#something where they’re stranded on a planet

[hawkp]

tell me why we never got a Julian, Miles, Quark, and Garak buddy episode

like… tell me that that wouldn’t have been PEAK

[linoxpudding]

Little Rivalry - Lee Know

summary: after the birth of your third child, your firstborn begins to struggle with sharing his mommy

pairing: dad!lee know x mom!reader

genre: fluff, humor, domestic

word count: 2609 words

a/n: you guys, I missed my fictional son mingi soo much���had to bring back a little lee family chaos ♡

Dad!SKZ Masterlist

-

The Kids: Eldest Son (Mingi - 5 years old), Middle Daughter (Minjung - 2 years old), Youngest Son (Minhyuk - newborn)

~°~

Minho slips an arm under your shoulders, steadying you as you swing your legs over the side of the hospital bed. Your legs feel like jelly, but his strength is steady and warm.

“Easy there, jagiya,” he murmurs, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. 

He gently eases you into the wheelchair and straightens your robe around your knees while tucking a small pillow behind your back.

“Ready to go home?” he whispers, voice soft with relief.

You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne mixed with antiseptic. “Yes,” you reply, voice thick. “I— I miss my other two babies so much.”

Minho chuckled and leaned forward to kiss your forehead, then your nose, then finally your lips softly. “They’ve missed you too. But don’t worry. They’ve been terrorizing Han, Jeongin and Changbin all day.”

You burst out laughing despite the dull ache in your body. “Of course they did.”

He pressed one last kiss to your temple. “Let’s go home.”

*********************

The drive home was quiet and peaceful. You and Minho kept stealing glances at the rearview mirror where your newborn, Minhyuk, lay snug in his car-seat, oblivious to the world he’d just entered. Your hand rested over Minho’s on the gearshift the whole ride home with an unspoken promise between you two— we’ve got this.

When you reached home, there was immediate, unmistakable chaos.

The moment the door opened, a blur of movement shot past Minho. 

"TO THE DINOSAUR PLANET!" Changbin shouted with Minjung hanging from his back like a koala. The two of them disappeared down the hallway, trailed by screams of laughter.

Mingi’s voice echoed through the hall, “UNCLE INNIE SAID I COULD HAVE SEVEN COOKIES.”

Jeongin’s voice followed immediately, “I SAID NO SUCH THING—MINGI, GIVE ME THAT—”

“TOO LATE!” He was running.

Minho looked over his shoulder at you, Minhyuk bundled in his arms. “Well,” he muttered, “at least they’re all still alive.”

“Welcome home!” Han beamed as he stepped into view, he was wearing a pink feather boa and had a suspicious amount of glitter on his cheek. "I lost control around hour two. But hey we did amazing and nobody lost a limb." 

Minho laughed while cradling Minhyuk protectively. “That’s my bar for success too.”

Jeongin practically bolted to the door. “Congratulations! Goodbye!” he yelled in one breath and disappeared, sprinting to his car.

Changbin emerged from the hallway next, panting and slightly sweaty but grinning like a proud uncle. He reached for a careful side-hug, mindful of your post-delivery soreness. “You did amazing. How are you feeling?”

“Like I could sleep for a week,” you laughed, brushing your fingers through your hair.

Changbin cooed at the newborn baby, while patting Minho’s shoulder.

You looked at them both, heart warm and aching in the best way. “Thank you. Really. I don’t even have the words.”

“You don’t have to,” Changbin said, gently patting your shoulder. “Just name your next baby after me.”

Minho blinked. “That’s not happening.”

Han snorted. “I’ll settle for a gift basket.”

“Mommy! Mommy!” Minjung yelled, charging toward you. She hugged your legs tight, eyes wide, “Candy? You bring me candy?"

You smiled, ruffling her hair. "No candy, but I brought you something better." 

Minho knelt slightly, adjusting his hold on the baby and showing him to Minjung, “This is your little brother, sweetheart. He already loves you so much.”

Minjung gasped. "Daddy he is so small!"

Mingi reappeared, standing quietly a few feet away with his arms crossed. He stared at the baby like he was analyzing an alien species. You smiled at him gently. "Come meet your baby brother, Mingi. His name is Minhyuk."

He blinked. "He’s small."

"All babies are. You were, too," you chuckled. Mingi just shrugged and went to the living room.

After you were gently settled on the couch—Minho carefully adjusting the throw pillow behind your back like a certified sleep-deprived dad nurse—the soft daylight spilled through the living room windows. There were a few quick FaceTime calls with the other members. Everyone made plans to visit over the weekend, then eventually the babysitters said their goodbyes. 

“Call us if you need anything!” Han said cheerily.

Changbin, already wrangling his sneakers on, added, “Like if you want us to take the older two for the weekend. Or the year. Just say the word.”

You laughed, and as the door finally shut, a soft, sleepy silence settled over the house. You looked around the living room.

Minho crouched in front of the bassinet, his hand on tiny Minhyuk’s chest, just watching him breathe. Minjung was playing with her dolls and Mingi sat a little away from the rest, quieter than usual.

You looked around at your little family of five. Your heart was full. 

Minho leaned against the back of the couch, taking it all in with you. “We’re outnumbered now,” he muttered.

You smiled up at him, exhausted, glowing. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

*********************

The house was quiet deceptively so.

The fairy lights in your bedroom cast a gentle afternoon golden glow as you sat on the bed, gently shifting Minhyuk in your arms. He’d just started stirring, his tiny fists bunching up and that familiar hungry whimper escaping his lips. Your robe slipped slightly as you adjusted to begin feeding him, holding him close to your chest.

“Shh, baby, mommy’s here,” you whispered softly, stroking his little cheek as he latched on. The moment was peaceful. Minho crawls into bed beside you. 

“You okay?” he whispers.

You smile, reaching for his hand. “I am. We’re acing Day One.”

He turns to face you, that classic smirk on his face, “Only 18 more years to go.”

“Jesus.”

“But you know…” He squeezes your hand, kisses your knuckles. “I wouldn’t want to do this madness with anyone but you.”

You smiled at him and before you could reply you heard tiny footsteps approaching your bedroom. 

Mingi entered your room and padded up to you, squinting. “Is Minhyuk drinking again?”

You nodded, smiling. “He’s hungry, baby.”

“Nooo, Mommy, put it back!” Mingi whined. “Minhyuk is stealing you!”

“He’s not stealing me,” you chuckled. 

“Mommy! He already got your boob!! That’s MY boob!”

Minho choked. “Well, technically—”

“LEE MINHO, DON’T YOU FINISH THAT SENTENCE,” you snapped, throwing him a look

Minho snorted, looking away like he was trying not to burst out laughing. Meanwhile, Mingi huffed and left the room dramatically. 

“Minho, I’ll throw a diaper at you!” You threatened your husband. 

*********************

Later that evening, you sat in the dim nursery, bathed in soft lamplight, rocking slowly as Minhyuk nursed. His little hand gripped the collar of your robe as his tiny body curled into yours. You rested your head back, eyes fluttering shut as a wave of peace washed over you.

Minho entered quietly, barefoot and warm from the shower, and sat cross-legged at your feet. He watched you with his usual quiet awe, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your shin. "Still feels unreal," he said softly. "Three of them."

You smiled without opening your eyes. "You remember when it was just us and Mingi? When we used to sit here, staring at him for hours like he was made of magic?"

"Because he was," Minho murmured. "Still is. They all are."

A soft hush fell over the room. After a moment, Minho’s voice broke the silence.

“Dinner is ready. Let’s go eat?”

You set Minhyuk gently in his bassinet and followed Minho to the dinner table. The warm light from the kitchen wrapped around you like a cozy blanket. 

Minho crouched down to adjust Minjung in her high chair, making sure her feet dangled comfortably and the tray was just right.

“There we go, all set,” he said softly, giving her a little smile as she giggled, swinging her feet.

You called out softly, “Mingi! Dinner’s ready!”

A few moments later, Mingi appeared at the doorway. His usual bright smile was tempered by something quieter tonight. He stepped forward and wrapped you in a brief, tight hug.

“Hi, Mommy,” he whispered.

You smiled, squeezing him back, “Come eat. Daddy made your favourite pasta.”

As you all settled around the table, the comforting sounds of cutlery and soft conversation filled the room. Suddenly, a sharp cry pierced the calm indicating Minhyuk was awake.

You stood quickly and went to the nursery, cradling the newborn close to your chest as you soothed him back to calm. Returning to the table with Minhyuk in your arms, you caught Mingi’s gaze. His eyes flickered with something like jealousy, and he fell quiet, pushing his food around his plate without a word.

“Mingi,” Minho said gently, tousling his hair, “You want ketchup like usual?”

He shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Minho’s eyes met yours. For the rest of dinner, he remained unusually quiet, his usual playful chatter noticeably absent. Your heart quietly ached as you watched your firstborn hold back his feelings.

*********************

After dinner, you moved to the nursery, already dimmed by the nightlight casting stars on the ceiling. Minhyuk was fussing, his tiny face scrunching up as you lifted him into your arms. You nursed him gently, humming a quiet lullaby that barely carried over the soft creak of the rocking chair. His lashes, impossibly delicate, dusted his cheeks as he finally drifted off again.

You placed him back into the bassinet slowly, one hand resting on his tummy for a moment to reassure yourself—yes, he was warm and safe and real.

You quickly went to Minjung’s room. She was already curled under her blanket, hugging her LeeBit plush, her lashes heavy with sleep. You bent down to kiss her forehead, brushing a stray curl away from her face. She mumbled something about dinosaurs and cookies, and you whispered, “Goodnight, baby,” before slipping out quietly.

Then you made your way to the kitchen where your husband stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, methodically scrubbing a plate as the soft clatter of water and ceramic filled the kitchen. His brows were furrowed, his movements slower than usual—like his mind was far away.

You crossed the kitchen silently and came up behind him, wrapping your arms slowly around his waist and resting your cheek against his back.

Minho was startled just a little before exhaling, his muscles relaxing under your touch.

He set the plate aside and leaned into your hold, one hand reaching down to cover yours, interlacing your fingers.

“Hey handsome,” you murmured, smiling softly.

He turned in your arms, water dripping from his hands as he gently cupped your cheeks. “Hey beautiful.”

“Minjung’s down,” you said quietly. “Minhyuk too. Milk coma took him out like a champ.”

Minho smiled at that, forehead resting against yours. “Bet he was out before you even finished burping him.”

You chuckled, letting a beat of silence hang in the air.

"Mingi was really quiet today," you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh, reaching for the towel again. "He’s not himself. He barely touched his pasta, and you know that kid would fight an army for that stuff.”

You leaned your head against his chest, arms still looped around his waist as he dried his hands. The warmth of his body and the rhythmic beat of his heart grounded you.

“I think he’s feeling... left out,” he murmured.

You nodded against him. “He’s five now. That whole emotional awareness thing is kicking in. When Minjung was born, he was still too little to really process what was happening. He was just happy to have a baby to pat on the head and call a potato.”

Minho snorted. “He did try to share his gummy bears with her like, every day.”

You smiled. “Yeah. But now it’s different. He’s old enough to realize that Minhyuk takes up a lot of time and energy. And I think he’s trying to figure out where that leaves him.”

Minho nodded, looking thoughtful. “Yeah…I caught him looking at you while you were holding the baby. He didn’t say anything, but... you could tell he wanted to.”

You let out a soft sigh. “He’s never had to share me like this before. Like, really share. And now I’ve got this tiny koala latched to me half the day.”

Minho smiled gently. “A cute koala, though.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “Still a koala.”

He leaned in and bumped your forehead with his. “We’ll figure it out. He’s got a whole lot of love in that tiny body. Just needs a little help sorting through it.”

You nodded. “Maybe we should go talk to him. Give him some time with just us, even if it’s short.”

Minho nodded, pressing his lips together. “I hate that we can’t fix it with a cookie or a new toy this time.”

Minho wrapped an arm around your shoulders, holding you close.

“Let’s go find him then,” he said softly. “He needs a reminder that he’s still our whole world too.”

And with that, you turned toward the hallway. You find Mingi sitting by the big window in his room, knees to chest, holding his dinosaur plush. His little eyebrows are furrowed. You and Minho shared a look, bracing yourselves. 

“Baby?” you say softly, sitting beside him. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Mingi glances at you but says nothing. His lip wobbles.

You pull him into your lap, despite the soreness, and cradle him. “Talk to me.”

He sniffled. “You… you didn’t hug me as long today. You were in hospital for two days and you didn’t even talk to me. You were holding the baby all day, Mommy. He’s more special to you.”

Oh.

Your heart cracked. You pulled him gently into your arms, pressing your cheek to his messy hair.

“Oh, Mingi. Mommy is so sorry. I missed you every second I was away. The baby needs help with everything right now. Just like you did when you were little. But he’s not more special. You’re all special.”

He sniffled. "You love the baby now?"

You swallowed. "Oh, baby. I love him and you and your sister so much. Just because there’s a new baby doesn’t mean I have less love. It’s like… my heart grew bigger, so now I have even more to give.” 

“You’re my first baby, you know that? You made me a mom. There’s a special part in my heart that’s only yours.” He clung to you, finally letting the tears fall.

“I love you mommy!” 

“I love you too, my sweetheart. Never forget that, okay?” you whispered softly, brushing his hair with gentle fingers.

A few tears welled up in his eyes, but he nodded. You kissed the top of his head, just as Minho came in, sitting behind you both, wrapping an arm around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Hey, big guy," Minho whispered. "Minhyuk’s gonna look up to you, you know. He’s gonna want to be just like you. That’s a pretty big job."

Mingi sniffled, glancing up at his dad with wide eyes, trying to imagine himself as the big brother for the tiny new baby. 

Minho kissed his hair. You all sat there by the window for a long time. You, with your eldest son in your lap, your husband at your back. For a moment, your heart swelled with bittersweet nostalgia—when it had been just the three of you. When Mingi had been the tiny burrito you brought home.

Now, your hands were full, your eyes a little heavier, but your heart... your heart had grown with each baby, each chaotic day, each loud, love-filled night.

Minho pulled the two of you tighter against him.

----------------

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[strawberriesandroses52]

Miscalibrated

pt 1/10

---

JAZZ stares up at the blistering sun. It’s so hot out that he half expects some lone vulture to shriek. Or maybe someone to strum a guitar, like they do in movies and TV shows. To really top it off, perhaps a rattle snake hiding in a singular cow skull. Then it would really be like it was a movie. 

If only it was a movie. If it was a movie, then he would have some doohickey or secret plan to get out of this mess. Then he wouldn’t be stranded on some alien planet who knows how many lightyears away from earth, slowly overheating in his mecha. Bebop was a wonderful machine, but without power, she was just metal. Cool looking metal, but just metal. 

Jazz has long since stripped out of his assistance suit, down to his boxers, having sweat through it an hour and a half into being stranded. He was slowly sipping his water, trying to ration it while thinking of a solution. 

No power, no communication. No power, no way to tell if this atmosphere was breathable or not. Or if there would be any kaiju lurking about. No way to tell if the ground wasn’t made of acid or something like that. 

It was a circular train of thought. He can’t stay and die of heatstroke, but he can’t leave either. His only hope would be to wait it out, hoping that Bebop’s systems got the distress call out before powering down. He hopes someone gets his signal before a kaiju does. 

Jazz had been a pilot for seven years, and while that’s nowhere close to the record, it’s nothing to scoff at either. Bebop hadn’t been his mecha the entire time, but she’s been his for the last four years, and he’s gotten a little attached. There’s some stickers on her pilot seat, old and peeling off now. His boot scuff marks on her deck. His greasy fingerprints are on the array of buttons in front of him. They’re comrades, partners. 

But right now she’s killing him as much as she’s saving him. If he was baking in here, then it must truly be scorching outside her hull. 

“I guess there really is no way out, old girl.” He mutters to her, head thunking down on her console. He likes to think that if she could talk, she’d say something to cheer him up. 

But the metal around him doesn’t respond. 

Pilots are often told that being separated from their mecha means the death of the pilot. It usually means a kaiju has figured out where your pod was located and is about to rip you out of your mecha’s chest and kill you. But what about when the cause of death is the mecha itself? He doesn’t remember any talking about that at all. 

(except maybe the myth about a haunted mecha, which Jazz was disinclined to believe in.) 

Surely, it must happen from time to time? A failed weapons check, a miscalculation, a malfunction, a miscalibration of some kind.

Jazz takes another sip of water. It brings no relief to the heat, and is tainted with the taste of salt as well. He wrinkles his nose a bit at the taste. 

No power.

No way out.

He takes another drink, wishing perhaps that it was something a bit stronger. 

Bebop’s frame shudders around him.

Jazz sits up, looking around at the metal. Was Bebop caving in on him? Or some kaiju coming to pry her open, hoping to eliminate the pilot inside?

Instead, Bebop begins to move like someone or something is carrying her, and the swaying almost knocks Jazz out of the pilot’s chair. Whatever is going on outside of Bebop’s protective embrace, they–it? Is dragging Bebop somewhere. 

To help? To death? Jazz doesn’t know and doesn’t have any way to know.

Of all the pilots, of all the people that this could happen to– of course it’s him. Of course it’s Jazz. Lucky-unlucky Jazz. Jazz who can flirt with death and live to see another day only because it loves toying with him. Fate’s own personal chew toy. Being dragged off to an unknown location by an equally unknown thing to an even more unknown fate.

He kind of wants to scream, but that wouldn’t help his situation. 

So he sits. Listening, trying to see what the heck is going on outside of the pod. It doesn’t provide him with much information, a scuff here, and a dragging noise there.  

The unease of not knowing getting him, he slips his assistance suit back on, putting his helmet back on. The suit stirs to life, barely functioning without the connection to Bebop’s systems. It’s uncomfortably sticky, but he bares it with a grimace. Already, the helmet is making his scalp sweat. But sweating is a good sign. From what he remembers of the survival crash courses he’s taken, it’s when you’re not sweating is when you need to worry. 

The pilot’s chair is as comfortable as ever, it had to be, since pilots spend 270 out of 365 in it. The old guard likes to call the new generation soft, with all their fail safes and safety checks and comfortable pilot seats. Jazz thinks he’d rather die with the comfortable seat.

There’s a pause to the dragging. Muffled sounds float into the pod, and Jazz can’t even begin to decipher what is on the outside. 

The hairs on his arm stand up, followed by the ones on his neck. A sour, metallic taste fills his mouth. 

He barely has time to think what the fuck before every nerve in his body is alight with fire. His body seizes up as jolts run up his legs and up his back and across his arms. His mouth is open and making a sound, it feels like a scream but he can’t hear anything. His fingers and toes tingle and sting as he gasps for air. 

Again, his body seizes, less violently this time, but still aching with fire. He flops down onto the console in front of him, panting and heaving. His muscles dance of their own accord, twitching and spasming. There’s the distinct smell of burnt hair somewhere near his nose. His tongue feels numb. 

But, Bebop’s arrays flicker to life. Stutteringly, the HUD comes back on, washing the pod with blue light. Several alerts pop up, proximity, damage and radar most notably. 

Jazz takes in a large, staggering breath. His heart is banging a gong inside his chest and his head, and his arms tingling with pins and needles barely respond to his commands as he moves to turn on all of Bebop’s sensors. He misses a couple times, reaching too far or not far enough before he can hit the right button.

Bebop comes to life. His helmet’s full visual display pops on, and Jazz is no longer human. 

Jazz is a twenty two and a half foot tall mecha strapped with knives, guns, and lethal precision. 

Being a pilot for seven years gives you wonderful reflexes. Jazz prides himself on having a particularly good reaction time, even among other pilots. Instinctively, before his sluggish brain registers that the shape above him is vaguely human-mecha shaped, he swipes wildly with Bebop’s built in knife. 

There’s the distinct shriek of metal on metal and a pained yelp that sounds too human for comfort. Jazz doesn’t spend long considering it, he just rolls away from the direction of the noise. Bebop’s systems are still booting online from the surge of power, meaning Jazz wouldn’t have access to her sonar navigation, his guns, or life support levels yet. 

When he springs out of the roll, he doesn’t look back as he sprints across the desert landscape. Bebop’s digitigrade legs barely touch the ground before launching him ever forward. As weird as this day has been, he has to admit he’s in a better situation than he was in earlier today.

There’s a thunder of footsteps behind him, echoing the same metal-on-hard-rock sound that Jazz’s own feet make. His jaw tenses as his eyebrows furrow in deep, quick thought. What to do? Something clearly wanted something to do with him. He had very little information to go off of. 

In a split second decision, Jazz launched himself forward with a mighty leap, landing crouched on the tips of Bebop’s metallic toes. He pivots, staying low to the ground as he faces whatever thing had just tazed and chased him.

It’s a mecha. 

Pearly white, black, a bright red. It’s a bit taller than Bebop is, and has very, very human-like proportions. And an even more human face, judging by the shocked expression. Whatever country or corporation that built this mecha must’ve been absolutely loaded to create such a human like mech. 

It opens its mouth and what the hell are those TEETH? Jazz takes a second look and, yes, yes those are teeth. What kind of mecha has teeth? One that bites kaiju? 

The mecha makes several sounds like dial-up internet, the error code of a printer, static, and various beep boop noises. Are their speakers damaged? Is Bebop’s audio receptors damaged? Or are they speaking some binary computer language? 

Bebop’s fins, functioning as both sonars and emotive display, flicker up and down. The strange mech pauses its sentence to watch as the fins move. Besides the electric shock earlier, the mecha has yet to attack. Based on its body language, it doesn’t necessarily intend to at the moment. It seems just as confused as Jazz.

Warily, Jazz stands up to Bebop’s full height, fins held at neutral. The mecha stands up a bit straighter as well, staring at Jazz consideringly. 

He takes two short steps forward as Bebop’s systems get a full visual scan. The mecha doesn’t move, but doesn’t back away either. Jazz flicks on his intercom. 

“Hi.” He says.

The mecha’s face morphs into confusion. “Hai?” It repeats with a strange accent.

Ah. So, a pilot that definitely did not speak english. That was odd. Most pilot programs, government or otherwise, required knowledge of English and one other common business language. Pilots weren’t just skilled monster hunters, they were engineers, scientists, inventors, military personnel, the best even among the best. 

“Konichiwa?” He tries, earning the same look again. 

English and Japanese were the only two languages he knew at the moment. But the pilot should’ve recognized at least one of them. Two of the most basic words from two of the most recognizable languages should’ve garnered some spark of recognition.

Is this even a pilot from Earth? 

[transformers-spike]

hey! been reading all your stuff and absolutely love what you do. i got an idea regarding team prime having their first christmas party at the base (june insisted), and they’re each introduced to the concept of kissing under mistletoe

I'm going for something where the reader is already in a relationship with the bot of choice. It's mostly just cute interactions with a hint of spice mid post.

Optimus takes it rather well considering… everything. He’s got a team to lead, a dead planet on his conscience and a homoerotic rivalry with his ex-best friend/murderous dictator who’s obsessed with him. Life could be a lot better right now. But it also could be a lot worse. He’s content watching from the sidelines as his fellow Autobots enjoy a new part of Earth culture. Don’t mind him, he’ll join in once his work is done. For now the best he can do is flash you an encouraging smile as you fail to string out the Christmas lights for the fifth time in a row – you can do it, he believes in you. He tries his best to seem oblivious when you climb the ladder June is holding still (the ultimate wingwoman), keeping a close optic behind the terminal just in case things go south and he has to catch you. When you call his name with the goofiest smile on your face, he beams at you, equal parts pride and cute aggression. “Hey,” you drawl, doing your best to seem as charming as possible while holding on for dear life on the only thing stopping you from plummeting to the ground. “So there’s this Christmas tradition you may not have heard about…” He attentively listens to the explanation, nodding his helm and faking surprise when he hears what mistletoes entail. His spark stutters in his chassis when you ask him, sheepishly averting your gaze, if he’d like to partake in this human tradition. He graciously accepts, hovering a servo over your frame (in case you stumble back in shock) and leans in for you to initiate the kiss. Yes, Miko told him. Yes, she ruined the surprise. No, he won’t tell you because he’s never seen you happier getting to kiss him.

Ratchet is unimpressed. At least that’s what he wants you to believe. He’s so invested in decorating he spends every minute off work painstakingly stringing obnoxiously bright garlands around the railings and holding the kids in his servos to reach the highest branches of the gigantic and possibly illegally uprooted Christmas tree. He’s complaining about the time he will waste taking down the decorations, but everyone in the base knows damn well he’s going to keep them on as long as he can. You don’t even have to bring up the mistletoe, he’s overheard enough from the crappy Holiday-themed movies the kids have been watching to secretly crank up the charm while scoffing on the outside. You’re watching the kids place the final touches on the tree, a mug of eggnog in one hand while helping yourself to some Santa-shaped sugar cookies. You barely notice Ratchet leaning in with a minuscule strand of mistletoe between his massive digits. It takes a moment for you to understand, what with the plant being nigh invisible in his servo. Finally, you swallow thickly and stand on your tippy toes (on the couch no less) to reach his intake. The kiss is the longest he’s ever experienced up until now, and while he has the kissing abilities of a dying fish, he melts into it while you forget how to breathe.

Bulkhead is clearly enjoying himself, watching bad Christmas dramas with the kids, trying to figure out how to remix old carols with Miko adding a rock (and occasionally death metal) twist. It’s simultaneously the funniest and most mind-boggling Holiday celebration anyone has ever experienced, add Wheeljack into the mix and now Ratchet is watching these two like a hawk in case they roughhouse too much and crush the Christmas tree. Miko would actually love to see that, and you and Bulkhead both have to be the responsible adults of the situation and try to keep the damage at a minimum while Wheeljack acts like the world’s worst influence on a teenager. By Primus, Bulkhead is actually tempted to join it, and now you have to reel in two grown adult mechs eons your senior and one 15 year old girl. Primus save you. And yet, beyond all expectations, said 15 year old girl is your wingwoman for the evening, which is simultaneously humiliating and a godsend. When she pulls out the plastic mistletoe from her pocket and holds it over you and Bulkhead’s heads from her vantage point on his neck, a move she’s been planning months in advance, your soul exits your body. The staring contest between you and her robot dad breaks only when Miko urges you to do something at least. The kiss is short and sweet, Bulkhead is screaming inside during the whole ordeal no matter how brief, hoping to Primus he didn’t somehow kiss you so badly during a five second interval you’re willing to break up with him. Nah, you’re blushing so intensely June thinks you’re about to have an aneurysm.

Wheeljack is a menace, and it’s entirely your fault. Mentioning the tradition wasn’t supposed to end up like this, but alas, horny dumbassery always leads to worst case scenarios. Bulkhead told you to go for it, meaning well with his encouragement but sealing your fate for the next 24 hours. Ratchet asked you if you were out of your mind, the voice of reason and simultaneously the bitchiest best friend you could ask for, telling you loud and clear if anything happened it would be on your conscience alone. June put a hand on your shoulder and (half) jokingly said she would ask to be assigned to your hospital room. Truly, you have the will to live of a hamster doing its hardest to die a horribly gruesome death and reach hamsterhallah. What a genius you are. Wheeljack wasted no time getting you under the mistletoe Bulkhead helped string up, and maybe you envisioned it differently when he narrowly bruised your lips going in for the kiss. You tried to keep the sloppy makeout session brief, but from the way Bulkhead was shielding the kids behind not one but two giant servos, you might have overdone it. What you especially did not expect, however, was waking up in the Jackhammer’s passenger seat with the worst migraine of your life and dry transfluid slathered all over your crotch. Now, trying to recall the events of last night with the worst eggnog hangover you’ve ever experienced, you can only wait for Wheeljack to awaken from recharge in the pilot’s seat. You note the traces of transfluid on his lips, and your eyes trail down to your suspiciously bluish hand. Did you fist Wheeljack on Christmas Eve?

Bumblebee is having the time of his life. You got Raf (and his Autobot guardian) some discount Christmas-themed games from the only offbrand Gamestop in all of Jasper as an early present. You watch with rapt amusement as they laugh at the frankly abysmal coding and game design, enjoying themselves to the fullest despite the sub-optimal gameplay, but you almost choke on your spit when Raf actually starts analyzing the code for the game and applying level-breaking cheats in a matter of minutes. Cheesus Christ, that kid can hack into the Pentagon at this point. You move in front of Agent Fowler’s line of sight to stop him from seeing just what kind of threat to national security Raf can become. As the day nearly comes to an end and you’re half sure Jack is scrutinizing Ratchet who’s flirting with his mom who’s tucking her hair behind her ear in the single mom sign for “I will fuck this alien robot”; you beckon Bumblebee closer and hold out the mistletoe over your head and his uh… forehead. You kiss him slowly, holding onto the railing as he leans his face into your lips, beeping happily. Little do you know, Miko saw it and now she’s going to hold out a mistletoe over your heads for the next 5 hours until your mouth grows numb from kissing him. He looks so damn happy whenever he notices the mistletoe, you can’t say no to him, not when Dadimus Prime is watching from the other corner of the room.

Arcee is ahead of schedule. She knows what you’re going to do, and she’s already planning to one up you. Yes, she’s been especially busy giving the kids a lift to put up the final ornaments on the tree in spite of her initial protests, but now you’re fiddling with your fingers stealing occasional glances like you’re desperately hyping yourself up for what’s to come. You have no idea what you’re doing to her looking so shy and cute. She could just eat you up. You’re unsure when you go up to her, Christmas fun fact on your lips and sweating bullets just thinking about what you’re going to do - and your jaw drops down to the Earth’s core when she gingerly holds a strand of mistletoe over your heads. She wishes she could capture your expression and lock it inside her spark. When you kiss, it’s deep and longing, filled with a need to give yourself up completely in spite of being so finite next to her. And she welcomes it, all of it, taking your eagerness and savoring every minute with you. When you pull away heaving for breath, your hair’s a mess and you’re redder than Cliffjumper’s plating. Your eyes twinkle when you look at her, equal parts love and desperation to surrender yourself to her with all the trust in the world. She will protect you until the day she offlines.

[fiftyfiftyfinchy]

Planet Zoo (George Clarkey Imagine)

The soft hum of computer fans filled the cozy living room, the muted glow of a ring light bouncing off pale yellow walls. You tucked a strand of dark hair behind your ear and adjusted your flannel shirt, your signature look for your streaming channel.  Today was no ordinary livestream. You had a special guest joining you today, the most highly requested guest.

"Alright, guys, you’ve been asking for collabs, and I’ve finally delivered," you began, grinning at the camera. "I’m here with none other than the man, the myth, the legend… George Clarke!"

George, seated in his bedroom with his headphones on, gave an exaggerated bow, his boyish grin lighting up the room. "Hey, everyone! Thanks for having me, Y/N. I’ve been a fan of your channel for ages."

You raised a skeptical eyebrow. "A fan, huh? Name one video of mine that you’ve watched."

George hesitated, his cheeks flushing pink. "Uh, the one where you tried to bake that… thing."

You burst out laughing. "Wow. 'That thing'? Great save."

"It was a cake!" he protested, leaning away from his camera in mock defense. "And, to be fair, it looked delicious, even if it collapsed halfway through."

"Nice recovery," you teased. The playful banter earned a wave of heart emojis from the live chat visible on your screen.

The two of you had met briefly at a sidemen shoot months ago. The exchange had been fleeting but enough to spark a connection. When George’s team reached out about a collaboration, you had jumped at the chance. Now, streaming with him, you wondered if this was professional admiration or something else entirely.

"So, what’s the plan for today?" George asked, settling into his seat. His relaxed posture contrasted with the nervous energy buzzing in your chest.

"We’re playing Planet Zoo!" you announced, her excitement evident. "It’s a zoo-building simulator, and I figured we’d see who can create the most ridiculous zoo in an hour."

George chuckled, his eyes sparkling. "Ridiculous zoos? That’s my specialty. But I have to warn you—I take gaming very seriously."

"Oh, I’m counting on it," you said, your grin widening. "We’ll let the chat vote on the winner."

We both booted up the game, and the livestream screen displayed a split view of their respective zoos-in-progress. The chat exploded with enthusiasm:

"George is already planning chaos, I can feel it." "Y/N better watch out. George is sneaky!" "This is the collab we didn’t know we needed."

As we played, the banter flowed effortlessly. George decided to fill his zoo with entirely carnivores, creating a chaotic mess of lions and tigers escaping enclosures. Meanwhile, you focused on making the world’s cutest penguin habitat, complete with tiny waterfalls and ice slides.

"What is that?" you asked, squinting at George’s screen. "Is that a loose crocodile?"

"It’s called natural selection," George replied, deadpan. "Guests love an interactive experience."

You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your drink. "Interactive? They’re running for their lives!"

The chat erupted:

"George is unhinged, and I’m here for it!" "Y/N’s penguins are the only safe haven in this madness." "This is the best livestream ever."

As the timer counted down, you glanced at George’s screen again and gasped. "Did you name a tiger after me?"

George grinned. "Yup. Y/N the Tiger. Fierce, unpredictable, and terrifying."

You laughed but couldn’t help but blush a little. "That’s… surprisingly flattering." You tried to ignore the wild speculation from the chat about George being flirty. 

“Is it just me or is george tryna to flirt with our girl?” “Y/N is blushing so hard rn omg” “i think i ship this?” 

When the hour ended, we toured each other’s zoos. George’s was an apocalyptic nightmare of escaped predators and terrified guests, while yours was a serene, picturesque haven. The chat cast their votes, declaring you the winner by a landslide.

"Victory tastes sweet," you teased, doing a little celebratory dance in her seat.

"You earned it," George admitted, holding up his hands in defeat. "But next time, I’m coming for the crown."

The livestream eventually wore down and you ended the stream, leaving just you and George.. She noticed that the playful energy shifted into something softer. "Thanks for doing this," you said, your voice warm. "I had a blast."

"Me too," George replied, his tone sincere. "We should do it again sometime. Maybe off-camera?"

Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t hide your shy smile. "Yeah. I’d like that."

Your heart was still racing from the way George had looked at you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this collaboration was just the beginning of something special.

[n0ahsebastians]

ain't been to heaven but i'm close

sorry this took so long bffs!!! had a long couple days but it's heerreeeeeeee!!! i love this one shot so much, i'm very proud of it. i hope you all enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

trigger warnings below!

18+ content!! smut, sexual content, lots and lots of love as always!!!

The rain pounded against the tin awning of the porch. It was one of her favorite sounds, she loved listening to it fall against the roof and the porch and the concrete. Just something about it made her feel at ease, calm, safe. She guessed the only other sound she could call her favorite was the sound of him, humming next to her as he tried to pull her closer to his chest. That also made her feel at ease, calm, safe. 

“It’s raining,” she says, turning over in his arms. His hand finds her hip, pulling her into him and pressing a kiss to her chin.

“I hear that,” he chuckles. His thumb traces circles into the skin of her hip, his fingers dragging softly over her thigh and the slope of her backside. She hums, tracing her fingers up and down his arm. His skin’s warm and he smells so good; she presses her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him. She presses a kiss to the skin there, where his shoulder meets his neck and he sighs. His fingers gently squeeze her hip and he rolls onto his back, taking her with him. She laughs and he wants to hear it for the rest of his life.

She straddles his hips, her hands resting there. The rain’s falling harder now, encasing them in their little bubble. Noah’s fingers trace the tattoo on her thigh as she does the same to the ones that cover his right bicep. She sometimes pictures what he looked like before he was covered in them, what his skin looks like underneath the ink. She’s never been able to imagine him with anything other than the art covering his body. She loves his tattoos, she loves the way the ink contrasts against her own bare skin. They’re a part of him and always have been. She has a few of her own, mostly small and not nearly as many as him, not even close. 

Noah reaches for the hand that isn’t drifting across his skin and intertwines their fingers. She smiles down at him, watching their hands lock together, watching as the ink on his hand almost engulfs the bare skin of her own. 

“You okay?” He always knows when she goes somewhere else, when she starts to drift off into another planet. She sighs and leans over his torso to press their foreheads together. He smiles as she rubs their noses together. 

“Yes, I’m okay,” she answers quietly. She feels his other hand that was running over her thigh starting to drift underneath her t-shirt, dragging against the skin of her waist, higher and higher until his thumb is brushing the underside of her bare breast. She gasps softly, feeling his thumb drag over the skin there again, then across her nipple. She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and instinctively rolls her hips against his own. He groans softly, sitting up on the bed with her still seated on his lap. He lets go of her hand, brings it up to cup her face, brushing her dark hair from her face. She does the same to him, brushing it off his forehead and gently tugging on the strands. He presses a kiss to her cheek, her nose, her eyelids, then teases her by hovering over her lips. She can feel his breath and it makes her stomach flutter.

“Noah?”

“Mhm?”

“Please.” She doesn’t realize until his breath fans across her lips that she absolutely needs this. It’d been too long and she was aching for him now, to feel his lips on her skin, to feel his fingers gripping her hips and thighs, to hear the sounds he makes when he’s close, feeling him breath into her mouth as he finishes inside of her. She needed to feel everything.

“I know, I know.” He kisses her then - finally - and she feels the press of his tongue against her lips. She moans gently, wrapping her hands around his neck and pressing as close to him as she can. His hands are cupping her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. His lips are pressing so hard to hers, she thinks they’ll bruise. His tongue is in her mouth, pressing to her own. And his breath is warm, he tastes like mint and something else she can’t quite figure out but it doesn’t matter because his hands are moving down to the hem of her t-shirt, tugging at the fabric, clouding her thoughts. She lifts her arms above her head without hesitation, letting him ease the fabric up and over her head and tosses it to the edge of the bed. Goosebumps spread across her chest, her arms, her shoulders as his hands find her breasts, kneading the flesh softly. She moans, taking her lip between his teeth when his thumbs brush her nipples again. The sound she makes is heavenly and he does it again just to hear it some more.

“I love you so much,” he breathes, pressing an open mouthed kiss to her jaw. She shudders, her thighs tensing in his lap. 

“I love you.”

She lets him press kisses to her shoulders and her collarbones, all the while running his thumbs over the curves of her breasts some more and across her rib cage. She’s pretty sure her heart’s racing a mile a minute and so is his. And even though he wants to keep touching her like this, to keep feeling her tense when he flicks her nipples, he wants to make her feel good in other ways that he hasn’t in awhile. 

He lifts her up a bit so he can lay her back on the bed, never taking his eyes from hers. She’s beautiful, so beautiful. He loves everything about her, every mark that covers her, every freckle, every crease and dip in her body. He’s obsessed with those parts of her that she may not like as much as he does. She loves being loved by this man.

There's very few words said between them as he begins to press his lips to her chest, trailing down her stomach and across her navel to her hips. Her fingers gently tug at his hair and he groans, continuing his gentle assault back up her body. She smiles when he reaches her lips again. She lifts her legs so her feet are resting on the bed and he’s able to better rest between her; he groans against her lips when he feels her center press to his own. 

“Noah…please,” she moans, tugging on his hair again. 

“I know. Fuck, I know. I need to hear you…hear you say it,” he whispers against her mouth. She whines but obliges. She needs a release before she fucking explodes so she’ll do whatever he tells her at this point.

“Touch me. Need you…to touch me.”

Noah moans against her mouth again, dragging his fingertips across her thighs and down between her legs. He dips his fingers between their bodies to feel how wet she is, pushing her underwear to the side and sliding his fingers into her. The moan she lets out into his mouth is sinful and he needs to hear it again. He needs to hear every sound he can get her to make. 

“Oh my…”

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking soaking baby,” he rasps, pumping his fingers inside her gently. She’s warm and feels so fucking good, he feels lightheaded feeling her this way. It’s been so long since they’ve done this and he thinks it’s unfortunate that he’s gone this long without feeling her like this. 

She’s close now, he can feel the way her legs are shaking and the way she’s clenching around his fingers. It feels so good, how wet and warm she is and how he’s the only one who can make her feel like this. It’s driving him insane and he thinks he might pass out when she opens her eyes to look at him, her mouth in a perfect O shape and her thighs shaking against him.

“You gonna come for me?”

“Unh…uh huh…”

“You feel so fucking good, I wanna feel you come now okay? I wanna feel you let go for me, baby girl.”

“Oh…oh fuck…”

Her vision whites out and she’s coming now, so hard, it makes his head spin and he covers her mouth with his hand just to feel her teeth sink into his palm. It’s filthy and erotic and he’s so hard right now it hurts. His hand is still covering her mouth and he can feel her breaths hot and quick against his palm. He removes it then and looks down between them to see the mess she very clearly made. Holy fuck…

“Holy fuck…you just…”

“What, what happened?” She lifts her head from the bed, still clearly very sated and not entirely aware of what she did. Noah looks up at her, his lips parted but not saying anything. 

“What?!”

“You…umm…”

She gets it now. She gasps and falls back onto the bed, her hands covering her face as he laughs gently against her thigh. She’s so embarrassed. She’s never done that before. 

“Oh my god.”

“Why are you embarrassed?” Noah tries to move her hands from her face but she won’t let him.

“That is so fucking embarrassing, oh my god.”

He chuckles again, trying to get her to look at him. She peeks from behind her fingers and he’s hovering over her, a big stupid grin on his beautiful perfect face. 

“Baby…”

“Noah, what the fuck? It’s not funny!”

“I’m not laughing!”

“You are.” She frowns and covers her face again. 

“Can you stop hiding please? You don’t need to be embarrassed by that. It’s normal. And…really hot.”

She narrows her eyes at him as he folds his lips into his mouth. The rain has slowed outside but it’s still enough to make her feel a little bit more at ease.

“Can you be serious for one minute?” 

“Baby, I am. You don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s normal and I’m not even weirded out by it. I was just…shocked.”

“Hmm…”

“Kinda wanna make you do it again.”

“Oh my god!”

He laughs again and she shoves a pillow at him, rolling onto her stomach and groaning into the blankets. He lies down next to her, running his fingers over her shoulder and down the curve of her back. She turns her head to face him, smiling gently. He reciprocates it, his thumb drawing circles into her back. She listens to the rain outside, listens to her lover breathing softly. Her two favorite sounds.

“Come here,” he whispers to her. She doesn’t move for a second, still trying to recover from that earth-shattering orgasm she experienced. She feels like teasing him so she purses her lips as if thinking about it and he rolls his eyes at her before hooking his arm over her back and pulling her to lay on top of him. She laughs loudly, her hair falling over his face. She leans down to kiss him slowly, rolling her hips into his. He groans against her mouth, his hands running up her back and across her thighs. He hooks his fingers into her underwear again, dragging them down her legs as best he can while she’s sitting on top of him. She eventually rolls off of him, kicking the fabric from her legs while he pulls his own boxers down his legs. He pulls her back to rest on top of him, nearly losing his mind when her center presses against him. She’s still wet and it makes him dizzy.

“Fuck baby…”

“I know…hold on…”

She knows he needs to come, she can feel how hard he is and how desperate he is to feel her especially after earlier. He reaches down to stroke himself a bit, her legs settling on either side of his hips. He sits up to make it more comfortable for her and as she sinks down onto him finally, he feels like he could live here for the rest of his life. She feels so fucking good, warm and wet and when she clenches around him the first time, he feels faint. He squeezes her hip, his blunt nails digging into her skin; he’s pretty sure he’ll leave indents and the thought nearly makes him come right then.

She moans into his mouth, pressing their foreheads together. She hasn’t moved yet and he lifts his hips gently to give her the hint that he wants her to.

“Noah…” she breathes out his name and it’s the sexiest sound he’s heard all night. 

“You feel so good, baby. Can you move for me?”

“Mhm…”

Her hips rock against his slowly, her skin’s warm and a thin layer of sweat is forming on her chest. Her breasts are pressed against his chest and her fingers are in his hair and everything feels like he’s floating. She begins to move faster against him, breathing into his mouth. Her thighs are squeezing around his hips and his fingers are digging deeper into her skin. He’s so close it hurts. 

“Come inside me, please,” she begs, tugging at his hair. 

“I want you to come with me,” he whispers, his mouth is pressed against hers and their breaths are coming in short spurts against one another. 

“Uh huh…”

“Come for me again, baby. I can…feel you…”

She squeezes his bicep, her nails digging into his tattooed skin and his hips stutter at the same time as hers. She gasps when she feels him spill inside of her at the same time as she squeezes around him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck…yes, baby…”

He feels so high off of her. He feels like the luckiest man on the planet getting to be with this woman, getting to feel her this way, getting to hear the sounds she makes and hear her laugh and say his name. Holding her after the best sex they’ve had in a long time, feeling the last of her orgasm passing through her as she wraps her arms around his back, pulling him closer to her. He presses a kiss to her cheek and then to her lips, reveling in the way she breathes his name against his lips again. As if it’s the only thing she remembers how to say. 

“Fuck…”

“Hmm…” she hums, letting him stay inside of her a little while longer. She wants this to last for the rest of her life much like he does. It’s the best feeling in the world, being with him this way.

“Love you,” she says, listening to the rain slowly subside outside their window.

“Fucking love you.” He kisses her again. “So much.”

[avastrasposts]

The Exiled Heart - Chapter 4**

Plot: Crashing his Razor Crest on a remote planet, Din is seriously injured and unconscious when he's found by a local woman. This story explores a few months of Din's life before he meets Grogu and started on the path we know.

Din Djarin x Female reader

Author Note & Warnings: Explicit - smut, fluff, angst, serious injury, blood, poor Din has an existential crisis...

Series Master List

Celjas and you cooked dinner while they both filled you in on the latest news from Duebert and the rest of the galaxy, what little came in at least. 

“The Empire is getting more and more oppressive, but the Rebels are fighting back,” Celjas said, “We can just hope none of them get their eyes Shinu, the less we have to do with the rest of the galaxy, the better.” 

“Shouldn’t we do something though? The Empire is making people suffer all over the galaxy, they’ll come here if the Rebels don’t stop them so maybe we need to help too?” you questioned, but both Riclam and Celjas shook their heads. 

“No, it’s too dangerous, and what can we do? Farmers and healers, we can’t even fight,” Riclam said and his wife nodded her head. 

“Well, if they’re fighting, they’re going to need healers,” you said, “so they do have use for some of us. And our crops have been good, we could supply them with extra food. Maybe-” 

“You’re crazy, do you want the Empire to blow us up like they did with Alderaan?” Celjas grabbed your arm, her eyes wide with fright, “They blew up the whole planet, just like that! No…the Rebel Alliance doesn’t stand a chance, so better if we stay out of it and don’t attract the Empire’s attention.” 

You wanted to argue that Shinu was benefiting from Alderaan’s suffering, cowering in the corner while others died fighting the Empire. In the end the Empire would surely find a use for Shinu too, the planet’s water was a valuable resource, and then their troops would march all over this green planet and no one would lift a finger to save you all then. 

The thoughts clouded your mind and you went quiet for the rest of the evening, eating your meal in mostly silence before you remembered to make a plate for Din. 

You excused yourself to your guests, and headed over to the storage building. You hadn’t seen Din all evening, and you weren’t even sure he was still there, maybe he had headed over to the Crest after all. And the building was empty as you’d suspected, your transporter was gone, as was the helmet. 

You stopped at the door of the building, looking up towards the forest where the ship lay stranded. It was late, too late to walk through the dark forest, and you were uncertain if Din even wanted you there. He probably had as much as you to think about after your kiss and confession. 

You went back and forth over the last moments with him, trying to guess his thoughts. He’d wanted you to tell him to not stay, but he ran as soon as Riclam opened the door. Maybe he hoped you’d come with him, become a Mandalorian, would that even be allowed? And you couldn’t, the very idea of living your life with a helmet over your head, covered in armor and without human touch….it made you shudder. Not even for Din could you conform to that. 

You shivered in the cool night air, glancing back up at the forest one last time, before you headed indoors again. 

Riclam and Celjas left early the next morning, without seeing Din. They loaded up their transporter and set off towards the old fording place, leaving you in the garden, watching them disappear before you returned to the house. 

It took awhile for Din to show up, you’d finished breakfast and were working in the garden when you saw a glint of dull metal at the edge of the forest. You straightened up and shielded your eyes with a hand, looking up at the figure that was walking towards the house. He wasn’t just wearing the full armor, he had the helmet on too, every inch of him covered. It sent a chill down your spine, a shiver even though you stood in full sunshine. You couldn’t bear watching him approach, the sight of him covered again made you feel almost nauseous. Instead you crouched down and concentrated on hacking the last of the summer mugroots from the heavy soil. 

You heard the crunch of his boots on the gravel path but didn’t look up at him as you spoke.

“They left hours ago, there’s no one else here. But I see you fixed the helmet.” 

“Only temporarily, it needs to be reforged.”

His voice from under the helmet was different, modulated and artificial, but you could still hear the tension in the tone. 

“Did you repair the ship, can it fly now?” you asked, still tugging at a stubborn mugroot, yanking it loose and tossing it in the basket behind you. 

He didn’t answer straight away, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he rested his hands on his belt, from under the helmet you heard him clear his throat before he spoke. 

“It’s been repaired for weeks, I…I wanted…” he trailed off, his voice lost inside the helmet and he went silent. You looked up at him from your crouched position, raising your eyebrows in question at him as you prepared to throw a sharp remark about his indecision. But the sight of him pulled you up short. He was simply huge. A metal titan towering above you with wide shoulders and thick, armor clad thighs. The helmet gave nothing away, just a blank visor staring back at you where you could just about make out your own reflection. Had you met him under any other circumstances, he would’ve intimidated you just as much as his profession required him too. 

You got to your feet, and Din remained immobile like a statue, only the helmet following your movement. It was impossible to read his reaction now, it was a blank wall, and you didn’t know how to even begin to talk to him. What did you say when you couldn’t know what he was thinking?

“The Crest,” he said finally, after what felt like an eternity, “I managed to repair it a while back, enough to keep the cockpit pressurized for a short flight at least.” 

“Ok,” you replied, not sure what else you could say. He was clearly getting ready to leave, ship done, helmet repaired. 

Din looked at you, or, you thought he was looking at you, he probably was, but how would you know? But was he upset? Was he sad he was leaving? And was he relieved to be under the helmet again? 

“Ok,” you said again, drawing a deep breath, feeling frustration bubbling up inside you, “Din, I can’t talk to you when you’re wearing the helmet. I can’t see your face and it feels like you’re just a statue.” 

You started to turn, shaking your head as you held back tears that were suddenly threatening to spill over, “Stay safe, Din, I hope your tribe takes you back.”

“Wait,” he said, his hand on your shoulder to stop you from turning, “I want to say something and…”

“And you can’t if I look at you?” you challenged, irritation rising inside as you forced yourself to not cry, not yet, you could cry when he was gone, “Why did you have to put on that helmet, Din? Couldn’t you have waited until after you’d left at least?” 

“It’s not the helmet, it’s me,” he cut you off, “and it’s you.”

“Me? What did I do? You’re the one-” you protested, almost turning in anger, but he stopped you, stepping closer so that his chest was pressed to your back, the cold metal chilling your skin through your thin shirt, making you shiver again. 

“Nothing,” he said, “you just…removed my helmet and saved my life….when I woke up, you…changed everything I thought was fixed in my life.” 

He went quiet for a few long moments, but you knew him better now, he was working up to something. You wished you could turn around and look at his face, reassure him that it was ok, whatever he wanted to say, but Din didn’t work like others, so you waited. The hard edge of the metal dug into your back, his hands leaving yours for a few moments and the dull thud of the helmet as he dropped it on the ground made you jump.  

“Do you remember the first time we went to the Razor Crest?” he asked, his unmasked voice lower now, his hands coming back to your shoulders, “I found my weapons and you said it made you wonder how I act when I have the helmet on too.” 

You nodded, remembering how his posture had changed as he strapped the holsters to his waist, making you think out loud about the helmet. 

“I’m different with it on,” he said, “With my weapons and armor all in place. But I didn’t realise it until you pointed it out, and I didn’t want to admit it. But you're right, I am different, I just didn’t know it because I was never without it. And then you had to remove it and…putting it all on again last night...I felt it.” 

His grip on your shoulders softened, the rough calluses of his battle worn hands drew small patterns on the skin of your neck while he bent his head. You felt the drag of his nose across your hair as he inhaled, goosebumps rising on your body as a frisson of heat trailed down your spine. He was so close, his warmth enveloping you as his hands slipped down your arms. 

“You’ve shown me another way to live,” he said, his voice low, a whisper close to your ear that made you shiver, “My mind has been racing these past few weeks, needing to fix my helmet, fix the ship and race back to my covert. But the more I’m here with you…”

He fell silent again, gently guiding you to turn around and face him, moving your hands up to the chest plate, letting it fall to the side as the latch came undone. 

“Maybe Din Djarin will just disappear, another Mandalorian lost in battle or vanished somewhere in the galaxy? If I leave my helmet off, who, except you, will know who I am? Maybe…maybe I can have life with you here instead?” 

Your heart was racing, beating hard as you exhaled a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. 

“Can…I stay here?” 

Din’s voice was barely a whisper, his hands gently guiding you to look up at him. His dark eyes were fixed on yours, anxiety clouding his furrowed brow. 

“I asked you to not go, Din,” you replied quietly, “and I will always ask you to not go. Please stay, I want you here.” 

Your voice broke over the last few words, your arms going around his neck to pull him closer. He blinked a few times, a sharp inhale, and he bent his head to yours, his eyes drifting to your lips as he licked his own, a peek of his pink tongue making you smile as you closed the last bit of distance. 

He was so soft, so careful at first, moving to mirror you as you pressed your lips to his, the scruff of his mustache tickling your cheek. And when you parted your lips, teasing the seam of his mouth, he groaned, a sound that shot straight to your core and made arousal thrum through your nerves. He opened his mouth, his tongue eager to explore yours and suddenly he grabbed you tight, angling his head so that he could reach more, licking into your mouth with clumsy motions. 

His sudden eagerness made you moan and wind your fingers through his thick curls, just as soft and silky as you’d imagined, and when your back hit the wall of your house, you gasped in surprise. He took advantage of it, his whole body, every soft swell and hard muscle pressed into yours as he groaned, his eagerness matching your own. 

It was like being allowed to finally breathe, or to drink water after a long hot day, you couldn’t get enough of him, and he was just as impatient as he was inexperienced. His hands roamed over your body, feeling every dip and curve, squeezing whatever flesh he could find as his kisses grew increasingly frantic. The hard length of his erection was pressed into your hip, and you could feel every roll of his hip, seeking relief from the pressure that must be building inside him as rapidly as it was building in you. 

A short moment of clarity caught up with you, and you gasped his name. 

“Din…wait…” 

He pulled back with a groan, looking down at you with black eyes that were transfixed on your lips.You could feel how tender they were as he raised his hand and ran the pads of his fingers across them, gently caressing your mouth. 

“Din…” you whispered again, “I want to take it slow, this must be so new.” 

“I don’t,” he all but growled, “I’ve waited long enough. I want to feel every inch of you against me, no armor, no helmet.” He bent his head to your neck, burying his head against your throat as he wound his arms around your waist and inhaled deeply. 

“I want this, I want you.” 

“I want you too, Din,” you mumbled, breathing in his scent, sweat, pine trees, and just him underneath you, your hands caressing his dark hair. 

The moment seemed to calm you both and slow down the frantic energy that had been building. Din’s hands came to rest on your hips, his fingers finding the sliver of skin just under the edge of your shirt. You could feel his mouth on your neck, pressing small kisses to the skin, his tongue darting out to taste. 

“Din…” you whispered again, and he exhaled slowly. 

“This is new,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder, “I’ve never…but I want this, I want this with you.”

“You’ve never been with anyone?” you asked softly, cupping the back of his head as he continued to caress the skin under the edge of your shirt. 

You felt him shake his head, a small movement that spoke volumes about the nerves that he suddenly seemed to feel. 

“I want you,” he repeated, standing up straight so that you could see his eyes again, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, “I trust you.” 

“I trust you too,” you whispered, lifting your hand to trace across his face. He leaned his forehead against yours as you caressed the curve of his nose, running your thumb across his lips. 

You remained standing close together for a few long moments, your breaths mingling as your heartbeats calmed down. Din let his hand glide down your side and took yours. 

“Show me,” he mumbled. 

You led him through the house and to your bedroom, he walked behind you in silence, his helmet and chest plate forgotten outside. As you reached the bed, you helped him remove the rest of the armor, the holster and guns. He peeled off his flight suit too, his eagerness returning as it pooled around his waist. 

“Slow…” you reminded him, and he nodded, stepping closer as you put your hands under his shirt and pushed it upwards. He was holding his breath as you trailed your palms up across his chest, pulling his arms up over his head so that you could remove the shirt. Dropping it on the floor, you let your hands rest on his waist. 

“How much do you want to take off?” you asked as he started tugging at your shirt. 

“Everything,” he mumbled, his eyes flitting between your hands on his body, and his hands moving over your skin, “take the pants off too.” 

You guided his hands to your own trousers first, unbuttoning them so that he could push them down, his hands warm and gentle as he squeezed your hips. You kicked your underwear out of the way, feeling strangely comfortable being naked in front of him. Maybe it was because you knew he was the one who was really baring everything for you. 

Din caressed your skin, trailing his fingertips over the soft swell of your belly, up across your chest, his rough palms delicately cupping your breasts as he continued to let his eyes move between yours and what his hands were doing. 

“So soft…” he breathed, “I never knew you were so soft.” 

His awed reverence made you look up at him with a smile, he was staring at your breasts, cupping one as he dragged his thumb over the hardening nipple, making you inhale softly. 

“That feels nice, Din,” you told him, and you had to laugh when you saw his satisfied smirk. 

“Ready to learn?” you asked with a smile and he nodded, looking at you with a grin. 

“Show me,” he repeated and you slipped your hands down into the sides of his flight suit and pushed it over his narrow hips. His grin turned into a hiss when it grazed over his erection, already prominent. You gently closed your hand around it as it sprung free, making him jolt with a groan. 

“Do you ever touch yourself?” you asked in a low voice as he tilted his head back with a deep breath, lost in the feeling of your hand just holding his hard cock. 

“Mhhmm…” he nodded, his hips rocking forward into your hands by their own volition as he squeezed his eyes shut, “Sometimes, when I’m on the Crest…”

You slowly moved your hand up his length, delighted when you found a thick bead of precum at the tip. Din groaned louder as you smeared it over the flushed head. 

“Have you done it here?” you asked, “Thinking about me?” You ended your question by giving him a firmer stroke, and he let out a guttural sound, gasping as he rocked forward on his feet and almost lost his balance. You put your hand on his chest and looked up to meet his eyes. His throat and cheeks were flushed red, his mouth open, eyes dark under heavy eyelids. 

He nodded, panting, “Yes, many times. Last night too.” 

You let your hand stroke him up and down again, his eyes locked on yours as his eyebrows pulled tight. 

“Did you think about me too?” he mumbled, leaning closer as you slowed your movement. 

“Many times…” you replied, reaching up to press a soft kiss to his parted lips. 

“Come, lie down,” you said, moving back towards the bed and making room for him. It was fairly narrow, but he fit next to you, his long legs stretched out. You guided him to rest above you, putting his weight on one arm while his other caressed your body, coming back to squeeze and touch your breasts. Putting your hand behind his neck, you pulled him down so that you could feel the weight of him, finding his mouth again. Din came eagerly, following your lead as you carefully licked into his mouth, touching his tongue with yours.

While you kissed, you took one of his hands, and guided it down your body, letting him squeeze and caress your flesh. When you parted your legs and showed him how to cup your sex, he groaned into your mouth, hips grinding into your side as his fingers slid through the wetness that had gathered. You let him feel his way around, his thick fingers soft and gentle as he explored between your folds, smearing the liquid up across your clit. The sensation of his fingertips brushing over that sensitive spot made you jolt and moan, your hips rising to seek more friction. 

“Was that the right spot?” Din asked, pulling back a little and looking down at you. You nodded, slightly breathless. 

“Yes, exactly the right spot, do that again, Din.” 

He looked down at his hand between your legs and then back up at you as he slowly dragged his fingers through your folds again, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth when you tipped your head back and gasped at the sensation. He repeated it, but this time he stayed at your clit, slowly circling it with the pad of his thumb and you moaned again, tilting your hips to seek more friction. He complied and increased the pressure, moving so that more of his body weight was on you, pushing you down, his forehead resting on yours. 

“Din…” you moaned, “s-so good…” 

“You feel so good,” he whispered back, “so slick and soft, and warm.” 

You locked eyes with him, brown eyes almost black as he looked between his hand and your face, continuing his steady caresses over your clit, each pass of his thumb making you gasp and whimper. You could feel his solid erection pressed against your hip, he was rolling his hips into yours, hard against your heated skin. He must be aching to fuck you, but he seemed to determined to take it as slow as you wanted. 

“Can I put my fingers inside you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, coated in need. You hissed as he applied a little bit more pressure to his caresses, and nodded frantically. 

“Yes, please, Din…I need you inside me,” you groaned, parting your legs to give him more access. You’d told him to take it slow, but now you were the one on the verge of begging him to just fuck you, to pull him down over you and let him sink into you. But Din moved down, sinking down on his stomach as he parted your legs to make room for himself and gazed at your slick sex, his fingers trailing over the puffy lips. He parted them, glancing up at you as you moaned again, his breath was making your skin tingle. When he’d had his fill of looking he leaned his head on the inside of your thigh and slowly pushed a finger inside.  

“D-Din…” you groaned, you could feel your cunt tighten around his finger, seeking more, “Move it…touch th-the inside.” 

He quickly complied, stroking every nerve ending as he let his finger slip in and out. He soon caught on to your increasingly desperate moans and added a second finger, curling them when you arched your back. His thumb had left your clit and as your need grew you reached down and started circling it yourself. Din’s eyes widened as he watched your hand move, transfixed by the sight as he continued to slide his thick fingers in and out. You could feel him grind into the bed, the thought of his mounting arousal made your body tremble, the need to feel more of him overtaking you. 

“Din,” you gasped, reaching for him, and he seemed to understand immediately, or maybe his own need took over. He left you feeling empty when he pulled out, but quickly crawled up your body, guided by your hands on his wide shoulders. Reaching down between you both, you closed your hand around his cock, making Din jolt and groan loudly as he buried his face against your neck. 

“Cya’re, I’m so hard, it aches…” he panted as his hips found their place between your legs and you guided him in. 

“Push inside me, I can take it,” you mumbled, your mouth close to his ear, his soft curls between your fingers, “just let me feel you, please, Din, you feel so good….”

“Y-you…” he stuttered, as he began to follow your lead, rocking his hips as inch by inch slipped inside, your cunt closing tight around him. Din moaned and gasped, you could feel his teeth on your neck, his tongue running hot and slick over your heated skin, and his hand gripped your thigh, pushing you open for him. 

“You…feel…” he groaned, “Cyar’ika…so good.” 

He lifted his head, his hips flush with yours as he sheathed himself fully, looking down at you with dark eyes. They were lust blown, his eyebrows pulled tight as he panted between clenched teeth. 

“I-I’m not g-gonna last,” he stuttered, his hips moving, sliding himself in and out as he picked up the pace, he was quickly losing all control and you could see it in his desperate face. His hands were scrambling for purchase on the headboard over your head as he slammed his hips into yours, making you gasp every time his cock filled you up. 

Slipping your hand down you started stroking your clit, your cunt clenching Din’s cock hard, making him curse between sharp breaths. He looked down between your bodies and groaned as he saw his cock drive into you, slick with your arousal as your hand brushed up against it. He reached down and put his hand over yours, feeling your movements and helping caress the swollen bead. The rough pads of his fingers and his extra pressure shot white hot heat through your nerves and with a jolt and a loud sob you came, digging the fingers of your free hand into Din’s shoulder as your body bowed up against him. Din groaned, fighting to keep his eyes open as you shuddered and trembled underneath him, the climax coursing through your system as he continued to draw out your pleasure. 

“Din, please…” you rasped, finally finding your voice again, “Come inside me, it’s s-safe…” He was still thick and heavy inside you, your greedy body still craving more of him as you hooked your legs over his hips and urged him deeper. 

Din seemed to lose the last vestige of his control, and dropped down over your body, covering you with himself, all hard muscles and warm skin, as he slammed into you, his rhythm stuttering with each heavy stroke. He growled loudly as he grabbed your shoulder, pushing himself in one final time and you felt him shudder as the climax crashed through him. He moaned against your neck, his fingers grasping every part of you he could find, his hips trembling with the effort to milk every last drop into you as he moved his hips. 

Finally he stilled, his heavy panting hot next to your ear as he gasped and whimpered, slowly coming down and back to himself. 

He was heavy on top, but you didn’t move except letting your hands caress his back in lazy patterns, breathing in the pine scent and sweat from his damp curls. You felt him loosen his grip on the headboard, both his arms wrapping around you and he rolled you both over onto the side as he pulled you tight to his chest, nose to nose. 

“Is it always like this?” he mumbled, his voice rough after the exertion, and you shook your head with a smile. 

“No, it’s not usually this good,” you smiled, and his face split into a grin. 

“It was the best feeling I’ve ever had,” he confessed, and it made you laugh, he was rosy cheeked and sweaty, his curls a halo around his head, and he looked more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. Sex clearly agreed with him and it made you happy to see him so at ease for the first time. You cupped his cheek and kissed him, his lips warm and soft as he opened his mouth and immediately wanted more, his tongue seeking yours. You giggled into his mouth as he pulled you over himself, hooking his legs around yours and effectively caging you in on top of him. 

“You want to go again so soon?” you mumbled with a smile into his mouth as he continued to kiss you, his hand eagerly caressing your curves. 

“We’re not - leaving this bed - until we have to,” he said with a smirk between kisses, “I should’ve crashed on this planet years ago.” 

“Oh, Din…” you mused, “I have so many more fun things to teach you…” 

Din chuckled and rolled you over again, this time he was on top, his cock clearly growing hard again against your hip as he deepened his kisses, eagerly licking into your mouth. 

Chapter 5

A/N Thank you for reading my brain rot, I hope you're enjoying Din finding a good outcome despite all his recent trauma. I love that man and the duality of being so assertive with the helmet, and so lost without it.

[owlespresso]

dogged pursuit. dr veritas ratio. pt 1 of ? summary: you've been appointed as the bodyguard of one doctor veritas ratio after a failed attempt on his life. he's easy to get along with, so long as you learn when to plug your ears and focus on his washboard abs. tags. suggestive content, reader insert is a bit of a freak

—

The planet of Orchestron-IIV is a classic vacationing spot. Though it’s covered by floodplains and forests, the real attractions are its coasts and its tropical islands—a region lovingly named Sene Verde. White sand beaches stare out into the glistening waters, where the capital city sits beneath the waves. You’re sure the underwater city is a sight to see. 

Pity that your client’s itinerary doesn’t include a visit to it. Instead, you’re stranded in an IPC-sponsored villa, a three-story home with three bedrooms and a pool which is ridiculously large for being right next to the ocean. Veritas, Intelligensia Guild prodigy, notorious bastard, and smoking hot piece of ass, prefers it much to the beach. He lounges next to it or inside of it, stretched underneath umbrellas or beneath the cool chlorinated waters. 

You don’t really get all the complaints going around about him. He’s pretty easy to work under, as long as you follow his every command. Which, as a bodyguard, is not very many. He’s pretty capable of handling himself. He made that much painfully clear from the moment you first met. You recall, fondly, the fit he pitched after he learned you’d be shadowing him through this entire trip. 

You don’t remember the specifics of what he said. Just a lot of belly-aching. You were too busy staring at his arms to really care—and that slutty little cut out on the side of his outfit. And really, what business does a scholar have wearing something so revealing? Surely, his students must be beside themselves at how distracting it is. He’d nearly wrung your neck when you posed the question, only half in jest.

Throughout the past two weeks, you’ve come to understand him better, you think. He comes from a planet where nudity isn’t that big of a deal. He wants people to know more things, and thinks it should be free for people to gain said knowledge. In the long hours you spend together, idling between his various meetings, he tries to teach you. At first, it begins with complex theorems and equations you never had any hope of solving. Then, surprisingly, he adjusted his ravings to be gentler on your poor, uneducated brain.

As big the stick up his ass is, he sticks to his principles. He always makes time to talk to you, to explain the vast mysteries of the universe in terms that you mostly understand. 

“I don’t really get the wind,” you say, dropping unceremoniously onto the beach chair beside him, stretched beneath the shade of another wide umbrella. You rest your cheek on your forearm, look him up and down through half-lidded eyes. He’s wearing satin robes today. They’re milk white, with golden embroidery, little patterns stretched across the sash tied around his waist. They reach only his mid-thigh and drape over only half of his torso. The rippling muscle of his chest and taut abdomen are bare for you to admire, his nipple pebbled atop the bountiful curve of his pec. 

He looks like you’ve just spat in his coffee, eyeing you exasperatedly over the tops of his sunglasses. “You don’t get the wind?”

“Like… where it comes from,” you drawl, absentmindedly dragging a finger over the course material of the chair. “I didn’t go to any fancy school growin’ up, so…”

This is your favorite game. 

He purses his lips and narrows his eyes, as if contemplating if engaging with you is worth it or not. In the end, he falls prey to his own, most fervent desires: the urge to dispense knowledge and the cloying need to make his intellect known.

“Well, the basic principles would have been taught in a rather elementary course,” Veritas says, matter-of-fact, in a way that means he isn’t intentionally looking to demean you. “Wind forms due to differences in pressure within a given planet’s atmosphere. The amount of it—or whether it happens at all varies from planet to planet.” he begins—and you linger in the sound of voice rather than the words themselves. You already know the basics of what you’ve asked. You just like to hear him talk. 

Because once he gets to talking, he can hardly ever stop.

Sometimes, he isn’t good at it. He’s abrasive. He agitates the IPC’s clients. You can see it in the taut pull of their shoulders, the way their lips twitch to fight their oncoming frowns. He’s too direct. He doesn’t mouth off, per say, but there’s something in his demeanor that lets them know he thinks they’re not as intelligent. It’s all tight handshakes and tight smiles in the end, but when he’s at last alone with you, shrugged off the heavy mantle of mandatory pleasantries, he fumes.

Midday has lapsed into early evening. Blue burgeons and encroaches on all the sun had once touched. The shadows grow long and the temperatures at last begin to dip, though remain balmy as you tread up the sandbar. A series of wooden staircases zigzag up the slope, leading up to your villa’s street. You trail after him as he talks—rants, really.

“They reached that conclusion based on a survey done by a prospective Genius Society member—one who doesn’t even specialize in the field!” he says with an exasperated sigh, kicking up grains of soft white sand. “He likely hasn’t even set foot upon Orchestron-IIV. How are we supposed to trust the word of a man who hasn’t even directly interacted with its native population?”

“Good point. I guess you can’t,” you agree, nodding factually. The stairs creak underfoot as you reach them, beginning the small climb up the bar. You don’t really remember the fine points of the argument—some prospective IPC investment in an underdeveloped, neighboring planet, one plagued by mysterious weather phenomena and potentially combative native populations. 

“They should have consulted Aventurine before dragging me all the way out here for consultation. He would have known better than to trust such a half-baked proposition, and with such little data to back it up!” he repeated, as if in disbelief, before looking at you sharply. “Do not tell him I said that. This conversation stays between us, and us alone.”

“I like it when we keep secrets together,” you sigh dreamily, skipping up the last few steps with a flourish. The sunbleached wood creaks beneath your leather boots. He tosses you an eyeroll over his shoulder.

“I’m serious,” he fixes you with a fiercely scrutinizing look. “If he is to receive any of my praise, it will come from me, and me alone. And when I deign to give it.” 

The relationship your charge has with one Aventurine should, in all respects, be of little to no interest to you. Yet, you are still human. You fall prey to petty curiosity as easily as any other. The good doctor would no doubt pitch another fit were you to pry now, so you simply guess it’s a power thing between the two of them. You don’t know Aventurine well enough to think otherwise.

“You seem awfully close to that guy,” you remark instead, testing the waters. 

“We’re business partners. Nothing more, nothing less. When the IPC is in need of my expertise, it is he who they reach out through and he who I collaborate with most often,” Ratio informs you, crisp and unfeeling, like he didn’t just say something incredibly odd and potentially possessive about the individual in question.

“Mm,” you hum in assent, pretending all of that is normal. “Well, keep on your toes around him.” You reach the top of your ascent, tailing him onto the quiet streets. Most of the avenue’s occupants are likely still on the beach or further in town, enjoying the resort city’s nightlife. 

Veritas looks at you, then, something sharp in his eyes. “And why would you say that?”

You tilt your head to the side as you regard him, coming into step beside him. He slows down his strides, eyes suddenly flinty, countenance withdrawn into something deliberating, defensive.

“He’s high up in the IPC, isn’t he? I wouldn’t trust any of those Stonehearts further than I can throw ‘em,” you say with a small shrug. 

“And yet, here you are on their behest.” Veritas says.

“Awh, you caught me,” you give him a roguish smile, lifting your hands in a gesture of surrender. “But answer me this: does anyone really trust their employer? I’m not gonna bite the hand that  feeds, but I’m not gonna love on it, either.”

“I see,” he says with a small sigh, and that strange steeliness vanishes. The taut line of his shoulders loosens and his eyes shut for a long moment.

“It helps that I like you, too. You’re real easy to work with,”

He gives you an incredibly skeptical look. “Am I?”

“Yeah. Why so surprised?” you give him a toothy grin. Even he knows how insufferable of a reputation he has. “You get fussy sometimes, but it’s not a big deal. And I like hearing you talk, so it’s not a big deal.”

“I am not ‘fussy’. I have standards befitting someone of my intellect and station,” he says, looking down his nose at you. He pauses beneath one of the street lamps as it flickers on, yellow light glimmering on all the gold bobbles attached to his ridiculous outfit. He opens his mouth to speak again, to give you another tongue-lashing, but he must realize by now that you like those, so he shakes his head and sighs instead, like you’re the difficult one. “Forget about it. I have better things to do than dawdle around with you.”

He’s still pissy from that meeting, earlier, you observe passively. Your gaze lingers on his back as he speed walks away from you, broad muscle rolling beneath taut, pale skin. Your mouth waters. You follow him.

[emotionallyattachednerd]

Jealous Type ❙ ES Megatron x f!robot reader ❙ NSFW 18+

Word count: 2000+

Warnings: Smut ( Oral and spike in valve ), jealous behaviour, mentions of past relationship, some angst and happy ending. NSFW 18+.

Notes: Honestly, I love the Megatron from earthspark. We all see a side to him we haven’t before and I think it’s beautiful. Thanks anon for senidng this in. It turned out much more fluffy. Also I made the reader robot as you didn’t spesify, so hope that’s alright. 🥰

Added notes: I had so many issues posting this. For some reason this wasn’t appearing anywhere. This will be my fourth attempt in posting it. Had to test around with the tags to see what the issue was. I’m unsure why this happened, and I'm still unsure. But just checking the feeds and it seems to be working now, so it just fixed itself I think? Posting again and fingers crossed it behaves.

Coffee ☕

You both came from the same lifestyle back on Cybertron. You followed him during those times during the rebellion. You joined his side when he formed the decepticons, no matter what, you swore to serve him. That’s how things grew more between you two, and you both grew to even love one another. But like all good things it doesn’t last forever as the war rages on. There was never any time for either of you, and you drifted apart so bluntly. Nonetheless you continue to follow him, no matter how much it stung when he merely treats you like one of his soldiers and not his lover anymore.

For so long it continues, and suddenly he changes and sides with Optimus. At the time you were pissed. After everything, all the sacrifices, everything you did for him, what was it all for? As expected the decepticons pretty much turned their backs on their former leader, ignoring his excuses. You weren’t upset about the cause but more like Megatron for dragging you through every struggle for so long, only to leave you still hanging over the edge. What you hated more was that you still loved the bastard.

You chose to not hang around, leaving the decepticons and Megatron to their silly games and hide around on the new planet you reside on. Earth. Oddly enough you find a peaceful beauty on the planet, and choose to use this to try and recover yourself from all that time ago. It doesn’t last though, of course it doesn’t. The all spark was gone, or sent back to Cybertron, and the space bridge was destroyed. You were all stranded here. Fantastic.

It doesn’t take you long to figure out about G.H.O.S.T. and how they’re tracking down decepticons. Megatron was offering changes, to work together, for the sake of their world and species. The words from Optimus that somehow got hardwared in that thick lug nut processor of his. You don’t want to be part of that, not yet at least. It’s not that you didn’t understand why Meagtron was working with Optimus, you did, but he hurt you and you hated to simply give in.

You avoiding being captured was about to run out eventually. G.H.O.S.T. find you and drag you back to their base where you’re about to be put in prison, but this is stopped by Megatron. He vouched for you, much to your surprise, before asking you the big question. Will you join us?

Your answer is yes.

Now you worked with G.H.O.S.T who you didn’t like or trust at all. There is something off about them, and even Megatron made a few comments about his mistrust of them, but Optimus asks to give them a chance to prove themselves. It’s not like there is much you can say or do anyway, just work as a team.

Megatron is different, older you remark to yourself, but it’s like the war is still raging in his processor in a silent never ending scream. He looks tired and worn down, yet he continues to thrive being the Megatron you know. You want to talk to him about everything, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to do this. Expressing is something you haven’t done in a long time and there are reasons you stopped so long ago. You decide to leave it and just try to move on. This proves to be near difficult, so you distract yourself however you can.

Flirting. It just started as harmless flirting. You didn’t think much of it at the time. Optimus didn’t seem to mind either, even looking rather flattered with himself, but you did catch Elita sending you a few glares if she might’ve overheard. You know not to tread on that turf, not that you were interested anyway. Though it wasn’t just Elita that noticed but Megatron as well.

“Why are you playing around with Optimus?” His stern voice is heard and you turn to face him through narrowed optics.

“Excuse me? I’m not playing around with anyone.”

“You’re flirting with him. Are you smitten by him?” His tone grows annoyed causing you to scoff lightly in amusement.

“No, and even if I was, why does that bother you?”

“You know damn well why it bothers me.”

“What’s this? The mighty Megatron is jealous? Grow up. There’s nothing between you and me anymore, you made that very clear. I can flirt with whoever I want.”

“Me? We were at war! You wanted so much more that couldn’t be given. You decided to end things because you weren’t patient enough.”

“Don’t you dare put the blame on me! Yes, I wanted more, I wanted us to build a future together but you were so focused on leading the decepticons there was no time for us.”

“How could we have built a future in the middle of a war?!” He’s booming now. The old Megatron flickered across your view for a short moment.

“I don’t know, but you certainly didn’t try very hard. You gave up on us and I chose to ignore it all because I believed in you still. Now here we are, and all for what? For you to side with Optimus. I loved you, I gave myself to you, I dragged myself in all sorts of smelting pits for you! You broke my spark, and it still hurts.”

“You’re making it all about you.” His answer took you off guard. “You think you were the only one that was hurt? Don’t pretend that you are the innocent one. I wanted you to be patient for us but you couldn’t do that and decided for yourself that we were over. You never spoke to me about it, never mentioned it ever again, just pretended all was fine. Now that hurt me.”

Your optics beam with tears as he steps closer saying all this. How dare he? It wasn’t your fault! He’s the one that chose to ignore you.

“Go frag yourself.” You can only whisper. He’s so close to you, which causes you to shove at his large chest. “Frag you!”

You don’t know how it happened, but he’s suddenly kissing you. You feel him holding your shoulders firmly as he presses his lips against your own, feeling desperate.

You react by pushing him away and slapping him. He looks defeated when you do this. You allow everything to sink in and you suddenly feel bad for hitting him. Reaching up you touch his cheek plating where you had hit him. He doesn’t flinch, and instead you watch as his optics shuttered closed and lean into your touch, letting out a warm purr that vibrates against your servo. You still loved the bastard.

Stepping closer you move your servos along his shoulder plating. Your height difference never affected your ability to touch or hold him before. He leans closer again, slowly this time, grazing his lips against your audio making you exhale softly from the tender contact. He moves his helm back in front of you and you’re the one to kiss him then, deeply, desperate yourself.

Suddenly he moves you both into the nearest room. Empty. But at least it wasn’t out in the open for anyone to see within the base. He presses you against the wall and lets out a groan against your lips, glossas dominating one another before he’s on his knees before you so fast.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Winning you back.”

You feel both his glossa and dentas against your inner thigh then, nibbling and sucking against your soft metal skin as he raises your leg up onto his shoulder.

“Oh…” You can only gasp out which is soon followed by a growing moan, arising arousal rushing through your entire frame making you quiver in delight. When you feel his glossa run up against your closed panel you suddenly retract it and press your exposed valve down against him.

Megatron lets out a deep moan that shakes from your aching valve as he tastes your sweet fluids, rolling his glossa into your depths and uses that along with his vibrations against your node, stimulating your valve and worshipping you on his knees.

Your helm tilts back against the wall as you tighten your thighs around his helm, grinding down gently against his face as you press your servo at the back of his helm, keeping him there as you ride yourself against him. Heated gasps leave you as your rocking motions increase, as do the movements of his glossa.

You can feel yourself growing more hot and aroused, your overload quickly building as you continue to rock yourself in the perfect sync with his glossa, before it’s suddenly gone and he’s standing back up.

“I was getting close…” You snarl at him through annoyed optics.

He only chuckles light at your annoyance. “Darling, I only wish to savour every bit of you. Besides,” He leans closer and whispers into your audio, “don’t you want me to frag you?”

You respond by letting out a shaky vent, hearing his panel retract and watching his extensive spike eject out between you both. Oh you’ve missed him.

“Yes, frag me senseless.”

Grabbing hold onto his shoulders again you wrap your legs tightly around his broad waist, feeling him kissing you delicately before he slides himself inside your drenched valve.

Megatron’s cable stretches you fully, every ridge and pulse flutters against your inner walls as your node grinds against his base. With your arms wrapped around the back of his neck you gaze lustfully into his optics before kissing him again more firmly, rocking your hips down along his spike causing you both to moan deeply.

He holds you steady against the wall and begins to increase the pace of his thrusts, slow and strong thrusts that push every inch of his length inside you, pushing out heated moans from you over again.

Your back scraps against the wall he had you pressed against as you held on tightly around his rocking large figure against you. At that point you didn’t care who would hear either of you, and relished every thrust delivered to you. He continues this pace before finally increasing his thrusts, grunting firmly as he grew close to his own overload, practically rutting into you.

“Megatron…frag…oh primus!” You can’t help but cry out as your node is stimulated against him, your overload suddenly comes crashing through your entire frame and lets out a blissful cry into his neck.

He thrusts into you firmly a few more times before he stiffens and you feel his trans fluids soak your inner depths along with a deep rumbled moan muffled into your shoulder by him.

He keeps you between himself and the wall, his twitching spike still buried deep in you while you savoured every moment with him. Gently, he presses his helm against the front of yours and lets out a long and deep vent.

“Can we try again?” You hear him ask you, and you can’t help but smirk softly.

“Us? Or interfacing?” He responds with a hearty chuckle.

“Both.”

You already know your answer. “We can.” You grab his chin firmly between your digits then. “But I swear, hurt me and I’ll personally offline you myself.”

“I expect no one else to do such a thing.” He leans his helm into your digits before kissing your inner palm making you smile tenderly. You missed that stupid old handsome face.

“Good. Let’s continue this in your quarters. I want you to frag me into oblivion.” You feel yourself smirk before he removes himself and lowers you down. He’s growing semi hard again you take notice.

“Let’s go than, darling.” He fixes himself up but you know it’s uncomfortable for him before you finally accept his offered servo on your own and let him lead you to his private quarters.

Perhaps there is hope for you both to have a future.

[quibbs126]

I’m noticing that the Decepticons in g1 are actually pretty intelligent, at least when it comes to engineering feats

Like they’re constantly building new bases, temporary or otherwise, unlike the Autobots who don’t even build out from the Ark’s place in the volcano. They make so many elaborate machines to extract energy, of which need to harness countless different energy sources, and they almost always successfully create Energon from them, the Energon only being unstable when the source itself is, not their process

And on top of energy machines, they build other impressive machines to hinder the Autobots in whatever way, and it’s not just one person who makes them, they all do. Like, Megatron on his own created a machine that successfully clones other Transformers, outside of having a working brain. And he’s made other things too, that’s just the one I remember. I know Starscream’s had his own scientific contributions, but I can’t remember them at the moment other than rigging an experimental energy source to explode the planet for infinite energy

Edit: I actually do now have an example for Starscream, namely the episode where they accidentally time travel to King Arthur times, in which Starscream invents a working electricity generator to power him and the other stranded Decepticons with technology and materials from the 500s, and creates gunpowder at least 300 years or so before it’s invented in China. I know Transformers technology is far past that, but the fact that he knew how to do this and was able to with incredibly archaic technology by their standards is a feat all on its own

Like their machines almost always work, it’s just that the Autobots destroy them or they tap into an energy source they didn’t fully understand the consequences of (or just didn’t care)

And you can’t even say the Autobots have the leg up by creating new Transformers, because I’m pretty sure the Decepticons made the Constructicons as well, who are also fairly skilled builders. And also have the ability to combine, and were the first I know of capable of doing so

Like I guess the Decepticons just all have degrees in STEM or something. Shame that seems to be where all their intelligence points went

[vodika-vibes]

Vod’ika - my medic has been not seeing eye to eye with her Commanding Officer, Commander Baccara. She thinks the troopers are all over worked, under fed and it’s kriffing cold and wet. How about a bon fire?!?! (And maybe some hot snuggles afterwards, you know just to get nice and warm 😉)

Doctor's Orders

Summary: When Commander Bacara and his men are stuck on a planet far, far away from the comforts of Coruscant, you decide to help them relax.

Pairing: Commander Bacara x F!Reader

Word Count: 955

Prompt: Bonfire

A/N: Thank you for your request! I hope you like it!

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It’s cold. Cold and wet and miserable.

Oh, it’s not raining, but the dampness in the air cuts through your uniform, leaving you miserable and irritable.

Even worse, you can’t even stay on the ship because there’s something wrong with the exhaust system, which means the warm and dry ship that has been your home these last six months, is now very off-limits while the engineering crew tries to keep the ship from killing everyone.

Fun times.

This means that everyone is living and working out of tents. Luckily, there haven’t been any injuries that require a bacta tank or emergency surgery.

You tug your jacket a little tighter around you and allow your gaze to drift across the camp. The men are hungry and tired, and it’s made them all short-tempered.

Bacara has had to break up more than one argument that devolved into a physical altercation since becoming stranded here.

Speaking of Bacara—

You sweep your gaze across the camp until you find your Commander. Even from where you’re sitting, you can see the exhaustion dragging him down. His shoulders are tense, and you know that if he removed his helmet, his jaw would be clenched.

General Mundi, sitting not far away from Commander Bacara, looks just as tense and unhappy. His unflappable Jedi calm finally crumbles under the stress of the situation. 

You shift slightly and rest your chin on the palm of your hand. This situation is…familiar. When you were a girl, your family had ended up stranded at your uncle’s cabin for a couple of weeks. But you don’t remember the mood at the cabin even getting so bad.

You purse your lips thoughtfully.

Thinking about it, dad had been careful to make sure that everyone was having fun. He set up games and told stories…and every night there was a bonfire to cut the chill.

You sit up suddenly as the idea wiggles into your brain like a particularly stubborn earworm, and you stand.

A bonfire.

It might not fix everything, but it might make the evenings more tolerable, right?

Not to mention, the middle of the camp has already been cleared of any fire hazards, so all you’ll have to do is make the pit, and gather some stones and some dry wood.

You won’t even need help, you’ve been making bonfires since you were a teenager.

The idea solidified, you move to the edge of the camp to pick up a solid stick, and then move to the middle of the camp to draw where you’re going to build your bonfire. 

As your firepit grows, more and more people stop what they’re working on to watch you. Though none of the clones came over to help you, some of the other natborns do though. You don’t mind, you doubt they’ve ever been to a bonfire before.

And, just before the sun sets, one of your coworkers lights the bonfire and it roars to life. A controlled roar, but a roar all the same. Another civilian, a member of the kitchen staff, supplies some music, and you watch as your coworkers and friends start to relax.

Even the clones are starting to relax, once someone explains to them what’s going on.

Well. Most of them.

You know you saw Bacara go back into the Command tent rather than staying out to relax, and you’ve decided that you’re not going to stand for it. Or sit for it, for that matter.

So you slip away from the gathering, which is slowly starting to have the feel of a massive party and push your way into the Command tent. You square your stance and set your hands on your hips, and you glare at your Commander.

“You need a break.”

“I’m busy.”

“The work will still be there in the morning.” You walk over to him and reach up to tug his helmet off his head, “One night to relax, Cara, you need it. You all need it.”

He frowns at you and shakes his head.

“Cara, General Mundi almost lost his shit this morning. I didn’t even know he could lose his shit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Alright, but I’m not.”

He pauses, and his gaze immediately snaps to your face. He stares at you for a moment, likely taking in your messy hair and the dark circles under your eyes, and then he sighs, “You won’t take a break unless I’m next to you.” It’s not a question.

You just grin up at him and hold out your hand for him to take.

You lead him out of the tent and over to the blanket that someone set on the ground for you earlier. It’s a bit further away from the bonfire than you would prefer, but it's what Bacara prefers, so you’re fine with it.

You’re about to tell him to have a seat, but he beats you to it, sitting on the blanket and leaning back against the tree. So, gleefully, you sit between his legs and lean your head back against his shoulder.

“See, isn’t this relaxing, Cara?”

His arms slide securely around your shoulders, “Not in the slightest.”

“Liar.”

His arms tighten around you and you feel his lips brush against your temple for a moment, and you grin as you wrap your hands around his forearms, for Bacara, that was as good as an admission of love.

“Love you, Cara.” You say in a sing-song voice.

“Yeah, yeah.” One of his hands presses against your mouth, “I know.”

With Bacara wrapped around you, and a bonfire raging in front of you you finally feel warm again. 

So, you mentally call it a successful mission and immediately busy yourself with cuddling Bacara, since he deserves it.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

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[mira-atakirina]

«Roots in a Foreign Sky»

Without Looking Back

Chapter 2

...

“They’re back! The Sky People are back!” Norm’s shout tore through the silence, making hearts clench in terror. “Drop everything! Take only what you need! Two minutes — we can’t be here!”

Once, this house had been their haven. A place where they grew up, laughed, dreamed. Now it was just a remnant of a life they had to leave behind without looking back.

Fear coursed through their veins like a cold wave. Even the eldest of the children, already burdened with the weight of adult life, froze for a moment, as if refusing to believe what was happening. But the survival instinct prevailed.

Without wasting a second, the older ones grabbed weapons and ran for the exit. They called for their ikrans, their voices lost in the rustle of the night forest, where every shadow seemed to hide a threat.

The dark sky flickered with flashes of warning, and the ground beneath their feet felt unsteady and treacherous.

This was not just a night of farewell to their home — it was the night the last pieces of the world they had known came crashing down.

...

Ikrans dove from the sky like shadows against the distant flashes of lightning. Their wings sliced through the damp night air with a sharp hiss, carrying the fugitives away from danger.

The children clung to the necks of their loyal companions, gazing down at the tiny lights of the home they once had — growing smaller with every wingbeat, until they vanished completely.

Below, in the firelight, enemy figures were already gathering.

The night roared with wind in their ears, reeked of cold fear and bitter smoke — and only hearts filled with pain and anger kept them from looking back.

Pandora met them in silence. The silence of those who survived. And those who knew the cost of escape.

...

“The blue stripes make me faster,” declared Spider with importance, smearing paint across his shoulder with his fingers. Uneven blue lines marked his skin.

You sat a little off to the side, near your older Na’vi brothers. They were quietly chatting among themselves, discussing something in low tones, while you patiently wove a basket from supple leaves and tough plant fibers, your fingers deftly threading the strands together.

A fire crackled nearby, scattering golden sparks into the air. The warm aroma of roasted fruit and freshly picked roots wafted from the flames, their juices hissing in the heat. The camp was alive with calm routine: someone was mending ikran straps, someone laughing as they told stories.

“Skxawng,” Kiri snorted, calling Spider a fool in the Na’vi tongue, and began helping him apply more even stripes of thick, warm paint that smelled faintly of berries.

You stifled a giggle. One of the brothers — the one sitting closest — caught the motion and raised an eyebrow in silent question. You simply shook your head with a soft smile.

“It’s nothing,” you replied, continuing your work.

The fire crackled gently, and the soft night breeze carried the scent of flowers and damp earth. In that moment, it felt as if the whole world was holding its breath, offering a rare peace and comfort.

“I’m serious. Even the animals respect me more,” Spider continued confidently, tracing another line of paint. “They sense me less as a human.”

You silently kept weaving your basket, listening in on the conversation. On Pandora, every little thing could mean the difference between life and death — especially for a human. This planet was beautiful, but alien. You wished you had been born Na’vi, or at least had an avatar body. But no — you were just human. Sometimes it felt like being a parasite on this world.

Suddenly, Kiri, still smiling, stopped him with a light touch to the shoulder.

“Wait! You’re human?!” she gasped with mock surprise.

Spider smirked sarcastically and pretended he was about to smear paint on her. Kiri laughed and backed away just in time, hiding a grin.

And the air between them filled again with a light, joyful mood — under the quiet crackle of the fire and the whisper of the night forest.

“Sey’li, I’m done. Can I go now?” you asked, setting the finished basket aside after what felt like hours of work.

The older Na’vi exchanged a lazy glance and nodded, letting you go for a while.

“Just don’t go far,” he reminded. “Dad and the others will be back soon. We might need help.”

You smiled and flashed an “OK” sign with your fingers, then got to your feet and jogged lightly over to Spider and Kiri.

“What are you up to, my blue friends?” you asked playfully as you ran up to them.

“Boosting my power,” Spider replied with great importance, holding out a hand smeared with blue paint. “Want some?”

“If you even try to smear me with that stuff again…” you warned, squinting at him.

Spider laughed, and you both noticed a few nearby Na’vi whistle and cheer teasingly.

Suddenly, a long trumpet sound echoed through the air — alarming, yet joyful. The whole camp stirred; people stood, dropped what they were doing, and began moving toward the open clearing, where the powerful beating of wings could already be heard.

“Hurry! Kiri! Spider! Y/n!” Tuk called out, breathless, waving you over. “Our warriors are coming back! Let’s go meet them!"

Without wasting a second, you all took off running toward the clearing, where the sky was already trembling with the arrival of the ikran.

You, Kiri, and Spider took off running toward the edge of the camp. Your feet slipped slightly on the damp stone floor of the cave, thick with the scent of moisture and smoke. The wind was picking up, carrying the sound of heavy wingbeats toward you.

The camp was quickly stirring to life. Na’vi dropped what they were doing, grabbed their weapons, and lined the paths. One hunter raised a ceremonial horn, and a deep, resonant note rolled across the camp.

Cheers and calls followed — voices raised in welcome for those returning from battle. There was strength and pride in their voices, but also unease. Not everyone always made it back.

Your heart raced as the first silhouettes of riders on ikran came into view.

Kiri briefly squeezed your hand — just once — as if to share this moment with you. Spider looked up, eyes fixed on the approaching shadows.

...

You reached the edge of the cliff just as the Sully family’s ikran began landing one by one on the stone. Their wings beat powerfully, stirring clouds of dust into the air.

One look at Jake Sully’s face made it clear — something wasn’t right.

“Oh no…” you muttered under your breath, catching yourself just in time.

Then you noticed something strange — Neteyam wasn’t riding his own ikran, but Jake’s. That only happened if a rider was injured, or their mount was too.

As expected, Jake immediately began reprimanding Neteyam and Lo’ak. His voice was harsh, laced with anger — but underneath, there was clear worry.

You and Spider instinctively kept your distance, not wanting to interfere. But standing still felt wrong, so you started helping — checking gear, loosening tired ikran harnesses, all the while glancing back at the scene.

“Kiri, help your grandmother with the wounded,” Jake ordered his daughter.

Kiri pressed her lips together, clearly wanting to argue. She didn’t want to leave — not while her brothers were under fire. But eventually, she gave in. With Tuk, she headed off to join the clan’s elder healer.

You and Spider exchanged a glance. You felt awkward witnessing the family dispute, even though Jake’s words weren’t unfair. He wasn’t just a father — he was the clan’s leader.

Finally, Jake let Neteyam go to get treated, giving in to Neytiri’s silent plea. His attention now shifted fully to Lo’ak.

And that’s when the real storm began — figuratively, and perhaps literally.

You stepped away from the tired ikran and moved closer. If you were going to get caught in this mess, might as well try to help your friend.

“Hey…!” Spider hissed your name in a loud whisper.

You didn’t turn — just raised a thumb over your shoulder to let him know you were fine. Spider exhaled heavily, shaking his head in defeat.

Approaching, you gently took Lo’ak’s hand in yours, inspecting him for injuries. Luckily, nothing serious — just scrapes and bruises. A bit of salve would do.

Lo’ak lowered his eyes, clearly ashamed. He didn’t try to speak in his defense — not under his father’s piercing stare.

Jake, not even glancing your way, said sharply:

“Go to your father. Check on Norm.”

His tone was cold — a command, not a request. You nodded silently, hiding the disappointment on your face, and turned away toward where Norm would be.

The last thing you heard as you walked off:

“And wipe that paint off your face."

Jake’s voice again — not a father now, but a commander speaking to his son.

...

You made your way quickly through the camp toward Norm.

The path wasn’t long, but each step seemed to pull you further from the safety of childhood. Around you, Na’vi and humans rushed about — tending to the injured, carrying supplies, salvaging damaged equipment.

A tall Na’vi warrior passed by you, his chest slashed with bloody wounds, armor shattered. His eyes were tired, yet full of determination. Others followed in haste, carrying a comrade in their arms — unconscious, his legs hung limp.

The air was thick with the smell of blood, burnt wood, and the bitter scent of healing herbs used on wounds.

You could only guess what these smells were — if not for the mask on your face. You involuntarily clenched your fists tighter, forcing yourself to keep moving.

Carefully weaving between hurried humans and Na’vi, you finally saw him.

Norm’s tall, wiry avatar stood out among the others — his blue skin smudged with dust. His tail twitched with nervous tension, and his broad shoulders seemed burdened with too much weight.

The moment he saw you, Norm stepped forward, his amber eyes glowing softly.

You nearly ran to him.

He dropped to one knee to meet your height and instantly pulled you into an embrace. His long arms wrapped around you like a shield, holding you close to his strong chest — and again you heard that deep, steady heartbeat.

You clung to the fabric of his bandolier. He probably smelled like a mix of herbs, smoke, sweat — and something comforting, almost home-like.

For a moment, the world around you disappeared — there was only you and him.

“I missed you too,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

You smiled involuntarily, though something inside twisted at the pain and weariness you heard in his voice.

When he gently pulled back, placing you at arm’s length, you immediately began inspecting him. Your eyes darted across his shoulders, chest, arms — checking for injuries. Just a few scratches and dirt on the bandolier — no serious wounds.

“Dad, are you okay?” you asked anxiously.

Norm smiled faintly.

“I’m okay. Nothing serious.”

“The others? Askuuk? Vi’an? Kel’ha? Erao?” you added quickly.

He nodded softly.

“They’re alive.”

You nodded too, though the anxiety in your chest still lingered.

Norm brushed a hand over your hair, then rose to his full height — his towering three meters reminded you again how small you were next to him.

He turned toward a pile of weapons — rifles, grenades, heavy belts loaded with ammo.

“Listen,” he said seriously. “Go to Mo’at. It’s dangerous here. If you accidentally touch something…” — he nodded toward the box of grenades — “it could end badly.”

You didn’t argue.

“Okay, Dad,” you nodded.

Before leaving, you hugged his strong arm again. Norm leaned slightly and gave you a playful wink.

“Go on, little one. Be my eyes out there.”

With a small smile, you ran off in the direction of a familiar tent among the others.

Behind you, your father — still tall, dependable, strong — returned to the chaos around him.

Just before you slipped from his sight completely, you caught a glimpse of the rest of your family from the corner of your eye.

Askuuk — tall and strong, with a firm, nearly cold gaze — stopped beside Norm without a word, giving him a short respectful nod. His face, as always, was focused — emotions rarely showed there, but in this silent gesture was a readiness to help and share the burden.

Next came Vi’an, a little late. He was younger — barely nineteen. He still looked leaner, lighter than his older brothers, and now, rubbing his neck, he grimaced in discomfort. The long flight and tension of battle clearly weighed on him more heavily.

Erao arrived last.

A bulky bandolier of weapons hung over his back — rifles, grenades, and strange instruments that clinked with every step. He carefully set the load down, snorted, and brushed soot and dirt off his hands.

His face, usually bright and cheerful, was stern now — Erao fully understood the seriousness of the moment.

The smell of battle still lingered around them. Smoke, ash, and the faint, metallic scent of blood.

You seemed to arrive just in time.

Neteyam winced softly in pain as Kiri carefully applied salve to the deep scrape on his side.

Nearby, Lo’ak and Spider were already exchanging knowing grins, quietly snorting with barely-contained amusement.

“A great warrior,” Mo’at, the clan’s tsahìk, remarked with a warm, teasing tone in her voice. Despite the irony, pride still shone in her eyes for her grandson.

Without hesitation, you sank down onto the mat directly in front of Neteyam to be at eye level with him.

You sat cross-legged in the Pandoran way, comfortably settling on the soft woven rug. Gently, you reached out and touched his shin—where his skin was lightly scored with scratches.

You touched him carefully, almost weightlessly, as if silently offering support through your hand alone.

Neteyam gave you a small smile in return, his eyes softening for a moment.

Beside you sat Tuk, clutching a large bowl filled with healing berries mixed into a medicinal paste.

She held it with both hands to keep it steady, watching the treatment of her brother with curious eyes, occasionally wincing when she saw it hurt him.

“Celebrate their return, but don’t forget,” Mo’at said. “The true strength of a warrior lies not in how high he rises, but in how he stands after he falls. And in those he chooses to fight for.”

Her words brought a quiet over the group. Even Lo’ak, usually playful, nodded silently, eyes fixed on the fire.

The warm breeze stirred your hair. The night smelled of smoke, damp earth, and the promise of peace after battle.

…

Together, your cheerful little group made your way through the large tent reserved for the avatars.

“They’re totally going to kick us out again,” you whispered, though you continued walking with the others.

“We’ll be quick!” Lo’ak waved it off with a grin.

Inside was a scene of organized chaos—some were brushing their teeth, others wrapping bandages around themselves or helping each other, while a few had already dozed off, lazily chatting in low tones.

Your father, Norm, was among those tidying up before bed. A toothbrush stuck out of his mouth as he mumbled something unintelligible.

“Hey, Spider!” he suddenly called out to your usual partner-in-crime.

Before you could blink, Norm whipped the towel off his neck and smacked Spider across the butt with a playful smack.

You barely managed to stifle a laugh, quickly rushing ahead to avoid catching flak from the scientists who had already warned you not to wander in here.

“You’re gonna pay for that!” Spider growled, turning around with mock outrage.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Norm replied with exaggerated innocence, pulling the toothbrush from his mouth.

“Pff!” Spider mimicked him, throwing his hands in the air dramatically.

As expected, you were quickly “caught.”

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?! Avatars only!” one of the female scientists called out in a stern voice.

Kiri wasted no time mimicking her in a high-pitched, sing-song tone.

“Sorry!” Lo’ak chimed in quickly.

…

After the long and “epic” journey from the tent to the lab, you and Spider finally took off your exo-packs with a sigh of relief. The sense of freedom was almost physical.

Your Na’vi friends, on the other hand, quickly put on their breathing masks—the Earth air was dangerous for them, though not immediately deadly.

“Yeah, ha-ha,” Spider said sarcastically. “You know what’s really funny? You guys can breathe our Earth air for hours. We get ten seconds in yours—if that.”

He gestured toward you as he said it.

“Exactly!” you chimed in, adjusting the straps of your top over your shoulders as you walked toward the familiar group of scientists.

Spider darted ahead, reaching them first. He fist-bumped Max as he passed, then—wasting no time—snuck in and gave your father a sharp pinch on the nipple.

“Ow!” Norm yelped with a disgruntled chuckle, jerking away.

“Ow…” you echoed, laughing along with Spider.

The lab had its own kind of coziness. A faint smell of antiseptic, the soft hum of equipment, and dim lighting created a sense of safety, a place that felt alive—despite the exhaustion on everyone’s faces.

...

You stood with Spider and Kiri, watching an old video recording—footage of Grace Augustine. A brilliant scientist, a sharp mind, a kind heart—that’s how everyone who’d known her described her. And you believed them. In a way, you even envied Kiri. She knew who her mother was, she knew the kind of woman she had been.

And you? Who was your mother? Norm’s wife, a Na’vi from another clan. Definitely not someone you could call your own. She had always been... neutral-positive, at best. Not an enemy—but not a mom either.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice Lo’ak until he strolled by, lazily propping one long leg on the lab table with casual grace.

“So who do you think knocked her up?” he asked with a smirk, nodding toward the screen.

“My money’s on Norm,” Spider chimed in, flashing a smug grin.

You rolled your eyes.

“Have you no shame?” Kiri said sharply, frowning, and you nodded in agreement.

“What? It makes sense!” Lo’ak insisted. “Teacher’s pet! Always glued to her in the lab…”

“I'd rather die, drink some acid.” Kiri snorted. “No offense, Y/n”

You wrinkled your nose and raised an eyebrow at her.

It was a weird thought—those two together. The age difference alone was enormous...

Turning away, your eyes landed on the amnio tank, where Grace’s avatar floated in thick fluid. She looked so peaceful in her sleep.

“See? Right there! In every clip, he’s always by her side!” Spider exclaimed, pointing at the screen.

You silently pinched his thigh in response.

“Ow!” cried the second-class clown.

“I can just picture it,” Lo’ak went on, theatrically placing a hand on his chest. “Their avatars sneaking off into the forest together...”

You smacked him hard on the butt. That yelp was no joke this time.

Before he could even react, Kiri gave him a playful shove.

“Enough.”

It all still felt light-hearted, fun—until Spider suddenly muttered:

“Sometimes it’s better not to know who your father is.”

The air thickened. The jokes stopped cold. Even the hum of the lab seemed to hush. Sadness settled silently between you all.

Spider turned away, leaning his side against the glass capsule.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “I don’t even remember him.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you tried to comfort him.

“Save it,” he snapped, eyes dark.

You exchanged a glance with Lo’ak. It hurt, seeing him like this. He did know who his father was. And his mother. But he also knew that everyone else who knew his father carried that look—hatred. Whether they showed it or not.

And again, something twisted inside you. Jealousy? No… more like longing. He knew where he came from. You didn’t.

“You’re nothing like him,” Kiri said softly, wrapping her long limbs around his waist.

There was such truth and warmth in her voice.

You spotted a sturdy box nearby, climbed on top to match Spider’s height. He was still staring off, leaning on the amnio tank, stubbornly avoiding everyone’s gaze.

You leaned forward slightly, trying to catch his eyes. The pain there was almost physical. He held himself together with the strength of his people—their jokes, their touches, their warm voices. Without that, he might’ve fallen apart long ago.

You reached out and gently touched his shoulder, careful, as if afraid of breaking something fragile.

“Hey...” you called quietly.

For a moment, he looked at you—his eyes still heavy with sadness.

You squeezed his shoulder a little more firmly, trying to let your warmth speak for you.

“We’ll always be together. We’ve made it through so much already... And you’ve proven, again and again, how much you mean to us.”

He glanced down at your hand—and for a moment, a tiny, almost invisible smile touched his lips. Like he was clinging to the comfort you offered.

At that moment, without a word, you knew that even the smallest touch could keep someone from drowning.

...

P. S. My writing may differ from the dialogues in the movie, as I have an artistic translation of this film in my country."

[x-0ophelia0-x]

what if Ezra had an established relationship with reader-Chan and she was with Ezra when he did the whole kamikaze space whale thing, and when Sabin fines them they have a kid. I would like some thing fluffy please 🥺

that’s such a cute idea!!

a shared journey.

pairing: Fem!Reader x Ezra Bridger

warnings: none, just fluff

word count: 1,6k

summary: you knew that Ezra was about to do something really stupid, in order to make sure that your partner was okay, you joined him on his journey. You two were now stranded on some planet, but you weren’t alone, not with your mini bridger by your side. When the day arrived where Sabine found you, she also noticed the small legs hiding behind the both of you.

authors note: This request is just freaking cute ahh!! Not proofread yet, I‘ll do this at some time on Friday c:

anyway, enjoy <3

It’s strange how ten years already had passed.

How long it’s been since you last saw the stars of your own galaxy.

You knew that Ezra was up to something, it was a constant worry you had and when you catched a glimpse of him nodding towards Sabine and Chopper, you already knew that he was about to do something very stupid.

Which in fact, he did.

So you did what you thought was the best in that moment.

You ran to the hangar and jumped into a ship. Hoping that it was the one that Ezra would choose to sneak away from your friends.

There’s not much to say since it seemed like it was your lucky day.

He really chose the one in which you hid yourself, flying towards the Chimaera to hand himself over. 

All you could do was to wait for the right moment, not wanting to cause any more trouble or to lead the attention to you, and when you heard the first blaster shots being fired, the first thought that crossed your mind was to follow their sound, hoping that you’d find Ezra just in time. 

This is how you got yourself into this situation. When you finally reached the Chimaera‘s cockpit, it was too late.

Purrgils started to take the control over the ship, Ezra was talking to his comm before he noticed you standing right behind him.

Hera was yelling from the other side, asking if he at least knew where you were.

„what?.. what do you mean by y/n‘s not with you?!“

He then turned back, sensing that someone other then Thrawn was staring at him. 

„heyy..“

You nervously said, trying to act as relaxed as you could.

„What are you doing here?! You need to go now! They’re going to jump at any moment now!“

Ezra yelled, trying his best to hold Thrawn still, using the force with his one arm while he created a force bubble with the other.

„What I‘m doing here? I‘m making sure that you won’t do anything stupid! And guess what? I failed!“

„y/n I need you to go now. Please..!“

„I‘m not going anywhere Ezra, wherever you go I go“

„y/n“

„Ezra.“

He looked at you in disbelief, thinking that you lost your mind. 

„Listen.. the whales will jump and there won’t be a way back… are you sure?“

-

Ten years later and you’re still by his side, stranded on some unreachable planet while everything you could do was to watch the night sky with your significant other. 

His head rested on your thighs, his hand holding yours while you enjoyed the sight in front of you. There he was, lying down and watching the night sky, holding your biggest treasure close.

„where are the space whales now?“

Your little one asked. Looking up to both of you.

„oh love.. they continued their journey“

Not wanting to destroy your child’s hopes you decided to lie to him. 

He didn’t knew that Perridea was the place where the Purrgils went to die. 

Those whales were long gone by now, but try to explain this to a 6 years old without breaking his heart. 

„And they’re traveling right now as we speak.. somewhere up there“

Ezra added, lifting his arm to point at some stars.

„One day we’ll be the ones traveling up there..“

Your childs eyes lighted up, a sense of excitement overcoming him.

„Is he telling the truth? Mom??“

You chuckled at his question while Ezra faked to be hurt by his question?“

„What exactly does that mean now?“

He asked, still faking his hurt expression.

„That he’s smart“

You said without thinking, bursting into laughter when you realized what you just said.

„I‘m actually hurt. wow. Even my own son.. my wife“

Ezra looked away, noticing how your son actually believed his act.

„No don’t be hurt papa! You’re actually smart… I’m your own way!“

The lil one tried to make it better but he was just adding salt to the wound which made it even funnier.

„Thank you.. I guess?“

Ezra then said, looking down at his little Bridger.

„You didn’t answer the question.. Mom“

He teased, looking to your direction again. His eyes held so much love, it was almost impossible to resist them.

„Yes, he’s telling the truth dear“

The lil guy almost jumped as he got really excitement from the mere thought that he’d be flying up there one day.

„Does that mean that I‘ll get to meet aunti Hera and Sabine? And uncle Zeb?“

He added, looking at you with wide eyes.

You had told him about your adventures you both had before Perridea. 

About your experiences, the crew that grew to become somehow your new family and, of corse, you told him about Kanan.

He knew a lot about them just because he always wanted to listen to your stories and it’d be an understatement to say that he now knew nearly everything there was to know about your friends.

„Yes sweetie, and don’t forget Chopper“

You said, placing your hand to his, holding him close.

„That droid will shock you until you’re awake. Every. Morning. And he’ll do it just because it makes him happier“

Ezra said partly terrified, remembering how Chopper used to wake him up.

„I already like him“

„You’ll regret it“

„He’s still young  spaceboy, we should let him do his mistakes as long as they don’t cost him his life“

You joked, starting to feel tired yourself.

Soon the three of you laid in each others embrace, covered by a blanket, deep in your dreams.

Little did you know that a certain Someone was very close to you.

-

The crab people that gave you a place to stay seemed to be excited about something. Ezra and you were both worried, not knowing what was going to come.

„Why don’t you go inside and try to sleep? You’re still tired aren’t you?“

Ezra asked him, feeling a familiar presence as the small chat continued.

„It’s a great idea honey! common, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity“

You tried to make it sound like as if it was something unique.

This didn’t work on your son though and your time eventually ran out, but instead of a threat you two were completely dumbfounded by who stood right in front of you.

„Sabine..?“

You asked quietly, not believing seeing her after all those years.. 

She turned around, immediately locking gazes with you two. 

Your son was still hidden behind you. Not visible enough fernher to see him.

„It’s you.. it’s really you..“

Sabine said, not believing it herself.

„It sure took you long enough“

Ezra said, smiling widely at her, finally seeing his best friend after 10 long years.

„You didn’t really make it easy you know.. both of you, could have told us where you were going“

She said, walking closer to you.

„We didn’t know ourselves where we were going“

Ezra joked, getting tense when he suddenly seemed to struggle against something.

Sabine noticed it, and soon enough she also noticed the small legs that where hidden behind Ezra.

„No way..“

She said, her eyes widening with every passing second.

You two let out a chuckle, slowly going to the side to reveal your newest ,ember of the family.

„You became parents?!“

Sabine then asked, completely surprised from the happy news. 

„Mom.. Dad.. who is this?“

Your little one asked, clinging himself on Ezra.

„That’s Sabine“

You said proudly, looking over to Sabine who was still dumbfounded.

„Auntie Sabine? The Sabine??“

He asked, getting even more excited.

„Auntie ?“

Sabine asked, deeply touched at how you two raised him.

She then nodded.

„Yes, it’s me.. care to share your name?“

She then asked him back, smiling down at your little star.

„I‘m Caleb! It’s nice to finally meet you!!“

He happily said, running to her and putting her into a tight hug.

The mention of Kanans real name somehow warmed Sabines heart. 

It was a kind gesture to show justice for their Mentor and father figure by passing his name on to their first child.

„I like you already!“

„Me too“

„And I also think that I might know someone who’d be thrilled to be your friend“

Ezra looked at you and then to Sabine, Not believing what was happening right now. You did the same.

When Caleb was ready to let you two hug your best friend, it soon was time to get together, sit down and exchange your stories.

A lot had happened in the last 10 years and when Sabine finished her revision of what had happened intrastate your turn to update her on your life.

„I see that you both were quite busy.. didn’t expect to see a little bridger when I arrived here“

She said, smiling as she laid her eyes on him, watching while he tried to understand her helmet. 

Her statement left you two flustered but you eventually spoke up.

„Yeah.. well life wouldn’t be as exciting as it is if we wouldn’t take risks right?“

You looked at Ezra, your gaze telling him to somehow help you out since you didn’t find the right words.

„And sometimes those risks are hella ho-„

You punched him to the side, nearly choking on your own air when he said that.

„I mean.. sometimes those risks are the most beautiful and exciting things you’ll ever experience in your life.“

[capcollector]

thinking out loud some more while i work on this rewrite. my thoughts are that the gangs themselves rose from a mixture of different aspects of the parks and park lore. the gangs have their roots in the survivors stranded at the park when the world ended and over time things have just developed around it. some stuff getting lost to time but each gang’s culture came from some part of the park.

most obvious is probably the pack, whose whole thing came from safari adventure and kiddie kingdom. you got the wild lifestyle through the lens of a toon town animal. following the idea of a “pack” while also placing the most emphasis on a community…..not unlike a small town….while also emphasizing bright colors and furs, animal bones and mascot heads. you get the picture they’re the most on-the-nose gang. the operators were primarily from the park employees and security (hence the name “operators,” like ride operators) but also with a dash of dry rock gulch in there. their top priority being money while also trying to keep some warped sense of “law and order,” not too dissimilar to an idealized image of a cowboy. them taking up residence in a parlor at all brings up a lot of like…old west imagery. the disciples have kinda become the odd ones out over the generations however i think their origins can be traced back to the galactic zone, in particular the ideas of “taking over other planets” equating into the belief of physical prowess and violence being placed above all else. nisha’s helmet is also decidedly angelic, along with the name “disciples” bringing forth a lot of specific imagery, and i think the idea they came from this distorted idea of a world beyond the stars, of the heavens, makes for an interesting dichotomy when brought back down to where they are now.

nuka town USA has always been their meeting spot, the central area where they converge and do any business they need to. the gauntlet was something that’s been around for awhile and became a bit of a sport in their community (having the best fighters from their gangs compete) before eventually turning it into how the overboss is decided. last man standing type thing.

not every raider there is essentially part of a gang as there’s plenty of loners and outliers, but you’ll probably have an easier time there if you’re part of a group. no one really remembers how or when gage showed up. just that one day he was here and it seems like he’s everywhere these days whether they like it or not.

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Chapter 13

While on a routine mission for Cid, the Bad Batch encounter a woman fleeing from the Empire. Crosshair suspects her seemingly free-spirited, nomadic existence is actually a cover for something else, but struggles to keep his attraction toward her in check as their personalities and ideals clash.

Relevant tags/content warnings: Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use

Chapters posted 1-2x weekly!

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read all chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10 l Ch. 11 l Ch. 12 l Ch. 13 l Ch. 14

Chapter 13 summary: Dara is in a strange mood. The Batch makes their move to infiltrate the villa.

When she stepped out of the Marauder into the cool night air, Dara took a moment to look up at the sky, taking in the glittering stars, uncanny in all their unfamiliar positions. She wondered, as she always did, which one was her sun—the one belonging to her home system, lightyears and lightyears away. It always made her feel a little lost, not knowing. Often, when she traveled to a new planet, she would consult an adjusted star map on the first night, find her sun so that she could point out toward the galaxy and think, There. That’s home.

Not that she’d ever be able to go back again.

Trying not to think about it further, she tore her eyes away from the stars and cast them back planet side, adjusting the glasses that were settled on the brim of her nose.

“Steal those, too, burk’yc?” Crosshair’s voice came from above her. He slid down from the roof of the Marauder, landing in the field next to her on cat-like feet.

Dara hit the button to retract the ship’s ramp and strode off into the night. “They’re mine,” she muttered. “I need them for reading.”

Crosshair stalked after her. “How cute. What about this?” He gave the scarf she’d wrapped around her hair a tug, earning him a glare at his juvenile antics. Dara readjusted it, making sure all the strands were still tucked safely under.

“Half the town was staring at us yesterday,” she fumed. “I don’t want to make it easy to be recognized.”

As the pair trekked up a hill in the direction of the villa, the sniper frowned and fiddled with the toothpick in his mouth, evidently deep in thought. “You shouldn’t be going in there alone,” he finally grunted.

Glancing in his direction, Dara scoffed. “Like you give a bantha shit.”

He flicked the toothpick at her. “What I give a bantha shit aboutis the mission. And I don’t feel like rescuing you when you kark it up.”

Breathing deeply, Dara looked up at the sky again. She tried counting to ten. It was too early in the evening to commit a murder. When she looked back down, Crosshair was still glaring at her. They finally crested the top of the hill, where Wrecker and Hunter were waiting, macro binoculars trained on the villa.

Hunter glanced at them before returning to his surveillance. “Everything’s normal. Two guards stationed at the front entrance, next rounds are due in half an hour. Tech and Echo should be back in ten.”

Dara nodded and took in her first view of the mansion from close-up. She had spent much of the afternoon memorizing its floorplan, but was still somehow surprised at just how big it was. What a waste of space for one person, she mused. She seated herself a few feet away to wait, back resting against a boulder, and soon found herself once more searching through the stars for a familiar twinkle.

Almost immediately, her view was blocked by Crosshair’s scowl.

“What?” she demanded.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

She clenched her teeth with irritation. “Keep doing what?”

The sniper sneered at her. “Looking at the sky. Expecting a ship to arrive soon?”

This brought out an eye roll. “Kriff, are you paranoid. I’m just looking at the stars, asshole.”

“Why?” Crosshair squinted at her suspiciously.

“What do you mean, why?” A look of genuine bafflement wiped the annoyance off Dara’s face.

Crosshair gestured with his toothpick at the sky. “I mean, why? They’re stars. You said you were looking at them last night. You’ve seen them before.”

Dara hesitated for a moment, unsure if he was even looking for a real answer—or if he deserved one. She looked up again, tried to at least find a sliver of sky that might belong to her, but couldn’t differentiate it from every other.

“They’re different on every planet,” she began haltingly.

The sniper furrowed his brow, puzzled, then followed her gaze. “Yeah. So?”

Dara sighed. Rather than tell him the whole sad truth, she settled on a close-enough answer. “So I can’t recognize them. I don’t know the constellations here. They all tell different stories.” She glanced at him a moment, found his eyes examining her intently, and continued. “When I did fieldwork, I used to record the stories sometimes. Every culture has ancient myths about the shapes the stars take in their sky. It’s what got us up there in the first place. The whole reason we ever left our planets to begin with—to go where the stories are. Find out what’s out there. I like looking—trying to recognize them. Guessing what shapes they make. And…where the systems I’ve been are.”

The sniper opened his mouth—surely, Dara thought, to say something snarky, or accuse her of lying—but a chirp over their comms signaled Tech and Echo were approaching. Dara stood, adjusted her headscarf, and made sure her blaster was fully concealed beneath the lab coat.

“Ready?” asked Hunter.

She grinned. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

***

Crosshair watched Dara closely through his scope as she met Tech and Echo by the road at the bottom of the hill. Hopping into the speeder they had commandeered, she drove off in the direction of the villa, tonight playing the part, not of a honeymooner camping in the woods, but a hassled scientist rushing over from town. Despite what he’d told her earlier, he no longer had any doubts that she could handle herself—and handle herself well at that—although he still worried about what she might encounter once she got inside.

She was in a strange mood tonight. Maybe he’d pushed her too far.

That had been an unexpected moment of vulnerability from her; for barely half a second, he could see her features almost take on some of the otherworldly calm he had found so fascinating when she was facing down her death. But then they’d twisted back into her usual mask, and now, as he watched her park the speeder in front of the villa, she was someone else entirely.

Tech and Echo both settled into position, joining the others in studying Dara intently as she parked the speeder and approached the guards. Tech finished typing away at his datapad and looked up, satisfied.

“Comms for the villa are officially jammed,” he announced.

In contrast, they could still hear every word being exchanged between Dara and the guards from the woman’s earpiece. Her voice was convincingly frantic.

“I need immediate access to Dr. Prium’s laboratory,” Dara huffed breathlessly as soon as she gained the guards’ attention. “We have an emergency at the lab in town and Dr. Raab needs me to review some of the data that’s stored here.”

The men looked at one another uncertainly. One of them—taller and broader than his companion—folded his arms. “Access to the laboratory is restricted. Raab will have to come here himself.”

“Obviously he’s trying to hold things together in town, or he wouldn’t have sent me. I have his access card.” Dara adjusted her glasses and waved the keycard at them agitatedly.

The tall guard snatched it out of her hand and scanned it. He squinted at her suspiciously, then turned to his companion.

“Comm Raab. See what he says,” he instructed.

As the batch had planned, the call was met with nothing but static. The shorter guard shook his head.

“It’s not connecting for some reason. Interference, or some sort of problem in the control room, maybe.”

Dara tapped her foot impatiently and looked pointedly at her chronometer. “I don’t have time to wait around here. We’re on the verge of disaster. We could lose months of work!”

The taller man looked at her doubtfully, weighing his options. Finally, he sighed and jerked his head toward the entrance to the villa. “Take her in. Stop at control on the way down and check in about the comms.”

Dara scoffed. “I don’t need an escort. I’ll be in and out in no more than an hour.”

The tall man scowled and stroked his blaster menacingly. “Don’t let her out of your sight,” he insisted.

The batch exchanged concerned glances as they heard Dara sigh and watched her allow the smaller guard to lead her into the mansion.

“That’s not great,” Echo murmured.

Wrecker furrowed his brow. “Yeah. Didn’t we plan on them sending her in alone?”

Tech shrugged, eyes back on his datapad. “Ideally yes. However, Dara will have to stun the workers in the control room in any event. She will simply have to stun the guard as well.”

He was the only one looking unperturbed. Hunter, on the other hand, was scowling. “Yes, but the workers in the control room weren’t supposed to have blasters. We don’t exactly want her to get caught in a firefight.”

While they no longer had a visual on Dara as she made her way through the villa, over the comms they could still hear everything that was happening to her. After a period of silence, they heard the beeping of a keycard and the guard begin to speak.

“Hey, is there a reason comms aren’t—”

The man was interrupted by the telltale, wavering chirp of a stun blast. A thud and two more chirps immediately followed.

“Control room secured,” Dara reported. “Tech, I’m plugging in now.”

“Ah. Lovely. Thank you, Dara.” He adjusted his goggles as he set to work monitoring the progress of his programs.

“My—pleasure—Tech,” Dara grunted back. Judging by the dragging noise and slight strain in her voice, she was settling the unconscious guard safely behind the control room door, away from prying eyes.

“Patrol is passing the infiltration point on their rounds now,” Crosshair murmured, eyes glued to his scope. “Our entry window’s open.”

Tech looked up from his datapad and tucked it away safely in his belt, exchanging it for his pistols. “Automated security systems are offline. We may now enter.”

While the others stole their way across the darkened landscape that separated their hilltop from the villa, Crosshair settled in with his rifle perched atop the boulder, ready to keep watch as the rest of the team completed the infiltration. He allowed himself only the briefest glance up at the stars, wondering for a moment what constellations Dara was looking for.

Next chapter

Tag List: @stardusthuntress @skellymom @megmegalodondon

[blametheeditor]

Day 11 | Opulence

Gt July Prompt List

First | Previous | Next

When stranded on an uncharted underwater planet, alone and surrounded by hostile lifeforms, there are only two possible outcomes: adapt and survive, or die trying.

Spoilers: For the game Subnautica

Content Warnings: Mentions of death and violence. Mentions of threats and the intent to kill. Mentions of drowning and suffocation. Near death experience. Referring to someone as 'it'. Mentions of dehumanization, experimenting on people, being held against someone's will. Peril.

________________________

The thing about ghost leviathans is the fact they're naturally independent and territorial of their space. 

The thing about Vincent is how loyal and protective he is above all else. 

Can you see where there might be a contradiction somewhere?

Now don’t get him wrong, he genuinely enjoys having his own space. There’s a reason why he’s the only ghost and leviathan who has claimed the blood kelp island as their territory. The biome that’s purposefully the farthest away from a certain leviathan he couldn’t handle getting a visit from almost every single day. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t genuinely enjoy the presence of others. He makes semi-frequent trips around the crater to see how the guppy’s he’s watched grow up are doing. Gives surprise visits to remind everyone who the strongest is and make sure no one’s stupid enough to challenge someone to the death, and that happens more often than you’d think, much to his disappointment. 

It’s quite a balancing act, however. Because on one hand, Vincent is content to swim deeper than the sunlight can reach without worrying about someone bugging him. On the other, he slowly starts loosing his mind not knowing if he’s missing something important. Creatures from the sky start a mass extinction once and it’s all he worries about for the rest of his life. 

However, it has been a while since he’s made his rounds. Left the opulence of his little corner. Patrolled to see if any of the glowing green buildings activated. Annoyed a few leviathans that are always entertaining. 

Found a burning ship symbolizing it was going to start all over again. 

Vincent stops breathing when he realizes what exactly he’s looking at. That he wasn’t mistaken the water is murkier than the last time he visited. The dunes always tend to be sparse, but not so much there’s not a single coral in sight. And metal isn’t supposed to be the first thing he sees. 

Panic erupts as he darts forward to try and find a reaper. Wanting to headbutt each and every one of them not telling him while also hoping they’re all okay. Especially when it becomes apparent just how massive the entire thing is. There’s no telling who it could’ve killed purely on accident, and what it has in store for those who are purposefully hunted down. 

After taking a survey of when this happened to what’s been encountered, and rams into a few reapers in the attempt to knock some sense into them after they claim it’s ‘not a big deal’, Vincent’s terror turns into relief. Because nothing out of the ordinary has been seen except for the parts scattered along the seafloor. And after careful examination, it looks like the ship crashed rather then landed, leaving a majority of the weapons unusable. 

That is, until he does a headcount. Out of the 10 reapers that have claimed these destroyed dunes, only 9 are accounted for. 

His entire body down to the tip of his tail tenses at the realization someone’s missing. It’s been 30 days, the ship nothing but a pile of metal, and someone has already been taken. And there’s no telling what their fate might be. It could’ve been a merciful death where they didn’t know what was happening. They could be trapped in a cell much too small and much too warm. 

They could be getting tortured, needles piercing their skin as their body is permanently altered, experiencing the most excruciating pain they could’ve ever imagined. 

“Who?” Vincent pleads before anger starts to take over as he visibly begins to tremble. ”Who is missing?” 

David.

With a roar that sends everyone scattering, he whips around toward the self-centered reaper’s territory with one thought, and one thought only. That being to find whatever did this and rip it to shreds. 

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he doesn’t need to. The one thing he can always rely on is finding something that doesn’t belong and start from there. Where there’s something artificial, the creator won’t be far away. 

It’s a long process of meticulously combing every inch of the trench, he swims closer to the surface to continue searching the shallows, hatred spurring him on even as his limbs grow tired and his energy wanes. He won’t eat or rest until he’s guaranteed everyone’s safety. If he stops at any point, that’s more time to let those monsters take another leviathan. 

His diligence pays off. After slowly but steadily getting closer to the surface as the seafloor gradually slopped upwards, he spots a shadow cast by the afternoon sun that clearly doesn’t belong. Looks up to see something floating on the water. And beneath it sits a fully functional ship, albeit smaller than the one that destroyed the dunes, but size doesn’t mean it isn’t capable of killing or sedating its target. 

He found it. 

Vincent carefully approaches the two metal objects, not daring to touch them in case they activate. Instead he looks around to see if there’s any structures built into the ground, or a vent leading to something underground. When he doesn’t see anything, not even the remains of a reaper, he carefully swims deeper into the shallows. 

Come out, come out wherever you are.

It’s almost eerily silent as he glides through the water. Not even the peepers squeak when he gets too close to one. As if they know he’s here to take care of a disease. 

And then he sees something as bright as blood kelp moving among the rocks. Slowly turns as he keeps the extensions on his back from bumping into coral. Watches the color disappear before reappearing as it swims out into the open. 

It’s a human. Which means it is happening again, and David was the first victim. 

He was too late. 

Vincent roars as he coils up. Sees the expression of pure terror as he lunges himself toward it. 

He misses a fatal bite. But with it being so close to the rock, he rams directly into it, sending debris showering down. If it didn’t get squashed by him, it might’ve gotten crushed by its own shelter. 

A high-pitched shriek tells him otherwise. Vincent pushes himself away in order to circle around and ram into the rock again with a roar. Watches as coral falls to the seabed, fish scatter in all directions, dust bellowing as everything begins to crumble. 

“Wait, please!” 

Rage rises up like a tide at a plea its victim would’ve screamed as well. One he knows wasn’t listened to, and he won’t either. Vincent roars again as he dives down at an angle, the extensions on his back digging into the rock as he passes. 

The sound of a mechanical hum tells him it escaped the collapsing spire of rock. And when he turns, he sees it completely out in the open, swimming as quickly as it can as close to the seafloor as possible. 

Unhinging his jaw, Vincent dives after it. 

“David!” 

Vincent reacts like he’s been electrocuted, stopping himself short despite having a clear shot to kill it. Unable to do anything except stare in disbelief as it darts into another opening in a rock that will be much harder to destroy. 

It doesn’t matter it’s escaped. What matters is that there is no possible way the human just spoke leviathan. And not just any leviathan, the name of the one who’s missing. The one it killed. 

“David?” Vincent demands. 

As if on que, the roar of a reaper is heard in the distance. He might not be able to spot them, but he knows they can see him. And when they finally get close enough for him to get a good look, all he can do is stare as David races toward him. 

“Don’t eat him!” 

“Him!” Vincent snaps, pissed at that being the first thing said. “What are you doing with a human!” 

“None of your business!” 

The ghost leviathan roars as he launches himself at David, unable to appreciate the genuine fear in the reaper’s eyes, just glad a side-effect were the mandibles snapping back so he has the perfect opportunity to headbutt barely gentle enough to not be fatal. 

“It is my business when I thought you were dead!” Vincent shouts as the other leviathan gasps in pain, hands massaging his forehead. “What the fuck were you thinking!” 

David hisses through his teeth in a plea to be given a moment. And as Vincent’s own adrenalin begins to fade, he gives the reaper some space. Glares to state he will be given answers but he’ll be patient. 

“Did you really need to headbutt me?” 

“I did. Considering you thought it’d be a great idea to befriend a human.” 

“I’m watching him,” David grumbles. With one last ginger touch on his head, the reaper gives a glare of his own. “And I’ll have you know I tried to kill him several times. But he survived every one, so now I keep an eye on him to make sure he’s not going to start killing leviathans.” 

Vincent stares. “Do I mean nothing to you?” 

“Absolutely nothing,” David smirks. “Besides, he’s too stupid for his own good. He’s basically harmless.” 

The ghost leviathan is unable to fully process what is being said. Because the word human and harmless can’t exist in the same sentence. And there’s the sheer audacity of someone saying something like that to his face. Someone who’s entire body is a deep purple, even the parts of his tail meant to be translucent have the distinct hue due to experiencing firsthand the cruelty humans possess. 

He should’ve let David get eaten by a stalker when he was a guppy. 

The reaper suddenly gestures toward something behind him. It’s the look of amusement that has Vincent slowly turning rather than attempting to dodge an attack. 

The human stares up at them with a distinct expression of concern. But the thing that has all 12 of his eyes widen is the fact it swam closer, even though it left them completely vulnerable. A coral tube that can easily be smashed being used for cover. 

“Are you okay?” it squeaks, and Vincent sends a look when he hears the human speak not only its own language, but leviathan as well. 

David waves him off. “I’m fine, ‘Fritz’.” 

As upset as he is about the fact David is acting so flippant about the countless lives at stake, never did he think someone like the reaper would ever speak human. Forgetting the fact there wouldn’t be a reason to, he thought pride would be the biggest hurdle. The second would be the fact it’s painful to mimic. 

Vincent would know. He thought pleas for mercy using words they understand would’ve worked far better than incomprehensible wails. 

He had been wrong. 

“You’re not killing him.” 

David stares at him intently. And with it being a statement rather than a question, it’s a guarantee the reaper will fight him in order to protect the miniscule creature. 

A smile stretches across Vincent’s face at the realization David’s attached. “I’m assuming ‘Fritz’ is his name.” 

The reaper sputters. “How did you get it on the first try!” 

“It’s almost like I’ve met one before,” the ghost deadpans. He ignores the growl to look back down at the human seeming to be absolutely ecstatic. Becomes excited when it’s realized Vincent’s watching. 

Proceeds to gesture toward himself, David, and then Vincent. “Fritz, David...” 

Now he’s starting to see why the reaper adopted him. “Vincent.” 

Fritz’s eyes grow wide. Starts to quietly murmur. “In...Inen...Vin...Vinen?” 

Alright, he can stay for now. The ghost will be watching for a bit, though. Make sure David isn’t being an idiot and missing the fact a weapon or cell is secretly getting built. 

Slowly as to not spook David, he coils himself up as he sinks down to the seabed, sneering when the reaper is unable to lie close to him. Not with the wings on his back posing a risk of hitting a vulnerable head with a well placed turn. 

“Vin-cent,” he repeats slowly. 

“Vincent!” 

“Great, he got your name,” David growls. “Time for you to go.” 

The ghost hums. “No, I think I’ll stay.” 

“You are not-” 

The protest is cut off by Fritz disappearing into the coral, swimming back into view with a peeper, boomerang, and a piece of quartz in hand. The human looks hopeful as he tosses the rock toward David, followed by the peeper. The second fish is offered to Vincent. 

It takes a moment to understand what he’s seeing. When he does, the ghost leviathan laughs. “Have you been living in luxury this entire time?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Oh I am definitely staying. Need to make sure he’s not bribing you with peepers and rocks,” Vincent grins, surprised with himself for not automatically assuming the worse. He’s simply enjoying the fact he has numerous things to hold over David’s head whenever to use for whatever he wants. 

He doesn’t fully trust the human. But he will take advantage of this rare opportunity until it’s proven this is all a rouse. 

“I don't keep the rocks!”