms in combat to her vast knowledge. There were many times when she fiddled with something as a padawan. "But, (Y/N) does have an unequaled knowledge of the underworld, a web of connections few others could hope for. There is little that happens there without her knowing of it." 

"And she isn't in command of the Commandoes?" Boost unintentionally voiced, a combination of shock and surprise lacing his voice. The trooper was thankful for his helmet as it concealed the horror painted on his features, even more so when he hadn't intended for his thoughts to be heard. 

"I thought she already was," commented Wolffe, vaguely remembering Gregor mentioning a Dathomirian Jedi leading Foxtrot's unit through a particularly grueling battle. Of course, Gregor made some jokes about it, although he didn't mention the Jedi's name. Nor did the Commando give any details about them outside of being Dathomirian. 

"She took over command of the 916th Batallion after the death of Master Cove Kenari," stated Plo, recalling the sudden loss of the great Jedi Master. He'd given his life in an attempt to deliver relief aid to one of the many planets suffering from the war, and the small number of troopers with him had also fallen. All of them had perished as heroes. 

"Wait, are you saying she didn't have her own battalion before?" Comet asked, putting the pieces together and finding only confusion and more questions. Plo, on the other hand, gave nothing away, instead placing a taloned hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder, gifting her with comfort and calming her racing mind—numbing her pain and suffering for a little while. 

"(Y/N)'s journey has been different from that of a regular Jedi. Because of this, many within the Order distrust her; many have found it difficult to look past her heritage or her ties to the Sith. Fear often clouds the minds of those who brand her the enemy," said Plo, sadness seeming to echo through his voice, even more so as he remembered the pain and all the suffering she'd been through over the years. On several occasions, he'd found himself wondering if (Y/N)'s affliction with the underworld was by her own choice or forced upon her by those who had so heartlessly judged and claimed her the enemy. 

"Where will she go from here?" asked Sinker, failing to hold back the bugging question. Although he suspect Plo would want her to stay a little longer, if the council collectively decided otherwise or the senate declared differently, then (Y/N) would be sent somewhere else entirely. Perhaps she would command the 916th again if they hadn't been assigned a more permanent Jedi General, or maybe she'd be tasked with an undercover operation more suited to her skill set, at least after she recovered. 

"Shaak Ti requested her assistance on Kamino" replied Plo, recalling the orders coming through. (Y/N) had been there assisting Shaak Ti before being called to replace Cove Kenari as general of the 916th. "Rest assured, she'll be with another who cares for her. The assignment will work to her skill set," reassured Plo. Soon after he voiced his words, the LAAT landed in the shipyard. In a whirlwind of minutes blending together, the group aboard went separate ways. Comet and Boost took (Y/N) to the medbay, followed by Sinker and Warthog with Wolffe. Sinker cracks a few jokes to try to lighten the mood. 

Plo, on the other hand, found himself in the communication center. He listened to the latest war effort updates from other generals and Jedi commanders scattered across the torn galaxy. He delivered his own at the same time, reporting the incident with Wolffe and (Y/N) and the known injuries, at least alerting Shaak Ti, who quickly requested regular updates as if she were a mother concerned for her child. 

"If you are to remove (Y/N) from the 916th," started Plo, remaining calm despite his growing frustration and agreement with Anakin regarding the pointless move the council had collectively made. I recommend assigning her to the Commandoes; they already respect her, perhaps more than they do others," he added, recalling the Commandos' obvious dislike, almost hatred, for Mace Windu and their habit of ignoring the majority of the order and senate. 

"I agree," declared Obi-Wan shortly after, followed by Anakin and Shaak Ti. After a few moments of thinking, Yoda nodded in agreement before wording the latest orders for (Y/N). Once she was ready to return to the battlefield and complete her assignment on Kamino, she was to take command of the Commando units and work closely with the other Jedi spread so thinly across the war-torn galaxy. 

Series Masterlist

[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 ♥

[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

[hanjyukutamago]

to kill a shadow

(imagine based on the graves' betrayal scene) (also definitely not proofread) (edited bcs i wanted to make the story longer) (also this is my first time writing a fic--well at least after 5-6 years?? so pls be kind to me uwu)

words count: 5,655 character count: 31,118

contents: violence, guns, blood, everything you would find in a typical cod game ofc(can be read as reader!!) x ghost x soap(platonic), everyone r mates, mentions of death, angst!!

(illustration is mine)

"Johnny, Mouse. How copy?"

"Solid."

"Great. Thought we lost you there. Mouse, how copy?"

Silence.

"Mouse?"

Not now, Ghost. I'm working right now. She thought to herself, a knife held tight in her left hand. Crouching right behind a Shadow soldier, her small figure gets even smaller, undetectable to the eyes of the American.

Small hands show to either shoulder of the soldier, the right holding his vest and the left stabbing right to the arteries on the neck. Making sure that there won't be any eyewitnesses, she withdrew the knife to her right, making a big slash no one could able to survive.

The soldier went limp, her right hand already on the vest went tense holding the weight of a dead man two times bigger than her, then left hand soon helped after sheathing the knife back into its pocket. Slowly she put down the soldier to the ground, making sure there was no noise made.

"Mouse busy. Killed a shadow."

"Was already thinking on how to look for a dead body as small as you." Ghost sighed in relief, two comrades alive is better than one.

"No need to. Mouse dead, more Mouse show up later. "

"Yes, and we've got a whole exterminator team outside." Ghost said, his voice low, reminding her of the situation. The sergeant tried to flip her brain right to left, front to back, trying to find a solution. There is no way they're going to hide along the way to safety right? There are just too many of them. Fully armed too, to remind her of their disadvantages.

She was lucky she still had her knife sheathed into her vest when the chaos broke out. Turns out Graves was not the cooperative man they were expecting to be. A fight between teams in this kind of situation is the last thing you would want. Especially against the ones who own attack aircraft that would end anyone in seconds.

The city of Las Almas probably is not the best, most peaceful one in the world, but it has its own charms; the music, the voice of children laughing, the chatter of people, it is never quiet in the city Los Vaqueros dearly loves.

Mouse took a small peek outside the alley, the first one after the last hour running and looking for a shelter to hide. The road that used to be so bright, so busy with locals running here and there is now dark, with nothing but bodies on the ground; men and women-children and also babies, the oh-so-beautiful terracotta floor painted with a shade of blood, streaming down the street, wet with rain.

"Bloody hell." She cursed under her breath, which is definitely the most normal reaction to this kind of scenery. "Does Graves know that they're doing a fucking war crime here?" The three of them can definitely hear the screams of wives, and scared husbands usually followed by a bang that ends them all, and the interrogative Shadows trying to force the Iranian out of his hiding, at least that is what they believe.

"These are innocent civilians..." Soap replied, she can hear the rustling behind his voice, probably still moving around trying to find a place safe enough to take a breath peacefully. "Shadows trying to play hero, aye?"

"Typical American move. Ghost, any ideas on how to escape this shithole?" Mouse has never been happy working with Graves, Shepherd, and anyone who's on their side. Too many orders, no solution. Too many noises for a small mission. She is not a fan of those unnecessary brrrts from the sky but she doesn't hate it, the Warthog-faced plane had saved her life numerous times.

"Stay low. Move through the houses. Make use of what you have. " The Lieutenant is a man of few words, but she had to admit that the things coming out of his mouth are usually useful.

Lucky. Mouse thought to herself, "I've got a knife with me. Soap?"

"Shite, got nothing on me. Probably dropped it somewhere in the forest--ouch--" Soap groaned, no matter how hard he tried to ignore the pain on his right shoulder, it keeps on coming back.

"Soap, you injured?" Mouse went into the empty-used-to-be-homey-coffee shop, her whole body complaining because instead of the sweet smell of her beloved coffee, she is greeted by the fishy smell of dried blood.

"Bullet to my right shoulder. But I'll be fine." Mouse nodded to herself, acknowledging Soap's report. Relying on the minimal light from the street and bright Shadow Jeep headlamp, she scoured the area looking for any extra weapons. It may be an empty house right now, but it still feels bad stealing something that used to be someone's. Especially when they're right there, eyes open wide with blood coming from the hole right between their jaw. The blood is fresh, meaning the Shadows were here, not long ago.

"Give me a sit-rep."

"Welcome to Starbucks, what would you like for today, Sir?" Mouse was proud of that one. She and Soap have been competing on who can make Ghost laugh harder. "Brits don't drink coffee, Mouse." Soap chimed, and she swear she could hear the targeted man chuckle a little. "Wid ye lik' some cuppa, Sir?" He continued teasing Ghost, he enjoys doing it every time. The comedian duo laughed together, satisfied by the joke. "MacTavish, sit-rep." Mouse can swear he was holding his laugh too, but for now, his stern reminder of the ignored comment is all they can get. "Rite, rite. Gated alley, Lt."

Mouse loves it every time someone makes a joke on the comms. These small interactions provide a little reminder of them still being human, not man-killing machines. Being in the army has never been easy, and will never be for anyone in the world, whether you're the strongest soldier or weakest loser out there. The emotional toll will always come like a big wave of a tsunami after every mission. When she was a Private, she believed that there is no way the missions would affect her mental health, that as long as she put nothing but her logical side of the brain into it. She was so tired of the stereotypes that women are much more emotional than men and tried so hard to prove them otherwise. But sometimes the percentage is right, and the surveys don't lie. She broke down in silence not long after her first mission.

Mostly, it was the blood. The only times she has seen blood is when it's flowing out of her flesh. The first time she has seen a fresh body it was so weird, and quickly realized how weak a human body could be.

The guilt of not being able to save everyone will never fade away, no matter how many missions she goes on after that. The kid in the Middle East. The small, weak old grandmother in Russia. The young man who died trying to protect his family in front of her.

The man was holding a handgun still wrapped tight by his dead fingers. Mouse noticed the weapon, and proceeded to take it from the cold skin of the owner, gently. This will help me survive outside. Thank you, and sorry I couldn't arrive earlier to help you. She spoke to the lifeless body in her mind, hoping that it would reach him somewhere, that he would forgive her for not being able to save the family.

She then looked around for any ammunition, because if he owned a gun that means he would have the refills for it, right? She thought and while she scoured the master bedroom for more possible useful stuff, she heard footsteps from the front door.

She stopped for a while trying to listen better to the noise, then held the pistol in both hands. By the weight of it, it seems like the previous owner didn't even get to shoot a bullet before having them in their head. Mouse kept her back to the wall, crouching behind the table in the corner of the room. The suspect of the noise stopped for a while, and from her position, she can see nothing but a familiar pair of boots.

The man is like a walking tower, yet his steps are feather-like. Mouse kept her presence hidden, she knows better than anyone that it would be a stupid idea to ambush a 6-foot-tall military man from the front. The scars and wound marks are proof of it.

She was going to wait until the giant walked past her so she could attack him from his back-until his face come into her sight. It was the lieutenant, probably looking for her and the other sergeant. "I'm inside the coffee shop." She could hear Ghost clearly from her comms, also from the man she planned on killing just a minute ago.

"Ghost! Sir!" She whispered loudly. It has been a long while since the last time she felt comfort in her heart. Seeing a familiar figure after hours of hiding in cold rain surely provide some kind of warmth, at least psychologically. The man in the balaclava somehow is fully-geared from head to toe, looking like a killing machine fresh out of the base. He quickly turned his head to the source of the sound, shoulders relaxed upon realizing that it was his junior behind the wooden table.

"Any injuries?" He asked, keeping it short and simple as always.

"No, Sir. Not a single drop of blood out." She answered, finally stood up, and walked to her superior.

"Good. Keep it that way. Gonna need a backup for exfil." He nodded, then proceeded to go upstairs. Mouse follows him automatically, keeping her footsteps light despite the heavy-duty boots. Ghost walked to the side of the window, Shadows can be seen still scanning the area that is now silent because there is no one alive to be killed anymore.

"See that church? We're going to secure our transportation right there." He pointed to the tall building up on the hills, easily visible because of the lights surrounding it. Probably a Shadow team meeting point. Ghost brought the walkie-talkie to his cloth-covered mouth, "Soap, I have regrouped with Mouse. Meet us at the church, how copy?"

"Loud and clear," Soap responded, almost immediately.

"Soap, can you manage? I can regroup with you first." Mouse reminded herself of Soap's injuries, worried about the lad going to the meeting point alone.

"Aye. Bleeding has stopped, kind of. Will somehow manage." He said, followed by a slight chuckle.

"Stay alive, Johnny." Ghost knows Soap probably better than anyone on the team, he would know when the Scotsman needs help or not.

"Roger, Sir."

Ghost moved his head in the direction of the stairs, ordering her to go downstairs first. She then moved to the direction of the kitchen, then opened the door leading to the back alley. The rainy clouds reflected the light from the church, making it easier to find a way out. Ghost followed her, always making sure no one is looking every time they make a turn into another tight alley.

They made their way into another house, the walls yellow-colored with a splash of dark brown here and there, plants on every corner of the room. Must be a cozy house before this shitshow, she thought. Ghost went straight to the kitchen, finding a rather big kitchen knife and handing it to her. 'Make use of what you have', as the skull-faced man one time said.

"Sir, can I ask you a question?" Mouse broke the silence, either it was her habit of being chatty at the wrong times or her attempt on getting her superior to speak more.

"Speak, Sergeant." He answered, eyes on the kitchen cabinets in front of him.

"How come you're so fully geared? You get a special drop or what?" She chuckled at the last sentence like it was a joke, but it really has been in her mind for a while. She has been going in and out of houses for hours, yet didn't find anything to hold on to as a weapon. How come this man has not one, but two rifles on his back?

"Your first guerilla warfare, kid?" He finally turned his back to the smaller women, slightly nodding his head in question. "You've seen my documents, Sir." Her eyes met with his for a second, then moved to the door to move again. He stayed behind her to keep her back, both of them safe.

Mouse tends to overthink her own actions, also over-analyze others' reactions. Usually by how their lips pout, how their eyebrows crease in confusion after she said something weird, and any changes in facial expressions. By Ghost's face not being visible, she could only rely on the slightest of his eye movements. They're a bit sparkly and strong when he's doing his job, dark when something didn't go his way, sometimes soft when he realized his teammate is injured, and she still can't prove it yet but also sometimes when he's looking at her. Is it because she's a woman? Because she's smaller? Looks weaker? Way greener than him? Anything it is, she doesn't care as long as she can keep working with the team.

"Sometimes you just have to let your experience talk, Mousey." He sometimes calls her Mousey when he's feeling a little bit chatty, usually to emphasize how small a mouse, and Mouse is. She doesn't hate it. Quite the contrary, she kinda loves it. It's like when your best friend gave you a nickname only they can use.

"Can't wait to be as experienced as you, Sir." She turned her head to Ghost one last time before stepping the wet road outside, again. They again stopped before making a turn on the alley. "Don't be like me, Sergeant. Do better." He has seen the glory and the muddy, stinky side of being in the army and he wouldn't wish anyone to see what he has seen and feel what he has felt before. If he could make Mouse stop her career in the military, he would. No human should live restlessly and hold the burden of world peace like this. Especially being in the 141 means that no one on the earth would be thankful for what they did, because if one does, that means they had failed on keeping the task force a secret.

"I can see the church, Sir, but there are too many Shadows walking around," Mouse reported to her superior who was behind her. This time Ghost went first, signaling her to get behind the car across the street. "Find cover. We're going to work our way to the church."

"Roger." The car's engine did warm her body for a bit, having it soaked in water for the last hours. She then peeked into the vehicle, the car key still stuck where it should be, feels like a gift from the great heavens for runaways like her.

"Sir, might want to mark this car. Engine's on, everything's there, we get Soap and run." Mouse said, excited to finally flee from the grasp of the Americans.

"Noted. Now let's move." Ghost led the way, avoiding the enemies' eyes which are ready to fire anyone who doesn't look like one of them. The pair kept on hiding behind cars, slowly making their way into the church.

"Any visual on the church?" Ghost asked the other sergeant.

"Aye. Road's blocked, though." Soap looked around for any threats, then moved to a darker alley, hiding in the shadow, from Shadows. "Try and cut through the shops. Much safer." Ghost warned. "Aye, sir. On my way."

After countless houses and shops, Ghost and Mouse finally reached the side fence of the church. The front steps were heavily guarded by an army of Shadows, making it not an option to sneak from the main gate. They could feel some kind of relief once they stepped on the cold granite floors of the religious building. Shadows might be carefree enough to kill civilians for zero reasons, but they wouldn't be brave enough to attack a church... right?

Whatever the truth is, they proceeded to go to the higher floor of the church. "I'll go first. Watch my back." Ghost said, holding his rifle tight. The church looks like it hasn't been touched by the chaos, chairs, altar, and everything still in place.

Ghost placed himself near the window of the fifth floor, prepared to give Soap the backup he would probably need when he reaches the building. Just right after he placed his sniper rifle(which Mouse kept staring at because how the fuck did he get that?), he noticed a figure that definitely doesn't belong in the Shadows squad. The figure ran into an alley, probably inside the house. The soldiers were facing another direction, not aware enough to notice him.

The pair both know it's ninety-nine-percent Soap who is inside the house. Ghost aimed his rifle at the front door of the said building, his eyes fixed right on the scope. "I'm nearby, Sir," Soap reported through the radio.

Soap was going to open the front door slowly and sneak up to the church, but it was unfortunately locked from the outside. Either he didn't realize that there are enemies outside of the house or a pure case of having so little patience left, he tried prying open the wooden door. Which of course was followed by a rather big noise considering you're hiding from a whole squadron trying to kill you.

"No, no, no, Soap! Not like that!" Mouse loudly whispered, her heart beating fast and muscles tense watching Soap's action from behind the walls of safety, or so she thought.

Soldiers swarmed the door in an instant, meeting one of the guys they have been looking for hours. A loud bang of gunfire echoed, not from the Shadow, but from the man beside Mouse.

Heads soon turned in the direction of the church, giving Soap time to escape. Shadows soon swarmed the church from the front gate, rifles on hand, definitely not trying to repel their sins. If you have done one war crime, why not add more, yeah? Nothing will change anyways.

"We've got visitors here! Meet me on the steps outside!" Ghost packed his sniper rifle, switching to a smaller, M4A1. They ran to the other side of the tower and went downstairs hoping that there will be fewer Shadows there. The American soldiers sure are fast, as one, or two already reached the fifth floor they were camping on. Mouse shot a bullet, piercing through the unprotected area of his face, replied by a bang from the other side. Two bodies dropped to the floor, one in all-black attire and one with a British flag on the right sleeve.

Ghost noticed the fight behind him, then turned his face to find that Mouse isn't there. She might sometimes be stubborn, but there was no time she doesn't obey an order. Ghost was midway to the 4th floor, then just as he was about to reach the fifth, another bang echoed, followed by a heavy thud.

He always has worst-case scenarios prepared in his head, and one is to work out his muscle a little bit and carry Mouse to safety somewhere in this mission. Sometimes his habit gets really spooky and becomes a reality.

"Don't--pick me up. I can go by myself." She grunts, holding up her body with the help of the wall, one hand waving to Ghost, signaling him to not worry. She is not scared of blood, but she hates the smell and the texture of it. She hasn't dared to look at her wound but can feel it from her inner left thigh. "Fast, before another Shadow shows up and kills us both."

Ghost opened his pocket and took out a leather belt, then fastened it right above her wound. He tightened it as much as it could go, then poked a new hole with a knife, the belt resting nice and steady, and of course doing the job of reducing the blood loss at the very least.

"Now we can move." Ghost gave a look of approval in his eye, then helped Mouse to stand straight on the ground. "Quick. I can hear the footsteps. You go first."

Mouse nodded, and they change places. Ghost gave an extra look every time he checks his back, and also every time Mouse took another step downstairs. They stop every time the rustling of army vests and heavy steps of the boots can be heard, wait until they are gone, or shoot them when they're heading their way. Mouse kept count of how many bullets will be left in her handgun, making sure every bullet out are deadly accurate. By the time they reached the ground floor, she only got two left inside the weapon.

Finally made his way to the steps outside the fenced church, Soap was a tad bit confused when he couldn't see any Shadows there. "I'm here, Lt! Area clear, no Shadows!" He reported, but of course, there would be no Shadows outside, because they were all inside chasing for the other two 141 members.

The wooden gate of the church opens, showing a limping small soldier and following a tall man with a skull balaclava, both running for their dear life. "Soap!" Ghost shouted to the man waiting outside of the fence, moving to his location to regroup. Soap shot the gates' lock with a handgun he found earlier, strapped to the body of a dead Shadow. He then opened the heavy gate with his unwounded arm, making it easier for the pair to exit the area they were in.

"Steamin' Jesus, Mouse! Y'alright?" Soap noticed the gunshot wound, the camo cargo pants now dyed dark red. Adrenaline keeps Mouse up, running, and shooting bullets, but other than that, she finds it hard to process. She finds it hard to make a proper sentence to answer him, so she just ran to the car she found before going into the church.

"Mouse found a car before we got here. We need to secure the vehicle!" Ghost ran behind Soap and Mouse, then noticed how Mouse became less and less fast. The bullet probably grazed her femoral arteries, and although not completely sever it, it's still one of the main arteries and it will leak more and more blood as she goes. It is undoubtedly Ghost's belt did wonders because if it doesn't she would've been dead from blood loss right now.

Ghost, being the only unwounded one then ran to the front of them, then picked up Mouse along the way. Usually, Mouse would've resisted, but she had little to no energy for that. "What... the... fuck..." She moved her mouth slowly, still processing what had happened, why is she on the lieutenant's shoulder, why is she not running anymore. One good thing is, Mouse is small enough, at least for Ghost, to carry on his right shoulder.

"Soap, use this!" Ghost passed his assault rifle to the sergeant. "Cover us!" He opened the back door of the Jeep, placing Mouse in a position where she could sit comfortably. Her eyes are still open, aware of everything that is occurring in front of her, but not strong enough to react. The handgun was still held tightly in her left hand, her right hand on the car seat, holding the weight of her body. The blood seems like it's not going to stop any time soon. She grunts, and straightened her body, planning on giving support by making the best out of the two bullets inside her gun.

Soap got inside the car, passenger's seat, and Ghost is driving. The car engine is still on, just like the time they found it. Ghost hit reverse, did a whole donut then hit the gas, reaching the speed that definitely will get anyone a ticket if the town is in its normal state. The Shadows, of course not giving up yet, tried to chase the stolen car. Soap shot rounds of bullets, killing the Shadow that was shooting at them. The driver is still chasing them, but no matter how many times Soap pulls the trigger, the bullets are not coming out. Mouse realized the crisis they're in right now and moved her body to the left side of the seat, took a look at the target, and shoots him. The first bullet was stopped by the window, and the second, the last bullet hit the driver near his neck. Was not the headshot she expected it to be, but still enough to help them run away.

Mouse let out a sigh, adrenaline stopped pumping and a wave of fatigue washes over her. She rested her head on the headrest, then moved her eyes, scanning the inside interior of the car. 'Oh, right' She thought, as her eye stopped on the wet wound. Everything is slow and blurry, and all she thought about was how she wanted to throw her body to a bed and sleep.

"Don't you dare sleep, Osborne." Ghost took a peek in the rearview mirror, finding the sergeant about to doze off. Soap turns his body, keeping a look on the wounded soldier in the back seat. "I'll keep my eyes on her, Lt. Keep driving." He said, and he kept his words, as he literally stared at Mouse without even blinking.

Mouse found the sergeant's action funny and let out a weak chuckle. "Stop. You're scary." Mouse knew that it was game over once she closes her eye. She knows it too well, she has seen it too many times, more than enough.

"Where are we going, Sir?" Soap asked the driver, eyes still on Mouse. "Alejandro has a safe house. We're meeting his men there." If Ghost could go faster, he would. The thing is, this is the fastest a Jeep could go. The blocked roads are also not helping. Soap unfastened his seat belt, then jumped to the back seat. "I'm sorry, little mouse, you know I hate violence but I had to do this."

He hit Mouse's cheeks from both sides, squeezing them and bringing his face closer to hers. "Let's do a little quiz, aye? What's your favorite subject in school?" The surprise slap and sudden quiz did open Mouse's eyes a little bit. "Heh, Lame." The driver chimed in.

"What the fuck, Soap." She laughed. "Mom wansme goodadmahhs." Every second she finds it harder and harder to move her body parts, her mouth not excluded. "Mouse... badadid." Her eyes started getting teary, Soap's question brought up some good memories of her hometown. "Tellmamom... Sorry-ah-lie...d." Her body shakes every time she sniffled, her head full of regret for not being honest with the people she loves.

"You tell them yourself, Natalie. Maybe after we are back in the UK?" Soap's mission was only one, and that is to keep the other sergeant talking. Having little to no energy left, Mouse nodded, hoping that her body wouldn't have to be sent to her house, because it will be funny that Natalie Osborne, who's supposed to be working in the paperwork department of the SAS, died because of a bullet wound.

People who have seen her documents, in this case, Captain Price and Lieutenant Riley, must've known that her parents actually knew about their daughter being in the task force. Her dad actually once became suspicious and called directly to the military hotline. He told them not to tell her, though, because he knows she would be embarrassed as fuck if that happened.

They were approaching the road out of the city but were met with barbed wires, preventing citizens to escape from the lockdown. Ghost didn't hesitate and drove through it, finally getting them out of the destroyed city. The surroundings of the car shifted from the street lights to the dark mountains, and them getting closer to the safe house. She doesn't know if it's because of the lack of lamps, but Mouse felt like her vision is getting darker as time passes. Her headache is gradually getting stronger and her eyelids get heavier each second.

"Hold on, Mousey. The safe house is close. We'll patch you up first thing first." Ghost held tight on the steer, he is not panicking, but no one will ever get used to seeing their teammate's soul slipping out of their hand. They are so close, so close to saving Mouse from the death's door.

"Am sleepy, Simon..." Consciousness fading in and out, she doesn't even realize she's calling her superior by his given name. Wrinkles show up between Soap's eyes, worried about the inevitable. "Come on, hey, you said Mouse don't die, aye?" He gave her cheeks some light taps, in an attempt to wake her up again.

Mexico is not supposed to be this cold, even if it's a rainy night. She doesn't know, it's her first time visiting the country. She could see Soap's mouth moving as if he was talking to her, but she couldn't hear anything. The last thing she wanted to do was to talk. She just wants to lay down somewhere warm and comfy, then sleep.

It all makes sense now. She's not going to be a better person than the Lieutenant, she's not going to be the first female captain in the SAS. The book is closing, and it is by an American betrayer. Should she become a wandering spirit, she will ghost Graves anytime she could. Yeah, that's probably a good plan for her future. She unconsciously chuckled with her last drop of energy, and finally succumbed to the fatigue.

"No, no, no, no, no--Fuck! We're losing her!" He slammed his fist to the car seat, then immediately rushed to fold Mouse's sleeves up and took her gloves off, desperate for any signs of a heartbeat. "How long 'til we get there, Lt?" He finally took his eyes off Mouse after a good hour and gave the Lieutenant a look from the rearview mirror.

"One last turn. Hold tight." Ghost made a hard turn but hardly a drift, the trees fading, and a big barn came into sight. It looks clean but somehow abandoned, with nothing but the field of grass surrounding it.

"I'll carry her. Johnny, you take care of your own wound." Ghost got out of the car first, then opened the back door. "Aye, Sir." Soap nodded, then walked to the said safe house. He kneeled to the iron plates on the ground, suspicious of the placement.

Ghost let out a heavy sigh, then carried the limp body out of the vehicle. He could feel her chest rise and fall softly, a sign for him to not give up hope. He may not say it out loud, but having his subordinate injured under his watch leaves a big guilt on him.

He stopped walking behind the kneeling Scotsman, and he too noticed the object on the grass. "Rigged plates." Soap deducted. "Smart bastard." Ghost approved, amazed by the Mexican Special Forces colonel.

Soap went inside through the open window, his now freshly loaded rifle ready in his hand scanning the lowly lighted area. Ghost followed with Mouse on his shoulder, and a red dot appeared on Soap's forehead. "Don't move." He ordered the sergeant, then a knife was sent flying in the direction of the laser, landing on the wooden pole.

"Who's there?" A familiar sound asked, answered by Soap who realized the owner of the voice. "Rodolfo!" He called, and the mentioned man then appeared from behind the pole.

"Soap! Ghost! Mouse!" His eyes light up, seeing his amigos alive and moving, but his face soon turned the opposite when he laid his eyes on Ghost's shoulder. He jumped out of his hiding, and gave back the knife Ghost threw at him, rushing to help them carry the injured sergeant.

"You guys equipped with proper infirmary?" Ghost waved his hand, signaling the Mexican that he will carry Mouse by himself. "Come," He nodded, then did a light jog to the light switch, turning on some of the barn's light sources. He then pulled down a lever, and wooden barn doors opened, showing them another door, hopefully, filled with medical equipment.

Ghost laid down her body on the hard bed, and gave her one last look, his eyes soft as always. The curious eyes that used to look up at him, were now closed, skin pale. He sighs, he has never been good at expressing emotions, on how to act when his teammate is nearly dying, in front of him. The Los Vaqueros had a combat medic, thank whoever's up there. The British Special Forces went out of the room, entrusting the life of little Mouse in the Mexican soldier's hands.

Whatever results that will come out of the door, one thing that Ghost, and Soap know, is that they were not ready to lose another friend. At least after they all saw her efforts in climbing the harsh world of the army. All those hard work, all the times they have bonded together as a team, as mates. How are they supposed to see Price's face after all this? How to tell Gaz? How to move on to another mission with one gear missing?

They don't have enough time to worry, never enough time for anything. They had to move forward, plan on getting their revenge on Graves and Shepherd, free Alejandro, find Hassan, and save the world from chaos.

One thing they keep in their head, is that you can never kill a Mouse. They will always come back, usually smarter, and even harder to kill. As someone once said:

"Mouse dead, more Mouse show up later. "

[heaven-s-black-box]

Crush- Simmons x Fem!Blue!Reader

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Recovery date: August 8th, 2023

Description: Hi there! Can I request a RvB fic, Simmons x fem!Reader to be specific? Simmons has a crush on reader, but absolutely unable to communicate with her, and Grif is making fun of him for it.

Notes: This entry was recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contribution,

Word count: 348

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“Damn…” Grif let out a low whistle as he came up beside Simmons, hands laced behind his head.

He let them swing down and slapped his friend on the back, making him jump.

“Grif! Wha-what do you mean, damn?”

“Dude, it’s been years and you still can’t talk to her.”

Red team's resident slacker nodded towards the vehicle pool where Y/N was crouched beside Jensen, helping her repair a Warthog. Y/N had taken off her armor for easier movement in just her under suit.

The two men watched as Jensen sat up and Y/N hopped into the driver's seat to turn the car on. It rumbled a bit before settling into its usual drone. Jensen jumped up with a smile so the two could high five in celebration of another successful repair.

“I can talk to her,” Simmons grumbled, elbowing Grif in the side.

“Remember the first time she showed up at our base, you were all cool until she spoke, then you walked into a wall. I had to handle negotiations, you still owe me for that by the way. Or the first time you saw her without her helmet, you-”

“You can stop now.”

“Or when we started working with the Blues and Tucker was flirting with her, you spent the whole day glaring at him,” Grif laughed. “But when I said, go talk to her, you told me to go fuck myself.”

“Please, stop.”

Grif side eyes him.

“For the record, we talk about you.”

“Wait, what?”

Grif shrugged, pulling away from Simmons and heading up to the girls. He leaned against the Warthog, and said something that Simmons couldn’t hear that made Y/N laugh and Jensen glance over at him. 

Jensen walked away from the Warthog towards one of the work tables, putting away her tools, and Grif continued on through the pool towards the mess hall.

“Simmons! Come help me return this to the front,” Y/N called, smiling brightly and waving him over.

“Ju-just so you know, whatever Grif told you was a lie.”

“Mhm, sure thing Dick.”