#with his blaster bless him

[jb-nonsense]

[keferon]

He aims his pistol at the sky— WAIT!

—————————————

Rico took the shot, but Jazz was the one who had made the choice. Risk two planets, or lose only Earth. Risk both his own planet and Prowl’s at the mere hope of saving Earth, or save Prowl’s home and trap the Quintissons light-years away from Cybertron.

The choice had been easy. He had hesitated a bit when he told Rico to take the shot, but he knew his twin. His twin was smart, Rico would know exactly what he was asking when he told him to shoot the console of the portal. And bless his twin, he hadn’t even hesitated.

“That was… that was quick thinking,” Blurr whispered over their group’s shared comms.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe made soft noises of agreement, Jazz thought he heard Sides hyperventilating. Jazz swallowed as he leaned back into the little console seat, relaxing to the steady hum of Prowl’s sparkbeat. Deadlock shifted beside them, cradling Ratchet close against his own chest. Hell, even Vortex shifted uneasily.

“Jazz… what did you do,” Prowl whispered, servo coming up to his chassis.

“We closed the portal. Permanently,” Rico answered for him, his Mecha dropping the blaster he had used to hit the portal.

The two cybertronians of the group were silent as they realized what the small group of earthlings had just sacrificed. Prowl’s wings drooped sadly as grief pooled through him. He had lost Praxus to the quintissons, he couldn’t imagine a whole planet.

“Jazz. I’m so sorry,” Prowl whispered, horror evident in his EM field, echoed by Deadlock’s own.

Jazz was silent, as he pressed back into the field, allowing his own little field to echo the grief. What was it that Optimus always said?

Oh. Right.

Till all are one.

[nahoney22]

Congrats on 4500 followers!!! You’ve come so far and I feel so blessed whenever you’re writing blesses my feed ❤️

May I please request the bad batch and any other clone(s) of your choice learning that the reader (gender neutral) has a bunch of tattoos and they didn’t know because reader is always covered? Perhaps they find out when reader gets injured, or they walk in on reader changing, maybe things get spicy…Could be nsfw, sfw, or anything in between, your choice!

Have an absolutely wonderful day and may your writing grow and flourish!

Tattoo’s***🌊

🫧 All The Bad Batch Boys, Fives & Rex X Gender Neutral!Reader

How the Bad Batch Boys including Rex and Fives react to you having tattoo’s.

warnings: Some are safe for work and others are quite spicy so there is a 18+ warning. Gender neutral reader, tattooed reader, kisses, touchy-feely, flirting, accidental voyeurism, some friends to lovers, friends with benefits, strip poker, nudity, neck biting and kissing, some flustered clones and reader.

a/n: sorry for the wait @ihavemanychickens, hope this is okay. And thanks @probadbatch for the strip poker idea 🔥 🩵🫧

Echo

"Take a seat here; I’ll grab the medkit," Echo ordered as soon as you stepped onto the ship, guiding you to lean against a nearby crate.

You had taken a minor hit—a blaster bolt grazing your calf. The pain was sharp, but you were certain it wasn't anything serious.

As you lowered yourself onto the crate with a wince, you rolled up your pant leg to inspect the wound—a deep graze, but nothing too alarming.

Echo approached, kneeling in front of you. "Let’s have a look."

You appreciated his quick response and care, but you noticed his gaze lingering on your leg. "Is everything okay?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry," he replied quickly, shaking off his distraction as he retrieved some bacta spray. "I just didn't know you had tattoos."

You paused, realising this might be the first time any of the Batch had seen more of your skin beyond your hands and face. You weren't exactly in the habit of undressing in front of them. "I thought I mentioned it before."

"Not to me," Echo chuckled, carefully applying the spray. He winced sympathetically when you did, apologising as he dressed and bandaged the wound. "I think I would have remembered."

You shrugged casually. "I've had them for a while. Planning to add more, actually." You smiled as he stood, taking one last look at your leg before rolling the fabric back down.

"Oh yeah? Got any ideas?" he asked, genuinely curious despite lacking any ink himself.

You began to list off a few ideas, and as you did, you noticed how interested he seemed. "What about you?" you asked as you carefully hopped off the crate, putting minimal pressure on your leg. "Ever thought about getting one?"

He considered it for a moment before shaking his head. "Not really my thing, but they look really good on you."

"Thanks, Echo," you replied, touched by his compliment. He even appeared flustered by his own choice of words. "I’m pretty much covered. I could show you some more sometime?"

You meant it innocently, but the thought of Echo seeing more of your tattoos, and thus more of you, froze both of you in place. His wide eyes mirrored your own as you both stumbled over your words, trying to recover. Fortunately, a transmission started to come through, saving you from further awkwardness.

Who knows, maybe one day you would show him more.

Hunter

“Hey, have you seen my—?” Hunter’s words died in his throat as he stepped onto the Marauder, not expecting to find you in a state of partial undress.

Your back was to him, revealing tattoos that he hadn't known were there. He’d seen the small ones around your ankles before, but this was different. This was...a lot more.

You turned quickly, eyes wide as you grabbed your shirt to cover yourself. Hunter cleared his throat, awkwardly tapping his hand against the ship's wall. "Sorry, I, uh, I should’ve knocked."

"Don’t worry about it," you replied, trying to downplay the situation. "What were you looking for?"

Hunter blinked, trying to recall what he had come for. "I was looking for...you know what? It doesn’t matter." He chuckled, attempting to break the tension. "I didn’t realise you had so many tattoos."

"Oh," you started, feeling a slight flush of heat creep into your cheeks. "Yeah, my back has the most. My legs and arms are pretty much bare."

"And the ones on your ankles," he added, a small smile playing on his lips.

You nodded with a grin. "And the ones on my ankles."

An odd silence settled between you, both unsure of what to say next. You leaned against one of the consoles, watching him as he seemed to look everywhere but at you. "Do you have more than one tattoo?" you asked, pointing to your face where his was on his own.

"Just the one. But it’s, uh, bigger than you’d think."

"It is?" you asked, genuinely surprised.

"It goes all the way down to my hip," he revealed casually, his tone as smooth as ever.

Your eyes widened. How had you never known that? Then again, you both had your secrets. "Really? That’s...cool." Without thinking, you added, "I’d love to see it."

Hunter’s eyes met yours, a spark of interest in his gaze. "I could show you if you want."

You nodded, trying to act nonchalant as your heart rate picked up. You watched as he began to peel off his shirt, revealing his tanned, toned, and muscular build. Your eyes traced over the intricate design of his tattoo as it spread down his ribcage, disappearing into the waistband of his pants. You couldn’t lie, the sight of him stripping his clothes off to show you what he had hidden did something to you… it was literally impossible to focus on anything else.

"Well?" Hunter asked, a teasing grin on his face as he caught you staring. Even worse, you were even biting your lip as you practically drooled over him. You sincerely hope he didn’t hear the way your heart thundered in your chest but you doubt it.

You swallowed, managing a small smile as you met his gaze. "It’s...impressive," you said, voice soft but genuine.

Hunter chuckled, pulling his shirt back on, though the heat between you lingered. "Thanks. Maybe next time, we can compare."

"Maybe," you replied, trying to sound casual, but the way your pulse raced suggested this was a moment you wouldn’t soon forget.

Wrecker

"Headed to the gym? Mind if I join ya?" Wrecker asked, catching you mid-motion as you pulled on your workout shoes. Being back on Kamino meant access to some of the best training facilities, and you weren't about to pass that up.

You glanced up and nodded. "Yeah, sure. Want me to wait for you?"

"Nah, no need. I'll meet you there. Gotta finish up something first," Wrecker replied, already eager to start lifting.

You smiled and headed off to the gym. You started with an intense cardio session, like usual, working up a sweat quickly. The heat made you shrug off your jacket, leaving you in your training tank top. As you moved on to weights, you focused on your form, muscles tensing and relaxing with each rep.

A little while later, Wrecker strolled into the gym, ready to go. He stalls as he noticed you lifting, your body glistening with sweat, muscles working in sync—and the tattoos.

His eyes widened at the sight; he’d never seen so many on you before. He knew you had some but not to this extent. Watching you move, the way your inked skin flexed with every rep, stirred something in him. And in his pants that seemed to get oppressively tighter.

You caught his gaze in the mirror, noticing the way he was staring. Turning to face him, you raised an eyebrow. "What’s got your attention?"

He blinked, flustered at being caught. "Uh, nothin'! Just, uh... your tattoos! Didn’t know ya had that many.”

You chuckled, setting the weights down. "Yeah, most people don’t notice unless I’m dressed down like this." You took a step closer, giving him a playful smile. "Like what you see?" You ask with your hands on your hips.

Wrecker swallowed, clearly caught off guard by your forwardness, but he wasn’t about to back down. "Y-Yeah! I mean, they look... really good. You look really good," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he met your eyes.

You grinned, pleased by his reaction. "Thanks. It’s nice to know they get some appreciation." You paused for a moment, your eyes locking with his. "Ever thought about getting one yourself?"

Wrecker laughed, his sudden nerves easing a bit. "Me? Nah, I dunno if I could sit still that long.” And then he takes a bolt of courage. “But maybe I could get used to seeing 'em on you."

The flirtation in his tone wasn’t lost on you, and you felt a spark of excitement. "Well, maybe you should keep coming to the gym with me then. Could be good motivation for both of us."

His grin widened, the tension between you warm but playful. "I think I just might. Gotta keep an eye on those tattoos... and make sure you're not skippin' leg day," he teased, eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and interest as his eyes roamed your body.

You chuckled, giving him a playful nudge as you picked up your weights again. "You do that, Wrecker."

As you continued your workout, you could feel his gaze lingering on you, the atmosphere charged with a new energy. It seemed like these gym sessions were about to get a lot more interesting.

Tech

You crouched beside Tech, helping him with a particularly intricate wiring task on the Marauder. The fabric of your gloves proved too cumbersome, so you slipped them off, deciding your bare hands would offer better precision.

As you worked, Tech glanced over, his eyes narrowing as he noticed something new—delicate, intricate tattoos on your fingers. He hadn’t noticed them before, and the sight of them seemed to capture his full attention.

“I was not aware you had tattoos,” he said, a note of surprise in his voice. Without thinking, he gently took your hand in his, turning it slightly to get a better look. Tech wasn’t typically one for physical touch, so this unexpected action caught you slightly off guard.

You blinked, feeling a warmth rise to your cheeks as he inspects you like data. "Yeah, they’re easy to miss, I guess," you replied, feeling your heart race a little faster.

Tech’s thumb brushed over one of the designs, his touch both curious and reverent. “Tattoos can be meaningful,” he began, his voice taking on that familiar tone of fascination. “The process, the permanence, the cultural significance… all of it is so intriguing. Did you know—” He cut himself off, his eyes meeting yours as he took a deep breath. “What I really mean to say is I have always found you attractive, but this-these tattoos- they just add to it.”

His confession left you momentarily speechless. "You find me attractive?" you asked, needing to hear it again to believe it.

Tech nodded, his grip on your hand firm yet gentle. “Yes. I have for some time now. I find myself even more drawn to you.”

You felt your breath hitch, his words sinking in and making your pulse quicken. "I have more, you know," you said softly, a playful edge to your voice. "If you’re interested in seeing them… maybe somewhere more comfortable?"

A flicker of excitement passed through Tech’s eyes, and he gave you a small, genuine smile. "I would like that."

You stood, leading him to a quieter corner of the ship. As you removed your jacket, revealing more of the intricate tattoos on your arms, Tech’s gaze followed every movement, his expression full of admiration.

“May I?” he asked softly, his hands hovering just above your skin.

You nodded, feeling a thrill as his fingers traced the designs on your arms. His touch was light, sending shivers through you. "There are more on my legs," you added, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I’d have to take off my pants to show you."

Tech swallowed, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. "I would love to see them," he replied, his voice huskier than before.

With a small smile, you slowly undid your pants, sliding them down to reveal the tattoos on your legs. Tech’s eyes widened slightly, his admiration for your body art clear in his expression.

"You’re incredible," he murmured, his hands resting on your thighs, fingers tracing the designs with care. The warmth of his touch and the weight of his words made your heart pound.

“I’m really not,” you gush, turning around so Tech could also see the back of your legs and maybe something else.

“You are being modest for someone dressed so immodestly.” Tech’s eyes darkened slightly, eyes landing on your arse. Without another word, he spins you to face him and leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours.

As your hand wrap around the back of his neck, the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more needy, as you both gave in to the moment. Tech’s hands roamed over your body, feeling the curves and lines of your tattoos, and you felt a rush of warmth as his touch ignited a fire within you.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, Tech looked at you with a mix of awe and affection. "I have wanted to do that for a long time," he confessed, his voice sincere.

You smiled, your fingers brushing against his cheek. "Well, I’m glad you finally did."

Crosshair

It had become something of a routine between you and Crosshair—whenever you were alone, it was only a matter of time before things heated up. Today was no different. “It’s been too long since I last had you,”

You stood in front of him, your back against his toned chest as his hands firmly grip your hips as his lips traced along your neck, alternating between soft kisses and rougher bites.

As he moved closer to your ear, his sharp eyes caught sight of something he hadn’t noticed before—a small, delicate tattoo hidden just behind your ear. His lips paused in their assault, and you felt him stiffen slightly behind you. “You’ve been keeping secrets,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. His fingers brushed over the tiny tattoo, making your skin tingle.

You smirked, leaning back into him. “Maybe you’re just not as observant as you think,” you teased, your tone laced with challenge. “You seem to spend more time paying attention to what’s between my legs than to the ink on my skin.”

A low groan rumbled from his chest, his grip on your hips tightening as he pressed his body against yours. “You think so?” he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Maybe I’ll have to change that.”

His words sent a thrill through you, your pulse quickening as his hands started to roam over your body, pushing your shirt up to expose more of your skin. “You should get a tattoo just for me,” he continued, his voice dripping with dark intent. “Maybe a little crosshair… right here,” he suggested, his fingers tracing a spot on your arm. “Or here,” he added, his hand moving to your chest, brushing just above your heart.

You bit your lip, your breath hitching as he slowly undressed you, his hands and words sending sparks of anticipation through your body. “Or maybe here,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as his hand slid down to cup your arse, giving it a firm squeeze.

Your heart raced, every touch and every word of his making you more and more aware of how hard he was against you. He leaned in closer once you turned to face him, his mouth hovering just above yours. “Or how about… right under your tongue,” he growled, his voice thick with a slight possessiveness, before slipping his tongue into your mouth in a fierce, hungry kiss.

The kiss was intense, his tongue dominating yours as his hands continued to undress you, peeling away the last of your clothes. You barely registered when he lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you to his bunk.

You could feel his ache, hard and insistent, pressing against your stomach, making you tremble with your own need. He laid you down on the bunk, his body hovering over yours. “I think you’d look good with my mark on you,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “That way my brothers know to keep away from what is mine.”

“I’m yours, am I?” You grin, your hand sliding down between your bodies and between his legs.

“Yes. Mine.”

And as his mouth found yours again, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, a tiny crosshair tattoo wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

Rex

The 501st had finally earned a brief respite after a grueling mission, and the team scattered to enjoy some well-deserved downtime. Rex, however, found himself preoccupied. It was time to regroup, but you were nowhere to be found.

“Jesse,” Rex called out, spotting the trooper near a makeshift campsite and asked about your whereabouts.

Jesse glanced up from where he was lounging. “Last I saw, they were headed down to the lake. Said something about needing a dip to cool off.”

Rex nodded his thanks and he made his way toward the lake. You always had a knack for slipping away, but something about the thought of you swimming alone somewhat nagged at him. He figured he’d better go fetch you himself.

The path to the lake was serene, the sounds of nature a welcome change from the usual chaos of battle. But as Rex approached the water's edge, his breath caught in his throat.

You were emerging from the lake, the sun glistening off the droplets of water clinging to your skin. For a moment, Rex simply stared, his mind going blank as he took in the sight before him. Your wet skin gleamed in the golden light, but it wasn’t just the natural beauty of the scene that struck him—it was the tattoos.

He’d never seen them before, intricate designs that seemed to flow with the contours of your body. They were subtle, yet striking, adding an unexpected allure to the person he thought he knew so well.

You noticed him standing there and began to approach, water dripping from your body with each step. As you got closer, Rex suddenly felt very out of place. Trying to shake off his surprise, he cleared his throat. "Your, uh, towel," he said, gesturing vaguely behind you, trying to mask the way his eyes kept wandering back to the tattoos.

You chuckled softly, amused by his sudden awkwardness. “Right,” you said, turning to grab your towel and wrapping it around yourself before facing him again. “Something on your mind, Captain?”

Rex met your gaze, feeling heat rise to his cheeks—a rare occurrence for someone as composed as him. “I didn’t know you had tattoos,” he admitted, his voice a little higher pitched than he intended. “They suit you.” He finishes after clearing his throat.

You smiled, noticing the way his eyes still seemed drawn to the ink on your skin. “Thanks. They’ve been there a while, just not something I show off all the time.” You took a step closer, tilting your head slightly as you gave him a once-over. “What about you? Anything hiding under that armour?”

He felt his pulse quicken at your boldness, your gaze holding his with a teasing glint. Normally, he was the one in control, the one giving orders. But right now, under your mesmerising eyes, he felt a little out of his depth—and oddly, he didn’t mind.

Summoning a bit of courage, Rex allowed himself to relax, just a touch. “No tattoos,” he admitted, though the thought of getting one never sounded more appealing than it did in that moment. He paused, then added, “Maybe we could talk about it sometime. Over a drink?”

Your smile widened, pleased by his offer. “I’d like that, Captain,” you replied, the title sounding more like a term of endearment than a rank.

Rex gave you a nod, trying to keep his expression steady, though his mind was already racing with the possibilities what that drink might lead to. “Good,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Fives

You and Fives had been spending more time together than usual, which led to playful jokes and fun and eventually, a daring suggestion by Fives: strip poker. Since both of you were always ready for a challenge, it wasn’t long before you found yourselves seated across from each other, cards in hand.

The first few rounds were harmless enough—boots, belts, gloves—but as the game progressed, more significant pieces of clothing began to shed. Fives, ever the showman, made a big deal out of every win, laughing and teasing you as you reluctantly removed another item. But what caught his attention most was when your tattoos started to reveal themselves.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Fives said, his eyes widening with pleasant surprise as he saw the first hints of ink on your skin. “I didn’t know you had tattoos!”

You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant as you revealed a bit more with each lost round. “I guess it never came up,” you teased back, your heart racing not just from the game but from the way his gaze seemed to linger on every new detail of your body. And admittedly, you admired his tone and muscular torso also.

Fives grin widens as more of your tattoos came into view. “They’re pretty awesome,” he complimented, clearly enjoying the discovery. “I’m starting to think losing isn’t so bad after all.”

But then, his eyes locked onto a specific tattoo, and his playful expression shifted to one of surprise. It was a simple design, but one that he recognised all too well—a number 5.

“Wait, hold on—” He leaned in closer, pointing at the tattoo with a mix of shock and amusement. “Is that a 5? Did you get a tattoo for me?”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by his excitement. “What? No!” you quickly explained, realising how it looked. “It’s not for you, Fives. It’s just a coincidence.”

Fives however wasn’t having it as his smile shifted into a mischievous smirk, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Sure, it is. Admit it, you’re secretly obsessed with me,” he teased, his tone dripping with playful arrogance.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure, but Fives wasn’t letting this one go. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, challenging tone. “Come on, admit it. It’s for me. I knew I was your favourite.”

The heat of the moment—combined with the growing awareness of how little clothing both of you were wearing—made your heart race. “Fives,” you warned, but your tone lacked any real bite. The truth was, his playful determination was getting to you, making it hard to keep up the act.

Seeing you start to falter, Fives pressed on, moving closer until your faces were only inches apart. “Say it,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “Say it’s for me.”

You couldn’t hold back the smirk that tugged at your lips. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, your voice betraying how much you were enjoying this. But before you could think of a comeback, Fives closed the distance, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss.

The intensity of the kiss caught you off guard, eyes wide, but you quickly melted into it, your hands tangling in his hair as his wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer and into his lap. The realisation of how nude you both had become only fueled the fire between you.

Fives pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “So, you’re not denying it then?”

You laughed breathlessly. “Maybe it’s time you focus on winning the game instead of running your mouth,” you challenged, though your voice was laced with affection as your lips ghost against his.

He grinned, before he pulled you back in for another searing kiss. “I’m already winning,” he whispered, his hands roaming over your body, exploring the tattoos that had started this whole thing.

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[saphronethaleph]

Family Business

“Agh!” Han yelped, wincing at the sizzling sound from the heat elements, and tried really hard not to think about what was actually making the sound.

They weren’t torturing him for information. They hadn’t asked any questions. They were just torturing him.

Han may not have had much faith in the idea of the Force, but nothing else had pulled his blaster out of his hand, and that led to an unfortunate, terrifying idea.

They were torturing him to get to the Kid.

“Why – aah!” he said. “Why are you-”

The technicians raised the temperature, and Han arched his back as he tried not to scream.

If they were trying to interrogate him, he’d have broken by now. Given whatever information they wanted to hear. Lied if he had to, just to make the pain stop-

That idea flashed through into something else, something more complicated, something even more desperate, and Han bore the pain for another few seconds until there was a brief, fleeting respite.

“I’m the king of Corellia!” he said, blurting it out, then panted for a second. “I’m – the direct, male-line descendant of – of Berethron e Solo!”

He went briefly limp, then saw that the technicians were conferring amongst themselves.

Less than a minute later, a minute of blessed relief, Darth Vader strode in.

“Explain,” he said.

“It’s – it’s like I said, if you got told what I said,” Han replied. “I’m a Solo, the – ah – the Corellian royal family gave up their throne by turning the empire into a democracy, but, it’s not like we vanished.”

Vader examined Han with an intense regard, and Han tried to focus on how his cousin Thrackan Sal-Solo had always put on airs, how their family had been much richer than his, how they’d fallen on hard times-

-and Vader turned away.

“Return him to the cell,” the Emperor’s enforcer said, bluntly.

Han tried not to sag with relief.

“You said what?” Leia asked.

“It was the only thing I could think of,” Han admitted. “Leia, I – I was losing my mind, I had to think of something. I’ve got a surname that’s pretty common on Corellia, but it was the last card I had left to play. And… and at this point I’m just glad of the break.”

“You know they’re trying to bring Luke here, right?” Leia asked. “It’s a trap and we’re the bait. This was never about us.”

“Yeah, with Boba Fett standing next to Vader and wanting to take me to Jabba I’m pretty sure that part was about me,” Han replied, wincing. “But… I don’t know. Maybe he just decided that he’d done enough, with how I’d gone crazy, or… whatever it was.”

There was a minute or so of silence.

“Did you have to come up with the idea that you were a king?” Leia asked. “Is this a rank thing, Mr. Scoundrel?”

“It’s not like I could claim to be the Emperor’s kid or something,” Han shot back. “Though that would probably be worse.”

Leia shuddered, then closed her eyes.

“Let me tell you a secret,” she said. “I was adopted.”

“You were?” Han asked. “...how did that work?”

“I don’t know, I was never told,” Leia admitted. “I have… the vaguest memories of my birth mother. Just impressions. She was… kind, but sad. I only really realized who that had to be when my father told me that I wouldn’t show up as genetically his daughter.”

Han nodded, in a vaguely understanding sort of way.

“Who knows?” he asked. “Maybe we’re both full of surprises.”

If the torture had been enough to bring Luke to the rescue, they didn’t hear about it.

Han hoped that it hadn’t been. He knew the Kid was off to learn how to be a Jedi, and they’d all have a better chance of rescue if the Kid actually knew what he was doing. But he worried.

Then, four days after the torture session, stormtroopers took them both to one of the audience chambers in Cloud City. Lando was there as well, hovering nervously, and something about the expression on his old friend’s face told Han that – Lando had been placed in an impossible position.

How could he place an old friend’s liberty over the liberty of an entire city, all responsible to him?

...well, Han would have tried to avoid being in that situation in the first place, but something like that wasn’t always possible.

“So, what’s the occasion?” Han asked.

“I have done significant amounts of research,” Vader replied. “Examined Corellian records. Compared genetic samples.”

Han tried not to wince.

Vader’s expressionless mask turned slightly from Han, to Leia, and then back again.

“King Solo,” he said. “What are your intentions towards my daughter?”

Those words hung in the air for several seconds.

“...um,” Lando began, slowly. “I’m sorry, but… what did you just say? None of that made any sense.”

“That is not my concern,” Vader replied. “I will repeat myself. King Solo, what are your intentions towards my daughter? It would not do to make her my apprentice after having permanently separated her from a royal to whom she was attached. Speaking from experience, that really kriffs you up.”

His head tilted slightly. “I may be able to give her some advice.”

“...you mean… I’m your daughter!?” Leia asked.

Stopped.

Blinked.

“How exactly is that possible?” she demanded. “I was adopted, but – how did – that doesn’t make any sense?”

“You’re saying I actually am-” Han said, at about the same time, then stopped because there was no way he was going to push his luck at this point.

“Incidentally,” Vader went on, as if he hadn’t just dropped several bombshells at once. “While we wait for King Solo to answer the question, daughter, you should consider contacting your brother to inform him of the situation. I will no longer be engaging in torture to lure him here for obvious reasons, but other means may work better.”

Han processed that and felt like falling over backwards.

“Suddenly I’m starting to wish I hadn’t said anything,” he muttered. “Any chance we can get Threepio in here?”

He glanced at Vader. “You know. The golden droid. I’d kind of like to have someone around who’s more confused than me.”

“Threepio,” Vader repeated. “C-3P0? That… actually makes a great deal of sense, now that I think about it. Obi-Wan must have taken…”

He trailed off.

“Oh. R2 is with my son. I… may need to take that into account…”

Han determinedly ignored the last few sentences, in favour of trying to work out a way to say ‘I love her’ that he could face saying and that wouldn’t end up with Darth Vader taking any annoyance out on him.

[p4r4syte]

its boiling hot rn so heres some lost boy hcs. what i think theyd do/be like in summer (mildly suggestive?)

pls add comments, ill add to it :3

David :

•avoids everyone. i know vampires are cold blooded but no doubt these mfs get agitated during summer. David the worst. he’d be sat there, coat discarded with a pissed off expression. still smoking. god forbid he doesnt smoke

•will even get pissed off with Feeding Time™️ because the bloods warm so he’d just disappear for days on end. hiding away. basically hibernating

•Is Extremely Snappy. he will go for anyones throat, doesnt even matter if youre together (god forbid mates), he’ll be avoiding you just in case but will Bark at the boys given any chance

•”he wouldnt hurt a fly” HE WOULD!!!!!! Fuck That Fly Do Not Invade My Personal Space

•will only calm down once hes cooler, he would genuinely have to piss off to the sea (or i imagine the cave has a watered in area) ((only dwayne knows about it but he let david in on it)) or hes sulking in a damp, desolate part of the cave. just waiting for the summer to end

•only one of the boys that can speak to david during this time is dwayne because of how hes empathetic towards his Boys. Marko And Paul Will Be DropKicked On Sight.

•sleeps upside down, near the darkest most secluded park of the cave. there isnt any air, theres no breeze. he doesnt care, he just wants to, fester. Leave Him To Fester

Marko :

•becomes more feral than he ordinarily is

•he Will be dangling from the ceiling, trying to catch any breeze that rolls in

•he will also be chilling with the pigeons, they find the coolest places in the cave to rest so Why Not?

•the summer heat will also be giving him unneeded energy. he WILL be playfighting with paul and then laying there overheating and gets pissed off once paul tried to interact with him again. Cant You See Im Warm? Jesus.

•will find endless cool drinks on the boardwalk once it cools down during night. itll give him no sustenance and he’ll be pissed off that he has a headache tomorrow but. Mmm Slushie :3

•still eats hot food and will complain about how hes warmer now than before he ate the food. yes he knew beforehand. no he wont stop. let him complain

•him and paul sit shirtless in the centre part of the cave, eating ice creams and then getting pissed off once theyve eaten them all (or theyve melted)

•calmer than david, less irritated than dwayne, less energetic than paul

•sleeps in a random, small part of the cave because the air rushes straight through (he followed the pigeons)(he learns many things from them, this is one of the many great things he found out)

Paul :

•please calm down. its Hot. Get The Memo

•continues his antics, just with, less clothes.

•the ONLY motherfucker thats actively trying to interact with everyone else

•he doesnt get it, god bless. not a single thought in that head x

•is also smoking. sat on that fountain (the cold marble against his back), trying to yell to the others (they ignore him) speaker blasting music (its pissing everyone off)

•the only one that actually leaves the cave (until he convinces marko to get slushes with him. then hes no longer going alone)

•a nuisance. a pure fucking mosquito of a man. he’d be stuck to you if he could, please don’t let him you dont know where hes been (various ponds) (hes upside down in a shrub) (dont help him)

•hes a boombox blaster, weedsmoking, white rum drinker in summer. or whatever he can get his hands on. but best believe he’s living it up even if he doesnt make it out the cave most nights

•sleeps drunk in the fountain, naked. Hey, Its Cool. What Do You Want From Me?

Dwayne :

•is the only one who Actually attempts to cater to the rest

•he knows exactly how everyone is and as much as he Needs To Rot too, he needs to check on everyone first

•only person hes really checking on is david lets be honest

•after finding david and just, checking, he’ll find his own section of the cave. not too far, within ear distance of Everyone in the cave

•he’ll just rest there for a while, just dangling, all sweaty

•sometimes he has enough energy to chill with paul and marko but quickly loses it after a while. paul is Way too much for him in this heat. Hes Markos Issue Now :)

•he is the only one that will remind the other boys that they need to eat. it may be hot, but you still need to eat. cue moody david, hyper paul, sweaty and overstimulated marko and coping mother dwayne

•doesnt speak to anyone, literally not at all, because hes just Too Hot™️ so he’ll just pull your hand to what he wants, guiding you to what he needs

•sleeps alone, in the centre on the cave. just above where they all gather, so he can hear everyone but is just far enough away to get peace. oh, hes also naked.

[uncouth-the-fifth]

i'd like to report a crime - Leon Kennedy/Reader

read it on Ao3.

Pairing: Agent!Leon/Detective!Wife!Reader Tags: anxious work stress + leon comfort!!, leon being a fucking goober Notes: when i'm at work I'm always picturing him swooping in to save me...... leon kennedy if you can hear me please protect me from 9-5 hell... and like I said before, I would LOVE requests or prompts for this fic, I have so many ideas but I can't commit to any of them lol.

Standing in the bullpen at work today, you had a thought. Maybe they called it “medieval torture” because that was a whole lot catchier than “a shitty day at the busiest police precinct in Washington DC.”

It certainly felt like medieval torture to you. Before you’d even stepped into your big girl pants this morning, you knew that today was going to suck. Plain and simple. Suck. Yet another presidential event was bringing the Secret Service’s jurisdiction into your already hectic station, meaning that big square dudes in suits were going to be breathing down your neck until quitting time. You had three huge active cases that needed your attention. One of those cases came pre-packaged with a deeply annoying lawyer, who, in your professional opinion, has his head shoved a foot up his ass. He will absolutely be showing up to bother you today.

And worst of all: in your haste to get to work (Leon had put some serious effort into making you late), you’d accidentally worn a pair of super uncomfortable shoes! So now every waking moment of your existence was bonafide torture.

Clamping your jaw, you glance up from the paperwork in front of you and check your watch. Three o’clock. Right, okay, you can work with that.

You slap your hands down on your desk as you push out of your seat, and it gets a satisfying yelp out of the man sitting cross-legged beside it. He bristles up like a porcupine and nasally complains, “Where are you going, Detective Kennedy? You said we could—”

“Coffee, Douglas,” you bite back to said lawyer.

The last thing you want right now is some of the lousy, watered-down coffee from the station’s breakroom, but taking mini-breaks at your desk is just not an option anymore. Douglas has been camped out there from the moment you clocked in, and since you both refuse to budge, he’s going to stay there. Breakroom it is. You wince the whole way there, cursing your shoes from hell.

Someone forgot to start another pot of joe, so you have the absolute pleasure of doing it yourself. A small blessing in disguise, really. You give the glass pot your best thousand-yard-stare the whole time it heats the water, and just when the outline of it is starting to burn behind your eyelids, you’re jolted out of your glazed reverie by a cheerful, “Detective Kennedy!”

The officer appears at your side like she was there the entire time, and you wouldn’t put it past her—Giana is the latest in a long line of rookies who have imprinted on you over the years. Good kid, but a little on the overeager side.

She gives you a sympathetic frown and launches into way too much bubbly talking for your aching head to handle. “Heyo! Man, it’s crazy today, huh? You look beat, detective. Hey, think of it this way—just a few more hours and we’ll be home free! Any fun plans tonight?”

The question triggers a movie-style flashback sequence in your mind, complete with black-and-white visuals and some tasteful dream fog. Leon, your husband, boredly poking around the aisles of a new Target by your place. Leon discovering the boys' toy section. Leon, your beautiful, amazing husband, going starry-eyed at the massive NERF Elite Titan CS-50 Toy Blaster, which you’re pretty sure you need a license to operate.

He’d tapped the Nerf box like a boy on Christmas morning. “150 foam bullets, baby.”

But it would take a lot of energy to relay all of that to Giana. So instead of explaining that you’re having an epic Nerf duel with Leon when you get home (no headshots, loser makes dinner), you cooly answer: “...Spending time with my husband.”

Giana hums. “It’s so weird to me that you’re married…” (Thanks.) “I can’t even picture you not grinding away at some case.”

The coffee machine burbles out its last sad spit of coffee. You pour a good amount into your mug, smiling, “Oh, Leon’s just as bad. We’re both married to our work. He’s just my favorite mistress, s’all.”

Giana opens her mouth to launch into another cheery tirade you can’t catch up with. You like the girl, but on top of being way too eager, she’s also painfully see-through. For example, you don’t even have to turn around to know that a gloriously hot guy has just walked into the bullpen behind you. It’s written all over Giana’s owlish look over your shoulder. Hell, you can even clock that he’s heading straight this way—not only does Giana cross herself to bid away impure thoughts of the stranger, but she evaporates into smoke out of pure shyness.

“Look out!” She stage-whispers.

Aw. Poor girl, you think as she waddles away. Considering who’s going to be unloading a clip of foam bullets into you later this evening, (what a strange double entendre), you’re basically immune to hot guys. You can handle this.

“Excuse me, detective, I’d like to report a crime?”

All sense of professionalism poofs off your face at that familiar voice. You whirl to face your husband, and in one swift slash, the ten ton weight of your stress is slapped clean off your back.

Leon’s resting stare has slowly been absorbed by his Serious Agent Face. But today, he’s smoldering less in the business way and more in the off-duty model way. In a white tee, jeans, and racing-striped leather jacket, he certainly looks the part, clean-shaven and dewy-skinned. Fuck him and his unblemished skin. What Umbrella moisturizer was he using back in the day, dammit?

You’re capable of joking again and fall flawlessly into the bit. “Of course. What kind of crime, beautiful?”

He isn’t really able to look flustered, but you think you get close to the impossible with the way his head tilts at that line. You notice that he’s hiding something behind his back.

“A theft,” he answers. The tiniest smirk twitches on his mouth. “My heart’s been stolen.”

…What a fucking cornball. The tragic part is that you find the joke pretty funny, and not completely in the ironic way. He waits for you to giggle and twirl your hair or what-the-fuck-ever, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction, ducking into his quick hug to grin into his shoulder.

You groan at his awful joke. “Jesus. You need a fork for all that corn, Leon?”

“I take mine off the cob,” he drawls in your ear. With that voice, he could make anything sound suggestive.

You’re about to pout at him for failing to return your hug, when you draw back and see that his hands are full. It’s then that Leon presents his bounty to you, bowing his head and holding his trophies aloft like a knight giving respect to his princess: in one hand, one of the stupid expensive coffees you like, and in the other… your comfiest work flats.

“How?” is the first thing your fish brain manages to say. Because, truly, how does he always know? The coffee, the shoes— “Did you put a tracker in me? One that tells you everything I’ve been complaining about all day?”

You go slumping down into the nearest seat, mystified by him. Leon sets the still-steaming coffee down in front of you and kneels, stooping to help you out of your shoes-from-hell. The strap around your ankle has rubbed the bone raw even through your tights. He gets the clasp loose on the first shoe with little fussing, then soothes the skin with tender brushes of his thumb.

“Mhm,” he hums. All you can see of him from this angle is the layers of color in his hair, deep browns and ash blondes blending into one another. The smug pride in his voice is obvious—he loves knowing he’s read you well. “Tells me when you’re hungry, too. Have lunch with me?”

Please god, your body begs. Just picturing it loosens some of the tension in your neck. Like last time, the two of you would play-fight over where to eat, and your cute little delivery boy would go pick up the winner. That way, you wouldn’t have to waste a single moment of your allotted thirty-minute lunch. Leon would pull up a seat at your desk (maybe scare Douglas off with a flash of his badge), and you’d get a blissful, uninterrupted dose of him. Enough to get you through the rest of your shift.

He’d be too deep in Professional Agent Mode to babble like he does at home, but Leon’s raspy chuckles and his hand on your knee would tide you over til’ five.

…But no, the universe is never that kind to you. You wince at Leon’s offer and drop an apologetic hand to his shoulder, still knelt at your feet and working on your other shoe. He’s too good to you. “M’ sorry, baby, but I think I’m gonna have to work through lunch if I wanna get home on time. Rain check?”

He doesn’t mind. He throws a squinty warning stare your way, not happy that you’re getting dangerously close to overworking yourself, but he understands.

A sly smile creeps onto Leon’s face as he helps you slip on a flat. “I could talk to your Captain. What if you were pulled away for a ‘federal emergency?’”

“Then I think me and my Captain would implode from stress,” you laugh. “He’d think I’d been drawn into some national crisis or something.”

Leon scoffs. “That’s only happened, like, once.”

The other flat welcomes your poor, aching foot like a jacuzzi hot tub, and you take a deep magical sip of the overpriced coffee he got special for you. It trumps the watery breakroom joe any day.

For a minute you’re so stupidly happy that you could easily punch a boulder clean off a cliff. Hell, you might even twirl your hair.

“One too many times!” You groan. Since he’s being all cute and kneeling at your feet, you can’t resist poking him a couple of times to be silly. In the chest. In the cheek. In the heart. Stage-whispering, you accuse, “I think you just like having excuses to work with me.”

Leon finishes helping you into your shoes, but he’s in no hurry to leave his spot. One of his rough hands finds yours in your lap and toys with your wedding band, twisting it, testing the groove where it’s been sitting for a few years now. Those big blue eyes fix on your face. You’re married to the guy, but something about being the subject of all his naked attention makes you feel like shrieking into a damn pillow. He’s the best. Judging by that mean little smile on his face, he knows it’s true.

He gives your hand a little squeeze and points out, “I was your partner before anyone else. We never got our buddy cop beat—so yes, I will shove myself into your world since I can’t pull you into mine.”

You’re grateful he still thinks that way. Getting him to talk about Raccoon is harder than pulling teeth, but this—your partnership, whether that be as cops in an imaginary second life, or as husband and wife—never fails to pry him right open.

You’d been asked before if it was frustrating, how your paths had split after the city had blown. The two of you had come from the same spot and endured the same things, but where Leon had soared up, you’d kept to what you knew. No part of you envied him for it. In his mind, the two of you were still the same unit you’d been then, endlessly loyal to one another. You watched Leon’s back and—clearly, he watched yours.

“You’re my favorite,” you tell him, sweetly petting his chin. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you at our Nerf duel when I get home.”

All the buttery tenderness wipes from his face, and in an instant he’s on his feet, clapping a scarred hand down onto your shoulder and bending to whisper fiercely in your ear. “I’d like to see you try.”

He smushes a kiss to your cheek, waves a friendly, “See ya,” and melts back into the current of the rowdy bullpen. You hate to see him leave, but by god, you love to watch him go.

A few seconds after Leon says his goodbye, Giana, your rookie, peers around the open door of the break room. Her patchy blush goes all the way down to her uniform collar. “...Nevermind. I can definitely picture you married, Detective Kennedy…”

-

Ask to be added to my Leon taglist!

[zz0mbi3]

𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒐𝒃𝒊-𝒘𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒋𝒆𝒅𝒊 𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔. 𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇, 𝒐𝒃𝒊-𝒘𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑫

Obi-Wan never wanted to find you pretty.

Obi-Wan never wanted to think of you as someone more than a mere mission. He never wanted to think of you as someone more than a political figure.

Yet, Obi-Wan wanted to think of you as someone just for him. 

The Jedi were strict on their rules. No falling in love. No connections other than the one to the Force and the duty they were pushed into from birth. 

Obi-Wan tried to remind himself of this, he forced himself to see reason, but reason didn’t agree with him. Reason argued.

'Is it truly so wrong to love someone? Is it truly so wrong to have connections? That was the danger of it, wasn’t it? That’s what the Jedi were keeping me from, falling in love?'

But Obi-Wan couldn’t help it.

Even as he stood at the doors of your throne room, he was reminded of how he was just a young boy, and you were just a young queen.

This distant planet he had found himself on, this vessel of new life he had never been acquainted with before, blessed by the paradise of your company. 

His fingers rested on the hilt of his saber, the metal warm from his skin. He kept his eyes on the ground beneath his boots. He was sure Qui-Gon would be back soon to excuse him for the night…but Obi-Wan didn’t want to leave. Not when you were sitting so peacefully in the throne room, someone for him to adore.

He lifted his blue eyes from the floor to once again look at you, his movements urged by helpless desire. 

You were a sight. He swore it on the grounds of his oath, he had never laid eyes on a beauty like you.

You were so mundane, just sitting on your throne, your legs crossed beneath your stunning silver gown. The fabric draped itself down the seat, the white of the tiles shimmering with the reflection of the fabric. It was as if you were swimming in a sea of glitter, and it brought out the lively shine in your eyes. 

His eyes raked over you, how your hair was pulled into a dramatic hairstyle, fitting around the crown on your head. His eyes lit at the moonlight dancing off your skin, a sight he had gotten used to when he realized that the sun never rose on your planet. 

When you turned your gaze away from the window, meeting his, he lowered his head again. His face turned bright red, burning with the shame of his disrespect to the Force and the fear that you would hate him for shamelessly staring. 

His chest nearly exploded when he heard you laugh softly instead. What a beautiful sound to him. He had always enjoyed soft sounds, ones that could war against the clashing of sabers during the war, the shooting of blasters that kept his thoughts occupied so often her barely rested. He could rest on the sound of your joy.

“You don’t need to keep your head bent like that, you know?” Your voice slightly echoed across the nearly empty room. “Unless you want to hurt yourself.”

He exhaled a laugh through his nose, his lips curled up in a smile. He brushed the padawan braid out of his face as he straightened up, still unable to meet your gaze.

“Perhaps I was trying to,” he jests, shrugging his shoulders as if he wasn't sure. “Maybe I wanted to try something new.”

Once again the soft sound of your laugh ran through his ears and straight to his already racing heart. He smiled softly without trying to fight it.

“Perhaps you were…” You stood up in your seat, the skirt of your gown straightening with your legs, still flowing around you like a sea of stars. 

The closer you stepped to him, the more antsy he got. There may have been a chance that you were just preparing to leave the room. Though he wasn’t used to telling time on this planet, especially with the lack of sunlight, he was sure it was usually around the time you would retire for the night.

Instead, you walked over to the table at the side of the room, carefully pouring him a glass of Dorian Quill. 

His breath hitched when you held the cup out for him. 

“I shouldn’t-” He started, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, sweating. “I’m still on duty.”

You looked over at him with a calming smile, your head tilted to the side as if to ask if he truly believed that mattered to you. “One small drink won’t hurt you. Besides, I’m about to retire for the night. You won’t be on duty much longer.”

He wanted to be firm and insistent with you. He wanted to tell you no. But he didn’t. He walked over to you and took the glass from your hand, brushing his skin against the silver glove on your hand. 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he smiled at you and bowed his head in respect, taking a careful sip of the alcoholic drink. 

“Oh, please, none of that,” you waved your covered hand at him in dismissal, sipping from a cup you poured for yourself. Somehow he had missed that. “No need to be so respectful, we’re equals.”

He coughed on his drink, swiftly swallowing the burning liquid down his throat. His eyes watered a bit, and he was reminded then that he had never drank before.

Qui-Gon would laugh at him, surely. 

“I beg to differ…” his voice comes out amongst wheezes. He tried to maintain composure, eager to not embarrass himself in your presence.

He was sure doing so would make him drive his own saber through his chest to save him from the pain of your judgment.

“I am the one guarding you, not the other way around.”

You simply hummed in response, and his heart spiked at the thought that he had offended you somehow. However, when your lips quirked into a grin once again, he calmed down once again. 

“I wasn’t the one who called for that order,” you shook your head at the thought. “I don’t need protection. Everyone else likes to think so. It’s idiotic. A true waste of Jedi talent to have them stand at attention all day and wait for the near-impossible chance someone wants to kill me."

He merely nodded. He wasn’t sure what to think. Maybe you didn’t want him there with you, maybe you wished he would leave. Perhaps his presence was making you feel as if no one trusted you to take care of yourself. 

'No, no, that's not true. She wouldn’t have given me a drink if you disliked his company.'

“I do, however, appreciate that they sent you.”

His face went pink with that statement. Did you appreciate him? His company?

“You flatter me, Your Gr-”

“On the contrary,” you cut him off, and he immediately shuts his mouth. He’d go quiet just to listen to you speak any day. “I’ve never met a Jedi like you. You’re so…calm, yet wise. I can look at you and see infinite knowledge behind your eyes and still feel as if you aren’t trying to best me.”

Oh, you were truly flattering him now. Building up his low ego, one he didn’t even know he wanted to be built up. Your words made a blush spread to his ears and he felt the back of his neck grow hot. He cleared his throat and placed his now-empty cup down on the table. 

“I am simply just well-trained,” he insisted, looking into your eyes. He tried to hide how difficult it was to pull his gaze away from you. It was as if you were a gravity pull that wouldn’t let go of him. “Truly, I owe everything to the other Jedi around me.”

“And so humble,” you praised. “I did get lucky when they gave me you.”

His heartbeat sped up once again.

You thought you were lucky to have him. You, the young Queen of a distant planet, thought you were lucky to have a lowly Padawan there to watch you.

He could almost hear the Jedi scolding him for his delight at that.

He was starting to not care about them.

“Well, I-” he stumbled on his words, absolutely flustered. “I’m not-”

You continued to smile at him, a sight that would occupy his dreams for days to follow. “You are. You’re not proud, you’re happy where you are. You don’t want more from your title…”

The words of praise from you were just stacking up in his mind, he was so overly happy that you were so observant of him, that you genuinely cared that he was there. 

Unfortunately, his heart sank in disappointment when your handmaiden stuck her head into the room, calling you to your chambers to prepare for bed. He lowered his gaze back to the floor, tapping his foot against the tile. 

“Your Grace-”

He was cut off when your lips pressed against his cheek, your gloved hand pressing against his opposite cheek to hold him steady. Your thumb brushed against his skin for a moment, and he smiled, showing some teeth.

When you pulled back, he gazed into your eyes for a while. His own were wide in shock and awe, his heart was so close to exploding. 

“Have a good night, Obi-Wan,” you said with one last kiss to his cheek and stepped away, the heels of your shoes clicking against the tile floor. “I hope to see you at breakfast in the morning?”

He nodded meekly, in a daze. He shook it off after a moment. “Anything you wish.”

You smiled softly and bowed your head to him, and he returned the gesture, hand over his chest. 

Thank the Force Qui-Gon wasn’t there to see how red his face was at the moment.

[hastalavistabyebye]

Fox stood there. He had been listening to all the speeches, too tired to even try to find a distraction. The voices were dripping in his head like torture with a drop of acid. Plop, plop, plop. Echoing louder and louder, burning any other thought out of his mind. 

He was standing at attention next to the Chancellor, offering protection, drowning in the declarations about fighting for peace and defending the Republic’s values and love and family and bloodshed and war and slavery. They were outdoors. There was a crowd listening attentively down there, far enough to be considered appropriate security and needing to use holo projections, so that the poor sobs could even see Palpatine’s grandfatherly smile. There was some wind whistling against his armor, carrying the noise of the people up to the platform. But Fox could only hear the sweet, mellow voice of the Chancellor, resonating in his helmet’s mics. 

The Commander was standing at perfect attention, ready to intervene at the smallest suspicion of danger. But his men had scouted the entire place, taking control of every building around. No assassin could be hiding and waiting for their perfect occasion, even with all of the niches and hidey-holes offered by the nabooian architecture of nightmare. 

Fox’s fists clenched behind his back, gauntlets creaking. He repositioned himself slightly, changing the repartition of his weight. 

The Chancellor was talking about how heroic the clones were, how brave and efficient. How they deserved to die even more in his war for power. All wrinkled smiles and broad gestures and sparkling and wide clothes. 

The Guard’s Commander was getting nervous, eyes rapidly scanning the crowd, the surrounding buildings, the Plaza. His skin was tingling, every nerve awake and buzzing with restlessness. The sun was shining on his left, giving him a perfect sight of everything that shouldn't be here. 

He moved, rapid fire, nearly instinctive. In a second, the shot of his blaster was resonating in the Plaza, cutting the neverending speeches with perfect precision. Fox breathed deeply, as he lowered his arm. His exhale was echoed by the muffled sound of his victim’s corpse falling to the ground. 

That was much better. He couldn't have bear it any longer, he needed that blessed silence. 

Of course, it didn't last long. Panic swiftly rose in the Plaza, with screams and cries and running and chaos. It didn't really help with the debacle that the enormous holoscreens were still displaying in high resolution the sight of the Chancellor’s body, crumpled and old, with a blaster shot burned in his forehead. But Fox’s men were the best, competence incarnated. They took control of the Nabooian capital in a matter of minutes. 

Fox kept breathing a little, enjoying the sight at his feet and the calm in his helmet. He hadn't had the occasion for such peace since well before Geonosis. 

He didn't linger for long, of course not. He had to coordinate with the rest of his Guard, back on Coruscant. His officers weren't going to like his lack of warning, but they had created Plan Thesh for a reason. He still enjoyed this reprieve fully while it lasted. 

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

A Fresh Start [1]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: use of fake name, reader is hiding from a shady past

Word Count: 4,506

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn't meant for everyone.

Chapter #01: TWO PORGS, ONE BLASTER

Chapter Summary: The Marshal is looking to hire a nanny, and you just so happen to be moving into the city.

“remember to live while you’re busy surviving.” -d.j.

Din Djarin was busier these days than he ever had been before. Even compared to years ago, when he was picking up dozens of bounty pucks and collecting quarries left and right, it was nothing compared to now. If he had known that being Nevarro's marshal would be so hectic, he may have never accepted it. At the thought, he sighed. That was a bold faced lie. He still would’ve taken the job in a heartbeat because the pay was better than anything he had ever made previously. Speaking strictly in terms of credits, it was significantly less than the various bounties he’d pick up, but the job brought him peace of mind. It brought safety to Grogu. More than just safety, it gave the child the opportunity to grow and learn in an environment where he wasn’t at risk. They had settled here a couple of months ago, and for most of that time Grogu had been happy and free of night terrors. It was a blessing Din couldn’t quantify. He’d work every second of every day if it meant the child grew up safe and loved.

At the thought of his son, he picked up his pace toward the repair shop run by Peli who had ventured from the sands of Tatooine to the growing and thriving Nevarro. She was usually the one who watched Grogu while he was working. When Peli couldn’t, there were a handful of others in town who were more than happy to help out. Din was eternally grateful that the community was willing to go above and beyond as a favor to him. In the beginning, he had actually brought Grogu with him on the job. It wasn’t absurd. Back in the day, when his journey with Grogu first began, he brought the child along on bounties. A day in the life of a small community Marshal was actually quite tame in comparison. Still, that wasn’t normal, and Din wanted normal. School would be starting up soon, as summer ended, and Din was excited to get Grogu enrolled.

He had a stable job and they had a home. Starting Grogu's education was the next step in establishing picture perfect normalcy.

The loud noise of Peli’s shop filled the air as he got closer. All three of the garage’s hanger doors were lifted and open, and Din could see it had been a busy day for the mechanic. Ships, speeder bikes, droids. There was a large collection of mechanical works being actively repaired.

“Peli! Marshal's here!” A mechanic barked out the moment he stepped into the garage. Din turned his way, but the employee didn’t bother looking up from the work they were occupied with.

Din pressed further into the shop. Helmet glanced around, looking for a blur of chaotic green, but his eyes didn’t land on his son. “Mando!” Din spun in place as the curly haired woman marched up to him. Peli was one of the few people in Nevarro who didn't refer to him as Marshal. She said she didn't want it to go to his head. Other mechanics dove out of the way to avoid her path. Though she was short in stature, Peli could command a room with voice alone. Her jumpsuit was covered in splotches of engine oil. “Took you long enough!”

“Peli.” Din nodded in greeting. “Where’s Grogu?”

“Your son,” Peli jabbed a finger in his direction, “ate a handful of bolts today.”

Din stiffened. “He what!? Where is he?”

“Just joking. He didn’t.”

“Peli, that isn’t funny.”

“It’s not a joke.”

Din resisted the urge to palm the front of his helmet into his hands. He let out a weathered sigh, “Did he eat metal bolts or didn’t he?”

“Not today. No telling about tomorrow.” Peli scoffed. “This shop is no place for a kid! I’ve been telling you that for weeks now!”

Din set his hands on his hips. “No, you haven't.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking it!”

The sound of familiar babbling alerted him to his son’s presence, and Din turned in time to see Grogu quickly waddling in his direction. Argument with Peli forgotten, he grinned and scooped up the child who continued to babble enthusiastically.

“Hey there, you little womp rat.” Din rubbed his belly and Grogu wrapped his arms around his hand in response. The sound of his laugh made Din chuckle himself. As important as his goal of normalcy was, Din missed the uninterrupted time he used to have with his son. There was a lot wrong with their previous adventures, a lot of danger, but nothing beat the long days in hyperspace and hiding where his only responsibility was to care for the child. “I heard you’ve been giving Peli trouble.”

Grogu laughed again⏤ not even attempting to hide his guilt. Peli wagged her finger in his direction once more. “You see? It’s only a matter of time until he swallows one of my tools. Then what would we do? I’d be a tool short!”

“I’m sorry, Peli.” Din chuckled. “School will be starting up soon. You won’t have to watch him during the day then.”

“He’ll still need watching after, won’t he? Your work day isn’t done until evening!” Peli argued. “And what about the nights when you get called into work?”

Din winced, but he kept his head still so Peli wouldn’t notice. She wasn’t wrong. There had been a handful of times when Din's presence was required at the station and he was forced to drop Grogu off with Peli in the dead of night. She lived in a small apartment beside the shop, and her shop was on the way from their home to the station. Stopping to leave Grogu with her was too easy to resist. It wasn't like he could leave the child at home alone.

Grogu began to tap on the side of Din’s helmet and he began to bounce the child in his arms to distract him. “I’m sorry, Peli. I really appreciate everything you do for us. You know that, right?” Peli waved his words away with a huff. As brash and grumpy as the woman could be, especially on a busy day, he knew Peli loved spending time with Grogu and he knew that complaints aside she’d always be willing to help out. It was why he was so grateful for her. “My hands are tied right now. I don’t know what else I can do.”

“Hire someone, you lug!” Peli scoffed. “Get a live-in nanny.”

“Live-in nanny?” Din questioned, not bothering to hide his skepticism.

“Yeah. Someone who can watch little bright eyes around the clock when you can’t. Someone who’ll be there at 3AM when you get called into the office. Why do I gotta come up with all the good ideas around here?”

Din didn’t love the idea, but he couldn’t deny the merits of it. Once upon a time, he would’ve shot it down immediately. However, he wasn’t who he once was. Din had learned that going out on a branch to trust someone didn’t always end bloody. The community was filled with people Din had taken a chance on and was rewarded in his risk. He had friends he trusted, and they never would've been in his life if he hadn't taken the risk in the first place.

“Where…” Din cleared his throat. “Where would I even find one?”

“Whoop, whoop!” Din and Peli both turned to see a mechanic a few feet away. They had been buried under a speeder bike but jumped up in excitement. Dirty goggles hung around her neck and the light pink color of her skin made the black grease stains stand out more. “Howdy, Marshal Mando.”

“Nima.” Din greeted with a nod. He didn’t know every single person who worked for Peli, but Nima was Peli’s right hand mechanic. The young Twi’lek was extraordinary with a wrench if Peli was to be believed, and Din knew it took a lot to impress the older woman. “How are you?”

“Real swell.” Nima stepped closer, rubbing her hands on a rag tucked into her overall pocket. “Not to be nosy, but I heard you got a job that needs filling and I have a cousin who needs a job.” Din tilted his head and waited for her to elaborate. “My cousin is moving here⏤ well, let me clarify, she’s not my actual cousin by blood. We’re cousins by marriage. Her mom’s sister married my mom’s brother. We⏤ wait, they actually got divorced like a year ago so I don’t know if we technically⏤”

“Nima!” Peli barked. “The point!”

“Right, right, right.” Nima shook her head. “My maybe not cousin is moving to town, and she’s looking for work.”

Din lifted a hand to lightly grasp Grogu’s hands as the kid tried to pry his helmet up. “Does she have experience with kids?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Nima nodded. “She’s a superstar with kids. Total magic.”

Peli slapped her hand against the beskar of his chest plate then pointed at him. Din sighed and gave them both a slight nod. “I’d be willing to meet her, but that’s it. No promises.”

“She’ll be in town by the end of the week!” Nima cheered. “I’ll bring her around!”

Grogu began to whine, and Din thanked both women before making his way out of the garage. It was time for dinner and the child was quick to get fussy when a meal wasn’t on its way. Plus, Grogu had gotten accustomed to nights in the privacy of their home when Din would remove his helmet. It had become a part of their routine.

“Buir, buir, buir.” Grogu chanted.

“I know, I know.” Din chuckled as he unlocked the front door. Once in, he used his free hand to pull his helmet off and tucked it under his elbow with a smile.

Grogu patted his face in excitement. “Buir!”

“Let’s get some dinner ready, ad’ika.” Din stepped further in. Hearing Grogu speak Mando’a warmed his heart. Hearing him speak at all warmed his heart, really. Din was convinced his son knew more basic and Mando’a than he’d shown. The few things he did say he only said in the safety of their home. Another reason Din was excited for school to start, he hoped it’d excite Grogu into speaking more.

Din set the boy down so he could move around the kitchen easier, and he couldn’t bite back the smile of ease on his face. He loved his life, he loved his son, and Din didn’t think things could get more perfect than what it was right now. He just hoped adding in a new face wouldn’t disrupt their routine.

You absentmindedly let your fingers trace the ugly, jagged scar along your collarbone. The wound had healed months ago, but there was something about the rough skin that haunted you. It didn’t hurt. If anything the tissue there was numb, and that bothered you more than anything else. For some reason, it felt wrong that you weren’t in pain.

The transport ship rumbled to a stop as it landed, and it snapped you back into the moment. You straightened in your seat and glanced out the window. A year and a half ago nobody ever spoke of Nevarro. It had been a blip in the Outer Rim for bounty hunters and those hiding from the New Republic. Now, it was a bustling trade post flourishing with life. From where your ship sat on the landing pad, you could see the white and gray buildings of Nevarro stretching out into the black, glassed land of the mountains that sat on the edge of the lava plains. It still wasn't a very large community. Not yet, at least. Your eyes scanned the land beside the landing pad. You had lived in the beautiful greenery of Naboo, the bustling cities of Coruscant, and the sandy dunes of Tatooine. This was vastly different in comparison.

You let a few others leave before rising yourself. As you followed the very small crowd off the ship you stretched your legs out best you could without stopping. It had been a long trip from Mos Espa to Nevarro. The second your feet stepped onto the landing pad you heard your name being screamed by a familiar voice. It was almost odd to hear it said aloud after so much time, but the voice of your old friend kept you from flinching. A broad smile crossed your features and you barely had time to turn before you were tackled in a hug.

“Oh, I missed you so much!” Nima cheered in your ear. She squeezed you tight enough that all you could manage was a small pat on her back considering she had your arms pinned to your side.

“I missed you too.” You wheezed. “And now I’m beginning to miss air.”

Nima released you, taking a step back, and you sucked in a large breath. She bounced in place, her pink lekku whipping around her, “I’m so happy you’re finally here! It’s been way, way too long!” It was true, and seeing Nima brightened your mood significantly. “How was your trip-”

The beginnings of your name began to slip from her mouth, but your hand snapped out to cover her lips. Her eyebrows rose in confusion, and you just offered her a sheepish smile. "Soran. Call me Soran. Remember?" Her eyes widened and you could see a flash of regret in her eyes. She had simply forgotten. "It's okay. No biggie. Just... Soran, okay?"

"I'm so sorry. I just got so excited." Nima apologized. "Don't worry, I didn't use your real name with anyone in town or anything." You nodded and made your way to where luggage was being placed on the landing pad from the storage bin. Nima walked a step behind you. You scooped up your bag, wrapping it around your shoulders, and Nima looped one arm through yours. "I'm so happy you're here."

The words were said with such sincerity that it warmed your heart. It made you wish you had taken her up on her offer ages ago. She began to drag you across the landing pad toward the start of the town. Her cheery attitude and happy-go-lucky demeanor was contagious. She was talking up a storm, something about work, while you gazed at the street you walked down. The path was paved and the street was filled with people milling about happily. A few vendors sold goods in the open at stalls, and you could hear the music of a band from further down the street. It was a cozy and warm atmosphere, and it wasn't the kind of place you expected Nima to settle down.

You met Nima during your teenage years when part of her family married part of yours. The two of you had grown close and without a doubt she was one of your closest friends. Family really. It was why at your absolute lowest you had caved and accepted her invitation to join her in Nevarro. Nima worked at a local mechanic shop which turned out to be her calling. She had always been good at tinkering with anything mechanical, but she was thriving under the instruction of the woman she worked for. At least, that's what she was constantly telling you. Nima had found her happy place, and you were ecstatic for her.

“⏤and Peli is still awesome.” Nima continued. “When we're not busy, she's letting me work on this old Razor Crest with her. It's some sort of secret project and the ship is in really bad shape, but I'm learning so much. It’s the best job ever.”

“That’s amazing, Nima.”

“Oh! And speaking of awesome jobs, I got you one.”

Your eyes widened. “Huh?”

“A job and a place to live. I got it covered.”

“Wow. I’m…seriously impressed, Nima. So, that means your boss is okay with me helping around the shop with inventory and stuff?”

Nima paused, then cursed in her native tongue. “I knew I was forgetting to do something. I was supposed to ask Peli about you.”

“If you didn’t ask her if I could work there, then where am I working?” You questioned in confusion.

“So, the Marshal has this super cute kid, and he needs a round the clock nanny.” Nima gave you a thumbs up. You blinked in shock, unable to find the words to voice your disbelief. She took this as a victory cheered. “I knew you’d love it.”

You shook your head. “No, no. This is a bad idea.”

“What? No way.” Nima shook her head with a pout. “You need a job and you need a place to live. I got you both in one. Two porgs, one blaster.”

“I⏤That’s⏤You said it wrong.” You said.

Nima furrowed her brow at you. “No, I think you just don’t get it. It means, like, you have two problems, the two porgs, and one solution takes care of both. One blaster.”

“It’s two porgs, one stone.”

“Why would I use a stone to hit a porg when I have a blaster?”

“You wouldn’t, but if you had a blaster you could shoot way more than just two porgs.”

“Yeah, but you only have two porgs right now.”

You waved your arms in the air as if you could swipe away the pointless argument. “This is⏤ No. We're done with that. My point is, this is not a good idea. I’ve never been a nanny before. The last time I baby-sat a kid was literally ages ago, and it was for a few evenings. I didn't live with the kid or the family.”

“You’re great with kids. I’ve seen it!” Nima argued in your favor.

“Being good with kids is not the same as helping raise one.”

Nima shrugged. “Nuance. Besides, everything else in town right now is part time work and you said you wanted a full time job.” You had said that. The more time you spent busy, the less time you had to think. That was the plan at least Bury yourself in pointless work. “I mean, you could pick up the job of local physician.”

You stiffened. “Nima⏤”

“Our main doctor sucks. Like you wouldn’t believe. Laziest asshole this side of the Outer Rim. It's the one fault of Nevarro in my opinion.” Nima scoffed. “You would do so much better⏤”

“Don’t.” You said firmly, and Nima grew quiet. “I’m not… I’m not doing that right now. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m not allowed to⏤ to⏤” You cleared your throat. “I’m not allowed to practice medicine until the trial is over. Officially.”

Nima squeezed your arm. “The trial will be over before the year's end, at the latest, and there is no way they aren’t throwing that kriffing asshole in jail for the rest of his miserable life.” This was the exact thing you wanted to avoid. It’s literally why you ran away in the first place. “Nothing about what happened was your fault.”

“Nima, can we not?” You blurted. “I just…” Your lungs felt heavy and even though you were more than capable of breathing none of the air you sucked in was rewarding. “Tell me more about the job. The Marshal’s kid.”

Nima shot you a concerned look before nodding. “Right.” She forced a smile onto her face. “He’s a Mandalorian and his son is a 50 year old precious, green gremlin.”

“Um, what?”

Nevarro was shockingly beautiful. You had heard it was, and that it was slowly becoming a staple of the Outer Rim, but hearing it was different than seeing it with your own eyes. The population was about four thousand and it was constantly growing. Every single person you passed took the time to greet Nima, and she took the time to introduce you. It hadn’t been an exaggeration when Nima said it was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone. The two of you emptied out at the end of a street into a large, open plaza. In it's center sat a tall bronze statue of a droid.

“That's the Magistrate's building.” Nima pointed to the tall, intricate building behind the droid statue. It was active with people going up and down the stairs that led into the building. “Magistrate Karga is super cool. He used to hand out bounties to hunters. Wild shit.”

“So, the Magistrate was an Agent of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild and your Marshal is an actual Mandalorian?”

Nima nodded. “The Marshal's Deputy used to be a Shock Trooper.”

“Wow. I’m not sure I’m qualified to even live here.” You mumbled.

“Don’t be silly. You’ll fit right in.” Nima slotted her hand into yours and began to drag you down the street. She had taken you to her small apartment first, to give you time to set down your belongings and wash up, but she was quick to pull you back out into the streets. It was cute how eager she was to show you around Nevarro, and you could tell between her and everyone you met how proud they were of their community.

Nima pointed out a few shops as you passed, but it was clear that her aim was to take you to the Marshal's station. You shot her a dry look that she only grinned at in response.

“Seriously?”

“He needs somebody super soon and you need a job. Plus, a place to live. You think I want you on my couch for the rest of your life?”

You shoved her with a laugh. “I haven’t slept on your couch a single night yet, and you’re already tired of me?”

“Just come on.” Nima dragged you building nestled amongst others. It was decorated similar as the rest of the town with white bricks and dark blue flags.

The Marhsal's station wasn’t overly large. Outside, parked to the side, were a few speeders and inside the front doors was a small lobby with a woman sitting behind a desk. Nima greeted her by name, introducing you in a rush, before pulling you through. The receptionist didn’t seem surprised by this behavior and didn’t make the moves to stop either of you. You wondered if Nima came barging in here often. Was she close to the Marshal?

The hallway from the lobby led into a clean and brightly lit room. The back wall was made of windows where the lava plains could be seen since the station was at the edge of town, and there were three desks planted in the center of the room. Off to the left side were two cells, cordoned off with silver bars, and you found yourself happy to see no one was currently being held in custody. Despite having the cells present, the entire room had a casual feel to it. A dart board was hung up on a wall, darts sticking out of it, and the desks were covered in office supplies and holopads.

“What’re you doing here, trouble maker?”

“Cara!” Nima cheered as a large woman stepped into the room from a different door. She untangled her hand from yours to rush over and greet this Cara woman with a hug. She was tall and broad, and the tattoo band around her right upper arm hinted to you that this must be the Deputy Nima mentioned earlier. The ex-shock trooper. She surely looked like someone who used to work in that line of action. “I brought my cousin by to say hello!”

Cara’s dark eyes rolled over to you in amusement. “Yeah. I see the family resemblance.”

"This is Soran." Nima introduced you with the name you had adopted months ago for the sake of anonymity. “And this is Deputy Cara Dune. Resident badass.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” You offered your hand. “Can I call you Cara or do you prefer Deputy badass or…?”

Cara chuckled. “Cara works.”

“Where is everyone?” Nima glanced around the room. “I’m looking for Marshal Mando.”

“Hey, Mando!” Cara yelled back through the door she came in from. She marched past the two of you to drop down into a chair at a desk. She rested her hands behind her head and casually kicked up her legs. “Our generator out back keeps cutting out.”

Nima's eyes widened, curious, “Oh, yeah?”

“It’s been a wreck since early this morning.”

“Cara, it’s making that noise again. Can you call Peli?” A deeper, modulated voice called out. You straightened in your posture as a Mandalorian dressed in silver beskar stepped into the room. Everything you knew about Mandalorians came from legend and stories. You had never met one before. The Marshal’s broad figure and confident, yet casual pace, screamed power. A blaster was hooked to his hip. He was the picture of intimidation, and you’d find yourself nervous if it weren’t for the baby carrier strapped around his chest⏤ the one with a large eared, small green toddler tucked safely in place. It cooed happily with his hands wrapped around the fingers of the Mandalorians gloved hand.

Nima clapped her hands. “Don’t bother Peli! I’ll fix it right now!”

“I’ll show you where it’s at.” Cara pushed up.

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came out and you watched in shock as your friend abandoned you with the Mandalorian and child. You blinked in shock, mouth held open. Suddenly, Nima stuck her head back in the room. “Oops. Mr. Marshal Mandalorian, this is my cousin I was telling you about.” She grinned at you. “Cousin, this is the mighty Marshal Mandalorian and his adorable green bean child I told you about.”

With no further words, she left once more. You were gonna kill her. Most definitely. The sound of a throat clearing made your eyes snap back to the man standing across from you. His silver helmet had a t-shaped visor of black glass that gave you no hint at the expression he wore. The two of you just stared at one another for a long moment. Awkward silences were the bane of your existence and you tried to avoid them at all costs. To a fault, arguably. You thrust a hand out to him with a nervous smile. "Hi. You can call me Soran. I'm the cousin Nima always talks about, but I'm not her actual cousin, er..."

"Right." The Mandalorian replied. He shook your hand. "Call me Mando."

"Mando? Like, short for Mandalorian?" You chuckled, and he didn't reply. You rubbed your hands against your pants. Thank the Maker, he had been wearing gloves and couldn’t feel your clammy palms. If you hadn't already decided to murder Nima for abandoning you in this situation, you would've chosen to do it for offering your services to this man. A service you weren't even qualified for. Still, you needed work, a lot of it, and if this was your best option you'd do what you'd have to. “So, is this your son?”

At the question, the child began to babble happily. His adorable, nonsensical words were a good distraction from beating yourself up over asking such a stupid question.

“Yes. This is Grogu.” He responded. The modulator gave his voice a husky quality that was hard not to notice. Grogu was still babbling, but now he released his father’s hands to reach out to you. He opened and closed his hands in a grabbing motion and at the small child’s request you couldn’t help but lift a hand up to him. Grogu grasped at your finger and you offered him a small smile. “Nima says you’re looking for a job.”

Your eyes snapped up from the kid to Mando. “Uh, yes. I am.” It was silent between the two of you again, save for Grogu’s happy voice. “To be honest though…" Your brain screamed at you to lie. Tell him you had an extensive history of babysitting and were well suited for the job. However, lying had never come natural to you. It always left a terrible taste in your mouth. You sighed, "I’m by no means a professional nanny. I’m actually not even an amateur one.” Mando didn’t respond or move his head in any way to hint his thoughts. You cleared your throat. “What I mean is, I like kids, and I’m responsible enough to keep one alive." You winced at your wording. "I just- I’m a quick learner and I'm dedicated to the work I put my mind to.” Grogu tilted his head in the cutest manner you had ever seen, but his father stayed silent. You let out a low whistle. “I am not doing a very good job of selling myself, am I?”

As seconds passed, you were tempted to throw yourself out the back window and find the nearest river of lava to jump into. Just to hide from your embarrassment. Finally, he spoke, “Where are you from?”

Your eyes widened at the direction his question took this conversation. “Oh. Naboo. I was born there, grew up there too, but I lived in Coruscant for a long, long time. Only recently moved to Mos Espa on Tatooine. That's where I just came from.”

“What kind of work do you usually do?”

As if this casual interview couldn’t get worse. You rolled various answers around in your head before settling on the best thing you could. “I worked in a medical clinic.” He was quiet and you assumed that meant he wanted more. As much as you hated lying, as terrible as it made you feel, this was a necessity you reminded yourself. This kind of lie wouldn't hurt anyone. It would protect you, keep you safe. “Receptionist." You blurted. "I scheduled appointments, re-supplied the stock, counted out credits. That kind of stuff.”

“Work…keeps me busy.” Mando said. “I just need someone else around. Keep an eye on the kid while I’m out and sometimes at night if I get called in.” Your eyebrows rose. “I haven’t ever hired a nanny before. I’m... not sure what it’s supposed to entail or the usual pay. I just need help.”

You nodded. “I can do that. I can be helpful. I’m not sure of the pay either, but I’m also not picky. Maybe just a trial period, and see how it goes? A learning curve for both of us.”

Mando nodded in agreement and held out a hand for you to shake. A sigh of relief left you and you tried to pull your hand away from Grogu who refused to let go of your fingers. You lifted your opposite hand to awkwardly grasp his outstretched hand and shook it once. You didn't quite know how to feel about this acquisition. This wasn't where you thought your life would end up. The thought of starting this job filled your belly with nervous energy. You had to succeed at this. Honestly, you were just happy the Mandalorian was willing to give you a chance. More than anything that was what your life needed. A chance. An opportunity. A fresh start. On the plus side, learning how to do a completely new job would be a good enough distraction from your past, surely.

A/N: if you see this on AO3 and think ‘omg she stole this’, I promise I didn’t. That’s me on AO3 too. Pinky swear.

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkness on Umbara Chp.5 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 4. Chapter 6.

Beginning of the List

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, Reader gets shot, details of a wound on reader, stress vomiting, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DNI,

After the Umbarans had attacked again, everyone was exhausted. It was either luck or divine intervention that the 501st managed to fight off the second attack. This time, Krell actually fought alongside the soldiers, since he had been caught between blaster fire. You’d give the Jedi credit, he was lethal with his lightsabers, making quick work of the adversaries in his path.

You still hated him. Many good soldiers had died in the fight because of his half-assed strategy. To make matters worse you and Kix were at your limit trying to keep everyone alive. 

The supplies in your packs were low, and thankfully the speeder had more. But they wouldn’t last forever if Krell kept up his plans the way he was. 

You had just finished patching up your sixth, ARF trooper Steele, when Jesse put a hand to your shoulder, “Doc. you're hurt. Since the retreat on the road.”

The haphazard bandages you put on your arm had fallen off.  After a quick glance to make sure the soldiers that needed medical care weren’t in a dire situation, you finally assessed yourself. 

Lifting your arm in your uninjured hand, your eyes roamed over the damage. 

Direct hit. 

The minimal armor you had on your upper arm was completely scorched. The fabric underneath had offered no protection either, revealing the internal parts of your limb. 

Your bicep and tricep had been destroyed by the shot revealing the humerus. Bone was stained black with the ashes of your muscle. The only reason your arm was still attached was by the melted, burnt remains of the tendons of your shoulder. The lack of movement in your hand was the result of the fact that, along with a majority of blood supply, the nerves had been entirely disintegrated. 

It was almost comical how the true agony of the wound set in as soon as you looked at it. Well, truthfully, you didn’t feel it. The nerves were gone, so the burn itself and all feeling in your wrist and hand was nonexistent. 

However, you felt everything next to the wound. After all, you still had the nerves that functioned in the area of your body right next to the blaster shot. 

White. Hot. Blistering heat. Your entire shoulder throbbed, each pulse sending a wave of agony through you. Your ears were ringing and your head was spinning. You bit your tongue and tasted blood. 

Your jaw locked up, and you couldn’t scream. 

Everything was shaking. Your breathing was heavy. But you didn’t make a sound. Wordlessly, you stepped out of view behind a thick, dark tree and wretched. Bile exited your stomach as you gagged and heaved. Black dotted your vision, muting the bright red limbs of the plants around you.

Jesse, bless him, kept a stabilizing hand on your back, “do you want me to get Rex?” he asked, waiting for you to get yourself together.

You shook your head and dropped your injured arm, using your trembling free hand to inject yourself with painkillers. After a second, you leaned closer to Jesse to speak, voice strained, “Do not draw attention. Do not make a big deal of this. But please get Kix.” 

All attention was on Rex and the surrounding area right now. No one was paying any mind to your situation. You’d prefer to keep it that way.

Jesse nodded and quickly stepped away to get the medic. He wasn’t going to argue with you. 

Your body felt hot and feverish. You leaned against the tree as sweat dotted your skin. It was mere minutes when Jesse returned with Kix. but it felt like hours.

“Hey,” you croaked, sliding down to sit on the ground. 

The medic was kneeling by your side in an instant. He pulled off his helmet and silently used everything at his disposal to try and save your arm. It was clear you’d need more than several tubes of bacta and bandages to recover, but…well, you knew Kix, he’d think of something.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, fingers becoming stained with the ashes of your upper arm. 

“I didn’t know.” You admitted, “I knew I got shot, I just didn’t know the damage until after the battle.” 

He nodded in understanding. He’s had tunnel vision before. Every soldier has.

You took a sharp breath as your medic friend cut away charred flesh, “I know I won’t die. So I’m gonna close my eyes for a bit, ok?” You nodded to him before addressing Jesse, “Thank you for getting Kix. You can go back to the others.” 

The trooper didn’t seem so certain, “I’ll be close by.”

Once he stepped away, you closed your eyes and rested your head back. The bacta felt cool on the remains of your arm. One eye cracked open, peering at what the medic was doing. He had soaked bandages and patches in bacta, and began to tightly wrap the pieces around your limb. 

Smart. You would have done the same.

“Tell me straight, doc, will I live?” you tried to joke, only to be met with the sound of a helmet hitting the ground. 

Your eyes shot open and you froze, staring directly at Fives. You tried to move, but were quickly stopped by Kix, “I’m not done.” He warned. 

“Listen, Fives. Before you say anything…” you tried to reassure him before the ARC trooper said anything, “Do not tell Rex.” which…sounded very suspicious. As if you had gotten in trouble or caught in a lie. 

It was futile. The two of them were close as hell, it would take a lot of convincing to get him to remain silent. 

“What?!” He nearly shouted, and you desperately tried to shush him, “Why?” 

“He’s going through enough.” You snapped, “I know it looks bad, but I’ve dealt with worse. The men have survived worse themselves.”

“This is different. You’re a field doctor! You warned Krell that you weren’t trained for the front lines with us.” He responded, kneeling next to you, “and he didn’t care. Now look at you!” 

“Both of you, shut up.” Kix snapped, tightening the bacta soaked bandages on the remains of your upper arm. 

You hissed, nerve endings getting irritated by the movement. Luckily the painkillers were strong, and you weren’t put down by the agony you should be in. 

It hurt like a bitch anyway, but you’d manage. 

“Don’t tell Rex.” You looked up at Fives, pleading with him. Fuck pride, your love didn’t need to know you’ve been hurt.

He picked up his helmet, mumbling, “You can’t hide that.” 

Oh, thank all the gods in existence he wasn’t going to tell Rex.

“I won’t. I’ll just…soften the blow.” You attempted to ease your ARC trooper friend. 

“I fucking hate Krell.” He spat before getting his helmet on, “Careless. Reckless. Heartless…”  There was a commotion on the other side of the tree cutting off his insults. “We’re getting ready to move out. Heading the capital.”

“Almost done.” The medic at your side said, helping you get a snug brace on. It was lightly padded, giving protection to the bandages that made up your skin for now. It also had a mechanism that allowed you to move your wrist and hand if need be.

You gave it a few experimental moves. You could close your hand but your fingers weren’t as precise. It would have to be good enough until your arm healed. Fives offered an open palm and you took it before standing, “Thank you, both of you.”

Back to work.

The three of you walked back to the main force. Luckily, Krell didn’t argue when you returned to the speeder. It had gotten much lighter since you and Kix already used nearly half the supplies. As soon as the men started to march you started up the vehicle and stayed at the same pace as everyone else. Despite your exhaustion, after about an hour, you stepped off and gave control to a limping trooper, Dawn, keeping one hand on the side just for stability's sake. 

Looking over the men, there were more injured than healthy now. Tup held his wrist as he walked. Appo had a bandaged thigh. There was a crack on Hardcase’s chestplate that was crusted with dried blood. Two soldiers, Ken and Rin, were laying damn near on top of eachother on the stretcher attached to the speeder. Both had taken severe burns all over their bodies, melting the plastoid to their skin in some areas.

But there were more dead than injured. You’ve been keeping count. Taking notes of the names that died in your arms. 

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Nim. Jamie.

You recited their names in your head. You had to keep track of everyone lost under your care. There were more. Those Kix couldn’t save. Those that died instantly without a chance to survive. Sadly, you knew the list would grow as long as Krell was in charge. Under Anakin, the list of dead wouldn’t even get to be half as long. 

Hopefully the city would fall soon, everyone in the battalion needed a bacta tank and therapy. 

A lot of therapy.

“What happened?” 

Rex.

Your lover had taken you from your thoughts and you snapped back into focus, “Just a graze,” you lied. At this point, you weren’t going to stress him out anymore than he already was. He’s been shouldering the weight of the Jedi's bad decision, and you refused to add to it. 

You gave him a soft smile, hoping to ease his worry, but Rex saw right through your lie. The amount of bandages on your arm and a brace wouldn’t be needed for ‘just a graze’. His shoulders shook with his breath, “Doctor, I need the truth. Your status is important to me,” He caught himself and added on, “and the men of this battalion.” 

Dawn, who was controlling the speeder easily, looked at you, then to Rex then back to you before looking away. He wasn’t going to be a part of whatever was happening next between field doctor and captain. Something you appreciated because you weren’t leaving the side of the vehicle.

With a heavy sigh you shook your head, “Sir, it's a blaster shot. Nothing more, I promise.” 

The two of you had to keep your emotions under professionalism. But…well the moment you and Rex were alone there was definitely going to be a conversation.

“...very well, doctor.” he responded, staring ahead, “just…be careful next time.” His tone indicated that this wasn’t done. When the both of you had privacy, he needed to talk.

You nodded and continued onward. 

That was, until you heard a ‘whoosh’ followed by several explosions to the left of you. 

Another ambush!

Everyone scattered, finding whatever cover they could. You didn’t take the chance to stay, instead, grabbing the trooper on the speeder and stepping on the vehicle. “That way, now!” you snapped, pointing at an opening. The balance was off since you were hanging off the side of the thing, but the soldier did a good enough job driving you and the injured out of the line of fire. 

You grabbed the steering, forcing a sharp turn and stopping behind a large root dotted with glowing red. Poor Dawn nearly fell off after your sudden control, but neither you nor the injured on the stretcher cared. 

This is what you had to do. Lay low, protect the medical supplies, and treat the injured. You were close enough to see the fight, but still far enough away that the Umbarans could easily miss you in the foliage of the dark jungle. The problem was that since everyone scattered, the battlefield moved slowly closer.

The trooper stepped off the modified transport and crouched behind the cover. He readied his rifle, aiming it over the root, “I’ll protect you and the supplies.” Dawn sounded resolute but you noticed the tip of his blaster shook ever so slightly. 

“Thank you.” you weren’t going to point out his clear terror, so instead, you focused on the leg he didn’t put much weight on. At the angle he rested his ankle, you figured that was the cause of his initial limping, “Don’t move.” you said, tending to it. 

Torn muscle. Fracture. Bone still in place.

Simple. Blessedly simple. Better than the usual gruesome burns, broken bones or fatal wounds.

There was another woosh overhead, and two more explosions that followed. You looked up, the Umbaran starship twirled once before lifting higher in the sky. Through the smoke, you saw the shadow of a soldier reaching up for help, so you ran to him. 

The battle was moving closer to your position as the 501st was pushed back. It didn’t take long for you to grab the trooper by the shoulders and drag him back to your cover. An Umbaran raised their blaster, intending to take you both out, but Krell deflected the shot.

Oh, the bastard found your position. Lovely…

“I got you.” you spoke to the writhing soldier as you removed his cracked helmet. Immediately you got painkillers into his neck and began to assess. 

Bleeding left ear. Missing left eye. Massive laceration on left cheek and temple. Awake. Conscious. 

“Talk to me.” your words seemed to do something for him, as he snapped into focus and kept his rifle up and pointed at behind your position. He handled the wound well, acting like nothing phased him.

“Vaughn, my name is Vaughn.” he responded, managing to aim steady and fire at an approaching enemy, “Is it bad, doc?”

“Your eye is gone.” you told him the truth as you kept your focus on him, “But you’ll be alright.” You tried to speak again, but your voice was cut off by more explosions. Those flying ships were causing too much damage. 

The fight had moved to your position, putting the injured and medical supplies at serious risk. 

Dawn jerked back with a sudden cry. He collapsed, smoking hole in the middle of his helmet. 

Dead. another name to add to the list.

Krell carelessly stepped over his body getting around you and Vaughn. He looked uninterested as he pulled out a holocomm. You stopped paying attention to the General as Kix brought you another injured soldier. And then a few more managed to bring themselves to your side.

At some point, Rex joined Krell. You didn’t even know when he had gotten to your cover, but it was a relief every time you saw him alive. Jesse and Dogma had joined him, the latter taking a step in front of you to defend you and whoever you treated. 

You and Kix managed to get about nine soldiers stabilized when the order came out.

“We’re moving out!” The clone captain shouted, “We need to move! Now!”

There wasn’t much time to help anyone else at the moment. You ordered a soldier to drive the speeder. Once you stood, you draped a soldier's arm over your shoulder and held his side as you walked. Kix literally threw someone over his shoulder, and took hurried steps to follow the battalion.

Your eyes were on Krell as you marched. He didn’t even bother to look back at those that were hurt or dying. He didn’t know their names. He didn’t care.

But you did. And you’d add every name to the list you repeated in your head.

[enigmatist17]

Absolutely feral over Hashtag and Starscream, like wtf why is this the cutest thing I've ever seen

It's probably something to do with the fact I was up at 3am watching this show for some of the best Starscream content since Prime/Armada

---

"Starscream is observing us. Again." Nightshade hummed as they headed up and out of the barn, face buried in the latest novel Dad had given them.

"Wasn't he here, like, yesterday?" Jawbreaker asked, Thrash and Twitch practicing their sparing while he watched from the sidelines, more than content to focus on the miniature painting he was working on. Whatever answer Nightshade could have given was drowned out by the noise of someone transforming, Hashtag speeding up and into the woods behind the Malto homestead, everyone stopping in place to watch her leave.

"She does know I did not tell her where he's currently residing, yes?" The scientist looked at the tracks left behind, more amused than anything else.

"She'll figure it out." Thrash shrugged before tackling Twitch, earning a squeak of indignation from his sister.

They didn't need to worry, Hashtag had figured out where Starscream liked to observe her homestead after his first visit, but just hadn't had the nerve to approach him. Sure, it was a bit of a silly thing to feel, but Hashtag didn't want to push her...friend? Ally?, too hard, but it had been two months, and enough was enough! The jet seemed to be focused on the horizon when she made the trek uphill, the large rocks serving as an adequate chair for the massive Transformer. They sat silently for a while, Hashtag remaining in her alt form as the various wildlife and rush of a distant stream filled the conversation neither seemed to want to start.

"Soooooo, where have you been?" Patience was not Hashtag's strong suit, and the short venting of air from the seeker beside her almost sounded amused.

"I have been...around." Starscream finally moved for the first time since she'd arrived, glancing down at her alt mode. The radar dish on the top of her vehicle faced up toward Starscream, and she transformed a moment later when he tipped his head, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a grin. "You've improved your blaster accuracy."

"I have!" Hashtag looked quite pleased, tapping her servos against her plating with a grin. "Bumblebee said I just need to keep at it, but I really like it when Arcee drops by, she gives me all sorts of tips. Wait, how did you know? Nightshade only mentioned you a few times, and we train mostly during the day?" Starscream seemed a bit stunned at the torrent of words sent his way, memory packets he'd forgotten about flashing fuzzy images of sparklings that were long dead for a moment before he shoved them back and into deep stasis. He'd never truly been comfortable around children, and even less so after the War began, yet here he was, listening to the young mech beside him ramble on about something called barbeque like it was just another solar-cycle.

" -scream? You listening?" Shuttering his optics, Starscream noted she had moved to stand before him, one hand hovering just above making contact with his knee with her optics staring at his wings. "Hellooo?"

"I...apologize, my mind wandered. What are you staring at?"

"Sorry, it's probably super rude to stare, but I've not really had a chance to look at wings like yours like, ever? Fights happen so fast you know, and the rare videos I find before G.H.O.S.T wipes 'em don't really give me a look either." Once again, it's another torrent of words, and the Decepticon can feel his wings rising slightly in discomfort. "Sorry, did I upset you?"

"N-No, you've done nothing wrong." When was the last time someone asked how he was feeling?

"Oh, okay!" Primus bless her, the little one's eyes lit up as she clasped her servos together. "Sooo, were you always able to fly, or did you have a ground alt once upon a time?"

"No, I have always been a Seeker." Starscream motioned for the smaller bot to sit beside him, shifting to the side so she had plenty of space. "My frame was initially suited for deep-space exploration rather than combat, but that changed quickly enough when the War began. I don't think I could ever enjoy being away from the sky, it is as much a part of me as every inch of my frame."

"Nightshade has said that too. Ever since they took their alt form, they have talked about flying like I do when I hack or manipulate things. There's just no other feeling like it." The Seeker nodded, and Hashtag was relieved to see his wings lower slightly, adding one mental tally mark to her "Operation Get Starscream To Relax" board.

"It is a feeling unlike any other, for every type of Cybertronian. I have seen those who command oceans as if they were assembled by it, others who use the strength of beasts long dead as if they'd been one their entire creation. Had it not been for so many things, you too might have seen the wonders that were our people."

"Well, I wouldn't mind listening to you talk about them." Hashtag hugged her legs to her chassis with a smile, ever the eager youngling waiting for a tale.

"If you're going to talk, you might as well bring this party to the house." The sudden voice behind them made both mechs jump, Starscream pointing his null ray at whatever the threat was as he tucked Hashtag behind him, only to find...Lieutenant Malto.

Ah...frag

"Hi Mom!" Hashtag stood up so she could see from behind Starscream's wings, waving as the null ray was powered back down. "How'd you know where to find us?"

"A mother knows, sweetie." The smile on the human's face was a little forced, which the Decepticon had to give was justified. "You doing alright?"

"Yep! Starscream has been answering some of the questions I've wanted to ask, and we've just been sitting up here and enjoying the view." She fully moved from behind the older mech as she spoke, standing beside the comically shorter woman who refused to break eye contact with Starscream, who just stared right back. "Are you serious about letting him come to the house?"

"Maybe, maybe not. If we're going to have guests, we should be prepared, right? Why don't you go and get some of the nice energon ready, and let your Dad know I'll be down soon."

"Okay! Oh I can't wait to show you around!" With a wave, Hashtag transformed and booked it down the mountain road her mother had used, leaving the two to stare silently at each other.

"What do you want with my daughter?" Ah, there it is.

"Nothing, I was merely...observing." As much as it loathed his inner demons, Starscream knelt down so they were more or less at an even height, both soldiers coiled for a fight that may or may not happen. "I was unaware she knew I've been here."

"I knew they'd catch on sooner or later, you didn't exactly pick the most hidden spot." Starscream rolled his optics, noting the other had relaxed slightly. "What have you been doing, since the big escape?"

"Hiding, mostly. I've no desire to be tortured again." It took her past as a fighter for Dot not to flinch at the angry hissing coming from the mech, face impassive when Starscream had to shake his helm for a moment. "Nor do I wish to see...him."

"...we're getting close to exposing G.H.O.S.T, for what it's worth. All of us are, and I'm sorry you had to suffer at their hands."

"Are you? I'm a Decepticon, surely this must be thrilling to hear, after all we've done?" There's no venom in those words; all Dot can hear is what isn't there as his wings hike up his back, and servos curl into fists. "Getting what we truly deserve, no?"

"All I see before me, is a mech who is tired. A mech who is exhausted, yet took the time to sit with my daughter, protect her from a perceived threat, and stare down her mother despite knowing I could take you down." The hissing is back, a slight red filter sweeping across blue optics before fading just as quick, but Dot holds her ground without batting an eye. "All I see is a Seeker without a trine, and while we may not be one, a little company can't hurt you, can it?" Starscream just....stares, and Dot wishes the bots breathed like humans did, just to offset how unsettling it was when mechs could watch without a single movement. That was one of the things that really got under her skin, and she was grateful that her kids hadn't learned that particular skill yet, full of too much energy and life to sit still like a waiting snare.

"You dare speak of my trine." The sentence nearly made her jump, the tall mech leaning closer with a blank look. "You understand nothing."

"No, I don't." It's a simple response, but it's all she can give. "Now, let's not keep the kids waiting." For the first time, Dot turns her back to Starscream to get into her truck. The Seeker is fully onto his pedes by the time she has the car on, his gaze focused on the home he can see just down the hill. "Don't break the fence, or you'll be the one fixing it."

"As you wish."

So this is how a Decepticon finds himself drinking the first pure energon in too many cycles to count, surrounded by mech younglings and cautious humans as the first mech to believe him waved her servos around, grinning as she told the tale of their first meeting. It is not...entirely how he thought the evening would go, but every time Hashtag smiled at the Seeker, something seemed to unfurl in his Spark, something that should have died off long ago.

So when she asks him to stay, even if it's for one night, Starscream does without hesitation.

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

A Quiet Place to Rest

It's hard to sleep during thunderstorms, especially with enhanced senses.

Pairing: Hunter x f!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: fluff, cuteness, sweetness, idiots trying to hide their feelings from each other - this is SFW folks.

Thunder cracked across the sky, illuminating the barracks on Kamino. Storms were common on the water planet, and you’d long learnt to love them. Tonight, you’d opted to camp out on the large couch that Wrecker had procured from Maker knows where and watch the storm as it rolled past Tipoca City.

Around you, the boys snoozed. These days, two years deep into the war, they could sleep through almost anything.

Two years. It had gone past in the blink of an eye. You could still remember the day you’d been introduced to Clone Force 99 and assigned as their civilian handler. It was your job to keep in contact with Command, feed the boys their missions, and ensure they had everything they needed to complete their work and return safely.

While most handlers chose to remain on Kamino, away from the blaster fire and chaos, you’d elected to go with the Batch, to live on the Marauder with them and share their barracks on the rare occasion you could return to base. After all, you couldn’t keep them safe if you weren’t with them.

“Can’t sleep?” The quiet, smoky rasp of Hunter’s voice graced your ears as he circled the couch, sitting down at your side. He was as nimble on his feet as a lothcat – you'd lost count of how many times he’d made you jump by suddenly appearing next to you.

Head turning to look at the man by your side, you admired the sharp line of his jaw, the tattoo that shaded half of his face, and the bags that were a permanent feature under his dark eyes. A constant reminder of the pressure he was under as the squad’s leader. “Still winding down.” You answer just as quietly. The last few missions had been tough, back-to-back with barely a few hours downtime between them. Your mind was too noisy for rest. “Can’t sleep either?”

Hunter’s gaze flits to the large window at your question, a small noise of discomfort sliding past his lips. “Lightening.” His answer is only one word, but it explains everything. The storm was messing with his senses, producing a strong electric field that he couldn’t tune out. He’d tried all his usual techniques for blocking it to no avail. So, he’d resigned himself to a night awake, and a thumping migraine in the morning.

“Here…” You murmur, stretching out a little on the couch before patting your lap in invitation. Sometimes after tough missions, Hunter would seek you out, sitting for a while in your presence, bringing the focus of his senses onto you so he could then slowly draw them back under control.

Hunter didn’t need to be told twice. He shifts, laying down across the couch, head resting in your lap, cheek pressed to your bare leg. Your fingers find their way into his hair – bandana-less and ruffled from trying to sleep. As your nails drag across his scalp, he lets out a small sigh, warmth seeping through him at the gentle action. Slowly he starts to hone in on you, letting the soft scent of your shampoo fill his lungs as he takes a deep breath, the slow thud of your heartbeat ringing in his ears, the feel of your bare thighs beneath his cheek and the warmth coming from your body. The fact you slept in one of Wrecker’s old shirts – oversized on you and skimming mid-thigh – was both a blessing and a curse.

“Any better?” You ask softly, gazing down at him, watching as his eyes slide shut and he lets out a soft sigh, the tension in his body starting to melt away. You loved these moments, when he relinquished his fearless leader persona.

“Mhm.” Hunter murmurs, feeling the pounding in his skull starting to recede the longer he rests in your lap and soaks up your affection. But he’s greedy, and he wants more, even though he knows he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be having anything other than professional thoughts about you. But that’s all they’ll stay for now, though – thoughts.

You fall into a comfortable silence as he rests in your lap. Slowly your hand moves from his hair to brush across his shoulder, and then down his arm, fingers dancing across tattooed skin. You’d been surprised to learn that the tattoo which shades half his face continues downwards to darken half his body too. Eventually, you find his hand, sliding your fingers against his to lace them together. It’s only a second before Hunter’s thumb moves to press against your wrist, right on your pulse point, giving him something else to focus on.

The storm continues to rage on outside, and together you sit through it quietly. It’s another hour or so before it passes, though the sky remains clouded and grey. You hadn’t spoken a word to each other during it – lost in your thoughts, coming down from the last few missions. “How’s your head?” You ask Hunter softly, breaking the silence as you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Easing.” He breathes a sigh of relief, his senses settling as the storm moves past Tipoca City. He’ll still feel it anywhere on the planet, but the further away it moves the less grief it gives him. Giving your hand a squeeze in return, Hunter’s greed flares again and this time he allows himself to give in to it. Pulling your hand closer, he cradles it to his chest as he remains resting in your lap, dropping a kiss on the smooth skin on the back of your hand. The action pulls a soft chuckle from you, the sound one of his absolute favourites, and he soaks it up like a man stuck in the sands of Tattooine. He notes how your heart pounds a little more fiercely too, but he opts not to say anything, privately relishing the effect such a simple act can have.

You know your heart is beating quickly, but you’d long given up trying to mask it. There was no fooling Hunter’s senses, and you were starting to suspect he was purposefully doing things to set your pulse racing anyway – he’d been a lot more open with his affection as of late.

“Try and get some sleep.” You murmur, gazing down at his profile, marvelling at this incredible man curled against you. His hair had been smoothed a little from your strokes, and the tension in his shoulders was gone now. He was even more gorgeous than usual, softer and quieter, without the weight of the squad's safety on his mind now they were safely in their bunks nearby.

Hunter stifles a yawn, burrowing closer towards you and your body heat. The tendrils of sleep are pulling at him, beckoning him into the abyss. And with your request, he’s even more powerless to fight it. He knows even an hour or two of rest will do him good, and with you keeping watch, he’s never felt safer. “Anything for you, cyar’ika.”

[vinyls-and-valentines]

The most noticeable thing that changes about the Fabulous Killjoys is the way they fight.

Fun Ghoul, although blessed with a knack for chemistry and mechanics, has unsteady hands. While this does not impede his work with electronics and explosives, it makes him a slower shot than most due to a shaky aim worsened by recoil. Because of this, in his early days in the Zones, Fun Ghoul relied primarily on incendiary devices and his own physical abilities to dispose of opponents in an area all at once. The downside of having a combat style based around such tactics however, is that it meshes poorly with the mid-to-close-range the Fabulous Killjoys have developed over the years (in no small part due to Kobra Kid), and thus led Fun Ghoul towards a style focused more on dodging hits and making decisive point blank shots or further sacrificing accuracy for the sake covering a wider area.

Jet Star, is the opposite of Fun Ghoul, in the sense that he has exceedingly steady aim born out of years of practice and a greater-than-life sense of competition, but can struggle to move effectively due to his size. As such, it perhaps comes to no surprise that Jet Star used to prefer long-range fighting, neglecting close-range in favour of playing up the fear factor of both his skill and affiliation with some of the Zones' most infamous snipers and gunslingers. That doesn't mean that he was useless in a close-range fight, of course, however his movements were simple, predictable, and incredibly limited, which put him at a disadvantage against anyone with more experience or endurance than him. Jet Star's current style hasn't as much shifted in order to accommodate the others' as it evolved alongside Jet Star as he learnt to direct his body as deliberately as his shots even when it comes to close quarters.

Party Poison has always been a flexible fighter, and it is this very adaptability which highlights just how purposeful their attacks truly are. In the grand scheme of things, nothing fundamentally changes about Party Poison's fighting style outside some improvements in their aim and the variety of their movement as they learn to fight alongside other people, however, the intent with which they fight does. As a young killjoy, whether consciously or not, Party Poison's intent in a fight was to always harm the oponent, prioritizing ways in which they could incapacitate them without having them lose consciousness or simply inflicting as painful an injury as possible to attain their goal. This intent then gradually shifts towards a desire to protect others from the cruelty Poison's own fighting style reflected back at the world because despite the cruelty of their actions they had never done it because they enjoyed it.

As candidate to become an exterminator, Kobra Kid's fighting style used to something akin a swiss knife, however much more calculated and deliberate. While trying to figure out its way through the Zones, Kobra Kid relied on any weapon available to it, going through a wide variety of combat and more often than not pushing aside his distaste for blasters in favour of having a weapon which was effective and easy to replace. Having Jet Star, Fun Ghoul, and even its sibling by its side, allowed Kobra Kid to focus on its unarmed combat and blade-wielding, casting long-range combat aside in favour of a style which gave it better control over the situation, enabling it not only to easily dispose of opposing combatants due to its athleticism, but to also support its crewmates in situations where long-range combat is the favourable approach

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕣𝕜𝕤 ⋆*･ﾟ𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴋɴɪꜰᴇ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ+ᴋɴɪꜰᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴍɪʟᴅ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴇxʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ

⋆ ★ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ʙᴜʟʟꜱʜɪᴛ 😭😭. ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱʜᴀɪʀ ꜰɪᴄ (ɪꜱ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱᴇᴅ?) ꜱᴏ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴋᴇᴇᴘꜱ ʏᴀʟʟ ʜʏᴅʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ! ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ❤️

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Hunter

He’s given you one of his bandanas. He has a fair collection of them, all the same color (little color coordinator hehe), and first gifted it to you when he left you on deployment, in his words, ‘As a way to remember him by.’ You like to wrap it around your wrist or tie it to your bedpost, staring at it on nights he’s gone. And bless the Maker if you ever wear it to match with him; he might just melt.

Hunter is also an early riser, but he is so light on his feet he has never woken you up once while slipping out of the bed early in the morning. You’ve been upset before because eventually you do wake up and realize he’s not there and have to search the Maurader or your apartment to bring him back to bed instead of wandering aimlessly.

This is a little embarrassing in his opinion (though you don’t mind at all), but he wants your scent on everything. He loves the way you smell, his heightened senses bless him with your calming, relaxing aroma he just associates with you and your loveliness. Wear his shirts, rest your head in the crook of his neck so he can smell your hair, and spray your perfume/cologne over his cot. It’s all the better when you’re away for a long time; if he’s having a rough day or experiencing a sensory overload, he can go to his cot and take in your scent; it calms him down almost instantly.

Always has his hand resting on your lower back while walking through a large crowd. He’s protective, yes, but if the two of you aren’t careening through throngs of civilians, it’s not typical for him to do this. But if you’re in a busy market down in Ord Mantell or some other planet, he’s always ready to grip your waist and point his blaster at any seeable threat.

Has been fantasizing about bringing his knives into the bedroom, but doesn't know how to tell you. Hunter is self-aware enough to know that it’s not a conventional kink, so he doesn’t want to scare you off of intimacy with him and also doesn’t want to risk hurting you, but fuck has he fantasized about it. And besides, he shouldn’t worry too much about accidentally hurting you; y’all know how dexterous he is with those knives, there’s no way it could slip as he twirls and trails it over your skin.

Tech

Tangles his legs with yours, without fail, every time you are sitting beside him. He's one of those ADHD people that needs to have their feet elevated for some reason (He's just like me frfr), and you're right there, the perfect footrest! He'll want to tangle your limbs together and have his feet propped up on the end of a couch or a stool or box, literally anything, but as long as his feet are up and he's touching you, he's as happy as a clam.

Has photos of you hung up all around his cot. Tech's recording hobby doesn't stop during missions or experimenting; he takes lots of images and videos of you as well through his helmet. He has a whole album of it in his files; he's printed out his favorite ones and put them by his bed so he always has you with him.

Actively searches for common interests and things you enjoy so the two of you can talk about them. He values quality time greatly and wants to spend every second he gets with you making you happy and making sure you love being around him just as much as he loves being around you. So if you express a liking or admiration for a certain topic, Tech will spew out all information, discussion points, and questions possible. He loves to see the way your face lights up when you get to talk about something you love.

Messages you every thought that comes to his mind, even if he’s right next to you. Although his brothers love him to death, they do tire of his endless train of incoherent ideas and tangents. You, however, don't mind it; you enjoy it in fact. So he's taken on the habit of sending frequencies your way with his random thoughts, whether about his current task at hand, an observation of someone else, or even about you.

Does extensive research on how to achieve maximum pleasure during sex. He falls on the end of the spectrum when it comes to sexual experience out of the Batch, but he makes up for it with his pursuit of knowledge and curiosity about you. He's always researching new positions, methods of foreplay and penetration, and even creating his own sex toys to also help in creating the experience as good as possible for the both of you. It's honestly great.

Wrecker

Loves to do your hair. You seriously don't know how or when he picked all of this up, but he's extremely talented at all different types of braiding, knots, everything. He wants to do it for you whenever the opportunity presents itself. And if you have short hair or cropped to your head, he'll brush your hair; he also enjoys washing it if you decide to shower together. His head massages are godddly.

Massive food sharer. If you have some snack you're munching on, unless you somehow are able to hide it from him, he's stuffing his hand into the bag or in your space to grab a couple bites for himself. But he also shares with you all the time, he's not that selfish. He's honestly more generous and giving than he is taking. You don't even have to ask half the time; Wrecker's already got a handful saved just for you.

Sneaks his hand up your shirt while cuddling to act as a heater. This man is just a massive

HUGS FROM BEHIND! Are you doing something that requires your back to face him while he's walking past, or doing something completely different? Don't EVER expect him not to for the hug. He scoops you up into his arms and squeezes you so tight, but also so cautious to not hurt you. It never fails to catch you by surprise and you squeal, absolutely terrified. Until you hear his booming laughter and a kiss against the side of your neck, and you melt into his embrace.

Has accidentally shoved you when he wasn’t looking down... It honestly happens more than you'd expect. And once he realizes it, he practically drops to his knees and begs for forgiveness (although he already has it). You know he doesn't mean to, but sometimes he just gets so excited that he just loses sense of his surroundings.

Crosshair

Dirty intrusive thoughts, 24/7. You walk out of a room while he's sitting down? Big mistake, his eyes are level with your ass; now the image of it bouncing while hitting it from behind has been conjured up? You walk up so close and look up at him with wide eyes? Uh oh, now he's imagining you on your knees. Sipping on a straw? Those hollowed-out cheeks should be around something else... You get what I mean.

Pinches your hips while walking past you, without fail. It's just a cheeky way of him saying hello that doesn't require much of him, but still conveys affection in a brief but understandable way. He even does it during actual intimate moments as a way to tease you. And look, even as he slowly becomes more comfortable being open and physically affectionate with you, he doesn't give up this; he just likes it too much. Besides, he'll never get sick of the little squeals you let out in surprise. It makes him chuckle every time.

Asks you to hold his toothpick for him if necessary and put it back when he’s done with what he was doing. Yk that meme of "Hold my flower" and "I got ur flower bby go kick his ass"? Yeah, this radiates that energy. If he wanna throw hands, take a sip of his whiskey, or kiss you without tossing away a perfectly good toothpick he will make you hold it. At first, you found it strange and even a little gross, but honestly, it's also very charismatic. A perfect combination of boyish, tough, and trusting.

Catalogs every single thing you say for future use, for better or for worse. Tell him your favorite drink? He orders it for you if he arrives early to 79's. Say you enjoyed something he did for you, either in general or sexually? He'll be doing it way more often now. But he also uses it to tease the hell out of you. If you tell him about embarrassing moments from childhood, slip up your words even just a little, or just be fucking clumsy? You poor child will never hear the end of it.

Sexting KING. Also really good at phone sex too. Like both he is so good at, you don't even know how he learned it or even have the time to do it, but oh my are you grateful. You both get off when he instructs you, orders you around and have you around his finger even if you are stars away.

Echo

Really good at massaging, but also loves to receive massages too. Even if you don't feel that you're good at it, he'll instruct you kindly to knead at the spots most tense and knotted up for him until he's moaning under you. But holy shit, he's so fucking good at giving massages; he can have you relaxed and blissed out in under 5 minutes. Echo's picked up on the skills from helping with his own tense muscles always connected to prosthetics and likes to provide services for you.

You always have to finish his plate; he’s a picky eater, and he's the type to dissect and push away the parts he doesn't like and crowd it all into one corner, but it ends up making his plate look like an excavation site. So you oh so kindly eat the parts that you like he insists taste horrible.

Likes to shower with you. He loves the intimacy of it, getting to clean each other up and be in such close proximity. He's also the type to crank up the water temperature to skin-burning levels because it's never fucking hot enough- but yeah, shower sex ends up happening a lot cause of this. Not that you're complaining.

Looks at you first when something happens to show his reaction; whether it be a look of disgust, confusion, amusement, or something else entirely, you are the first person he glances at. We already know he is expressive as hell, but he usually doesn't do that whole 'wordlessly exchange thoughts' thing, at least until you come along. You feel so privileged, weirdly enough, for you to be the first person he looks at. It's honestly so cute.

Has a favorite pillow in your apartment. He discovered that it was pretty early on, and you always seemed to notice that he wanted to lie his head on it more often than the others, but he didn't outwardly say it was his favorite until a little later. But now, that pillow is HIS, no one else can use it. It has a special place on your bed and you always make sure to wash it before he comes back from a string of missions and have it ready for him when he inevitably comes over and spends the night.

[sinisterexaggerator]

I'll Put It On Your Tab

Wrecker x Gen! Reader

Warnings: Threats made with a blaster. Violence. Attempted robbery. A broken bone or two. Fluff, and a kiss. "Established" relationship vibes.

962 words

Notes: I decided to write a series of "goodbye" ficlets where the reader takes / removes something from each of CF99 as they part ways, however this one deviated a little bit from that path. In this case, the story is left open-ended.

For you, @allsystemsblue. I know you love Wreck. :D

Crosshair || Echo || Hunter || Tech

---

“I don’t want any trouble,” you pleaded, hands held high above your shoulders with arms bent at the elbows. The masked man before you held his blaster level with your abdomen, making a motion for you to fill his sack with all your credits.

“Everything,” he growled. “Put it in the bag.”

Trembling, you rushed to comply, your hard-earned money being forfeit to this brute who was sure to kill you if you did not obey his brusque command.

Your business was Mantell Mix in Ord Mantell City; you barely made ends meet as a simple street vendor. You had a few faithful customers, some more so than others, but otherwise you lived day-to-day off cartons sold. He was sure to clean you out; you would have to eat your product or starve until tomorrow, though the alternative was death.

You supposed you might just count your blessings and be thankful should he keep his word and spare you.

“Hurry up!” he barked; you jumped despite yourself, dropping your remaining profits on the ground for them to scatter at his feet. You gasped, afraid for any repercussions, immediately falling to your knees before him to quickly gather what you could to placate the increasingly impatient man.

“Karkin’ imbecile!” he hissed, pushing you backward by the heel of his boot. You fell onto your rump, staring up with horrified, wide eyes as he took aim at the space between them, tears threatening to fall as your heart crashed wildly behind your ribs.

“I’m sorry—” you began, tilting your head farther, fear expelled to be replaced with elation as your knight in not-so-shining armor loomed above your attacker, massive arms folded across the broad expanse of his chest.

“Is this guy bothering you?” Wrecker asked, almost comically so. He could not help himself, loving to make an entrance, no matter how dire the situation, it seemed.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, scurrying back on the palms of your hands before you attempted to stand. In that same moment, the perp and his half-filled sack of money swung around, Wrecker squeezing the barrel of his blaster so tightly, that he crushed it under the pressure of his fist.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” the clone demanded beneath his bucket, though this man was nowhere near the height of your darling hero. You watched with bated breath, your would-be robber struggling in vain within his grasp, his mutilated weapon tumbling awkwardly from his grip.

The sack of money had been abandoned, your assailant of the mind he would need both hands to ward off this towering giant who had made it his job to protect you. Though you thought to retrieve what was yours, you did not move a single muscle, watching the scene unfold as you silently thanked your lucky stars.

“Piss off!” the thug seethed, a flurry of motions catching your attention; something glinted in the streetlight above your humble cart.

“Wrecker!” you cried out, a hidden blade unsheathed. He appreciated your warning, but it was not necessary.

A twist and then a crack. The knife was just as easily discarded. The man screamed, though his cry of pain was momentary. Wrecker’s plastoid helmet had met with his skull, knocking him flat in the dirt with a resounding thud.

As soon as he was down for the count, you endeavored to wrap yourself around him; you hugged your rescuer as tightly as you could, though your arms would not even begin to enclose the entirety of his waist.

“Thank you,” you breathed, gazing up. Wrecker chortled nervously, rubbing the back of his head absentmindedly, even though his gear was in the way.

“Aww, it wasn’t nothing.” He shyly brushed away your gratitude. Wrecker always felt that way with you – shy -  though he was not sure what it meant.

You reached; you wanted to see his handsome face. He was beautiful to you, regardless of his many scars.

Wrecker obliged, craning his neck so that you might remove his helmet and set it off to the side. He smiled down at you, a twinkle sparkling in the umber depths of his good eye.

For a moment, he seemed proud. “I sure showed him!” he announced happily.

“You did,” you assured him kindly, unable to help yourself as you traced the raised lines spidering across his skin. You repaid his smile with one of your own, turning to rummage through your cart.

“I have something for you,” you said, withdrawing a fresh carton of his favorite treat. You took a piece between your fingers and offered it to him. He hesitated, finally bending down to gingerly take the small kernel between his teeth.

“Mmm,” he hummed, politely chewing with his mouth closed.  You offered another, this time replacing it with a press of your lips to his when he least expected.

Wrecker’s eyes rounded to saucers before he gradually relaxed, the surprisingly gentle man taking up either side of your face in the curves of his palms. His fingers came to rest just beneath your ears, the rebel clone using this opportunity to draw you in.

“This is better than Mantell Mix,” he mumbled against you; you tried to suppress a laugh, having meant to deepen your connection.

Instead, you grinned, opening eyes that had been shut so that you could lovingly regard him. You returned your hand to his face, cradling his jaw. “I owe you my life,” you whispered.

You thought you saw a hint of a blush as he stumbled to reply. "Uhhh- I'll settle for that," he bashfully requested.

You could barely contain your glee as you rose up on your tiptoes to kiss him one more time. "I'll put it on your tab,” you quipped playfully.

[crying-fantasies]

Medical play

Masterlist

Featuring TF: Earth Wars Game! Barricade, smut/humor, CW: reader putting a hand over the mech, dubious consent (both are drunk every time they get nasty), licking, implied oral, implied fingering and penetration, implied blowjob, messy make-out, Barricade is a menace and an afthole, the reader has a thing for praxian frames (who doesn't?)

There is just so much you can go around from one medical habsuit to the next, Ratchet and First were very serious on the topic of not exhausting yourself, a pair of complete hypocrisy as both are out cold after dual missions, you don't have more hands to help as Minerva is still recharging after a 39hrs shift, Knock Out and Wreck-gar are still out in the field, the first most likely requesting to come back already not due to worrying over you but his paint.

So there's only you when the Decepticons group comes back from a fight with whatever is coming from Cybertron, the big door opens and they see you, alone, they can't even get angry anymore as they practically toss some of their mechs on the floor, someone's arm strut almost crushes you and makes you scream, Tantrum has no much to say but “all yours, squishy doctor” as you get near to notice the two mechs tossed at you are Barricade and Waspinator; Astrotrain, bless his spark, stays longer than the rest of them, looking at you as Waspinator starts to cry out in distress, Barricade may still be rebooting due to his silence, he gives you an uncertain glance before asking “need a servo, doc?”

There is no more energy as the cries intensify, he is cringing internally from it, you can notice, especially when Barricade’s system crashes and he wakes up in intervals, shouting obscenities, “I would love some help, Astro”.

Being a doctor in the base has its pros, more than one Decepticon is indebted to you, and while not all are as nice or bearable as Astrotrain, well, you manage, the number of attempted murders against you has dropped significantly, that's progress, a constant mantra repeating in your head when Astro goes back to his barracks once both Decepticons are tossed on the medical berths, he looks at you, waiting, and you let him go as this is routine.

Monotonous, boring routine, almost every soldier and high command has already passed on your hands from a devastating blow through their spark chamber or a detailing session to calibrate sensors right and get the dirt out, you've seen it all, you've lived it all, at least for a human, Drift said you're an old soul and Ratchet told him to shut up.

Perhaps you are an old one inside, as you collect patience to shove energon candy to Wasp’s mandibles, letting him be concerned over his goodies and not his arm strut going back to where it belongs, his antenna does pick up in what you're doing when you're done, “Waspinator did well?” your tired smile speaks volumes, “You did great buddy”.

Takes time and a lot of effort to catch on to what makes them let you work, Waspinator tends to forget about the world with energon candy, others when you do part of a psychiatrist and listen to their ranting, some good tea, extra spicy in some occasions, some want you to be a “service drone” by just doing the work done, for those your hands and treatment get a little rougher.

You're proud to say that fewer Decepticons turn away from the med bay when you're in charge or alone.

Now, Wasp is entering the cryostasis pod for a recovery nap, that lets you with-

“You spawn of a glitch!”

Barricade, whose mind seems to still be in the war zone, his struts are a mess, has blaster openings on more than one side and one optic isn't working. Given that he isn't in a worse state then maybe Hook went with them on this occasion.

Still, all his wires are an utter mess.

“What-?”, takes a moment for him to run right, but once he does you are very close to overriding his system manually, “Oh, oh, nice day, doc”.

Your teeth are going to turn out into powder by how hard you're grinding them, “good afternoon, Barricade”.

This is the reason why you sent Astrotrain away and put Waspinator into the cryo pod, your reputation among the Decepticons has improved so well, that you feel proud about it and almost jumped on your feet when Megatron called you “beneficial flesh bag”.

You will not lose that.

Barricade chuckles, helm pressing to the medical berth, looking at you like he wants to take a bite, “Come on, told you to call me Barry ages ago”, his only good servo tries to touch under your lab coat, you try to keep it civil, but he is doing it so hard, pushing his digit away only has him scowling “thought I already fragged your stupid uprightness away last night cycle”.

That, you're trying to forget about that as your fingers start to move away the plating which is poorly mangled, and his panels are an utter eyesore, but at least his internals aren't damaged, you can do this fast and spare yourself the mortification of hearing him talk about the most recent drunken misstep, the many, embarrassing many drunken missteps, “Barricade, I’m a medical official, you're an enforcer, we must keep it professional”.

With an air of anticipation, he clicks his glossa, just as you had predicted, “Professional this, professional that, that’s all you talk about”, he has an arm twisted abnormally backward, wires and lines messed up, but all that doesn't stop him from trying to get into your pants while sober, “what happened to the doctor that reached a fleshy servo inside my valve to check, uh? Or the doctor who tested my transfluid and gave me the all-good?”

Memories flush as fast as the rush of your blood coursing through every vein and artery, there is never quite enough to make a full picture and you swear that there is not even an ounce of resolve that wants to remember as you put his plating out of the way, trying to concentrate on the task and welding machine at hand, but it's so hard when he is looking at you like that and doing obnoxious, heavy ventilations laced with groans and the occasional moan when you drag away plating with force, “just like that, doc, you know how I like it”.

Who could've known that he had this kind of interest, yet again, Runamuck said something along the lines of you being the primary reason for his curious awakening in new interfacing techniques, and even giving you the hint that maybe you two should make it official to this point, you don't have a friend to care about to give the news so what are you waiting for? He says it with sincerity, unbecoming from a Decepticon, still with the usual bite most of them have.

Most people tend to their friends or interests, leaving lonely you at a corner of the bar full of people and cybertronians, never having the time to make some bonding, friendship, or fraternity, glancing respectfully at a pretty praxian that seems to be the focus of many as he talks, surrounded by his friends. Drinking to have the courage to go there and talk with him isn't the answer, that much has been proved over and over, as your feet wobble and your brain is soon to fall asleep from the intoxication.

The first time it happened, it was a mistake. You were drunk, just holding onto the first servo you could find, searching for that telling chevron as you looked up, and in the way his door wings perked up by the contact, he was just as drunk as you, overcharged, but still had the decorum to get you into his habsuit before punching the close buttons in haste. You aren't proud of yourself, much less when his red optics look at your hand pressing over his chest plate, urging him to the berth, following your command not by force or by his weakened state, he wants to and even has the vulgarity to put his servos under his helm, expecting you to do whatever you desire and go along with him, like you were some service drone ready to do the job.

Barricade found himself unprepared for the sudden pressure of your fingers over usually unused buttons and crevices of his chest, you had the medical knowledge to override his self-protection protocol. Exposing his spark, shining hard, light flowing into your face, so pretty, so enticing, a literal star in front of you.

It's hard to believe you forced him to do anything, but yet again, the bastard remembers that night with a dreamlike smile.

It would be foolish to just let it be, but you also felt stupid waking up the morning after, your radio almost blowing up with 39 messages from First Aid, resuming them in “your shift started 6 hours ago, I’ve distracted Ratchet from noticing but now Ratbat is whining to be treated by your hands only, where the frag are you?” as your face, middle and lower body have the sticky feeling of semi-dried transfluid, your partner of the previous night recharging soundly by your side.

Only one look at him and you were running from that habsuit like it was a contamination chamber, no matter how many times you ran, you still, somehow, ended up on his habsuit, on repeated occasions, always brought by bad decisions, alcohol and high-grade, mixed with xenophilia, Barricade kicked out his habsuit partner without any decorum, both in a frenzied and drunken mist to even care when Runamuck tells him “hey, I'm happy you finally stopped to be an annoyance in the highway, but could you frag the flesh bag somewhere else?!”, still, you both know he won't say a word, just allowing him to go make a ruckus in the nearest street, leaving you both to your own and trying to feign ignorance when he wants to put an audio receptor in the door when you moan, leaving anyway when things seem to be too gross for him, more times than not that's when Barricade shoves his glossa inside your mouth, almost getting off by the way you try to suck it, earning a wicked groan as his servos grip too hard over your chest and ass, leaving pretty marks here and there.

Both of you don't care, hardly keeping at bay where hands or servos reached before you put him over the berth with a firm tone, urging him to show you his spark chamber for a quick examination, feeling a hot, fluid rush from head to toe when he does as requested, waiting for you to take place over his abdominal armor, fingers creeping over his array, opening it manually, the smell of ozone heavy in the dark habsuit, your hands hold your weight, telling him to show the resilience of his hips if he could haul your insignificant body in constant pumping so you could measure the electrical flow of his stabilizers.

Oh, and he showed off so well last night.

“Bet you wanted to treat another praxian”, at that side remark he can only yelp when you tug way too hard on his line, Barricade is soon to shout at you, stopping, realizing you have detangled the mess the others made on the war zone with a single pull in a movement, no leaking, no lasting pain, but a scorching, painful pressure over his interface panel when he compares this fed up and angry you to the one liking over his sensors and modules while calling him a “good patient”.

His optics and biolights flare, a telltale you've reluctantly become familiar with.

“Is that everything, Barricade?”, you're frustrated with his nonsense, trying to get him away as soon as possible when you catch on his ventilation fans overworking, he smells like ozone.

“Now that you are asking-”

“Fleshy doc!”

He gets away from you with outstanding force and speed, another batch of Decepticons is at the hangar door, knocking first, it gives you another source of happiness and pride as Gnaw does it in place of just barging right in, finally some improvement, enough time for you to catch on your canned shower and aromatherapy spray, using great amount over your body and Barricade, who isn't pleased in the slightest to smell like lemon and vanilla, again, "yeah, come in!"

You try your best to disregard his disapproving look, realizing that what you said didn't come out the way you wanted it to given the circumstances.

.

I love Bayverse Barricade but I love this interpretation of him a little more, very handsome, even when he doesn't look that much like the original, and very obsessed with the game once again, but in the variety is the pleasure.

@tf-kinktober2024