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silkling · 2 years

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Watermarked by Your Ancestry

Chapter Two

———————————————————————————————————

Smokescreen didn’t know quite what to make of Earth. The organic planet was strange. The species that dominated it, the humans, were young yet, but they’d already accomplished so much in the short time they had existed. It was inspiring, in its own way. Though, he also found their penchant for cruelty and violence a little bit disturbing. He knew, of course, that Cybertronians could be cruel. The Golden Age had been proof enough of that. But Cybertronian cruelty was more subtle, more underhanded and sinister. Human cruelty was violent and bloody, loud and impossible to ignore. It made him wonder if that was due to the species relative youth or their organic nature. Perhaps a mix of both, he mused.

But cruelty and strangeness aside, the humans did know how to make some really nice vehicles. They didn’t have hover capabilities like Cybertronian vehicles did, but damn if they didn’t look good. As exemplified by his new altmode. The sleek racing car made some deeply rooted coding thrum with satisfaction, and he had to constantly withhold the urge to just get on an open highway and gun it.

Overall, the young Elite Guard liked Earth. It was a funky little planet, but it was fun. Of course, him constantly getting into trouble made his already less-than-warm welcome feel even colder. It made an uncomfortable pit settle in his chest. He could understand being told off for revealing his existence to a human. That had been a severe tactical error, but even so his processor had protested the lecture because it wasn’t like he’d known! He’d never been told that the Autobots were trying to remain hidden from the rest of the planet.

And of course, his tanks still churned when he remembered being told off for pulling that prank with Jack. It hadn’t been fair! He hadn’t hurt anyone, hadn’t revealed their secret, hadn’t broken any laws, and yet he was being scolded again for breaking some sort of rule he’d never been told existed. Had the prank been juvenile? Of course it had been. But that was the whole point. And juvenile or not, it had significantly boosted both his and Jack’s moods. And he knew that was good. Better moods meant happier soldiers which meant an increased morale which made the whole team more efficient. It was basic logic, basic tactics. Keep your soldiers in good spirits, and they’ll keep fighting strong.

It frustrated him that the others seemed determined to maintain a high degree of seriousness all the time. The few times they did relax, they never even fully lightened up. Except for maybe Bumblebee. But he was young too, so Smokescreen knew that influenced it a little. It had gotten uncomfortable enough that the young mech had taken to just keeping his visor on at all times, feeling more at east with the optical band covering his optics.

And he seemed to mess up every mission. He knew he could be annoying when he talked about wanting to be great, about seeking a destiny. But he wasn’t trying to be, and he even stopped after the first few times Arcee had snapped at him. She just…wouldn’t understand why. Wouldn’t care, probably.

The truth was, he hoped that if he could become good enough, great enough, maybe he’d learn what had happened to his creators. Because…he knew he wasn’t Well-Sparked. He’d been kindled. He was a halfling, after all. Part Polyhexian, part Praxian. And halflings were always kindled, never sparked from the Well.

But that didn’t matter right now. What did matter was proving that he could be worth something to the team. But every time he tried, it only seemed to make the others more frustrated when he failed, even when it wasn’t really his fault.

Of course, his ever decreasing mood was only made worse when he’d accidentally overheard Prime talking with Ratchet about him. He could still hear the disappointment in Optimus’s voice.

——————————

“I worry for him, Ratchet.” Optimus’s voice was quiet as he spoke to his old friend. “Smokescreen is a bright young mechanism, but he struggles with finding his place here.”

Smokescreen stopped in his tracks, just around the corner from where the two older bots were conversing out of sight. They were talking about him? He didn’t like the tone of the conversation. It made him nervous.

“I know, Optimus.” Ratchet heaved a sigh. “He’s a good kid, but maybe he’d just not a good fit for the team here.”

That made the bottom of Smokescreen’s tanks drop out. Ratchet couldn’t be serious, could he? He’d been trying! He was doing his best here, but it would be a lot easier if the others just bothered to actually explain things to him! But instead they expected him to just know, even though he’d never even really been involved in the war!

“Perhaps.” The Prime said slowly. “I do not wish to send him away so soon. He is making an effort to adapt.”

“But not fast enough.” Ratchet said bluntly. “Face it, Optimus. We don’t have time to coddle a youngling who’s never fought in the war. He’s smart, and learns quickly, I’ll give him that. With time, he could be an incredible soldier. But we don’t have that time. There’s too much at stake here.”

Optimus sighed heavily, not saying anything to refute it. It made Smokescreen shake slightly, his spark clenching painfully. Did they really have so little faith in him? Did they really think that little of him? Primus, they didn’t, didn’t they? They did, and that knowledge hurt.

He was always going to be the odd one out, wasn’t he? At training camp, it had been because he didn’t fight like the others. He fought like a special ops agent, his drill sergeant had said. And he had a battle computer too. Not a hyper advanced one, but he had it all the same and it let him make better, more effective plans than the rest of his cohort. His unusual blend of natural skills had given him an edge, and had also made him somewhat of an outcast. For all the other trainees had found him pleasant to be around, they had never known quite what to make of him.

And now it was happening again. For different, even worse reasons.

“I see your point, my friend. But what is the alternative? We cannot confine him to base, not permanently, and we cannot send him away. Not on Earth, at least. He would be a target for the Decepticons.” Optimus pointed out.

Ratchet grunted. “Then don’t make it permanent. Keep him here for a while, at least until Wheeljack makes his way back. Then we can send the kid off with him.” The medic suggested.

“Perhaps.” Optimus said again.

Smokescreen’s spark squeezed, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking up. Optimus couldn’t agree. He couldn’t! He liked it here! He didn’t want to go off while his friends fought and died, not again! It had happened once when Alpha Trion recruited him to guard the Archives while his friends from training had gone on to the front lines. As much as he’d loved that place, he didn’t want to be a bystander again!

There was a great, heavy sigh. Then Optimus spoke again. “I believe you may be right.” He said somberly. “Smokescreen is young, but his inexperience makes him a liability. I do not wish to have his death on our servos. Sending him with Wheeljack may very well be the best option.” He murmured. “I shall inform him of the plans tomorrow, Ratchet. But for now, old friend, you should rest.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and pede-steps coming his way. Smokescreen scrambled to run back to his room, moving on silent pedes to avoid being found out. As he slipped into his berth, his mind churned.

There had to be a way out of this. There had to be.

——————————

The next day, Smokescreen had started avoiding the Prime liked he was carrying the Cybonic Plague. He made use of every one of his apparently inherited Special Ops skills, not giving Optimus a single opportunity to get him alone. It carried on for days, and he could tell the team was getting suspicious. But Optimus was also busy decoding the coordinates for the Omega Keys , so most bots were focusing on that.

He’d managed to avoid serious interaction for a few days. He hadn’t even gotten involved when Arcee and Bumblebee had gone out to retrieve a Key and returned defeated. He’d tried to help lighten the mood after, to bring up their spirits, but then he’d just been told he wouldn’t understand because he’d been in stasis the whole war.

(And that was the point, but they didn’t seem to understand. He’d been in stasis while they were fighting, but he wanted to lessen their burden, to fight with and for them and have their backs. He wasn’t trying to hog glory or make their losses lesser in anyway. He just wanted to help.)

But he hadn’t said anything in response, just going quiet and nodding, then pulling away to slip back into the shadows and hope no one thought to call him back.

He stayed there, observing silently, until Optimus called everyone in. He’d found another set of coordinates for the next Omega Key, but this time only Bulkhead and Smokescreen himself were fit enough to go retrieve it. He snapped a salute as he was given the order, and walked into the ground bridge after Bulkhead.

When they came out on the other side, there was a feeling in the air that set Smokescreen on edge. His doorwings hiked up and he tensed, looking around warily. He could almost hear something, but what?

“What is that?” he asked carefully.

But before Bulkhead could respond, there was the sound of jet engines, and a transformation, and a large blue Seeker landed on the ridge above them.

“That, is the sound of your demise!” he said coldly, and then the beeping started.

Smokescreen reacted on instinct. He bolted, heading for the break in the trees. Bulkhead followed behind him, and as they got to the perimeter of the bombs he leapt. The explosives went off, sending both Autobots flying, and they tumbled over the ground. Smokescreen flipped to right himself, and looked over to see if his mission partner was okay. And he was. They both were. Scuffed and scraped, but undamaged.

The sound of jet engines caught his attention, and he looked up to see the Seeker landing once again on a small hill above them.

“Dreadwing!” Bulkhead snarled, getting to his pedes. The Wrecker turned to the youngling. “Smoke! Go get the relic, I’ll deal with him!” he called out, throwing the tracker at him.

Smokescreen nodded, catching the device, then turning and running into the trees. Behind him, he heard the sound of clashing, and rushed ahead. He couldn’t mess this one up. This was his one chance to prove to Optimus he was worth something. If he succeeded here, maybe he wouldn’t be sent away.

He followed the signal on the tracker until he came to a rock face, and set it down on a nearby boulder. The Key had to be inside the stone. He stepped back, firing his blaster to weaken the rock, and then he moved to to remove the individual pieces manually.

“C’mon, Smokes.” he muttered to himself. “You can do this. Just get the Key and call it in. No room for error.”

Primus, but he hoped he didn’t mess this up. That seemed to be all he was capable of, lately.

Finally, he found the pod with the Key, and pulled it free from the rubble. He opened the top, and the Key rose from within. He found himself grinning, wings fluttering with excitement. Finally.

He grabbed the handle, pulling the old relic free from the pod, and was about to call Bulkhead when his wings detected movement behind him. He transformed his free servo into a blaster, turning to face the potential threat.

And then something slammed into his helm, jarring his processor enough that his battle computer shoved him into a forced shutdown to avoid cascading damage, and everything went black.

——————————

Smokescreen was roused from his involuntary unconsciousness by Bulkhead. The big mech shook him awake, and he groaned as he pushed himself up, a servo lifting to rub the back of his helm. His optics squeezed shut, making his visor go a little bit dim without them lighting it up.

“Smoke? You okay, kid?” Bulkhead asked, concerned. “What happened? Did you find the Key?”

He grunted, lowering his servo from his helm. “Yeah, I’m good. Just got a Pit of a helmache.” he assured. He looked to the pod he’d unearthed, gesturing distractedly. “Found the Key. It was there.” He narrowed his optics, pulling up the last memory from before blacking out. “I picked it up. But then something hit me.” He tensed, looking around a little frantically. “It’s not here! No no no no no no no! I can’t fail again! I had it!” He shot the Wrecker and frantic look. “Bulkhead, I promise! It was in my hand! But something, or someone, hit me and took it!”

The larger mech took a step back, lifting his servos. “Whoa, kid! It’s alright!“ he stepped forward, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t worry about it, alright? Prime won’t be angry!”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” Bulkhead said with a chuckle. He called in to the base, requesting a ground bridge. It spiraled open in front of them, and he led the young mech into the portal. “And besides, we still have one of the Keys! As long as we have those, we still have a chance of getting the others back and restoring Cybertron.” He said as they stepped through the ground bridge.

They walked through, and on the other side Smokescreen was greeted by the expectant caves of the rest of the team. When they realized they didn’t have the Key, their faces fell. It was enough to send a bolt of nerves through he young mech’s spark. How would they react when they learned it was his fault?

“What happened?” Arcee asked, her voice tense with barely repressed frustration.

“Dreadwing happened.” Bulkhead said darkly. “He ambushed us. I held him off while Smokes went after the Key. By the time I finished with the Con, Smokes had been knocked out. Found him unconscious with the relic pod.”

“So what you’re saying is, we lost another key.” Arcee stated.

“Unfortunately.” Bulkhead confirmed.

With that, the two-wheeler turned to the youngest member of the team. “What happened, rookie? How’d you lose the Key?”

The accusation made him wince, and his doorwings sagged. Once again, Smokescreen was grateful that his visor covered his optics, so no one would be able to see the flash of pain that had filled them at her words. “I don’t know.” he admitted. “I found the Key buried in a rock face, and I dug it out. When I picked it up, something hit me from behind. Next thing I know, Bulkhead’s waking me up and the Key’s gone.”

“And you didn’t get a look at what hit you?”

He shook his helm. “It came out me from behind, and faster than any of my sensors could track. By the time I registered it was there, I was already down.”

“How is that even possible?” Ratchet asked from off to the side. “I’m not aware that anything on Earth is even capable of moving that fast.”

Smokescreen shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He hadn’t meant to let them all down. He’d been trying his best, Pit damn it.

“You’re sorry.” Arcee said, and her frustration clearly bubbled over because she marched over to where the younger mech was standing with Bulkhead. “You’re sorry you lost the only relic we can use to bring back our home.”

“Hey!” Bulkhead cut in. “We still have one of the Keys! As long as we have that, we still have a chance!”

“Bulkhead’s right, Arcee. There’s still hope. We just have to track down the last Key and then reclaim the ones we lost.” Bulmblebee beeped from next to Optimus, trying to soothe the femme’s anger.

“The kid got sucker punched, Arcee.” Bulkhead put a servo on Smokescreen’s shoulder. “It could have happened to any of us.”

The youngling rolled his shoulder, knocking it off. “But it didn’t.” he said bitterly. “It happened to me. Because I got complacent, and I let my guard down.” He looked to the side. “Some great soldier I’m turning out to be.” he muttered to himself.

Maybe it would be better if he never found out what happened to his creators. If they were even still alive, he doubted they’d want to reclaim a youngling that was as much of a disappointment as he was. He couldn’t even just be average. He was a failure, with how often he screwed up.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Arcee calm anger cut through his self deprecation. “A couple of victories aren’t going to make you a legend, and not every mission results in success, not for me, not for Bee, not even for Optimus.”

At her words, the Prime turned to look at the trio, frowning mildly as if concerned. Smokescreen didn’t notice though, too busy with the growing pit of guilt settling at the bottom of his tanks.

Arcee continued, not seeming to notice the growing tension in the youngling she was berating. “We’ve gained relics, and we’ve lost some. We’ve even lost friends.” Here, she looked pained, and her servo lifted to her chest, clenched and shaking. “We’ve even lost a world.” she spat. Then she looked up, her optics burning as she stared into his visor. “But this is one time we get a do over. We have a chance to bring back Cybertron, and everybody in this room needs to be in sync.” she stated, staring at him in accusation. “This isn’t about you, or your destiny.” she added, her engine growling faintly.

It made Smokescreen cringe back, doorwings dropping so low that they touched his back. Arcee didn’t seem to notice in her ire, but Optimus clearly did.

“Arcee, you have made your point.” The Prime cut in, turning to face them fully.

She glanced at him, frowning. “Optimus, he needs to hear this.” Then she turned back to him. “You might actually become a great warrior one day, and I sincerely hope that you do.” she told him honestly. “But greatness begins and ends with putting the team first, not your personal scorecard.”

That was enough to make him jolt. It wasn’t like that! “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you guys!” he protested.

“Then stop trying to be a hero, and start being an Autobot.”

That made him flinch back as if struck, and he looked to the others for defense. Surely they didn’t agree? Surely they saw him as more than just some….glory-chasing sparkling? Didn’t they know him better?

(Of course they didn’t, his processor whispered. When was the last time one of them actually tried to spend time with him, to get to know him? Never, his battle computer supplied, turning over ever interaction he’d had with the team and coming to the conclusion that they’d never made the effort to learn who he was.)

In a last desperate attempt at finding support, Smokescreen turned to Optimus. Alpha Trion had told him that the Prime was noble and good, that he sought to fight for and maintain fairness. Surely he’d step in? Correct the assumptions that had been made.

But…he didn’t. He just stared, his gaze calm and assessing. It made Smokescreen’s spark twist and squeeze painfully. No, the Prime wouldn’t correct hiss assumptions, he realized. He held the same assumptions himself.

Smokescreen swallowed past the thickness in his throat, and his servos curled into fists. Distantly, he was aware of sharp pinpricks of pain in his palms, and he realized he must have unconsciously unsheathed his claws as his emotions grew more turbulent.

“Fine.” he said at last, turning to sweep his gaze over the team one last time. His voice was stiff with the effort it took to not break down then and there. He turned his helm away, doorwings shaking from their position low on his back. “Maybe I’m just not good enough.”

And Primus if that didn’t make him want to cry. He tried. So hard. But in the end, no matter how much effort he’d put into it, it was never enough. And it was starting to look like it never would be. That made a painful pit of resignation settle in his chest, and before anyone could reply to what he’d said to was turning and leaping into his altmode, and then speeding down the hall towards the main doors.

He didn’t know if someone opened the door for him, or if they opened on their own, but right now he didn’t care.

He just needed to get away.

He hit the highway, and then he was gunning his engine, driving even faster than the Earth models of his vehicle mode were capable of going. He didn’t care where he went. He just wanted put as much distance between himself and the base as he could.

——————————

Back at the base, everything remained quiet for a moment in the wake of Smokescreen’s abrupt departure. Arcee crossed her arms, looking concerned and even a little guilty. She clearly hadn’t thought he’d take it so hard.

Pedesteps behind her made her turn, and she was met with the sight of an unusually somber Ratchet walking over to them. “Next time Optimus advises you to stop, perhaps you should listen.” He said, arching an optic ridge at her.

He walked past her, crouching at the spot where the rookie had been standing, and that was the first time the others noticed the small drops of energon staining the ground. “Smokescreen has claws.” Ratchet explained casually. “He was clenching his fists. He must have accidentally drawn energon.”

That was enough to send a ripple of concern through the others. Had Smokescreen really been thatupset? It hadn’t seemed like it, but then again, now they were seeing the evidence that he had been.

“I’ll go get him.” Bulkhead said, stepping towards the tunnel. He was clearly concerned, but he looked up in surprise when the Prime held out an arm to stop him.

“Smokescreen is young, Bulkhead, and has much to learn.” The Prime told him. “But right now, he needs to clear his thoughts, and I need to finish decoding the final Iacon entry.” He said, then walked back to his station to get back to work on the coordinates.

After a few minutes, the console beeped and Optimus stepped back, looking satisfied. “Ah,” he hummed. “The final entry has been decoded.” He stated, turning to look at the others.

Behind him, the console beeped in a new tone, and Ratchet frowned. “Has it?” he asked.

The Prime turned back to the holo-screen with a frown, and the glyphs reorganized themselves into a set of pixels that looked to be rearranging to form an image of some sort.

“Hm.” The Prime frowned, looking at the screen in consideration. “Perhaps it’s a level of secondary encryption.” he murmured.

Behind him, the rest of the team walked closer.

“Maybe it’s a picture of the relic?” Bulkhead suggested.

“Of what possible use could that be to us without knowing it’s location ?” Ratchet shot back.

“I trust that Alpha Trion had his reasons.” Optimus said without looking away.

The console let out a long beep as the image resolved itself, and then one final beep when it cleared. What it revealed left the Autobots reeling.

“Smokescreen?” Bulkhead explained, clearly confused.

“Is that that hotshot’s idea of a joke?” Arcee bit out, still clearly irritated.

“I don’t think Smokescreen would do that.” Bumblebee beeped.

“Maybe he knows where the Key is?”

“And never bothered to mention it?”

Ratchet cut in. “A more likely possibility is that Smokescreen himself somehow is the Key, without knowing it.”

“Whatever the case,” Optimus cut in before the argument derailed further. “He could be in grave danger.” He activated his comm link. “Smokescreen, return to base immediately.” There was no response on the other end, and the tension in the room mounted.

“He may have deactivated his comm link.” Ratchet said grimly.

Optimus turned to the medic, gaze hard and serious. “Locate his position, and prepare the ground bridge.” he ordered.

——————————

Smokescreen drove, and didn’t look back. His processor raced, his spark ached, and his frame strained with ache of the abuse he’d taken today.

Did his team really think so little of him? He wasn’t that bad, as he? No, he knew he wasn’t. He was aware of his flaws, and being self-centered and egotistical wasn’t one of them. He just wanted to prove himself. Everyone else had already done so much. If he wanted to stand at their level, he had so much ground to make up. But every time he tried, he was berated or scolded for things he hadn’t even been aware of as problems, or things that had been out of his control. It chaffed.

“But greatness begins and ends with putting the team first, not your personal scorecard.”

Arcee’s words echoed in his helm again. That was really what they thought of him. That he saw missions as just…another punch in the card, another chance to show off and aim for glory. Another chance to claim a victory.

It made his spark burn. He knew he hadn’t been that bad during missions. And yet, the others never thought twice.

“We’ve even lost friends.”

Remembering made his optics sting. Did they think he hadn’t lost anyone? No, of course that’s exactly what they thought. That he’d stayed behind the front lines, which meant of course he hadn’t lost anyone. Because it wasn’t like he’d had to see the few friends he’d made in boot camp go off to the war, and the next time he heard about them be a report of their death.

Windcharger….

Remembering the minibot who’d been the only one to make an effort to get to know him made his spark ache anew. Windcharger had been his only good friend, really. The mini had been determined in getting past Smokescreen’s defenses and finding out who he was. And once he had, they’d been stuck at the hip. It had been a match made in the Pit, according the their drill instructor. They were both energetic, both loved a thrill, both impulsive. They played off each other’s most extreme qualities. Both the good, and the bad. It meant that when it got the worst of them, they only ended up in trouble. But when it went well…they were a team efficient enough to beat any of the training sims they’d faced.

Warpath, their drill sergeant, had wanted to send them out on a squad together. But Alpha Trion had stepped in once they’d all graduated, and claimed Smokescreen as an Archive guard instead. Windcharger had been sent to the front lines.

He’d never seen his friend again.

It had made him hate the old Archivist, for a long while.

And the next time he heard from Windcharger, it was when Warpath commed him to tell him his friend had been killed in a Decepticon interrogation. The ‘Cons had only sent back his helm.

(And then Warpath had been sent to the front lines, and the next Smokescreen heard of him was Alpha Trion informing him that his old instructor had been killed in an ambush.)

Alpha Trion himself was another loss. He’d hated the old mech for a while, but it had been a conflicting sort of hate. But by the time the Archives fell, the old mech had become a surrogate caretaker, a mentor, and a friend. And then he’d seen him gunned down when the ‘Cons took the Archive.

But before that, the archivist had made frequent visits to the boot camp, and had been the only one to tell him about his creators. It had been his words that inspired Smokscreen to try so hard.

He’d told the then-trainee that his creators were great mecha. That they’d accomplished much for the Autobots, and had become some of the greatest warriors Cybertron had ever known. He’d said that they had given him up in order to fight to end the war faster, and that the old mech hoped that Smokescreen, as their progeny, would be able to live up to the standards they’d set. Alpha Trion has said he had high hopes for him, and that he was sure he’d do his creators proud.

It had inspired in the young cadet the desire to achieve greatness. After all, Alpha Trion had implied that his creators might still be alive. And if they were, Smokescreen wanted to see them again. He’d become convinced that, if he could achieve even a fraction of they greatness they had, then they’d come for him and he’d see them again.

Because, the truth was, Smokescreen remembered his creators. Sort of. He’d been young when Iacon fell, but not young enough to not form memories. So, he remembered them, in bits and pieces.

He remembered the sounds of their voices, and color of their armor. He remembered the feel of their sparks, and the way they’d loved him. (He knew he had his Carrier’s colors, and his Sire’s frame.) He remembered that his Ri loved to dance and sing with him, and that his Sa had used to tuck him in his lap and read to him. He remembered their love for each other, and the way they’d treasured every moment. He remembered the way he’d used to curl between their frames as they all recharged, and he remembered waking them by crawling over them and bringing them to laughter.

He remembered a lot, in the end, but not enough to figure out who they were and how to find them.

But his most recent interaction with the team was starting to make him think he’d never achieve that goal. What if his creators met him, and just saw him the same way the others did? He could take not ever getting to see them. He couldn’t take it if he met them and they found him a disappointment. All he’d ever wanted was to make the people who he cared about and looked up to proud of him.

Warpath had been, he knew. For all his old instructor had had difficulty finding out the best way to teach him, what with him being better suited for Special Ops tactics and the red mini being a frontliner, he knew the older mech had been proud to see him rise above his difficulties.

And he knew Alpha Trion had been proud, too, when he’d gotten over his grudge for the old mech and started learning from him. It had been Trion who’d helped him foster and develop his tactical abilities, who’d taught him how to use his battle computer to its fullest. And he knew the old Archivist had been proud when he’d learned how to utilities all his unique skills efficiently.

He’d always hoped he’d be able to make his creators proud, if and when he ever found them again. But…if he couldn’t even make his team respect him, what hope did he have of that?

A blaster bolt struck the ground in front of him, and he swerved on instinct to avoid it.

The realization that he was under attack tore him from his spiraling thoughts, and he cast out with his sensors to detect where the shot had come from.

There. Behind him. Laserbeak.

More shots rained down, but he swerved and spun, neatly avoiding them all, and then he was transforming and flicking his hidden blades from their sheathes in his forearms in the same movement. Let the minicon come closer. He’d slice her when she got within range.

And then his doorwings picked up something new. He turned his helm to look, but only caught a glimpse of Soundwave holding some type of weapon before the wave of indecipherable noise hit him.

It was intense enough to send him flying, and he hit a rock and fell limply to the ground. His vision flickered, and he choked on a cry of pain. It hadn’t been the impact with the rock that did him in, in the end, but rather the sound-wave itself. The sheer volume and cacophony of noise had been too much for his doorwings and sensors to make sense of, and the overwhelming data had started to force his processor into shut down. The impact had only sped things up.

The last thing he saw before his consciousness left him was the form of the Deception Second in Command walking over and reaching out to grab him.

Then his processor shut down, and he was lost to the deepest recesses of his mind and all it held.

——————————

He squealed as servos wrapped around his middle, careful of the little doorwings fluttering at his back, and lifted him up. He was tossed, briefly, into the air, and then those same servos caught him again and pulled him close to a white chest, striped in red and blue. The sparkling shrieked with laughter and slapped the chest of the mech carrying him, looking up with bright optics and an even brighter grin.

“Ri!” He squealed.

The bigger mech laughed as he spun with his sparkling, holding the little one securely in one arm so he could use his other servo to tickle under his chin. It prompted a loud, trilling giggle from the sparkling, which in turn made the mech laugh in delight.

“‘Ello, sparklet!” He cooed at the bitlet. “How are ya doing today?”

“Ri! Ri! Ri!” The sparkling squealed with excitement, beeping and buzzing up at his creator.

“Tha’s right!” The mech cooed. “Ah am yer Ri! Very good, bitty, yer a real smart little thing, ain’t ya?”

The sparkling just babbled at him some more, squeaking with delight and lifting a small, clumsy servo to pat his carrier’s cheek. The mech laughed again, gently nuzzling into the small servo and grinning. His optics shone past the blue visor he wore, though he was quick to let it transform away when the sparkling reached for it.

That, of course, just made the little one squeal in delight and babble again, little doorwings waving.

“He’s rambunctious today, isn’t he?” A voice mused from behind the pair. The mech spun, and saw his mate standing in the doorway, looking amused.

“Aw, he’s jus’ happy, love.” he mech purred, sliding closer.

The sparkling also clearly recognized the new arrival, because he squealed again and reached out.

“Sa!” He cried. “Sa! Sa! Sa!”

The new bot smiled and walked over, easily taking the wiggling sparkling from his mate’s arms and cradling him close. “Hello, little spark.” he crooned. “How are you?”

“Sa!” Was his only reply, the sparkling burbling in delight.

He chuckled, lifting his sparkling slightly and lowering his helm, letting their chevrons press together in a gesture of affection that was traditional for their frame type. It made the sparkling quiet slightly, cooing and pressing into the contact.

The mech smiled down at the little one, then pulled back. He freed an arm, holding out his free one to his mate. “Come here.” he said, a smile on his face and in his voice.

His mate acquiesced easily and with a lilting laugh, moving close enough to be pulled into an embrace. The sparkling was tucked between his two creators, who shared a kiss over his helm, and he beeped up at them and grinned brightly when they looked down at him and smiled.

“We love ya, sparklet.” His Carrier whispered. “Yer our greatest treasure. I hope ya never forget tha’.”

The sparkling only cooed in response and patted both his creator’s faces, which only made the two mechs laugh softly and hold him closer.

For that moment, the world outside could not touch the small family, and everything was good.

——————————

Jazz was roused from recharge by Prowl gently shaking him awake. He blinked, the last remnants of the dream, no, the memory, fading as he grew more aware. The phantom feeling of holding his sparkling close made his spark ache, and he had to close his optics again. He vented slowly, taking a moment to remember where he was and what they were doing. Then he carefully rolled over and sat up. He stretched, then stood and hummed.

Prowl wrapped his arms around his waist to hold him close, and Jazz leaned into the embrace and let out a shuddering sigh.

“What has you troubled, love?” Prowl murmured. “Just recharge fluxes, Prowler. Mah processor decided to dip into the ol’ memory cache for this one.”

“Oh?” He looked down at his mate, intrigued.

“Wasn’ an importan’ memory, Prowler. Just…one from before.”

His mate understood his meaning immediately, and Jazz saw his optic light dim behind his visor. “I see.” he murmured. “I have memory fluxes as well.” he admitted.

“Yeah?” The Polyhexian hummed.

“Yes.” Prowl confirmed softly. He tightened his grip on his mate. “We will find him again, Jazz. And this time, we will not let him go.”

“Course we ain’t gonna, Prowler.” He chuckled, leaning up to steal a kiss.

Mood suitably lifted, he tilted his helm. “Whatcha wake meh up fer? Yeh need meh to take over monitoring so yeh can recharge?”

The Praxian shook his helm. Then he paused and nodded. “Yes. I also wished to inform you that we have entered the star system Optimus’s message originated from.”

“Oh, goodie!” Jazz laughed.

He tilted his helm, taking in his mate’s sagging doorwings and dim biolights. His gaze softened, and he leaned up for one more kiss. It was slow and soft, carrying a comforting tenderness that came with centuries of security and affection. After a few klicks, he broke away and smiled.

“Go get some rest, Prowler. Ah can handle the rest.”

Prowl nodded, squeezing his mate briefly in thanks, and then he released him and settled down on the berth. In another klick, he was out.

Jazz smiled at him, then went to take the pilot’s seat. They were almost there. The faster they finished helping OP, the faster they could get back on the search for their sparkling.

He just hoped they weren’t too late already.

———————————————————————————————————

And here was chapter 2! Man, this one was long. It took a while to get out. I’m not sure if future chapters will be this long, it just depends on what needs to be included in one chapter from a narrative standpoint.

Anyway, let me know what y’all thought! I hope you liked this one. I used the dialogue from the show for a small segment, since that point was pretty vital to Smokey’s development and it still went mostly the same here. Anyway, I don’t know when the next chapter will be out, but I’ll try to get it out soon.

Until next time, folks!

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hardygalwrites · 1 year

Link

Originally posted to FFN a little after the 14th of November, 2016

Simply archiving a writing challenge I did back in 2016 up to 2017 and featuring my favourite writing pieces from each week of the challenge here on Tumblr :]

← Week 13 (SS) – Week 15 (SS) →

Cartoon: Transformers Prime / Robots in Disguise 2015

Characters: Smokescreen, Knock Out, and Bumblebee, with appearances from numerous other characters (even ones not featured in the cartoons)

Synopsis: An Autobot Elite Guard rookie, a Decepticon medic turned Autobot, and an Autobot scout turned warrior turned street cop - three very different bots with a wide range of stories to tell. And we are going to spend the next year exploring said stories through daily-written drabbles, be they angsty, humorous, gut-punching, or just plain odd! Who doesn’t love a challenge? (2016 to 2017)

—

Reign

"Primus, I need a break," Smokescreen muttered, wiping the energon away from his mouth. He turned to Megatron, smirking tiredly. "That all you got?"

Megatron snarled and lunged at the smaller bot. Smokescreen gasped, nearly collapsing as the warlord seized one of his doorwings in a vice.

"Do not think you can even hope to challenge me, Autobot," Megatron said harshly, shaking him. "You may have the Matrix of Leadership, but you are no Optimus Prime. You are simply an Autobot lackey who happened to be in the right place at the right time."

Smokescreen scoffed. "Tell me something I don't know."

Recall

There was actually very little Smokescreen could recall from his past. He could remember being handed off to a certain Autobot squad for nurturing - not like he'd received much nurture, seeing as Prowl was the head of said squad - but everything before then was blank. Which was strange considering that he hadn't been all that young when he'd been handed off.

If he thought hard enough about it though, he could recall some small things; a bright light, a vast room, murmurs and occasional shouts, and a smiling voice saying, "...hope indeed. Oh, newspark, you are destined for great things."

Miracle

Smokescreen pulled himself upward, using the restraints holding his arms to his advantage, then dropped his weight sharply. The restraints remained as firm as ever, and another stab of pain jolted through his already aching shoulder joints.

Smokescreen groaned. "Maybe I should change tactics."

The bot hanging beside him scoffed dully. "Give it up, kid. You've been at it for days now. What makes you think you'll make it out now?"

"Beats giving up," Smokescreen retorted. "Like you."

"C'mon, kid... No one's ever escaped from this ship. It'd take a miracle."

"Good thing I'm the kinda guy who's willing to believe in miracles."

Cavity

Smokescreen had come with complaints that his transformations felt 'uncomfortable', a problem that had been ailing him since sometime after escaping Megatron's warship. Ratchet scanned him, and discovered that there was a large cavity in the young bot's torso area. Ratchet was baffled, but he was forming a theory.

"Smokescreen," he said slowly. "When the Omega Key was extracted from your chassis, how did it feel?"

"Why?"

"Answer the question."

Smokescreen shrugged, scowling. "I dunno. Kinda painful, I guess. Like a part of my protoform was being pulled out."

"Well..." Ratchet muttered. "According to these readings, that seems to be essentially what happened."

Little

The sparkling held up the glitch-mouse, grinning proudly. "Can I keep it?"

Prowl's answer was short. "No."

"Please!"

"No, Smokescreen," Prowl repeated firmly. "We have enough of a problem with these pests as it is."

The sparkling's demeanor changed abruptly; his doorwings dropped and his smile fell. "Like me?"

This caught Prowl off guard. "What?"

Panic flashed across the sparkling's face, and he lowered his helm. "Nothing, never mind." He turned away, the glitch-mouse still cradled in his servos. "I'll put 'im outside."

Doorwings miserably limp, the sparkling trudged out the office, leaving Prowl to wonder what had just happened.

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halfyourheart · 2 years

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Give me the luke makeup tutorial NOW

omg what format are we talking here???? are we talking a fic, or a straight up textpost about it because I have so many thoughts on this and I will do either with little to no encouragement 😌

#I'm nervous about answering because that is public so more thoughts in the tags #yes I know people can see tags but it feels more hidden #here are some baby little thoughts #him going through his little tote bags that he brings everywhere???#what's in luke hemmings' bag????#and I know he steals from sierra so I am imagining they have the good stuff because wealth™#I hope and I pray that he has a skincare routine to start please #this bitch better put sunscreen on #he will prime with something glowy but otherwise no base because his skin is annoyingly good and also we need to see the freckles #and the fun part!! eyeshadow #I want him to do a whole stage look #his baby blue eyes create some really fucking cool looks #I would LOVE LOVE LOVE to see a more dark smokey eye??? like dark eyeliner in the waterline blended out #and then baM glitter on the lid - in like a blue or just silver??? YUM #or or or #a light pink shimmery look #I'm thinking those vogue beauty secrets videos?? he can do a daytime look and a nighttime look #but that's just because I want him to as many looks as possible #I really want a dark smokey look - I feel like we haven't really seen that #except kind of when he was wearing that red suit?? but I want more #I want drama #dark eyeliner and glitter luke #I beg #thanks for coming to my tag tedtalk #these are just little baby thoughts but I am so tempted to make a powerpoint at this point #powerpoints are my love language #also hi jess! nice to meet you 💛#big fan of your fics 🥺#daydadahlias #answered

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yaut-jaknowit · 9 days

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How about high tension between a male yautja and human. Where one gets drunk and finally yells that they want to fuck them already.

Tensions Run High

Pairing: Icheall-Dua (male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2555

Summary: It was at a gathering for Yautjas and humans alike on a different planet than Yautja Prime. You had been constantly trying to hit up Icheall-Dua and he couldn’t get the idea! So, one night, during a feast of celebration that Icheall-Dua was going to become leader of the clan, you get drunk. A very bad thing. You have loose lips. When you tried again with Icheall-Dua and he doesn’t get it again, you straight up yell it in front of the clan.

Author Note: I realized this has taken me two months to get to. Sorry that production has slowed down. I've been grinding away at my game. Also, I didn't know if you wanted spicy or not, so I decided to leave it out just encase. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Ao3

Sonorous voices that boomed across the clearing filled the air. Joyous in nature. Prideful for the years to come. Every rise and fall of the suns to bring a life and challenges to the clan. You held up a cup of a drink that was considered alcohol. Between a Yautja and human mixture of potent alcohol, deluded for yourself.

It reminded you of whiskey with the slight burn with each sip you took. A drink not meant for shots. Rather just to take sips here and there. It’ll still knock you on your ass three drinks later. So, you took your time to consume the interesting taste of the smokey concoction.

Despite living among the predators of the universe and showing we are equals rather than enemies, the two species have come together. Some clans as you’ve heard are more reluctant, or rather downright say no, to allowing humans into their ranks.

Others, like the one you live in, are more accepting if you pull your own. You will not be babied. If you die, you die. A kill or be killed world on this planet. This isn’t even Yautja Prime. Yet, its dangers rival Yautja Prime.

You breathed in the marshes stagnant air. Though the division is still evident; Yautjas with Yautjas and humans with humans, you couldn’t help but find yourself drawn to Icheall-Dua. Marsh green and cream bellied. His scales are basic compared to those you’ve seen throughout your time through a few clans.

What Icheall-Dua lacks in different physical aspects, he makes up in his skills. From the words whispered amongst the clan, he’s a prodigy. He’s the next best thing. A male anyone would kill to be but could never get to his level. Yet, no matter how many times you try to send the right signals in Icheall-Dua’s direction, he doesn’t see it! The skulls, the meat, the Yautja way of courting!

Weeks of research were put into this before you attempted the first time. It should’ve been clear as a peacock spreading its tail feathers. No though. He accepted the gifts but never said anything after that.

At first, you drew back to ensure what you read was correct. Skulls of creatures are the first step. You did just that. Yeah, it wasn’t the dangerous creature on this planet but it nearly killed you! His obliviousness didn’t deter you though. You took a slow sip of your drink again, eyes sliding over to the beast that filled your thoughts.

A large cup filled with a similar concoction to your own was cupped in one of his large hands. Two of three fingers missing on that hand. You knew there was harrowing story to explain what happened. A story you would love to listen to with his deep, grating voice. The sound crunchy like stepping on a gravel road. Another sip downed the rest of the liquid.

With a sigh, you stepped around the larger species that filled the space to the bar tender. A night like this was to be celebrated with alcohol always being included.

After living around these guys for a quarter of your life time, you have learned it’s best to slip between them. Some will shift their weight allow you easier access around them. Yet, many have the mindset not to move for anything. You’ve learned to be slippery rather than it becoming a dick measuring contest. Not submission but avoiding unnecessary fighting. Why get wounded if it all could be avoided? Somethings in this culture you’ll never come to understand.

Once you reached the bar tender again, you set your empty glass on the counter and tapped twice. Ci’tha grunted and immediately got to work. Your drink was set in front of you with a tangy tasting fruit on the rim. You thanked the yellow based Yautja with a dip of your head then leaned against the count with your back to it. People watching.

Other humans were amongst the crowd, mingling with mainly other humans. Only a select few were chatting away with the friendlier Yautjas in the clan. None of them dared to go close to Icheall-Dua nor his father who had a permanent scowl etched into his worn features. A life lived through the ways of a Yautja of hunting and gaining scars along the way.

Icheall-Dua went to sip at his cup only to find it empty and shook his cup. You instantly noticed and spun around to face Ci’tha. “Do you remember what Icheall-Dua is having?” you rushed out and jerked your head over towards Icheall-Dua direction. The poor yellow Yautja jolted at the sudden move then glared at you. You sheepishly smiled an apology at him.

Ci’tha rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I do. Why?” he grunted and raised a brow at you.

“Can you make it? Yautja sized?” you sweetly asked the lanky Yautja who stood in your way of impressing Icheall-Dua some more. Though, the two of you didn’t talk on the regular, he could see what was happening. He rolled his blue eyes again before got to work.

The large mug was set before you. You threw a thanks towards Ci’tha before snatching it racing through the sea of bodies. At points, you nearly shoved your way through but reframed from starting a fight. All you had was a mug and a small knife not long enough to hit anything important on a Yautja.

After breeching the main crowd of people, you were able to make your way up to Icheall-Dua standing in all of his glory. His father only a couple of steps away from him, speaking to another Yautja. Icheall-Dua, himself, was crowd watching until you stopped before him.

“Hello… I saw your cup was empty and retrieved one for you,” you spoke up and presented the cup to him. His sky blue eyes looked down upon over the jut of his small snout. Icheall-Dua blinked slowly in boredom, gaze glancing to the cup in your hand.

He reached out and took it. A critical eye peered and inspected the contents. You gnawed on your bottom lip, in hopes he would accept the drink but nothing else was working. Maybe a drink would win him over.

The Yautja raised his shoulders in a shrug and gulped from the cup. You silently cheered to yourself, praying this was him finally noticing your advances towards him.

Next to him, Zutouh, his father, leaned over and scoffed at you. It didn’t deter you though. Through his one good eye, he analyzed you. Not all Yautjas still accept humans into their ranks. The older generations such as Zutouh are part of that. You’re used to it at this point, even dealing with clans who would kill you on sight.

“Great party,” you tried to start small talk in hopes to get Icheall-Dua to open up a little more. “What’s it for?” A closed mouth smile was directed towards Icheall-Dua.

Icheall-Dua kept his nonchalant expression plastered to his face. “I’m becoming the clan leader,” he stated as if it was an everyday thing. You tensed up mid sip of your drink, eyes darting over to his marsh green hide.

Well yeah. Zutouh is his father and the clan leader. Yet, each Yautja usually has a bunch of children. You didn’t know Icheall-Dua was next in line to ascend the throne. By Paya’s grace, you truly didn’t stand a chance against any of the females who would flock to him. Clan leader got you lots of perks. A title Icheall-Dua had to have earned out of all of his siblings.

“That’s amazing! Are you excited?” you kept up with the small talk, using questions to get answers from him. You gulped down a mouthful of your drink again as it started to affect your mind and rational thinking. “Of course, a male such as yourself with that physique definitely deserves that position.”

Drunk words were sober thoughts.

Alcohol gave you loose lips.

Zutouh snorted and shook his massive head in disbelief. You didn’t care though. What you said was true. Icheall-Dua was built well, the prodigy everyone saw him as.

One of his upper manibles quirked up for less than a second yet you caught it. “This is my destiny.” His answer short, barely even sweet. You nearly deflated at that but an idea came to him.

“Well, does your destiny have me included in it?” you flirted with him again like all the times before. You hoped he would finally get the big picture you were waving in front of him.

This caught Icheall-Dua off guard. The Yautja nearly choked on his drink you graciously provided for him and snapped his gaze to you. Hope flickered in your eyes as you noticed you had more of his attention on you. His hand tightened on his cup, claws slightly scraping across the glass wear.

Except, it all faded away when he pulled back that nonchalant expression and shrugged again. You could almost scream at him for that. Your nose flared with a snort, lips pressed tightly into a line. The alcohol in your system not helping one bit. A near glare was settled on the stupid marsh colored Yautja who you’ve pinned for the last few months.

Like a volcano, there’s only so much you could hold in.

“For the love of everything unholy, I want to fuck you!” you shouted at the top of your lungs, fire blazing in your veins while you stared this male down. “I’ve been trying for months the Yautja way to get your attention. And-and nothing! You hadn’t acknowledge my attempts or even told me to stop! I don’t know what I can do anymore.”

It all came out. Ranitng out your horrible experience trying to court a Yautja their way. All this research was false, wrong. It led you on for months and left you to feel this angry… in front of a crowd.

Your shoulders heaved with each lungful breath. The crowd around you had gone silence due to your shouting. The realization struck you, dosing you in freezing cold water. Your shoulders tensed up, eyes wide, glued to the spot. Nothing could make you move until Icheall-Dua took a step towards you.

Then, you spun on your tail and darted between humans and Yautja alike, a stumbling, drunk mess. They didn’t part for you, even when you ran into them but when a shadow gave chase, they instantly let him through. Your arm was snatched in a vice grip that would bruise tomorrow. Heat slammed into your chest, forcing you to pressed to his torso. Tears pooled the lips of your eyes as you looked everywhere but him. You couldn’t see the rage of you interrupting his celebration, of you ruining the night with this silly crush.

Your entire jaw was swallowed up by a hand and forcefully tilted your head back. Through blurry tears, you find his blue eyes on you.

“Say that again,” he demanded with a voice he used to lead. You tried to struggle against him, nearly turning your head enough to bite his fingers. Nothing worked to get him off of you. Icheall-Dua easily far stronger in close quarters… yet, you didn’t want to hurt him anyhow.

“Why? So you can embarrass me in front of everyone. Show everyone how much of a fool I was? To think I had a chance with you?” you snarled then paused for a pregnant moment. He squeezed his hand tighter on your jaw in a short warning. Icheall-Dua wasn’t one to be around humans often, he didn’t understand their fragileness. “Should’ve brushed me off the first time I gifted you a skull.”

None of this would be happening if he had.

“And why would I do that? I was following the advice given to me by your fellow humans for your courting rituals.” If he didn’t have such a tight grip, you would’ve jerked your head back. Instead, you raised your brows instead.

He was following dating advice… What had they told him? Also, dating?! Your heart started to thump loudly in your ears, like war drums. He had gone out of his way to ask for advice.

A lump in your throat made it hard to speak. “What, what was the advice?” you questioned and untensed your muscles. The Yautja responded by easing up his grasp on your jaw and wrist. Icheall-Dua didn’t let you go fully though. Not that you could outrun a Yautja in the first place.

His gaze deviated over to a group of humans who were staring the two of you down. Everyone part of the party was. “Samual said to ‘play hard to get’. It get’s people needy.” Oh, you were going to kill Samual when you had the chance. All these months of torture because that dumbass told him horrible advice.

You couldn’t help the breath of relief that escaped your lungs. Then, you began to laugh and shook in his hold. “That’s the worst advice anyone could give you. No, ‘playing hard to get’ is the worst way to show someone you’re into them.” Your laughter died down. “And I thought my research was a fraud when you didn’t react to any of the gifts I gave you.”

Icheall-Dua growled lowly in his chest and spread his mandibles in a display towards the humans. The group jolted and instantly scrambled away to be hidden away in the crowd. With them gone, he returned his attention back on you. “You did well and everything right. I apologize I wasn’t properly conveying my feelings towards you. Will you forgive me?”

All that tension in your shoulders you’ve been holding for months finally fell off. “Yes, yes. I forgive you and whatever stupid advice Samual gave you. I would say to do research but… that has also bad information as well.” His hand on your wrist released you to cup your waist. Goosebumps immediately rose on your arms. A tingle running down your spine.

“And what were you saying early? If my memory serves correct: you want to fuck me?” Oh god, he just had to bring that up! Heat instantly rushed your cheeks.

“That’s-that’s just the alcohol talking. I’m drunk. Had some drinks… I don’t know what you mean,” you did everything in your power to get him off of that.

“Daring little thing,” he mused and ran his thumb claw across your lips. Just a little more pressure and he could slice the feeble skin apart. “Taking more than they can chew.” You knew you had chosen right. He was still going to fuck with you though.

He leaned down so only the next words were spoken directly at you. “Once this party ends, would you like to start the night back in my tent?” he whispered. Your brain blanked. Not a single thought entered your mind for a long, unknown amount of time.

When some of the fog cleared, you rapidly nodded your head, eager. “My naughty little ooman.” He returned to his full towering height and offered his hand to you. “Come along, I know of seat you wouldn’t want to leave.”

Curses filled your head, the only thing to make sense in your fray of mental words to yourself. The things you could do to him.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #predator x reader #alien vs predator #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

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abouttofillhisshoes · 9 hours

Note

Lena!! ❤️❤️❤️

I finally thought of a request for my fav MPIND Matty 🤭

Maybe something with girlie using a toy on him? Maybe a vibrator? Overstimulation perhaps?

-Sugar-coat-it <3 <3 <3

@sugar-coat-it This was supposed to just be a short blurb but i got way too carried away xx. hope u like it!!

Rush! - Matty Healy

A/N: This was so fun to write!! MPIND Matty lives in a special corner of my heart i think i might never stop writing for him. @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff tysm for being my (half decent) beta reader and making sure this isn't totally shit. Enjoy!!

wc: 9k

content warnings: filthy, semi public?, but also not really, overstimulation, teasing, begging, dom! reader, most of the time, matty is a cocky piece of shite but we love him, grinding, bondage, marking, use of sex toys, specifically a vibrator, what else hmmm, both of them are high, so dubcon?, still in their right mind though, wow the content warnings are long

Everything reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor, hints of Jimmy Choo’s ‘illicit’ lingering in the air around Matty. You scrunched up your nose at the scent, Matty obviously having doused himself in it while you were in the bathroom, straightening your hair. Soft music played in the background, Matty using his turn on the Ipod to put on some ambient stuff George had made (yup, George was a music producer now for some reason? Quarter life crisis vibes.)

Adam was on his way, his little red Kia primed and ready for a good smoke sesh in some parking lot somewhere. It was nearly winter, which meant going outside was hardly an option considering neither you or Matty actually owned anything resembling warm clothing.

“I'm not letting you wear my coat again. Remember what happened last time?” he says when he sees your ‘finished’ outfit; a pair of jeans and a sage green long sleeve top, adorned with white and beige rhinestones. How dare he even mention that day, the state you entered the house was completely his fault.

“That only happened because you booked it down the fucking street and left me there!” It was true. The two of you had been sharing his massive coat, both of your bodies easily fitting into it, up until he decided the last four blocks home were to be a sprint, and took his jacket with him.

“Touché.” he grins as you shake your head at him. Fuck him, honestly. You tell him as much, his only reaction being a simple shrug of his shoulders, and his attention was back on his reflection in the mirror, carefully applying glittery purple liner to his eyelids, giving him a sort of emo-fairy look. Ross’d take the piss out of both of you, all dressed up to go smoke in a car on a wednesday evening, but you knew Matty already had some sort of comeback prepared, about how at least he groomed himself, and wasn't desperate to be a ‘proper’ lad (cue Ross chucking the nearest object he could pick up in Matty’s direction).

Impatient as ever, you sigh loudly, trying to get Matty to stop hogging the shared vanity. You could always just go back into the bathroom, but his lightbulb was truly shit, and besides, most of the stuff he was using was yours anyway.

Finally, you give up on trying to keep the piece, and promptly shove him off the chair

“Stop doing yourself up and move-” he doesn't budge, hanging on to the edge of the desk for dear life, refusing to let you finish getting ready.

“Violence is never the answer- Fuck off, christs sake, fine!” he whines like a child, getting up and throwing himself on the bed, and you cringe as it creaks loudly beneath him.

“You love it when I hurt you, shut up.” you tease, watching the look in his eye dramatically change. “Not like this!” he shoots back, flipping you off before grabbing his Ipod, switching to something more punk, heavy drums and guitar filling the space.

“Touché.” you repeat his own words back to him, and he rolls his eyes, sitting up. Taking the same brush, also using the same color, you frame your eyes with purple eyeshadow, trying your hand at a smokey eye. The two of you were matching more often than not, with Hann’s comments on it slowly getting on your nerves

“You both look the fucking same, its like you’re clones.” he’d overexaggerate, just to get a reaction out of a easily riled up Matty.

“D’you reckon Ross’ll have the good stuff this time? I can't deal with Hann’s bickering otherwise.”

You shrug your shoulders, looking at Matty from the corner of your eye. Maybe Adam’s comment rang somewhat true, seeing as Matty was wearing the exact same color scheme you were. Green Jersey top, definitely stolen from George, paired with blue, seventies style jeans, white and red trainers peeking out from beneath the too-long pants.

“I dunno, but we could go to the shop if it's shit, maybe get some wine?” you suggest. It was always 50/50 with Ross, and bad weed always fucked Matty off to no end, making him unbearable. Almost finished, you look around for your mascara, hands rifling through the piles of makeup littering the desk.

“Where’ve you put the mascara?” you ask, slowly getting annoyed.

“Left.” he answered curtly, engrossed in the newest edition of vogue. Sure enough there it was, bots of product caked around the cap. Coating your eyelashes with it, you hear Matty stand up and walk over to you. Setting spray topped off your look, and you run your fingers through your hair, smoothing it out.

Matty isn't particularly strong, but then again, neither are you, so the strong hand around your wrist was useless to fight against, and you let him pull you up. Face to face with Matty, you quirk an eyebrow at him. What was he playing at?

“You look absolutely gorgeous, darling.” you blush at the compliment, quietly telling him to fuck off, smiling as you see him grin at you. His brown eyes rake over your body, giving you a slow once-over, savoring the sight in front of him.

“Stop looking at me like that-” he cuts you off with a tug of your hair, smashing his lips against you. Surprised, it takes you a solid few seconds to properly kiss him back, utterly overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the kiss. His tongue immediately shoved past your lips, licking into your lips with fervor, drinking in every small gasp for air.

“Taste like sugar as well, so sweet.” He pulls you back in, deliberately not giving you an opportunity to answer. You feel his hands wander, trailing down your back and under your shirt, caressing your bare torso. His fingers toy at the band of your bra, teasing the clasps. Refusing to let you go, he presses your body flush against his, and you can sense every inch of him on your skin, like electricity, the smell of him travels up your spine, intoxicating.

The buzz of your phone snaps you back into reality. The guys, your plans. It takes every ounce of self control in your body to press your hand to his chest, effectively separating the two of you. Matty looks at you with a hurt expression, hands quick to cup your face, desperate to taste you again. Shaking your head, your voice is slightly as you tell him that the others are already outside.

“I haven't seen George in like three weeks. You're not the only person in the world, you know.” George was up to his eyeballs in Uni coursework (yes, Uni), and hasn't been able to hang out since forever, making you really miss him.

“I could make you feel like i'm the only person in the world, have all your attention on me.” he says with a wink, tracing your collarbones over your shirt. Matty was a hard person to say no to, with the way he peered down from above you, eyes wide, silently begging you to just stay.

“No.” you say firmly, grabbing your bag from the chair you were previously sitting on and slinging it over your shoulder. Instinctively, Matty takes it from you, holding it out of reach.

“Can't have you carrying your own bags, what would people think?” he teases, pushing past you and out the door, his footsteps heavy on the carpeted stairs. You follow him, heartbeat finally starting to slow. Already at the front door, Matty waits for you to tug your boots on, leaning against the coat rack as you did.

“What the fuck was that about, anyway?” The way he kissed you was passionate, hot, and definitely not something you just do on a whim. He tries to play innocent, raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders.

“Nothing, just wanted a peck.” he answered, running his fingers through his slightly damp hair, still not fully dry from the shower he had taken a few hours prior. You scoff, looking at him in a ‘are you serious?’ type way.

“You fucking jumped on me, don’t be a such a dickhead.” you feel around for your cigarettes and light, smiling fondly as you realize it's the one Matty had gifted to you. “What was your end goal? You know we’re about to meet with the others!”

“I’m sorry for kissing my girl, jesus,” he exhales sharply, hand reaching for the doorknob, a loud honk sounding from the other side. Swinging the door open, Hann looks truly fucked off as the two of you walk down the driveway and climb into the car. Now usually, you would sit in the middle, between George and Matty, letting you comfortably lean forward to talk to Ross and Adam in the front, but it seems as though Matty had other plans.

Shoving past you, he settled into the middle seat, setting your bag on the floor next to your leather clad feet. George looks over, slightly confused at the new seating arrangement, but accepts it, going back to rolling the first spliff. The car starts, sputtering before actually turning on, Hann letting out a sigh of relief. There had been multiple occasions where his ‘precious baby’, as he called her, refused to start, leaving all of you stranded until Ross somehow managed to find the problem and fix it.

“See, this is what I mean,” Hann gestures to you and Matty, facing primarily Ross “They look like fucking clones of each other, its weird.” Matty reaches past the headrest and tries to smack him, causing the car to sway slightly as his hands leave the steering wheel.

“I’m trying to drive, fucks sake.” Hann mutters, pissed off now that Matty had almost made him crash the car. You set a firm hand on the dark haired boy's shoulder, lightly pulling him back into his seat. His legs are firmly pressed up against you now, and you feel a familiar tingling sensation blossom under your skin.

“Try to go steady, ‘m almost done.” George has this legendary talent of being able to roll the perfect spliff in even the most impractical situations, making him a god in Hann’s eyes. The car slows down slightly, and you see George lick the spliff closed, admiring his work. Matty immediately snatches it out of his hands, grinning from ear to ear as he sniffs at it, the smell filling his senses.

“God, you’re so fucking weird, mate.” Ross grimaces as he eyes Matty, watching him try to evenly light the spliff, failing miserably. Both you and Ross couldn't stand the earthy, stuffy smell of weed, constantly begging Hann to roll down the windows whenever someone decided to smoke in the car. Matty, however, had some sort of hash-fetish, and absolutely loved the smell of it, hotboxes being his favorite activity ever. He thought it heightened the experience, which was a load of shite, but he believed in nonetheless.

You were almost there, the Mcdonald’s parking lot being your end destination. Taking the scenic route, the five of you passed the spliff around, partially skipping Adam so as to not get him completely off his tits while he was driving. Matty agreed to rolling down the windows, seeing how nauseous Ross looked, with you not being far behind. Wind raked through your hair as you leaned your head onto the edge of the car.

Feeling at ease, peaceful and very, very high, you don't even notice Matty’s hand trailing up your thigh. He was just like that, touchy and overly affectionate with everyone, not just you, though, the type of affection did differ slightly. Scratching your skin lightly, you feel his fingers claw at the thin material of your jeans, grabbing hold of your panties through them. Your eyes snap up to meet his, and he pulls suddenly, letting go of the elastic. It hits your skin with a muffled smack, and you jump, noticing Ross’ eyes on you, peering over his shoulder.

Slightly disoriented, you don't even register Matty wrapping his fingers around the base of your neck, pulling you in for a hot, definitely too passionate kiss. Yelping in surprise, you sigh, almost inaudibly, into the kiss, letting him take control for a few seconds. George groans as he spots the two of you, dramatically shielding his eyes.

Realsing where you actually were, you pull away, shooting Matty a look that can only be described as ‘what the actual fuck was that?’. His skin is flushed, matching the color of his droopy eyes. Hann doesn't seem to have noticed Matty’s little PDA stunt in the back seat, blissfully unaware of the reason Ross was grimacing right now.

“I'd rather not see you snog, thanks.” Ross spits out, making a fake gagging motion as his eyes meet George’s, equally as unsettled as he was. Adam hadn’t seen the two of you, but the mental image was enough to make him join the other two in their disgust.

“What, you jealous mate? You can ask to join, it's no problem.” Ross laughs sarcastically, taking the spliff out of George's hands, taking a deep drag. He could sense Matty wasn't finished yet.

“You’d have to shave first, can't have you shedding all over my girl.” You still weren't used to him actually calling you that. It felt off, especially with your three other best mates staring at the two of you, silently wishing Matty would just shut the fuck up, for once. He was killing the soft, chilled out atmosphere with his incessant loud babbling, making George roll his eyes until you were sure they were going to get stuck there.

Ignoring the various groans of protest, he pulls you back in, basically climbing on top of you now. You giggle, partially because of the distinct floaty feeling clouding your mind, and partially because of Matty’s complete lack of shame, making him snog your face off just to rile up his mates, not really knowing how much it affected you. You pretend to be annoyed, shoving him off of you, wiping your mouth to really drive home the point.

“For the love of god, Matty, stop humping her, she's probably sick of you by now.” Hann says, making sympathetic eye contact with you in the mirror. He knew how you felt about the kissing in front of the rest of the group, not wanting to alienate them from you and Matty’s dynamic. The whole thing was a complicated mess.

His hand is still on your thigh as you squirm around a bit, you manage to gather your thoughts and speak for yourself.

“I quite am, fuck off, Matthew.” he tenses.

Now, to anyone else, you sound completely normal, if maybe a bit fucked off. Purposefully putting distance between you two, Ross reaches back and hands you the almost done spliff, and you inhale lightly, finishing it off. Matty is uncharacteristically quiet and you know he can feel your eyes on him. A warning.

He was prone to acting out like this, loud and obnoxious, almost bratty. To Ross, George, and Hann, this was normal, his fits a cry for attention, wanting all eyes on him, but to you, it meant so much more.

Stubbing out the joint, you throw it out the window, dangling your arm down the side of the car. George was calm, collected, and seemed to be enjoying life as Adam finally parked in your usual spot, turning the car off. Spreading your legs out more, you bump your thigh against Matty’s, making him twitch slightly, a soft smile spreading onto your face.

“Matty.” you say, his eyes darting up to meet yours.

“Mhm?” nudging him, you lift both your legs up and onto his lap, draping yourself over him. George is a bit startled, but guides you over his lap as well, letting your feet settle against the other side of the car, pressed up against the door.

“Fag?” George asks, holding out a pack of cigarettes in your direction. You happily take one, and so does Matty. Placing it between your lips, you watch George as he hands Matty his lighter after he lights his. His fingers fumble a bit, before finally flicking it on and inhaling the smoke, letting the nicotine mix with the weed, his face nothing but blissed out. It reminded you of what he looked like when he-

“Here.” he mumbles, holding the lighter in front of your face.

“Do it for me?” you ask sweetly, leaning your elbows against the back of your seat and the headrest of Hann’s, making yourself comfortable. His breath hitches as you shift, the bottom of your thigh pressing against his crotch. Two can play at that game.

The flame paints his face in an orange hue, and you feel the world close on around you. The way his delicate hand holds up the light to your cigarette makes your head spin, and not just from the weed. You feel George shift beneath you on the other side of the car, rifling through his pockets, pulling out a small baggie and rolling papers, getting to work rolling another spliff.

Hanns voice rings dully in your ears, asking George to hurry up a bit, saying he was nowhere near the level of high he wanted to be at right now.

“Let me do it, stop nagging.” George's movements are slower, his motor skills definitely more than just slightly inhibited.

“Good?” Matty asks, your attention turning back to him. His eyes are glazed over, red and half closed, and his hair falls over his face, indicating he’s long overdue for another haircut. Mattys hands settle on your knees, rubbing small circles over the bone, warmth blooming underneath your skin wherever he touches. You refused to let it show, opting to lean your head further out the window, admiring the stars glimmering above you, the cold of the night biting at your cheeks.

Matty can tell you’re cold by the way you shiver slightly, and he feels a bit bad, even if he did tell you to bring some sort of extra layer.

“I’m fucking freezing.” you state to the car, Ross turning around to face you, lowering his seat back a bit despite Georges protests.

“There's a blanket in the back, I think.” Hann nods in agreement, confirming his statement. Knowing you wouldn't be able to reach, Matty blindly feels around for it, fingers meeting a slightly scratchy, but still soft, knitted blanket.

Draping it over you, his hands linger on your waist, goosebumps forming on your skin as his nails graze your tattoo.

George is finally finished with the spliff, and hands it to Hann so he can light it. He greedily inhales, letting the feeling overtake him. A soft groan leaves his lips and you see the back of his head slouch against the headrest, lolling off to the side.

“This is some good shit, no wonder Matty’s so quiet.” Hann mumbles, half to himself.

“Told you, my guy’s the real deal.” Ross says with pride, like he’d grown it himself or something. Putting his feet up on the dashboard, he leans back, head craning to talk to Hann. Their conversation is quiet, meaningless, with Ross going on about his stupid bass instruments and chatting pure shit to a half dozed-off Adam.

George is in his own world, gazing out the window and off into the distance. He was tired, you can tell by the way the rings under his eyes were dark and prominent, evidence that he hadn't been sleeping much these days. Uni was truly kicking him in the arse.

A loud sigh from Matty makes you snap out of your thoughts, flexing your toes a bit, trying to stretch without bothering George too much. You feel a tap on your leg, telling you it's fine, and that you can move freely. George smiles at you from across the back seat, stoned out of his mind and looking like he was ready to pass out in the next five seconds.

“Y’alright?” you ask Matty, who keeps shifting around beneath you. One particular movement makes your legs spread, his big palms gripping the side of your left thigh, kneading the flesh.

His eyes flash up to yours, and the look he gives you is fucking delicious. Lips slightly parted, wet and swollen from his teeth gnawing at them for the past half hour, the sight makes your thighs clench, a cough escaping your lips.

The spliff makes its way to you, and you take a drag, your lips wrapping around it as you make direct eye contact with Matty. Your lipgloss rubs off on the filter, and you hand it to him with a smirk.

“I’m fucking knackered, I need to sleep.” George's deep voice cuts through the silence, and Hann nods in agreement.

“We’ve been here like an hour! We never hang out, let's stay for a bit.” Ross protests, sitting properly and trying to face everyone at the same time.

“Yeah, let's.” you side with him. Matty’s eyes widen at your statement, and he goes to speak. A sharp look makes him rethink his actions, and he slumps backwards into the leather, pouting at you. You grin at him playfully, seeing him start to do the same, before pressing your leg down, right onto his crotch. Underneath the blanket, not one could see what you were doing, giving you the perfect opportunity to fuck with Matty

“Fine, but I'm driving home in 20, whoever doesn't want to walk is coming with.” The tinge of annoyance in Hann’s voice is painfully obvious.

Time passes at a snail's pace as you continue your movements, thigh pressing down onto his steadily hardening cock ever so slightly, not wanting George to figure you out.

“D’you reckon Britney’s a good shag?” Ross asks, and you realize he’s holding a magazine, Britney Spears plastered onto the cover.

“Mate, maybe you shouldn’t-” George starts, but another voice cuts him off.

“Probably, I mean, just look at her.” it's Matty speaking, you realize.

His voice is drawn out and deep as he holds out his hand, silently requesting Ross to give him the paper. He’s taunting you, and fuck, is it getting to you. The way his eyes scan over the cover makes your blood boil, and you stare him down, warning him to stop.

“She’s fit.” He says, refusing to look at you as he takes a drag from the spliff, passing it on. His eyes finally dart over to yours, reading you like an open book. You were jealous, and he knew it. It was his goal, after all, to rile you up enough so you knew how he’d been feeling since that moment in your room.

“Hey Hann? I'm feeling a bit shit.” you lie through your teeth “Can we go?”. Ross tries to stop him, but with the vote being 4-1, he groans as the car sputters on, and Hann backs out of the lot.

You go to sit normally, putting as much distance between you and Matty as physically possible, not even looking in his general direction. Not really speaking to anyone, you listen to the soft sound of the radio, the music distracting you a bit. Matty’s eyes are glued to you, watching your every reaction, you can feel it. He silently begs you to stop being mean, ignoring him like this. You almost cave. Almost.

The drive feels longer than it actually is, George being dropped off at his house first. He waves goodbye through the window, which is the only reason you turned to the other side. Eyes avoiding the boy next to you, you blow George a kiss goodbye, hoping he gets some actual sleep tonight.

You and Matty were now both facing forward, chatting to Ross.

“Must be great, having an whole fucking house to yourself.” Ross grunts out, clearly still fucked off that you decided to leave so ‘early’.

“It is,” Matty answers, telling him how nice it was to live without his parents and with you, even if neither of you had the ability to prepare an edible meal, or clean the house every once in a while. You chuckle as his words, painfully true as you think back on the state you’d left your room in, clothes and books and various items strewn about the place.

Matty turns to you, your small giggles at his story making him think he was off the hook. You shoot him a look, and he immediately retreats, knowing it wouldn't be that easy. Not that he didn’t like a challenge, especially from you.

“Alright, you two.” Hann breathes as the car comes to a halt in front of the house. The soft rumble of the engine was deafening as you opened the door, climbing out of the vehicle. Matty followed quickly, almost banging his head against the roof, narrowly avoiding a small concussion. You tapped on the window, waving goodbye to both men in the car. Flashing a smile, you turn to Matty, grabbing his hand and leading him up the steps.

Inside the car, the conversation quickly shifted.

“What's going on with them? They’ve hardly spoken since he stopped trying to jump her bones in front of us.” Ross just shrugs, mind spinning different scenarios of what could've gone down.

“D’you think they’re fighting?” Hann nods, noting that you did look a bit pissed off towards the end.

“I dunno, it's weird though.. them being a thing.” Ross hums in agreement.

“Just leave them be, they’ll sort it out.”

The click of the door unlocking was as loud as a jet engine, and you push it open with your shoulder, Matty trailing closely behind you. You take your time, taking off your shoes, setting your bag down onto the floor next to the coat rack. He fidgets on the spot, not quite sure what to do next.

Without warning, you spin around, shoving him backwards into the door, both your hands on his shoulders. The tension is thick, his heavy breaths loud and desperate for you to fucking do something.

A beat passes between you before he finally speaks, stuttering over his words.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t h-have fucked you off, not infront of everyone.” you raise your eyebrows at him, a condescending smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“So you knew what you were doing then, trying to rile me up like that?” He nods, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows. He mutters out another “‘m sorry”, like it was going to save him at all.

Your hands trace his collarbones, just like he had not three hours prior, and you see his breath hitch when you dig your nails into his skin, leaving behind red indents.

“You wanna kiss me?” you ask, tucking his hair behind his ear sweetly, letting your fingers run over his jaw.

“Yes.” he gasps, your chest now fully pressed up against his, your bodies now flush. Mattys eyes are filled with desperation, lust, thoughts clouding his mind and the sight of you wasn't helping him think clearly.

“How badly do you want to kiss me?” he tries to speak, but you shush him. “How much do you want to touch me?”

A guttural groan leaves his lips, and his hands find your back, grabbing onto your waist for support. You look at him expectantly, tapping his face to get his attention back on you.

“Please, I'm sorry, just– fuckk, please darling.” His voice is small, soft, filled with want and desire. He pulls you in closer, and you feel him, fully hard, pressed up against your upper thigh. Your hand travels lower, pushing his shirt up as you go down, fingertips ghosting over his bulge, leaking and painfully hard.

“This all for me?” Matty looks like he’s going to combust, but still, he manages to force out a small, choked ‘yes’.

“You think you deserve it?” He freezes as you squeeze him through his jeans, feeling him twitch in your hand. A desperate whimper rips itself from his lips, and he buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing shallowly.

“I’m sorry, just– please. I’ll do anything, just fucking touch me please, please, oh god–”

You mouth at the spot where his neck meets his jaw, sucking an aggressive hickey into the skin, simultaneously stroking him over his clothes. Trying to seem unaffected, you pull away from his cock, placing that hand over his chest, hearing him whine at the loss of contact.

“Upstairs. Wait for me.” Those four words manage to leave him absolutely breathless as he scrambles to tug his shoes off, throwing them into the corner. One last look is directed at you over his shoulder as he walks up the steps, almost tripping. Catching himself on the bannister, he disappears from view.

You use the moment to take several deep breaths, steading yourself. Matty might be the more expressive one, but he had this effect on you, even if he didn't know the full extent of it. Every reaction you elicited from him made your knees weak, your façade of control slipping slightly. Running your fingers through your hair, you glance at yourself in the hallway mirror, making sure you look good. Good enough to send Matty fucking spiraling.

The house is silent, apart from the odd creak of the floorboards underneath your feet. The door to your room crashes against the wall and you push it open, eyes immediately finding Matty.

Jesus christ.

Sprawled out on top of crumpled sheets, Matty’s eyes rake over your body, his cock visibly twitching in his pants at the sight of you. He had already taken off his shirt, the material bunched up next to him. The atmosphere in the room is heavy, thick with lust and desire and want and every other adjective that could be used to describe the fucking wet dream of a man currently sitting on your bed.

His hands trail up his chest, toying with his nipples as he bites his lip at you, a wild look in his eyes. Your feet take you to the foot of the bed, kneeling down onto it, not quite sure where to look. His skin is flushed a deep shade of red, the blush spreading from his face down his chest, which was rapidly moving up and down as you reached out to touch him.

“How do you feel?” your voice shakes, and you know he can tell. Does it actually matter to you at the moment? Absolutely not.

An indecipherable sigh leaves Mattys lips as he looks at you, curls sticking to his forehead and his cock rock hard against the fabric of his jeans.

“I feel–” he starts, words getting caught in his throat as you trace the inseam of his pants. You still, motioning for him to continue.

“I feel so good, please touch me, I need you so bad. So gorgeous like this, love you so much– jesus.”

You listen to his rambles as his eyes screw shut, everything being far too much for him. It's delicious, the way he squirms under even the slightest touch, involuntary noises spilling from his lips.

He trusted you, and you knew that well enough. Your entire relationship was built on a foundation of trust, a promise that you would never, ever, harm each other. Your hand reaches up to clasp his, squeezing gently. He smiles softly, wiping away the beads of sweat that had collected themselves on his forehead.

Your eyes glance over to the nightstand next to the bed, the wooden exterior a stark contrast to the otherwise black furniture of the room. The bed creaks as you get up, slowly pulling the drawer open. Matty watches you move, fluid and sure, as you take out a vibrator, you hear a small gasp escape him.

“You want me, Matthew? Want to be good for me?” you grin at him, throwing one of your legs over his lap, settling right below his hips. The way his cock is straining against the zipper of his jeans couldn't be comfortable in the slightest, but you let him suffer longer, relishing in the way he whined whenever you shifted on top of him, just like he did in the car.

“Will you let me use this on you?” That question is the final nail in the coffin, an animalistic groan ripping itself from the depths of Mattys throat as you palm him through his pants, beads of precum painting the front.

“Please,” his voice cracks slightly, eyes silently begging for some sort of relief.

“You know, you really shouldn’t have pulled that little stunt.” you speak, voice dripping with honey as you unbuckle his belt, the clanking metal making your heart speed up. Unable to speak, Mattys hands go to settle on your waist, gripping the fat of your hips.

“No.”

“W-what?”

His chest heaves as you grab hold of his wrists, pinning them up above his head. The belt he wore with his pants, while usually completely unnecessary, suddenly proved quite useful. Your hands fumble a bit as you bring the leather up, binding his hands to the metal bed frame. The arousal plastered on his face was impossible to hide as he gives the belt a tug, sucking in a deep breath of air when he realized what you’d just done.

“You’re so fucking– holy shit, you’re perfect.” his praises go straight to your core, and you grind down onto his thigh, feeling around for the vibrator that you’d placed somewhere next to you.

Towering over him, you observe.

It feels like you're daydreaming, the man in front of you just a figment of your dirty, vivid imagination. His skin glistened with sweat, and your eyes flicker down to the bulge in his black calvins. If there was a heaven, you’ve definitely reached it.

Running your fingers up and down the vibrator, you grin at him, watching his thoughts run wild, every possible fantasy playing out right in front of his eyes. Clicking the toy on, you rake your nails over his chest, the loud vibrations filling the room.

You had never done this before, but the utter look of devotion Matty gave you proved that he trusted you completely to do whatever you wanted to him. He follows your movements closely as you press the toy to the underside of his cock. Immediately, you see his eyes clamp shut, his hands instinctively pulling and fighting against the restraints.

“You like that, baby? Feel good?” you coo at him, taking in every single twitch of his body, savoring it. He frantically nods his head as you move his boxers, letting his cock slap up against his stomach. The feeling of the vibrator straight onto his weeping erection felt like pure heaven, desperate moans spilling from his lips, unable to control his own actions.

“F-feels so good, it’s so good, a-ah, fuck me–” he whimpers as you up the speed, your free hand cupping his face, smudging his eye makeup. Blissed out and shaking, Matty tries to hold off as long as possible, desperately wanting to be good for you.

“I can’t– I'm so close, please, let me cum.” his eyes search your expression, begging for permission. Pleasure trickles up your own spine as a sudden movement of Matty’s thigh beneath you makes you grind against him again, a soft moan leaving your parted lips. You swear you could cum just from the sight of him alone, twitching and begging and so, so close to the edge he could taste it on the tip of his tongue.

Shoving your fingers into his mouth, you watch as he chokes slightly, eyes welling up with tears. It's so unbelievably erotic, seeing him fall apart like this, all because of you. His dick twitches in the tell-tale way that lets you know he’s seconds away, just needing a little push. You lock your lips onto his neck, licking and sucking and biting marks into the skin, making him moan around your fingers. It's all too much for him, and his voice cracks once more before spilling into your hand, painting his stomach and the toy with ropes of thick cum, gasping and shuddering as you keep the vibrator against his cock, working him through his orgasm.

You finally kiss him, fingers weaving through his hair as you lick into his mouth, his arms still helplessly trying to pull free.

“That was– fuck– I can’t even describe it.'' His voice is raspy, sore. He looks utterly fucked out, a sly grin already adorning his face not ten seconds after you gave him the most mind blowing orgasm of his life.

“You dont think I'm done, do you? After the shit you pulled in that car?”

Your sudden change in tone makes Matty’s eyes widen, his hips bucking up against you. The evil look in your eye as you lean down to catch his lips in a kiss only makes him impossibly more turned on, fingers itching to touch you, a groan of frustration leaving his lips when he realizes he can't do anything but lay there and take what you give him. You move, one of your hands leaving his chest.

“What are you–?” The click of the toy is impossibly loud as a wanton moan rips itself from his throat, his hips twitching away, the sensation overwhelming and raw, almost too much. You grin from ear to ear as you study his reactions, writhing and pulling at the belt holding him in place, eyes silently begging you to just let him go.

“A-ah oh fuckk, no- I can’t–” he cries, arching his back, exposing his neck even more, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he tries to swallow down his sounds

“You can, I know you can.” you lick across the expanse of his collarbones, teeth grazing the skin harshly, the slight pain only making Matty thrash more, the leather of the belt digging into his wrists.

“It’s too much– jesus christ-” he chokes out as you tangle a hand into his thick curls, tugging his head forward, making him look at you.

“Look how desperate you are, you sure it's too much?” you press a kiss to his lower stomach, his muscles tense under the skin.

“I need you so bad, fuck,” he sucks in a deep breath, making direct eye contact with you.

“Look at what you do to me.”

His sudden change in tone makes you take a second, truly taking in the sight before you. He smirks when he sees you staring, arching his lower back with the sole purpose of riling you up, knowing exactly how to get to you, and in turn, get what he wanted.

“Such a slut, fucking begging for attention, aren’t you?” he nods slowly, winking at you provocatively as his eyes follow your movements. The name made his breath hitch, and the return of the toy back on his hardening cock feels like pure ecstasy, moans and whimpers spilling from his lips as you continued speaking.

“Was it worth it?” he cocks his head at you, asking what you meant.

“Was it worth it, fucking around in the car, embarrassing me like that?”

“Absolutely, if it gets me this.” he purrs, trying to provoke you once again. You were going to make him eat his words if it was last fucking thing you were going to do.

“You have a lot of confidence for someone who was grinding against my leg under a blanket not even an hour ago.” A small laugh comes from Matty as he playfully tugs at the restraints, the sound morphing into a moan when you press the toy down harder, feeling him getting close again.

“Gonna cum again, make a filthy fucking mess of yourself?” Matty is so far gone, his cocky persona falling away in bits as he bucks his hips against the vibrator, chasing his high. You watch him, sweaty and out of breath, his hands straining against the leather, the mix of pain and pleasure making his head spin.

“I love you so much, please let me cum, please i’ll do anything, just let me cum–” there it is. Anything. He doesn't know the weight his words hold, willing to say everything and anything for you to let him fall over that delicious edge.

“Cum for me, let me see you.” your voice shakes, one hand planted firmly on his chest for balance, while the other holds the toy to his cock, twitching and leaking all over himself and you as he cums, screaming your name loud enough that it echoed through the whole house.

You watch as he shakes, gasping for air and writhing against the sheets, so overstimulated he could barely form a coherent thought.

“Again.” you whisper as Matty shakes his head violently, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Do you want to stop?” he shakes his head again, hips bucking up against the toy, desperate whines and groans filling the room. His chest heaves, lungs expanding as far as they could go to try and bring some oxygen to his brain. Breathless and exhausted, he looks at you, eyes wet and pleading, the mix of pain and pleasure driving him insane.

“Don’t s-stop.” he begs, voice sore and hoarse. Thoughts run widely through your mind, wondering how much more he could take before tapping out. “If you need to stop, tell me.” you say firmly, his frantic nods telling everything you needed to know. Clicking the toy back on, the reaction is immediate, visceral as he jerks under the warm feel of your lips on his jaw, pressing hot kisses down the skin, mouthing at his neck.

Pulling back, you admire the deep purple marks you left behind, tracing them with your free hand.

“You’re fucking glorious- I- I could look at you forever, so pretty on top of me, fuck, like a fucking wet dream, so perfect–” you listen to him babble through curses and moans, eyes drooping shut as he bucks up into your hand.

“Yeah? You’re so gorgeous for me, taking everything I give you.” you whisper back, pupils completely blown out with lust, the high you were still yet to come down from heightening every feeling, every sensation, until you were grinding against his thigh, desperate for him.

“I see you, baby,” your eyes snap up to his, a filthy smirk spread onto his face, “C’mon, use me like a toy, use me to get off.” his voice is sultry and low, working hard to bite back screams as you finally give in, sparks of electricity shooting up your spine as you increase the pressure on your clit, soft moans and gasps spilling from your lips as Matty tenses his thigh, lifting it slightly to meet your movements.

“Don’t cum until I tell you.” you warn, refusing to give up power, even if Matty made it incredibly fucking difficult to not give in. His eyeliner was smudged, tears streaming down his face, your fingers wiping them away sweetly. You bring your tear soaked hand to your mouth, licking it clean while making direct eye contact with Matty, the expression on his face making the salty taste on your tongue completely worth it.

It didn't take much to bring you to the edge, the warmth in your core blooming everywhere else in your body, your blood feeling hot as you balance yourself. Being met with Matty’s smirk as you look up, the smugness quickly morphs into white hot pleasure when your hand finds his nipple piercing, giving it a small tug.

You had convinced him to switch it out, the black metal ring being replaced with a purple barbell. It shimmered if you looked at it from a specific angle, a perfect contrast to his milky white skin, suiting him well. He gasps when you don't let up, tweaking the metal and rolling his nipple between your fingertips, an indescribable feeling radiating from his chest, making all the remaining blood in his brain rush down south.

You were so close, you could taste it. Matty knew this, doing his best to get you there, just as you were doing for him, holding off his own orgasm. Filthy words leave his mouth, making you feel dizzy with pleasure, the feeling of his jean clad thigh against your clit making your legs shake on top of him.

“So good, you’re so good– fucking marvelous, I could write a thousand songs about you like this.” he groans, eyes never leaving the spot where your core met his leg, watching closely.

“I’m so close, fuckk.” you whine, your high pitched voice like music to Matty’s ears, his cock visibly twitching against the toy.

“Cum for me darling, wanna see you fall apart on top of me.” he coos, and you feel your control slipping. It was all consuming, the pleasure making time slow as you barely manage to slow down to speak.

“You first.” A relieved sigh leaves Matty’s lips, hips bucking violently, precum bubbling from his tip, coating your hand where you held the toy against it. One last arch of his back and he cums onto his stomach, painting his skin white.

You groan at the sight, your own orgasm hitting you like a freight train, vision whiting out as you buck against Mattys thigh, his eyes burning a hole into your skin. He watches in awe as you gasp and stutter, the visual of his third climax too much for you to handle, carnal desire overtaking your body.

Collapsing on top of him, your chest heaves against his, everything blurry and disoriented. He tried to move his hands to your back to hug you, but realizes he’s still tied up, the leather really digging into his skin, leaving angry red marks.

“Darling?” you look up, apologizing profusely as you undo the belt around his wrists, kissing the burns it left behind. Matty chuckles quietly, running a soft hand through your hair, pressing your face into his chest.

“That was..” he starts, eyes still wide in disbelief.

“Okay?” you offer a hint of insecurity evident in the way you speak.

“Fucking amazing, visceral, undescribable, life chang-” you cut him off with a firm kiss, silently telling him to shut up. He giggles into the kiss, his other hand pressing against your lower back, pulling you impossibly close.

“It wasn’t too much?” you ask, gesturing to the marks on his wrists. He shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He assures you it doesn't hurt at all, and besides, “You know I like it when you hurt me.” The cheesy wink that follows his statement makes you roll your eyes, leaning down to breathe in the scent of him. Fucking Jimmy Choo, ugh.

“You have to stop using my perfume, you smell like a woman, it's unsettling.” you complain, wishing he’d use some sort of musky cologne instead.

“I thought you liked it when i'm girly? Remember that time when I wore that skirt and you fucking mauled me–'' he tries to tease, being rudely interrupted by you digging the heel of your foot into his leg, making him yelp in pain.

“That was different,” you mutter, avoiding his taunting gaze.

“Was it?”

“Absolutely, yes, now come here.” you grip his jaw, crashing your mouth against his, biting his lower lip, enjoying the small gasp he lets out. The kiss is hot, filled with love and trust, your heart swelling up in your chest.

“Don’t ever pull that shit again, George could have noticed and that would've been a complete shit show-” you shudder at the thought of your mates knowing anything about your sex life, gagging inwardly.

“You were the one grinding your leg down on to my dick, don’t act all fucking innocent!” he protests, a playful tone to his voice.

“Imagine Ross knowing anything about what we do, he’d lose his mind.” you comment. Knowing him, he’d physically throw up and never speak to either of you ever again, the mental image having scarred him for life.

Matty is oddly silent, his hands fidgeting. Your eyes widen in realization

“Dont tell me you fucking– Matty!” you shut your eyes, embarrassment flooding your body.

“He’s my mate, and he asked. Who am I to deny him?” you hit his chest, propping yourself up as you laugh in disbelief.

“Ross asking doesn't make it any better!!” you screech, watching him pull back at the sheer volume of your voice “For fuck’s sake Matty, what did you even tell him? I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again, fucking hell.”

“Just about the camera, nothing else, I swear!” you cup your face, letting out a frustrated groan.

“You know I can never speak to him ever again? The fucking camera, are you taking the absolute fucking piss?!” you throw curses at him as he giggles into your hair, muttering apologies and promising to never say anything again.

“‘M sorry darling, i won't give out the details of our sex life anymore.” he jokes, earning a choked giggle from you, unable to stay mad at him.

Looking up at him from your spot on his chest, anger fades as you take in his features. You could look at him forever if he let you, drinking in every inch of skin, committing it all to memory. Your fingertips touch the top of his cheeks, wiping away any left over make-up, smiling fondly as you do so.

Love. That's what you see in his eyes. Pure love, utter devotion. His breathing is slow, the soft sound of his heartbeat comforting as you lay back down onto him, nuzzling your face into his skin. You could stand the permeating stench of Jimmy Choo if it let you hold him this close to you.

“You’re mine.” he mumbles into your hair, stroking up and down your spine, pushing your shirt up.

“I’m yours,” you answer, this overwhelming feeling of adoration taking over your whole body. Matty was yours, and you were his, from the second he said the words ‘I love you’ that night on the terrace, overlooking the glowing city.

Life with him seems so real. Growing up properly, getting your own house, getting married. It was all possible, still, it felt far away, a distant future. You let your thoughts spin in your mind until the exhaustion won, your body going slack against Matty, soft snores filling the room.

Matty lays awake beneath you, the darkness of the room enveloping his senses.

“I love you so much,” he mutters under his breath, knowing you couldn't hear him anyway. That was the moment he knew, the moment everything solidified.

You were just kids, the pair of you, young and free, life filled with infinite possibilities. So much was uncertain, but he knew one thing without a doubt. Eyes flickering over to his coat, they fell on the outermost left pocket. It wasn't about the pocket itself, but what was inside. Dark red velvet, the same shade as your favorite color. A box.

A small one.

#i had so much funnn #hope yall like the ending #the 1975 #matty healy #ross macdonald #adam hann #george daniel #drive like i do #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #matty healy x you #matty healy fluff #the 1975 smut #matty healy x reader

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